The Naughty, The Nice and The Nanny (Holiday Brothers, #1)

by Willa Nash

If Kevin Costner walked through the door and told me to get off the Dutton Ranch, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Fourteen-year-old me died a little inside. Her fantasy that one day Maddox Holiday would realize she was the love of his life went poof like a tuft of snow in the wind.

She wore a red tutu and matching glitter slippers. In one hand, she held a wooden spoon. In the other, a butcher’s knife. “You must be Violet,” I said. The angel.

Bless those school photographers. They had a true talent for bringing out every teenager’s inner awkward.

“Violet and I were just getting to know each other. Weren’t we, Violet?” Before my daughter could answer, Natalie rolled up her sweater, twisting it into a rope. Then she raised her arms and wrung it out. Over my daughter’s head.

Violet was a tutu-toting terrorist, but there was no way in hell a seven-year-old girl was going to best me.

Red was most definitely her color, and not because there was a real possibility that she was Lucifer’s spawn.

I was patient in many ways, but when it came to gifts and orgasms, I preferred instant gratification.

“Don’t even think about it. She’s mine.” The claim blurted from my mouth before my brain could engage.

My imagination had hitched a ride on Santa’s sleigh and was soaring to new levels.

“Because I’m your mother and forcing you to squirm is one of my job descriptions.”

This was happening so fast but I didn’t want to slow down. I was diving into Maddox, stroke after stroke, swimming toward the deep end of the ocean.