Chapter Eleven

Gray

Fuck, fuck, fuck . I can’t stop myself as I lock the bedroom door, lie on the bed, and take out my stiff shaft. My desire is throbbing as I stroke my hand from my pre-come-slick tip to my base and then back again, the sound of my palm against my rod loud in the quiet of the night. I close my eyes and return to the kiss, and I can’t hear anything. It’s like I’m really back there.

Only this time, instead of backing off, I sink my hands greedily into her. Then I hold her there as I slide one hand up her thick thigh, under the hem of her floaty dress. I find her neediness dripping wet for me, push aside her underwear and stroke along her folds, find her haven, and push my finger inside.

She grabs onto my arms, pulls herself up, and wraps her legs around me. I growl as I push firmly against her, my cock throbbing, my head a haze of need. She moans as she finds my length, and now, as I stroke my dick, it’s like I can feel Callie’s hand instead.

“I need your tight pussy,” I snarl. “I need to lay you down and see your perfect, curvy body naked. I need to fuck you hard so that every voluptuous inch trembles for me. I’m going to make your body dance for me.”

Fuck, fuck . The voice telling me to quit is getting even quieter. It doesn’t matter if I went weird after the kiss. It doesn’t matter if she decided to act as if nothing happened, and I went along with it. In the fantasy, she’s suddenly lying on her back, pushing her ample and gorgeous tits together, pouting her lips at me.

“Give me your dick,” she moans. “I want it in my pussy. Take me, Gray. Take me. Please…”

It’s like I can feel her warmth wrapping around me. I’m sure I even start thrusting on the bed. I want to be with her so badly. I almost stop stroking myself, go to the guest house, ruining everything—ruining the nanny situation, risking giving myself to a woman who may or may not be playing with me.

Stay in the fantasy. That’s my best plan. I turn her over, imagine her plump ass as she looks over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised. “Is this how you want it, huh? You want to fuck me doggy style and watch my ass bounce for you? Huh? Then do it, Gray, do it… I’m going to come so hard all over your cock.”

I slip my dick between her ass cheeks, find her hole, and push inside. My hand is pumping so fast up and down my length now, making my length get hot with the motion, with the fantasy and knowledge that I could walk through my backyard and maybe, just maybe, make this a reality. We’ll stop playing this game. Stop living in two worlds. Make the choice to fuck, fuck hard—

I bite down as a stream of come erupts from my dick, gushing from my end. I keep pumping, struggling to hold onto the image, the feeling that comes with it— Callie bent over, her ass bouncing against my abs over and over. But then it passes, and I feel like a dirty old man covered in his own release, an inappropriate image of my nanny in my head.

Standing up, I head for the en-suite to clean off, shaking my head when I catch sight of my reflection. Every one of my muscles is tight and taut against my skin like I’ll erupt any second. There’s a savage roar inside me, an unshakable feeling that, shame or no shame, I need to make this fantasy real.

She decided to pretend it never happened. I’ve already gone along with it. The kiss was precious—far more precious than the tempting, wanton thoughts I’d just experienced. Yet the kiss doesn’t exist to her now… or me. All of it is a mirage. I need to let it go.

I take a hot shower, washing away the memory, the feeling, or trying to. It’s difficult when, even after brushing my teeth, I’m sure I can still feel and taste her lips.

***

The next morning, the three of us sit around the breakfast table. Emery is telling Callie a story about a pumpkin who secretly wants to be a pineapple. Callie smiles, listening, seeming genuinely interested, attuned to my daughter’s unique take on the world. When Emery offers to clear up breakfast, Callie says, “That’s very considerate and polite, Emery. Thank you.”

Emery carries dishes into the kitchen. She’s independent and capable. As I watch her, I swell with pride. It makes me think about those same thoughts I had yesterday about family and belonging. When Callie looks at me, it’s like there’s a film over her eyes, a layer of purposeful distance. She couldn’t make it any clearer if she tried. She doesn’t want to reference or talk about last night.

“What are your plans for the day?” I ask.

“I’m going to take Emery to the library. Then I thought I’d do some housework.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her.

She shrugs. “I really don’t mind. I like to stay busy. Then maybe I’ll do some reading.”

“More romance?” I smirk.

She bites down on her bottom lip, causing heat to pool in my groin. Her eyes flit left and right, up and down. They go anywhere except me. It’s like she can’t look at me. She doesn’t want to acknowledge what happened. Or maybe she thinks her job is in danger. I wish I could explain why I was so suspicious yesterday, the ideas Wes put into my head.

“No,” she says after a long pause. “I’ve gone off romance. It’s not my thing anymore. I’m reading a non-fiction book. A biography.”

“About anybody interesting?”

“No, not really.”

She’s being standoffish. It’s not like I can blame her, but that doesn’t mean it’s painless. I feel like a jackass the more I talk. She clearly doesn’t want to talk to me. The kiss was also a mistake. I’m still not sure who initiated it. It was almost like it just happened. Like it was meant to be.

I close my eyes and massage the bridge of my nose.

“Daddy, why so glum, chum?”

I open my eyes to find my bundle of joy grinning at me. “You sound funny when you say that.”

She giggles, sliding into my lap and throwing her arms around me. “You look funny when you do this, Daddy.” She closes her eyes tight and rubs her nose, just like I was doing, but when she does it, it’s cute. And I’m pretty sure she’s not contemplating just how complicated and difficult life can be sometimes.

