by JJ Knight
I head out of the bedroom. Down the hall, the door to Grace’s room stands open.
Bernard appears. “Sir, Miss Carrie has taken her leave. Madam Arianna is here now.”
An irate voice comes from the room. “Why is Carrie a ‘miss’ and I am a ‘madam’? It’s Arianna.” A smile forms on my lips.
“You better not answer that,” I tell Bernard. “It’s a trap.”
Arianna appears at the doorway with Grace in her arms. My eyes want to pop out of my skull. She wears a ribbed tank top that makes her breasts look so perfect and so round that I actually salivate. Then jeans again, low on her hips, leaving a tempting inch of creamy skin exposed below the hem of the shirt.
She’s wearing a bra, which is clear from the straps that show beside the top of the tank. But it can’t be much of one. As she watches me watch her, the nipples harden and make themselves known.
It’s hard to control the stirring in my cock.
Bernard murmurs, “I’ll take my leave,” and turns on his heel.
When I get back to Arianna’s expression, it has completely changed.
“You’re in a tux,” she says. Her voice is filled with disbelief.
“Of course,” I say. “That’s why I needed a babysitter.”
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“Nanny,” I correct. “Sorry.”
She clamps her jaw a moment. Then she says, “I’m neither a babysitter nor a nanny. I thought I was helping you.”
“You are!” Shit, I’ve pissed her off. “You are saving my skin.”
“Where are you going?” she demands. “Please tell me it’s a charity event where you are saving thousands of dying children by donating a ridiculous sum of money.”
“Actually, you’ve nailed it. Well, adults too. It’s a famine something.”
“Famine something?” she repeats, taking a step toward me. Her eyes flash. God, I love it when she’s angry. Little sparks fly right off her.
“I don’t recall the charity,” I say. “But you’re right. It’s for a good cause.”
She lets out a huff and steps back. “Fine. But don’t be out late.” Her demand sounds so much like an angry mother of a teen that I have to work hard not to smile while I’m being chastised.
“Scout’s honor,” I say, holding up both hands.
“You don’t even know the scout salute,” she says. “You were probably never a scout.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say, putting three fingers to an imaginary cap. “I just…outgrew it.” Actually, I had to quit when I took on a second shift after school at the racetrack to help out with bills. But I won’t tell her that.
She seems taken aback. “Oh! Well, I stand corrected.” She turns back to Grace’s room, her anger melting into something else, something I can’t quite put my finger on. Disappointment, maybe. Or resignation.
“Hey,” I say. “I mean it. You’re saving me. A third time.”
She nods. “Have a good night.”
She kneels by the fancy swing and sets Grace in it. The baby instantly reaches up for the lighted toys.
I watch them interact for a moment, an uncomfortable feeling settling over me.
But it’s Friday, and I’m expected at the charity dinner. And in precisely thirty-four minutes, I’m supposed to be picking up a perfectly lovely young woman named Meredith Sing.
Arianna doesn’t look up. Eventually I turn away.
“Bernard, is the car downstairs?” I ask. Meredith is in midtown, so it will take a while to get there.
“Yes,” he says, stepping from the kitchen.
I cross through to the breakfast nook, then the atrium. As soon as I open the door, Maximillion darts out without paying me the least bit of attention. I watch as he takes off across the house.
Back to the baby’s room. I see how it is. Carrie showed abject fear of the dog, so we’ve kept him locked up. But no doubt he’s figured out the kinder, gentler, more dog-friendly Arianna has arrived.
They can manage him. I move on to the door. I’m three minutes ahead of schedule. It’s a good place to be.
The drive to her building is typical weekend fare, busy and irritating.
Meredith herself is pleasant, smelling of lilacs as she enters the limo. She wears a long slim wine-colored dress, backless, fitted from neck to ankle. A long slit allows her to walk, and I appreciate a generous reveal of her slender leg as she steps in and slides onto the seat.
I pass her a vodka and cranberry, a drink I noticed she ordered from the bar at the last Met gala. It’s where I first spotted her.
“Thank you,” she says, lifting it as if in a toast. “You are both handsome and observant.”
“When it’s important,” I say.
But instead of considering my next point of pre-conquest banter, I recall those same words from Arianna, inside the baby superstore. When I noticed the baby bucket seats.
“What’s in your glass?” Meredith asks.
“Brandy,” I say.
“I hear brandy kisses are the best,” she says coyly, taking a sip of her own drink. Her eyes watch me from over the rim.
Usually that’s my cue. I would normally say, “Shall we test that theory?” And then scoot closer.
And the night would begin in earnest.
But I don’t. I just nod. “I can pour you one if you like.”
She hesitates. “I’m fine with this,” she says. The coy look is gone.
I don’t know this woman well. She doesn’t seem the social climber type, like Camellia. But she’s no innocent ingénue either. She’s the daughter of a prominent developer in upstate New York.
That’s all I was told by Ram, the friend who filled me in when I asked who she was.
The venue isn’t far from her building, so we arrive before we can even finish the drinks. Meredith sets hers carefully in a cup holder and waits for the driver to open the door.
