Everyone warned me about the Dark Vampire Prince.

“Don’t look him in the eye.”

“Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

“The last three nannies quit in tears.”

Eeeek.

Well, I need this job. His four-year-old daughter needs stability. And honestly? How scary can one vampire really be?
Very.

Viktor is six-foot-two of cold, brooding, sexy, black-leather-wrapped danger. Big muscles. Sharp fangs. And he’s a widower who doesn’t smile and barely speaks. His staff scurries out of his path like he might drain them dry in the hallway.

Then I catch him tucking his little girl into bed.

He’s reading to her. Reading. His massive hand gentle on her hair, his deep voice soft. When the story ends, he promises to chase away the monsters.

And something in my chest cracks wide open.

Now I can’t stop noticing the way his eyes follow me through the castle. The way his jaw clenches when I laugh. The way his fangs seem longer and sharper every time I accidentally brush against him in the doorway.

“You need to leave,” he growls one night, cornering me in the darkened nursery.

“I’m your daughter’s nanny,” I whisper back.

His black eyes flash with heat. “That’s the problem.”