Page 14 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

“You’re hired only if you begin right now. We fly out for a three-day convention in eight hours. You may not have time to pack your own things since Lola requires your attention, so I will purchase whatever you need when we land.”

Millie extends her hand. I lift a skeptical brow.

“You don’t have to believe me right now, Mr. O’Brian, but I will always put your daughter first,” she vows.

A small part of me growls in jealousy—I want her attention on me—but I shove the absurd thought aside and engulf her hand in my much larger, scarred one.

“We’ll see,” I challenge.

She lifts her chin.

Hunger rips through me.

I curse my throbbing cock and release her hand, but the warmth and softness of her touch linger on my flesh.

I’m so fucked.

Chapter 7

Millie Grant

An inferno consumes my giddy excitement over my success as Artur encloses my hand with his. He could overpower me so easily.

A thrill rushes up my spine at the thought of sharing a bed with him. My nipples pebble, and warmth pulses low in my abdomen, but I shove my dirty thoughts aside and focus on the present.

Other than Artur, I’ve never reacted to a man’s presence this way before, at least not during waking hours.

Shame clears away my lust. When I woke with my patient’s uncle’s hand up my shirt in the hallway when I first started nannying at nineteen, I felt so humiliated and guilty I told no one, and after years passed and I didn’t sleepwalk in another client’s home again, I thought maybe it was over. But about four years ago, I woke in a hotel room with a strange man, so satiated he slept with his body tangled in the sheets, face completely buried in his pillow, and soft snores filtering out through the cotton. The proof of my lost virginity—and my arousal—stained the bedding, and the scratch and bite marks on the man’s back and shoulders proved my enthusiasm.

I’ve never run out of a hotel room so fast in my life, and I pray I never will again.

But this isn’t the same. Artur O’Brian will never allow me to touch him.

I’ve never intentionally shared a bedroom with an adult male before. The thought of Artur being my first fills my belly with butterflies even as dread hardens my heart.

I’m an idiot for agreeing to his sleeping arrangements, but if it’s the only way to become Lola’s caretaker, then so be it.

After signing a basic agreement—which includes mention of Artur utilizing his own private lawyer to draft legal documents—he gestures for me to follow him and takes off down the hall. I grab my bag from the floor and all but run to catch up with him, but I forgive him the moment I reach the playroom in the back and see Lola lording over the space with three agents hovering around her. Although even the office workers are required to be first aid and CPR certified, they aren’t as knowledgeable or skilled as a nanny, so I understand Artur’s rush to return.

Joy blooms deep in my soul at seeing Lola again so soon, but the medical caretaker in me automatically notices her flushed face and uncertain movements. The change is nominal compared to yesterday, but even the slightest differences matter with medically complex children, so I open a fresh mental log, check the time, and make a note.

Artur says her name. She turns, squints, and for the briefest of moments, hesitates before recognition lights her eyes. He strides across the room and lifts her off the rug. Without removing her thumb from her mouth, she rests her head against his chest and pats his shoulder in welcome. My suspicion grows at her subdued greeting, and when a few more seconds pass before she even notices another person in the room, worry gnaws at my guts.

She takes the same barely noticeable squint and pause before screeching in excitement and extending both arms toward me. I smile and step forward. Artur’s eyes narrow before he passes her to me.

“Thank you, Mr. O’Brian. Good morning, Miss Lola.” I greet her as though she’s an adult standing in front of me instead of a toddler with her face buried in my bosom. She wraps her arms as far around me as they’ll go, smearing her spit between my side and sleeve. “How are you today?” I ask.

She trembles and melts into me with a whimper. Despite my concern, I keep my voice light and expression neutral as I head toward the couch along the back wall.

“Is she taking anti-seizure medication?” I ask Artur.

“Yes.” He follows my every step and hovers over me as I settle on the couch. Even as he continues speaking, his voice tightens in worry. “She’s never missed a dose and hasn’t had a seizure since she started taking it three months ago. Do you think she’s going to have one now?”

I lean back and try to guide her face out of my cleavage, but she whines and clings tighter.

“I’m not sure. What type of seizures was she having?” I ask as I change tactics and slip my fingers into her collar.

“Tonic-clonic.”