by Rye Hart
“If you need anything, please let us know, Ms. Porter,” she said, her tone professionally pleasant.
Ms. Porter. Champagne. A fancy private jet. A girl could get used to traveling like that.
“Thank you,” I said. I tried to look for a name tag, but there wasn't one.
“Mindy,” she said. “My name is Mindy and I'll be your stewardess for this flight. If you need extra pillows, blankets, or anything at all, please don't hesitate to buzz me.”
I thanked her and walked on by, letting Maisie and Lola push past me and claim two window seats across from each other. The girls looked excited to fly, or at least Maisie did. It was hard to tell with Lola sometimes. She stared out the window, no smile or any sense of emotion on her face. Maisie was kicking her feet and singing a made-up song that only she knew the words for, obviously eager to get started on our adventure.
Spencer was now behind me, his own glass of champagne in hand.
“Take a seat, any seat you like,” he said. “You don't have to sit with us, if you'd prefer a window seat or some privacy.
“No, that's fine, actually. I want to be here for the girls,” I said. “I intend to sleep a bit though, if you don't mind? To try and get ahead of the jet lag as much as possible so I can hit the ground running when we land.”
“Wise choice,” he said.
I took the seat next to Maisie, assuming that Lola would be more comfortable sitting beside her father. Maisie instantly started jabbering away.
“I love Paris,” she said. “Do you think we'll see the Eiffel Tower from the plane, Avery?”
“I don't know,” I muttered, my stomach fluttering with butterflies.
I think I was more excited than the girls were and was struggling to keep it in check. But, then again, it was my first time, so I tried to cut myself a little slack. I had reason to be excited. From the sounds of it, Maisie and Lola had already been countless times.
“It depends on how clear the sky is, Maisie,” Spencer said, winking at his daughter. “But you definitely should keep an eye out.”
Maisie nodded and turned back to me. “Can you teach me French now, Avery? I want to say hello to everyone.”
I laughed and started to agree, feeling like it was part of my job description to get them prepared for their new life immediately. But, Spencer stopped me.
“Let her rest for a bit, Maisie,” he said. “There will be plenty of time for lessons once we're settled in. For now, let's just enjoy the flight.”
Maisie pouted, and I almost told him it was alright, but her pouting fit passed quickly, and Maisie had already moved on to something else. She pulled out a tablet from her bag and began watching a show. Lola was also on her tablet. Both girls were content and quiet as the plane took off, leaving my home – and the United States – behind for good.
I sipped my champagne and watched New York slip away behind the clouds. I couldn't imagine anything in my life ever coming close to that moment in time.
***
My eyes fluttered open as the plane touched down. As soon as we were on the ground, I was fully awake, sitting up in my seat and staring out the window. All I could see was the small, private airport that we'd landed in. My hands were trembling with excitement and my tummy was churning hard. “We're here! We're here!” Maisie sang, wide awake as usual. “Avery, aren't you excited, we're here!”
“I'm very excited,” I said, giggling along with her.
Lola, on the other hand, didn't look so sure. She had a grip on Spencer's arm and stared out the window. Her eyes were large and serious, and I'd have given anything to know what she was thinking in that moment.
I knew it would take a little time to get to know her and be able to read her correctly. Lola would be a tough cookie to crack, especially if I was to help her with everything she'd been through so far.
The next few minutes were a blur, but I tried to soak it all in, holding on to every last sensation that came to me. Exiting the plane, I expected the air outside to feel or smell different. It was French air, not American. But, no, it was still just air, and I suppressed a small smile to myself at the ridiculous, even childish, expectation that it would be different.
The temperature outside the plane was a bit warmer than I was used to though, and there was humidity in the air from a storm that had passed through while we were in the air. I looked around and saw all of the signs in French, heard some of the crewmen on the tarmac speaking the language, and yet, it still somehow didn't feel real at all to me.
I was in Paris. I was actually in Paris.
I had to remind myself of that fact over and over again and was still having a hard time wrapping my head around it. It felt surreal, like I was walking through a dream, and I was going to wake up at any moment. I clung hard to it though, willing myself to stay asleep if it was all a dream.
A black limo pulled to a stop on the tarmac before us, and Spencer ushered us inside. My heart was racing, and I strained my neck to look out the window, trying to absorb every detail of the world as we passed it by.
I knew from talking to Spencer, that his house was just west of Paris. I'd done a little Googling of the area and found that it was in one of the higher-end suburbs. It allowed for more space, a larger house, and more privacy. As we pulled up to the house though, I was not prepared for what I saw. Nothing I found on Google did the place the least bit of justice.
I stepped out of the limo feeling lightheaded, and I swear there were stars in my eyes. It wasn't a house. No, it was an actual mansion that stood before me. Sure, Spencer lived in a mansion back in New York as well, but this was on a whole different level.
