Sunlight filters in through the light curtain, and the sounds of happy gurgling through the baby monitor gently awaken me. I sit up, ready to go check on Lilly Belle, warm her bottle and sit with her when all of a sudden, the memory of last night hits me hard.

Ethan was here last night.

It wasn’t some dream spawned by the full moon. He was really here. And oh, my God…the things we did. I was bad. So bad! Did he really… My cheeks flush with prickly heat. Did he really do all the things I let him do? I’m mortified at the acts I let him perform, but also surprisingly impressed with myself. I am not a sex goddess by any means, but I’ve been needing it.

I slept with my boss.

And holy crap was it good. Holy god was he good. Just the thought of his perfect cock sliding into my mouth, into my pussy, makes me wet all over again.

Shit, I need to get it together…

The baby’s gurgling turns to desperation, like Lilly Belle is saying, Hellooo? Anybody home? I heat up her bottle and enter her room with a rush. “Good morning, sweet pea. How did you sleep? Like a rock, apparently. I didn’t even hear a peep from you!” She’s a good sleeper, this one. She already makes my job that much easier.

Assuming I still have a job.

I’m terrified of what I’ll find when I come downstairs.

When all eight ounces of milk are gone, and she’s had her changing, I set her to play in her crib with music, while I change into day clothes. Coming back to pick her up, I carry her through the house, pointing out the emotionless, black-and-white photography Ethan (or Ethan’s interior designer) has placed throughout the house. Old saw mills, the Eiffel Tower, modern skyscrapers…things to do with steel.

Cold, hard, and strong. Like Ethan.

More memories from last night… He wanted me to fear him, to keep my door locked.

But in another way, he wanted me to want him even more.

It was evident from every move he made.

I am feel nervous about seeing him again, but I have to face him. I have to. We have to talk about what happened, and it’s better that I do it with Lilly Belle in my arms, so he doesn’t yell at me. Who would yell at a baby?

Of course, Ethan Townsend might…

“Shall we go see your uncle?” I ask O Little One.

Lilly Belle coos and gleefully grips a fistful of my hair.

“Ouch. Leave Penelope’s hair alone, honey bunny.”

I follow the smell of coffee downstairs into the kitchen and see him standing there, dressed and ready for work and ho-ly shit, does he look hot as hell. Black pants, dark blue button shirt, silver watch, silver cuffs, cup of coffee in his hand, other on his hip. Perfectly “all man” from head to toe. The sight of him almost makes me regret coming down. Every kiss, every touch from last night comes barreling into my mind, and now I’m just going to look flushed.

“Good morning, Miss Wallach. I trust you slept well?” There’s a glint in his eyes.

“I…” What am I supposed to say? He’s implying that he made me come so hard—twice, now that I remember—that I zonked out. He would be correct, which absolutely burns me. “Not bad. Woke up once or twice,” I force myself to casually say.

“Did you now?” He smirks and resumes sipping his coffee while standing at the counter checking his iPad for work-related things, I presume. What a handsome man, like a runway model for sexy businessmen. “Then you would’ve heard the baby crying shortly after our…meeting. No worries, I took care of it.”

Wait, what? He tended to the baby last night?

Ugh, the nanny mark of shame. Anytime the family has to step in to do something I was hired to do, I always feel so guilty. I should’ve heard her, I should’ve comforted her, not him. It’s even more embarrassing because of why I didn’t hear her. “Thank you,” I mutter, holding Lilly Belle’s hand, shaking her little fist until she smiles. You little thing, you didn’t tell me. “It’s good that she got to see you then.”

There. That’ll bite him.

A quick jaunt down the old guilt trip road never hurt anybody.

I look up cautiously.

Ethan stares at me through steely eyes. “From now on, keep your door closed. I’ll be very busy at work the next couple of days, and I don’t want to come home to find things out of order. Doors remain locked, and the baby…” He casts a glance at Lilly Belle. “Stays upstairs. If you need something from the kitchen, come down alone to get it or have Wilson fetch it for you.”

Is he serious? I can’t walk around with the baby? This little girl who is his sweet, little niece must be kept in isolation? “I see. So you don’t want to see Lilly Belle,” I stress her name. She’s not just the baby, “anywhere downstairs. Just so I’m clear.” And to reiterate what a jerk you are.

“Correct. The house is big enough. You both have your domain. I have mine.” He glances again at his iPad which emits a cold blue glow onto his face, electrifying his eyes with chilly intensity.

Let me see if I got this: stay out of the way where I can’t see you, and get that baby out of my face. Got it.

His aloof demeanor hurts so much more because of what happened between us last night. I’m used to heads of family being somewhat brusque, but this guy takes the cake. What did I expect this morning, for him to present me with roses and tell me what a wonderful time he had? Of course not. Last night meant nothing to him. That much is clear. But…did it mean something to me?

Maybe not in the way of love and romance, because I certainly don’t feel that Mr. Townsend is my knight in shining armor, but still—I can’t simply forget an intimate encounter the next morning the way he apparently can. Especially one so intense.

Anger boils inside of me. How can he be so disconnected? Is that all that sex means to him, just hard fucking, then you go about your day? I feel sorry for any woman who’s ever tried to make an emotional connection with him, but it’s not my place to even care. “Yes, sir,” I say, trying hard to keep the scorn out of my tone.

“Miss Wallach,” he says, while I grab a snack of grapes from the fridge.

He’s going to say something about last night. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe it did mean something to him—he just prefers not to dwell on it. I could understand that, I suppose. But he only says, “No need to take it personally.”

“Right. Of course not.” I take a deep breath, chin up. “Don’t worry, we’ll stay out of your way, Mr. Townsend. Come on, Lilly.”

Damn it, I am hurt, and I am taking it personally.

I may not have much experience when it comes to love and sex, but I’ve never felt so used. I’m sorry but he needed it just as much as I did, or he wouldn’t have come sniffing at my door. Technically his door. Whatever. For some reason, though, things don’t feel reciprocated. Things feel like I’m the one who fell for his charms. I’m the weak one, the one who didn’t pass some test of strength. And I know it’s because I’m not an all-business steel magnate man who’s used to taking what he wants from whomever he wants, like some Category 5 tornado leaving a mess in its wake.

It’s because I’m a woman, emotional and affected.

A woman who should’ve known better.