Even so, she makes me laugh. She can always make me laugh.

“Can I load the dishwasher?” she asks, hopping down.

“I don’t know…” I grin over at Callie. “You better ask the nanny.”

“Callie’s not the nanny ,” Emery says. “She’s my friend!”

Callie smiles tightly. “Sure you can.” When Emery’s out of earshot, Callie mutters, “Sorry.”

“Why would you say sorry?” I ask quietly.

Callie twists her hair around her finger. Again, she’s wearing another dress, which is clearly just her style, light and frilly. But still, there’s that ugly taunting in my mind, Wes playing with my head, telling me that everything Callie says and does is designed to reel me in. It might seem ridiculous if it wasn’t working so damn well.

“Callie?”

“I don’t want to overstep my boundaries,” she murmurs. “If you want, I can tell Emery that I am the nanny.”

“Is that what you want?” I counter. “To keep things professional—distant?”

She shrugs. “It’s the right thing, isn’t it? What if I’m not ar—”

“Are you planning on quitting?” I cut in.

“No,” she says. “I just thought, you know…”

“What?”

She tilts her head at me. It’s clear she’s referencing something, the kiss, maybe. I lean forward, look deeply into her eyes. “Nothing has happened that makes any of this necessary. You’re doing one hell of a job.”

“Thank you,” she says, still twisting her hair around her finger. There’s something so tempting and attractive about it. It makes me want to touch her hand and say, Hey, relax, it was just our first kiss. It’s no big deal. There are many more where that came from.

She doesn’t seem like she’s trying to entrap me, trick me, any of that crap.

After saying goodbye, I drive into the city. Wes calls me to ask if I want to meet for lunch. Toward the end of the call, he says, “Have you won the lottery?”

“What? No. Why?”

“You sound unusually upbeat.”

“Does that mean that normally I’m miserable?” I try to laugh, but I know I can’t lie to Wes. Never again.

“Has something happened?”

“You’re in the wrong line of work. We need to get you a badge.”

“Is that a yes?”

“What’s your obsession with this, Wes?”

“With what ?”

I grip the steering wheel tighter. “We both know you’re hinting at Callie. Don’t play games with me.”

“Is there something Callie-related that would mean you sound unusually upbeat, then?”

I want to lie to him. I even try to force myself to tell a lie, but it just won’t come out. I can’t make myself do it. “We kissed last night.”

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ, ” He sighs. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, not really. It just seemed right.”

“So this is step one in her master plan.”

“It’s not like that,” I snap, failing to mention that my suspicion was ridiculously piqued when she almost fell down the stairs and earlier when she was twisting her hair around her finger. His paranoia is getting to me. “Anyway, we’ve agreed not to mention it or even acknowledge it. We’re pretending it didn’t happen.”

“You need to be careful. Clearly, you don’t want to listen to me. But she’s only been with you a few days, a week, not even? And already she’s got you obsessing over her. Kissing her. If you were thinking clearly, you’d fire her and find somebody else.”

“Emery loves her,” I say. “I can’t do that.”

“Then you need to draw clear boundaries.”

“Aren’t you listening? We’ve done that.”

“I’m sorry. I know this is none of my business.”

Guilt stabs at me. “When it concerns your niece, Wes, it’s always your business.”

“But your romantic life. Dammit… it’s not like you hound me to LA, comment on every chick I pick up, ask me if I’m going to make it long-term, or make snide remarks when I get involved with artists I’m doing business with. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“Again. I’m shocked you’d phrase it like that.”

“Just because Sloane is my sister doesn’t mean I agree with her running out on her kid. On you.”

“We were never going to be some picture-perfect couple,” I say uncomfortably.

“But you could’ve been better than what she made you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I murmur.

“Should’a, could’a,” he says. “Anyway, still on for lunch? I promise not to drill you about your thing with the nanny. There’s no point. I’m not your boss, and I’ve already made my feelings clear.”

“Yeah, and Wes… you don’t have to feel bad. I know you’re just looking out for us. You’re a good friend.” It’s like the past rears up and slaps me across the face. I clear my throat. I’m feeling suddenly sentimental. “And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“For Sloane—for going behind your back. It was never supposed to be that way.”

“You know you don’t need to apologize for that,” he says. “It’s ancient history. I forgave you the second I laid eyes on my niece. See you later.”

He hangs up, leaving me to stew on his words for the rest of the ride. I know that he means it. He has forgiven me, which makes him a better man than many, but it might be something else. I remember something he said to me soon after Sloane gave birth. “She’s my sister, but when she held Emery, I didn’t see any love in her eyes. Sloane’s always been distant. Cold. But I expected her to open up a little when she saw her daughter. But there was nothing. It was like she was holding a bag of potatoes or something.”

I contrast that with the look on Callie’s face when she’s with Emery. I’ve got to stop doing this, especially since we’ve agreed—without discussing it—to pretend nothing ever happened. But I can’t help it. When Callie looks at my daughter, there’s attentiveness, a readiness to hear one of her silly stories. She looks like she cares .

Shaking my head, I push those thoughts away. She’s the goddamn nanny, nothing more. Yeah, right, like I can believe that. I have to try.