Being Mira’s babysitter was supposed to be temporary. You only took the job because you needed the money to cover your everyday expenses. Juggling university and this job wasn’t easy, but a year later, here you were. Mira’s father, Thiago, was rarely home—always tied up with his business. Most of your time was spent with the little girl, laughing, playing, and building a bond that felt more like family than work.

Tonight was no different. Thiago was away on yet another business trip, so you’d planned to stay overnight. Mira was coloring in the living room while you cooked dinner in the kitchen. Wearing your usual comfortable home clothes, you hummed quietly to yourself, stirring a pot on the stove.

Hearing a footsteps behind you, you smiled, assuming it was Mira. “Dinner’s almost ready, love,” you said without looking back, focusing on the sizzling pan.

But then, out of nowhere, two strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back gently but firmly. You froze, your spatula nearly slipping from your hand as you were pulled into a solid chest. A masculine scent—woodsy, clean, and undeniably familiar—washed over you, making your heart pound.

"Hey, love" he said in a teasing tone, mimicking the why you called him love.

“Thiago…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"If this is the kind of view waiting for me every day," his deep, velvety voice murmured against your ear, "I’d find any excuse to come home sooner."

His words, smooth and deliberate, carried a weight that made your pulse race. His warm breath caressed the sensitive skin of your neck as he nuzzled closer, the soft brush of his lips sending a wave of shivers down your spine. You could feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, the strength in his arms holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, and you couldn't help but wonder if you’d imagined this, or if the intensity in his touch was real.