But Jake was one hundred percent walking, talking dick. There literally wasn’t anything else there.
Is this what she’s wanted all along?
“Oh, do you know the nanny?” Jake ran his hand over the curved hood of the Rolls Royce, lingering almost obscenely on the winged form of the hood ornament.
A wrench that Ryan had been in the middle of wiping down clattered noisily to the ground. “Isn’t it against some kind of law to date the help?”
“Who? Amy?” Jake laughed and retrieved the fallen tool. It took all of Ryan’s self-control to take it from his outstretched hand without smashing it into something. “Nah. She’s practically family.”
“How is that better?”
Jake winked. “Family I haven’t seen in a very long time. Family I may have unjustly overlooked the first time around.”
There were so many things wrong with that statement, Ryan couldn’t begin keeping track. “I can’t picture Mrs. Montgomery loving the idea of her children’s caregiver stepping out with you for a night on the town.”
“No. Nor my father.” The leering look on Jake’s face was replaced by a slow, creeping smile that made the hair on Ryan’s neck stand on end. “In fact, I can’t think of anything he’d hate more. It’s a large part of the charm.”
Ryan’s chest constricted. He’d watch hell freeze over before he’d stand by and let Jake take advantage of Amy like that. In fact, he’d chauffeur them himself before he’d see any harm come to her.
“I have an idea,” Ryan said, latching on to that thought with a fierceness that scared him. “Why don’t you take her in one of the town cars?”
“You’d let me drive one out?”
“No.” He most certainly would not. “But I’d be happy to drive you anywhere you want to go.”
Jake blinked a few times before understanding dawned. By the time he snapped his fingers in agreement, Ryan knew it was a done deal, and he was able to breathe normally again.
“That’s perfect,” Jake said. “Having you drive us around leaves me to focus my attentions on more important matters.”
He didn’t have to ask what those important matters were.
The fifty-dollar bill made its way into Jake’s palm again. “I know my dad usually lets you know a couple days in advance when your driving services will be needed after hours, but...”
“Not a problem.” Ryan refused to take the money. Even if he did have plans for the night that didn’t involve Mrs. Grimstock’s dog and a Die Hard marathon, he’d have been all too willing to cancel for a good cause.
Protecting Amy was a damn good cause.
“Will we be heading into New York?” he asked, genuinely curious. If it had been his date with Amy, he’d take her somewhere fun—like miniature golf or one of those themed restaurants where everyone watched jousting as they feasted on joints of meat. She’d love something like that.
“Probably. I’ll get you a more detailed itinerary later.” Jake consulted his phone and turned away. Now that Ryan’s assistance had been offered and payment rejected, he’d clearly been relegated back to the status of No One Important. “Don’t mention this to anyone and bring the car around back at six-thirty sharp. Oh, and dress the part, would you? See if you can find a cap.”
Ryan cast a glance over his clothes. On the occasions he escorted Mr. Montgomery or one of his visiting moguls around Ransom Creek or out to New York, he usually put on black slacks and a white button-down shirt. Nothing fancy, but enough that he appeared suitably dignified to take the rich, powerful men and women of the world where they needed to go.
Most of the time, he was practically invisible. A nobody. A vassal. Yet despite the indignities of that position, not once had anyone suggested he lower himself enough to wear a hat.
He bit back a growl as he watched Jake’s retreating form. He wasn’t wearing a fucking cap.
* * *
Amy leaned forward and hooked her arms around the front seat, surveying Ryan with a grin. Dressed up for once, he looked stiff and uncomfortable and like there was a fifty percent chance he might drive the car over the nearest cliff.
Truth be told, she also felt stiff and uncomfortable and a little bit in the mood for cliff-diving. Having waited most of her life for a chance at some romantic, one-on-one time with Jake Montgomery, she should have been over the moon that he’d pulled out all his regular finesse. Champagne waiting in the car, mysterious plans he refused to divulge, a stiff and disapproving chauffeur. It was straight out of a movie.
But now that she was here, she kind of wished she was in her jeans playing laser tag with Ryan instead. Even if he was looking at her as if he’d like to take a real laser to her head right about now.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said. “Whatever he threatened you with, it can’t possibly be worse than spending your Friday night sitting alone in a car while we eat an overpriced meal somewhere fancy.”
“It’s no problem,” he said stiffly. “It’s my job.”
But it wasn’t—not really. Like her, Ryan worked for Mr. Montgomery, not the family as a whole. Mr. Montgomery was very good at making sure his staff knew their rights as well as their responsibilities. For example, she had the right to go out in the evening, provided that Sheryl, the night nurse, had arrived and she wasn’t needed elsewhere in the house. Of course, she also had the responsibility to know she was probably in over her head going out with Jake Montgomery—even if it was in the name of reform.
Never mind that Jake was so far out of her socioeconomic league she might as well be a sloth. Oh, no, the real problem here was that he was the type of guy who dove deep in the dating pool. His form was impeccable. He swam in the nude.
Amy flailed in the kiddie pool in a wetsuit with those big puffy armbands keeping her afloat. She was doomed.