She’s cooled, and I find I don’t particularly care. We exit the limo and are greeted by a doorman.
“This way, sir,” he says.
Limos line all the curbs. Otherwise this part of town is quite deserted. No place to escape to, no good bars, no nightlife.
Just this night with a tepid date I have no interest in warming up.
My memory flashes to Arianna, the tank top, those jeans, that strip of skin.
And as we pause to have our photo made just inside the overdecorated foyer, I realize maybe I should have just stayed home.
Chapter 28: Arianna
“Men are pigs,” I tell Grace as I change her into the lion sleeper. I fluff the mane on her hood. “This outfit is perfect. You can eat them alive.”
I pick her up from the bed. “You ready for bottle and sleepytimes?”
Her slate blue eyes watch me with wonder. It’s probably just the sloppy topknot I stuck my hair in after Dell left.
“My hair looks like a poodle, doesn’t it?” I ask her, pressing on the errant curls popping out all over. “Well, it’s not like it matters. Nobody is going to notice.”
We move to the dining chair still sitting near the white carriage. I half expected Dell to order a proper rocking chair. But it’s still not Monday. He’s obviously still planning to send Grace away if she turns out not to be his.
I guess he has to. She belongs to somebody. No telling who the real father is. The mother doesn’t want her. Social services will have to figure it all out.
Grace settles in my arms with the bottle. My heart squeezes for her. How could anybody not want this sweet girl? She’s no trouble, really, at least not any more than any baby. Once you learn to burp her properly, anyway.
“You do belch like an old man,” I say.
She smiles around her bottle, then resumes sucking.
“I wonder if I could take you,” I say.
I know it’s a ridiculous thought. There’s a lot to it. Approval to foster. Classes to take. Inspections. Certifications. By the time I would be eligible, Grace would be settled with some ot
her family.
Unless Dell just gave her to me.
The idea takes hold. I could move Maria. Open a third baby room. Gosh, where? I’d have to rearrange.
My head starts buzzing. I could do this.
Screw men. Screw Dell. I could be her mom right now.
Why does my life have to revolve around some traditional structure? Screw marriage. Screw nuclear families. None of the families at my spa are set up the old-fashioned way. Every kid is a half-step-something.
By the time Grace has finished the bottle and I’ve turned her on my thighs for a good burp, I’ve come up with a little speech for Dell. The last thing I want is for him to call CPS before I can let him know I want her.
I mentally rearrange my house, moving things out of the extra bedroom for a nursery.
For the first time in a long time, I feel energized, excited. Like there’s a reason I’m here.
“It’s for you,” I tell Grace. “Everything I’ve gone through so far has brought me to you. My parents. The nannies. Opening a day care.” My throat chokes up with emotion.
Grace responds by falling asleep in my lap. I kiss her fuzzy head. At first I think I’ll just hold her until Dell gets home, but my energy is too much. I want to pace, think, plan. I lay her in the carriage.
Maximillion, who has planted himself at my feet, walks with me in circles around the room.
“What do you think, Max?” I ask. “Is this a good idea? Do you think Dell will do it?”
“Will I do what?”
I halt. Dell is at the door!
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “It’s too early for you to be back.”
He tugs at his bow tie and slides it out of his collar. “This gala was more lame than most.”
“Think of the children!” I say.
He laughs, a low throaty sound. “They got their money.”
I want to ask if his date was lame too, but I don’t. I can’t needle him. I have a bigger purpose now. A more important one.
“So what are you asking my dog if I will do?”
His eyes take me in, jeans, shirt, resting on my tank top. Crap. My “seduce Dell” outfit is the totally wrong thing now that I’ve switched to “prove I’m mother material.”
I take a step back. “It’s about Grace,” I say.
“What about her?” His eyes flicker to my face briefly, but he can’t hold it. They go back to the flimsy bra and too-tight shirt combo that took me a half hour of changing clothes to get right.
I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest and turn to my bag. “This might not be the best time to discuss it. Grace is down. You handled her fine the other night. Carrie can cover things again in the morning.” I pick up my leather duffel.
“That looks like you were planning to stay the night,” Dell says.
“More like I was planning on having to go to sleep while waiting up on you,” I shoot back. “And I didn’t. So good night!”
“Arianna, drop the bag.” His voice is so authoritative that my arms actually set it down.
Then I’m annoyed with myself for falling for whatever voice wizardry he just pulled and bend over for it again.
“Just…come,” he says. “Let’s talk away from the baby.”
Well, he has a point about that. I straighten and cast a glance back at the carriage. Max has set up his guard on the floor beside it.
“All right,” I say. Maybe it is time to discuss it, pokey nipples or not. Maybe he’ll be distracted enough by them to just say yes.
We walk to the living room. Bernard is by the bar. “Shall I make drinks or will you mix them yourself?” he asks.
“Two brandies,” Dell says to him.
A few hours ago, I would be disappointed not to already be in his bedroom. But I imagine he’s already gotten his jollies on one woman tonight. I’m not interested in making it a double.
Dell settles on the sofa, unbuttoning his tux shirt. Then he stands up again, stripping off the jacket. “Not a fan of this designer,” he says. “This feels like a straitjacket.”
