His Nanny Mate By Eve Above Story

Chapter 358

Chapter 358 Afraid of Dogs

Ella

I had to resist the urge to laugh as Logan’s face drained of color.

“Dogs,” he had said. The irony was not lost on me. Dogs? This man, who could shift into a wolf, was

scared of dogs?

He shot me a sideways glance, as if he was sensing the disbelief radiating from my body. “I know what

you’re thinking, Ella. But please don’t say it.”

“Say what?” I asked, pushing down the desire to smirk. It was mean of me, I knew that, but it was just

so… unexpected.

Logan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose exasperatedly. “I know. How I can be a werewolf and

still be terrified of dogs. But it’s different, okay?”

I cocked my head, genuinely intrigued. “Different how?”

Logan was silent for a few moments, clearly debating whether or not to say anything before he finally

let out a deep breath and met my eyes. “It’s the little ones that I’m especially afraid of.”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. A laugh burst out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop it,

immediately causing Logan’s face to flush a bright red. But I couldn’t help myself anymore; this man,

well over six feet tall, an Alpha, and the son of a mafia boss, was afraid of small dogs?

“Go ahead and laugh,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s funny to you, but not to me.”

I swallowed and wiped the tears from my eyes, trying my best to compose myself for Logan’s sake. “I’m

sorry,” I finally said. “But little dogs? How little are we talking? Like… chihuahuas?”

His frown deepened, but he couldn’t mask the embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “Yes, like

chihuahuas. I know how it sounds, but I have a good reason. I was attacked by one as a kid.”

By now, I was bordering on hysteria, but I managed to hide it well and mask it with concern. “You were

attacked by a chihuahua?”

“I know how it sounds, Ella.” He sighed, his blue eyes flicking away, avoiding mine.

Feeling guilty, I took a deep breath, trying to smother the giggles that were still threatening to escape.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I know I shouldn’t laugh. I’m sure it was traumatic.”

Logan’s eyes met mine. For a moment, there was something other than annoyance in his gaze.

Vulnerability, maybe? Was the mobster’s tough guy persona melting away, even just a little?

“What was it like, if you don’t mind me asking?” I found myself saying, as though the half-glass of wine

was filling me with a sense of newfound courage.

Logan paused for a few moments, then sighed. “It actually tore up my face pretty good. I was playing

out in the backyard and I guess it got off the leash. Came at me like a wild animal. Blood everywhere,

and I had to get stitches. Look at this.”

When he finished speaking, he pointed toward a scar above his eye. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now

that he had pointed it out, it was clear as day. A small, jagged line crossing through his eyebrow,

causing the hair there to split.

“I’m telling you, those things are vicious,” Logan said, shuddering slightly. “I don’t mind big dogs quite

so much. They’re closer to wolves, you know? But little dogs? Ugh…”

Before I knew what I was doing, my fingers had reached up to touch the small scar just above his

eyebrow. It was subtle, but the rough texture was distinct under my fingertip. For a moment, our eyes

locked, and I realized the intimate space that had enveloped us both.

The partition was up. The cabin was hushed. The gap between us was mere inches.

“The wine hit you or something?” His voice was a low murmur, tinged with something husky and

inviting, but it snapped me back to reality.

Feeling a surge of heat climb my neck and rush to my cheeks, I pulled my hand away before I could

embarrass myself further. “Of course not,” I lied, fumbling with the hem of my shirt.

“Your cheeks are a bit rosy, you know.” Logan smirked, catching my gaze for a fleeting moment. “The

wine must have hit you. I didn’t know you were such a lightweight.”

“It hasn’t,” I retorted, feeling my face heat up even more. The wine was suddenly this awkward third

party in our conversation. But the flush I felt was not from the wine; it was from the attention Logan was

giving me, the way he looked at me.

“It’s okay, you know,” he said softly, his fingers lightly touching the back of my hand. “You can relax next

to me.”

Something inside me stirred-my wolf- whispering that I should get closer to him. The pull toward Logan

was almost magnetic in nature.

But I resisted, drawing my hand away, choosing to take another sip of wine instead.

We sat in a thick silence for a while, both of us seemingly lost in our thoughts. Then Logan broke the

silence. “So, now that I’ve embarrassingly spilled my greatest fear, what’s yours? Is it flying, or

something else?”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

For a moment, I considered confirming his suspicion, just because it was easier. But as I looked into his

eyes, something told me to be honest.

“No, actually,” I said slowly. “It’s not flying. My greatest fear is something happening to my family,

especially my little sister Daisy.”

I paused, taking a shaky breath as the words left my mouth. Logan was silent, clearly intrigued.

“When I was a kid,” I continued, “my stepmother Moana was almost killed by my grandfather- on my

dad’s side. He wanted to kill her because she’s the Golden Wolf. He saw her existence as a threat to

his manipulative ways. Knowing that my family could be harmed because of what they stand for…that’s

my biggest fear.”

Logan looked at me, his eyes softer, more understanding. “That sounds like it must have been really

rough,” he said, genuine concern washing over his face. “Do you ever feel overshadowed by living in

the Golden Wolf’s shadow? Or your father’s, since he’s a high- profile CEO?”

I felt a sudden surge of defensiveness, but it quickly faded away. I had never thought of it in those

terms. “No, I don’t feel overshadowed. I love my parents. They’re the reason I am who I am today.”

As I said this, my hand instinctively went to my stuffed duck, clutching it tightly. I looked down at it,

feeling a warmth spread through me. Suddenly, I felt as though I was eight years old again. I could still

picture my stepmother on that day.

When I looked up, Logan was smiling softly at me, a genuine, heartfelt smile that made my insides

twist. There it was again-that pull. But I looked away quickly, unable to maintain eye contact any longer.

Logan sensed the shift. His eyes left mine, and he silently returned to his reading. My heart was

pounding in my chest, like a drum echoing the palpable tension between us.

And then, amidst the silence, with the warmth of the wine finally settling in, my eyelids grew heavy. I

found my head tilting sideways, ever so gradually, until it found a resting place on Logan’s shoulder.

Finally, I let myself go, lulled into a vulnerable but comforting sleep, both avoiding and surrendering to

the pull that I had felt ever since we boarded the plane.