She nodded out to where Jake was pacing back and forth, a phone pressed to his ear. “How long do you think it’s going to take him to finish his call?”
As the call had been going on for almost ten minutes already, she was growing bored and a little bit restless. Ignoring the fact that her short black dress made athletic feats difficult, she climbed over the armrest and settled in the front passenger seat.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked, a look of horror crossing his face as she adjusted her skirt back into place.
“There’s nothing to do back there. Want to ask twenty questions?”
“No.”
“Play hangman?”
“No.”
“Chat about carburetors?”
“No.”
“Sit here in sullen silence and pretend we don’t know each other?”
He relaxed into a half smile. “That sounds perfect, thanks.”
She shifted so that she faced him, the leather seat squeaking under her thighs. There was no way for bare flesh and supple cow skin to meet without a symphony of indiscreet noises rising up. At least not where her bare flesh was concerned.
“The chauffeur the Montgomerys had when I was growing up used to carry a bag of activities to keep him busy during his downtime. He had books and magazines and a sketchpad—he was incredible at drawing people. He could capture the little things in ways that gave a picture life. A sad pull at the mouth, a distinct freckle on the arm. I used to love watching him.”
“I don’t draw.”
“He also always had candy. I bet you don’t have any candy.”
“Is that why you climbed up here? Because you thought I might have a chocolate bar hidden in the glove compartment?”
She put a hand on her stomach, which let out a loud gurgle in response. “I’d love you forever if you did. I’m starving.”
His eyes flicked over her, taking in the tight, bandage-like dress and the only slightly swelled stomach that was contained within it.
She didn’t use to have quite so many swelled parts—had, in fact, been required to maintain a strict diet once upon a time—but her exercise regime these days revolved around the occasional roll on a playroom floor. The lack of structure was taking its toll on her physique in the squishiest possible way.
“I know what you’re thinking—and that’s not it. I’m not in the habit of starving myself for the sake of vanity.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You look amazing just the way you are.”
She couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or pandering to her fragile, feminine ego—but either way, her fragile, feminine ego appreciated it. Giving in to the impulse of the moment, she leaned over and dropped a kiss on his cheek. He was scratchy and warm and, if the speed with which he jumped away was any indication, not the least bit appreciative of her impulses.
“That was sweet of you,” she said, flustered. Here she was, fawning over a man who’d never shown anything more than a friendly interest in her. Cool it, sister. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to scare him away altogether. “But I wasn’t putting myself down. I just didn’t have time for lunch. Serena had Lily’s ears pierced today.”
Ryan blinked slowly, struggling not to react to Amy’s proximity. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle a peck on the cheek without losing his shit, but so many of the things she did caught him off guard. Dressing up so that she looked exactly like her wide-smiled, cheerful self and somehow untouchable at the same time. Climbing over seats in heels so tall they could fell a man. Kissing him for a compliment that didn’t even begin to capture her vitality.
It was hard to anticipate what was coming next.
“How are starvation and ear piercing related?” he asked gruffly.
“Oh, I’ll tell you, but first you have to close your eyes.”
Ryan snapped his eyes shut, happy to comply. Any opportunity to hide his emotions from this woman was a welcome one.
“Good. Now I want you to imagine being two years old. You just ate broiled organic chicken and steamed spinach for lunch, both of which happen to be your least favorite foods on the planet. You’re tired. You’re hungry. All you want is a strawberry ice-cream cone. Your mother promises you just such a treat, but first you have to accompany her to the beauty salon, which is bright and fun and full of people who love you but always smells funny.”
He opened one eye and peered at her. “Do I really need this much detail?”
She swatted him—a complete departure from a soft press of lips on his cheek but somehow just as unsettling. “Don’t interrupt. I’m setting the scene. So far, you have yet to get a taste of strawberry anything, but your mom says that if you sit on the nice spinning chair and don’t squirm, the delicious will soon be yours. Your beloved nanny, clearly distraught but powerless to stop the unfolding events, distracts you with a bottle of sparkly nail polish. Then, BAM!”
Amy’s hand came crashing down onto the dashboard.
Ryan couldn’t help it. He jumped.
Her laughter, low and compelling, filled the car. “Exactly. Out of nowhere, a complete stranger staples a sharp metal object through both your ears at the same time. Lily felt utterly betrayed, poor thing. And she never did get her ice cream.”
“Let me guess—you were the one who had to spend the afternoon soothing her?”
She shrugged, but he could tell the day had worn on her. Now that she was up close and personal, he could see dark circles under her eyes, the slight lines of anxiety around her mouth. He had to sit on his hand to refrain from wiping them away.
“I’d have given my soul for some strawberry ice cream to bury our collective woes in. Still would.”
This, at least, he could do something about. Moving toward her feet, he reached for the black bag that rested under the dash. Experience had long since taught him that the needs of the chauffeur were slated well below that of his passengers—any of life’s necessities had to be within arm’s reach, or they didn’t exist until the sojourn was complete.