Bernard sets the drinks on the coffee table and takes the jacket from Dell.
“Anything else, sir?”
Dell waves him off. He picks up the glasses and passes one to me.
I decide to avoid the nearness of the sofa and return to the chair I sat on before.
His gaze flickers, but he lets it go. “So what is this about Grace?”
I gulp a mouthful of brandy as I figure out my first words.
The fire, followed by a warm calm feeling, is so wonderful, I take another.
Now Dell’s face is full of amusement. “Was she that tough tonight?” He seems to decide that this conversation will be frivolous, and relaxes back on the cushions.
After my second gulp of liquor, I just blurt it out.
“I want her.”
Now Dell’s head snaps around. “What do you mean?”
“Grace. I want to be her mother. I know I’m not kin or official and I don’t have a home study or approval to adopt, but I’m sure we can work something out between us. Your lawyers and my lawyers.”
He sets his glass on the table. “And you decided this when?”
“A little while ago.” My voice is less steady now. “I missed her yesterday. And today. And last night. When I saw her again, I just knew.” I hold the glass in my lap. “We’re right for each other. She came to me for a reason.”
Dell leans forward, his elbows on his knees. When he speaks again, his tone sends a chill through me. “She came to you because I brought her. Me. She is mine. She will remain mine until I decide that she is not.”
My belly quakes a little but I won’t let him intimidate me. “But you were so put out by her. She inconvenienced you.”
“It’s all settled now. Carrie is a great nanny. We have three days until the test results. Just leave it be.”
The timbre of his voice rattles the crystals in a bowl on the coffee table.
But it doesn’t rattle me.
“You should think of her future if she’s not yours.” And maybe even if she is, I think, but I don’t dare say it. “I can care for her.”
“You work full-time and you live alone.” He barks this out like an accusation.
“So do you,” I shoot back. “At least when I work, she’ll be with me. I’ll open a new baby room. Make sure she has the best teacher in the city. She won’t be stuck with a nanny.”
“She won’t have a father.”
“I’ll get married eventually.” I assume. I haven’t exactly had many prospects.
Dell stands up and walks to the huge windows looking out over the park.
I sit, gripping the glass. The air conditioner kicks on and I shiver in my tank top. Or maybe it’s just the chill coming off Dell. I didn’t think he’d put up this much of a fight.
“There is the issue of her mother,” he says finally. “Once we know who she is, we can move forward.”
There was that we again. My heart hammers. It sounds like he’s including me in his plans.
I set the drink down and head over to stand beside him at the window. “Did you make any progress these past two days?”
“Not on the footage. She’s like a ghost. She appears in the foyer, never comes out anywhere, and we never see her again.”
I think for a minute. “So she comes up wearing one outfit, drops off the carriage, and then changes so she isn’t recognized when she leaves.”
“Or goes to work,” he says. “I haven’t ruled out that it was someone on staff.”
“Has someone reviewed the employment records? Was anyone pregnant?”
“Only two maternity leaves, and both are happy moms showing their babies off on social media,” he says. “With terrible privacy settings, I might add.”
“Well, it could be that someone who works here dropped off a baby who belongs to someone else.” This prospect excites me. We have abandonment. A case to adopt. I could get her!
“And that is alm
ost impossible to follow up on,” Dell says. “There are three hundred employees here. They each know dozens, if not hundreds, of people.”
I see what he means. A rabbit hole. A wild goose chase.
“So what’s next?” I ask.
“Wait for the test.”
This makes sense. He seems calmer now, so I take the risk of touching his arm. His dress shirt is soft and well made, the muscle beneath it hard and unyielding. He continues looking out on the darkened park.
“So why did you come home so early?” I ask. He wasn’t gone even two hours.
“Wasn’t up for it,” he says. “Too much going on at home.”
“It wasn’t that woman from the other day, was it?” I ask. “The one who broke her shoe?”
He snorts. “No. Although she did visit me yesterday.” He shakes his head. “That was unpleasant.”
“Did she confront you about the baby?” I was worried about that.
“She did, actually.”
“Well, what did she say?” My anger rises. I won’t have some society tart tramping around talking about Grace!
“Just wanted to go out again. Said she’d keep quiet about the baby if I was seen with her again.” He turns to me. “She kept going on and on about some group that wouldn’t accept her.”
I inhale sharply. “The list? The one you only get on if they are seen out with you?”
His eyes search mine as if seeking an answer there. “You know about this?”
Now I stutter. I only heard about it from Red Dress, when I stopped her from coming up to Dell. “I’ve heard.”
“Don’t tell me you want on it too.”
“No!” I say, my voice shrill. “I barely know anything. It’s just a silly rumor.” I think fast. “You own the building. People talked about you when the deal first went through.”
Dell sighs and turns back to the bar. “I sent her on her way. I’m not going to worry about it.”
I stay by the window as he pulls a fresh glass and pours another drink. “Damn, this night was something,” he says.
“You want to talk about it?” I don’t really want to hear about some woman who didn’t work out for him, but I want him to trust me. To feel like I’m the right person to take care of Grace.
