Tempting Little TeaseBy: Kendall Ryan
(Forbidden Desires #4)
About the Book
She’s the tutor I hired to teach me Italian.
She’s way too young for me, but she’s also gorgeous, bright, and filled with a curiosity about life that I find incredibly refreshing.
It’s fucking adorable.
I’m old enough to know better, but this pretty young thing tempts me beyond belief. And for the first time in my life, I can see myself falling.
• • •
Is this what it’s like to be pursued by an older man? The complete confidence, the lack of expectations, the sincerity?
My God, it’s exhilarating.
Quinn Kingsley is totally unexpected. I’m moving to Italy in three weeks to teach English, and while I never expected something so real to develop between us so quickly, our chemistry is undeniable.
There’s something so sexy about this back-and-forth he and I share. Flirting with this man is like playing with fire, and I’m bound to get burned.
Io sono attratto da te. I’m attracted to you, he tells me.
But is our attraction enough to get us through the complications of a massive age gap and an international love affair? Only one way to find out…
“Is it done yet?”
Big brown eyes peek over the edge of the kitchen island. The little she-devil is hungry. Her workaholic mother still isn’t home, almost an hour late.
“Abbi pazienza, Erica,” I respond with a wink, and she rolls her eyes. Where the hell did she learn that?
“Speak English, Alessandra!” she says with a moan.
Reflexively, I roll my eyes. Oh. That’s where.
I’m Erica’s full-time nanny. While her mother is at work, I care for this six-year-old firecracker and her tiny baby brother, Ben. Breakfast, book time, playtime, lunch, nap, activity, snack break, and sometimes dinner. This is my life from seven in the morning until the familiar creak of the door at five when Lorraine comes home.
But this is my life from seven to five for only three more weeks.
Tonight isn’t the first night Lorraine has been late, and there’s certainly no Mr. Riley to fill the gap. That would be where I come in—Alessandra, nanny extraordinaire. Twenty-two years old, fresh out of college, with a degree in the study of classics and very vague career goals.
“I don’t want macroncheese,” Erica whines, appearing at my elbow.
“Macaroni and cheese,” I say, correcting her. She sulks off, bored with my response.
I do have to agree with her, however, as I squeeze the artificial cheese into a pot of steaming macaroni. This isn’t my idea of fine European dining, but I’m not in Italy. Yet.
As I muscle the paste through the pasta, I can’t help but think of my plans to leave all this behind. Not that I hate being a nanny. I adore these squirmy little brats. But taking care of children isn’t what I love. What I love is on the vision board mounted on my bedroom wall. Maps and magazine cutouts, pictures of café lights and cobblestone streets, the country’s culture and life, all encircling the very best part of all—a plane ticket to Italy. One way.
I can feel myself drifting away as steam from the pasta rises to meet my rosy cheeks. I’m dreaming of filling my belly with zesty Italian pasta while losing myself in the eyes of an even zestier dark-haired man with long, olive-toned fingers perfect for—
The soft jangle of keys snaps me out of my reverie. The front door creaks open.
“I’m home! God, I’m home, Jesus Christ,” comes the yell from the narrow hallway.
“Mommy!” Erica runs into her mom, throwing her little arms around her mom’s waist, nearly taking her down and her bundle of paperwork with her.
Lorraine is a powerhouse of a woman, but the bags under her eyes look almost as heavy as the messenger bag slung across her petite frame. Personal budgeting, I’ve gathered, is her line of work. It must be if she can manage to cover the expenses of two small children and pay me to watch them five days a week.
“How late am I?” she asks, kicking off her heels.
“Don’t worry about it, Lorraine, really,” I reply.
“You won’t believe the clients I had today…”
Clients. The word makes my heart slam inside my chest. Lorraine’s voice fades into the distance.
Clients…. Why does that word give me so much anxiety?
I open my phone, trying to remember. It must have to do with my new job. I’ll be tutoring English overseas while putting my fluency in Italian to good use. More nervous now than ever, I locate my email in-box with quick fingers.
“Substitute Needed” is the title of the email I didn’t get a chance to read before Erica nearly broke her neck on the monkey bars earlier this afternoon. It’s amazing how a couple of crocodile tears can wipe all other priorities away…priorities like very important emails.