His knuckle grazed her ankle as he pulled back, and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight of her legs, long and muscular and indicative of her previous life as a dancer. Off-limits nannies shouldn’t be allowed to have legs like that. A man could only get through so many lonely nights before he started to dream of sleek limbs wrapping around him and never letting go.
Thankfully for them both, she lifted those sleek limbs away from his grasp. Out of reach, out of mind. Or at least in theory, anyway.
“What are you doing down there?”
“Collecting on your soul.” He rummaged around until he found the Pop-Tarts that rested at the bottom of his lunch bag. He tossed the silver package onto her lap. “They’re not strawberry, but they should do the trick.”
She let out a squeal and tore it open. He loved that she didn’t try to turn down the gift of his dinner or protest against the kindness of the gesture. She was clearly a woman of unapologetic, voracious appetites.
Through a huge mouthful, she said, “You’re a savior, Ryan. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see overprocessed sugars in my life.”
“It’ll probably ruin your appetite for five-hundred-dollar pâté.”
“Fuck pâté. I was about to start eating my shoes.”
He laughed softly and leaned back in the seat, enjoying the companionable silence as Amy devoured her snack, wishing he could extend the moment for hours. Life would be so easy if this were all he had to worry about. Making Amy happy. Enjoying having her near.
Unfortunately, the night wasn’t his to squander. They both were jolted out of the moment by the sound of a knock at the driver’s side window. Ryan looked over, startled to find Jake squinting into the over-tinted glass, but a feeble gesture at the back door made things more clear.
Apparently, Ryan needed to get out and open the door for him. These were the depths to which he had descended—playing doorman on top of everything else. With an apologetic shrug and an over-exaggerated bow to Amy, he swept outside and helped the able-bodied Jake into his seat.
“What are you doing up there?” Jake asked, sliding in with a frown.
Ryan didn’t get a chance to hear her response, but he noticed Amy got physically out of the car and walked in through the back door, rather than climbing again. How ladylike. How unlike her.
“Ready to go?” Ryan buckled himself in and glanced at the rearview mirror, his foul mood returning as suddenly as it had dissipated. Amy had chosen the middle seat—so close to Jake she could have been sitting in his lap, and something about her expression had shifted. Gone was the easy smile, the ready laugh. She looked coy and smitten and girly and...
Fuck. She looked like a woman about to go on a date with Jake Montgomery. And head-over-heels excited about it too.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.
He let out a grunt. That made exactly one of them.
Chapter Five
If there was anything Ryan hated more than a picnic, he had yet to discover it.
Oh, sure—dining al fresco seemed like a good idea from afar. The rosy-hued romance of the setting sun. A blanket spread over the ground, encouraging everyone to lie down and roll around for a while. Wineglasses filled so generously you pretended not to notice the specks of dirt floating on top.
As it so often did, reality failed to live up to expectations—at least from the chauffeur’s perspective. From where he leaned on the outside of the town car, pretending not to hear the low, rolling feminine laughter sweeping his way, Ryan felt only the repeated bite of twilight mosquitoes and the angry corrosion of his stomach lining.
Would it have killed the bastard to apprise him of the evening’s events beforehand? It was one thing to drop the happy couple off at some swanky restaurant and hide out until the car was called back, nursing his resentment in silence and scowls. I
t was quite another to stand here with his thumb up his ass while they cooed sweet nothings into each other’s ears a few yards away.
Except... He shifted and squinted, trying to get a better look at the lounging couple, neither of whom appeared to be doing any actual lounging. Amy jumped to her feet, gesturing wildly at herself, then Jake, then the car. And back at herself.
Adrenaline, that good old friend he went far too many days without anymore, rushed through him. He placed both hands on top of the car, stabilizing himself as he peered closer. Jake was an ass, but he wasn’t an abusive ass. At least not as far as he could tell. But when Amy held up her hands as if warding Jake off, Ryan slid over the hood and trotted up the hillside.
Adrenaline was also what prodded him to keep going long after he realized she was laughing and not in any danger at all. This wasn’t the looming-sense-of-danger kind of adrenaline, though. It was more like the red-hot-jealousy kind, filling him with an unreasonable urge to run Jake over with the car. Jesus. Maybe he needed to rethink this hands-off Amy plan. Maybe she wouldn’t even want him anyway and he was just wasting his time.
“Amy. Jake.” He nodded at both of them, his hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep them from inadvertently finding their way around Jake’s neck. “You two need a hand?”
Jake didn’t seem at all upset to see him standing there, so low did Ryan rate on the importance scale in his eyes. “Yes, actually. I was about to come get you. You can pack up the picnic and load the car. Amy and I are going to walk along the creek.”
Amy pushed herself forward, arms crossed mutinously over her chest. She had leaves in her hair, which Ryan desperately hoped had been placed there by virtue of gravity rather than friction, and a scowl on her face. “And I told him we can pack our own things. You aren’t here to wait on us hand and foot.”
“He doesn’t mind,” Jake said.
He did mind, but it didn’t seem worth interrupting the argument for. Let them argue. Let them despise one another. Let this be the worst date in the history of bad dates.
If I Stay Page 6
