* * *

Uma snatches the chocolate from the box and darts out the door into the garden. I drop the box and run after her.

She shoves the chocolate in her mouth.

“Cheater!” I narrow my eyes in what I hope is an intimidating glare. “You’re going to pay for this.”

She bolts, trying to get back into the house.

I block her way, towering over her. Uma retreats, turns around, and runs to the other end of the garden. I follow, hot on her heels. She doesn’t shriek, no doubt, so she won’t wake up Sam, whose window is open above us.

For two or three minutes, I chase Uma around the garden in silence. I’m faster, but she’s nimbler. Besides, I’ve no clue how I’m going to make her “pay” for her theft, so I’m not really putting my heart and soul into the pursuit. On our third round, Uma ducks under my arm and hightails it into the house, across the kitchen, and toward the stairs.

She’s hoping to make it to her bedroom and lock herself in.

Not happening.

Accelerating, I close the distance between us. She scrambles up the steps. I grab her shoulders from behind, putting an end to her delusion that she can outrun me. Giggling, she tries to break free. I wrap my arms around her to hold her. She stops thrashing. I pull her into me, tightening my hold. She stops laughing.

For a few moments, neither of us moves or makes a sound, pressed against each other, panting.

Her chest heaves underneath my forearms.

I press them lightly against her little breasts, her nipples…

My heart throbs in my ears.

A caveman’s impulse to sling her over my shoulder and carry her somewhere private where I can have my way with her surges up somewhere in my gut, both shocking and tantalizing me. To resist it, I plant my feet firmly into the step and refuse to move a single muscle in my body.

With Uma one step higher on the staircase, her nape is perniciously close to my face, making my struggle harder than it already is. Her silky black hair is gathered into her usual bun that’s gotten messy from all the running.

I stare at her delicate neck.

Want to kiss it.

Dying to kiss it.

Can’t.

Because… reasons… good reasons… if I could just recall them.

There!

She’s Sam’s nanny.

That’s good, but not good enough…

She’s my friend’s almost fiancée.

Sort of.

Anyway, she’s inexperienced and clearly not thinking straight right now.

Very good.

I relax my embrace enough for her to duck and slip away.

Only she doesn’t do it.

Instead, she leans back into me.