Maybe, it wasn't as large as the house in New York, and it definitely wasn't as modern, but the classic Parisian house had a historical feel to it. It was like walking into a fairy tale. It was a two-story white house with columns wrapping around a wide porch that lined the front and wrapped all the way around to the back. Ivy inched along the sides of the house, reaching the second story patio which was surrounded by wrought iron railings.
We walked up the front steps to the house, the heavy wooden door extended upward, all the way to the second floor, or so it seemed. Spencer unlocked the doors and we stepped inside.
As if I couldn't be more impressed with everything as it was – the doors opened to a luxury marble foyer with a vintage spiral staircase carpeted in burgundy with gold trim. While it should have looked gaudy, it didn't, especially paired with the hand-carved railings leading up to the second floor, which overlooked the entryway.
A massive ornately decorated crystal chandelier hung from the second-floor ceiling, reminding me of something that should be in a museum or a ballroom, not just someone's home. This wasn't just anyone's home, though. This was the home of a billionaire businessman – and it showed.
The home came fully furnished, with ornate paintings lining the walls, oriental rugs on the floor beneath our feet, and granite statues that looked as old as the city itself. It was all incredibly tastefully done – and was surprisingly understated. No gold trimmed walls or gaudy, over the top displays of wealth there.
I was in awe.
The girls rushed in, brushing past me, and their giggling voices echoed through the house. Maisie turned and took her father by the hand, begging of him.
“Can we see our rooms, please?” she asked.
“Sure, let's head upstairs,” Spencer laughed.
The three of them walked up the stairs, and I found myself frozen in place for the longest time. I was sure I was just watching somebody else's life playing out before me like a movie. I honestly couldn't quite grasp the fact yet, that I'd be living there.
They were about halfway up the staircase when Maisie turned back and called back to me.
“Avery, what are you waiting for? Come on!”
I chuckled, my temporary paralysis broken, and feeling happier than I had in a long time. I joined them, and together we walked upstairs, Maisie taking my hand in hers.
&n
bsp; It almost felt like I was part of the family – a feeling that brought a smile to my face.
CHAPTER THREE
SPENCER
The girls were tucked away in their new beds, snoring away peacefully. Most everything in the house had already been put away, except for the rest of the things we were waiting for from New York City – our personal belongings mostly.
The dollhouse that had been in the girl's room should be arriving fairly quickly, along with other mementos that could never be replaced. Reminders of and keepsakes from my Bree, the woman of my dreams.
I was settling down for a glass of red wine in the living room when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I assumed it was one of the girls, who not being in their normal room, and not used to having anyone else living with me, might be a little bit scared. But, when I stepped into the hallway, I came face-to-face into Avery. Startled, I jumped a bit and my arm jerked, dumping red wine all over her shirt.
“Oh God, I'm sorry,” I muttered.
I knew better than to try and wipe off the wine – but part of me almost had done so out of pure reflex. Part of me wanted to reach out and touch her, but that part of me was too tipsy to be thinking straight.
“It's alright,” she said.
She laughed, and the sound was rich and beautiful. It took me by surprise how cheerful and sing-songy it was, and it made me smile wide. She was pleasant and cheerful. And her giggle was infectious.
“I thought you were one of the girls,” I stammered, rushing toward the kitchen to grab a towel,. Avery following behind me. “I'm not used to living with another adult. It's been too long.”
“No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – I don't know – been so quiet?” she shook her head.
I handed her a towel from underneath the sink and she wiped at the spill on her shirt, which sunk deep into the light blue fabric, staining it as red as the carpet in the foyer.
“Let's stop apologizing,” I said. “I'll buy you a new shirt.”
“This old thing?” she chuckled, leaning against the counter. “It's alright. It's a pajama top. I have plenty. Don't even worry about it. Seriously.”
“I'd feel bad if I didn't repay you, in some way, for my clumsiness,” I said.
“Fine. I'll take a glass of whatever you're having, and we can consider that payment enough,” she said.
“Sounds like a fair trade, I guess,” I laughed.
I reached for the bottle of wine I'd opened earlier and refilled my glass as well as poured her one. I handed it off to her, and like a true expert, she sniffed it first.
“Wow, I don't think I've ever had wine this old before,” she said, her eyes wide with surprise and a smile touching her lips.
“It was a gift from the realtor who sold me this place,” I said.
“Ahh, I bet they got one hell of a commission, didn't they? I guess it's the least they could do,” she said.
Her eyes took in the kitchen as she pushed herself away from the counter. She walked around, her hand stroking the granite countertops. Her fingers danced along the smooth surface, and for some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off her. She turned, abruptly, and stared directly at me. Her blue eyes were magnetic, and I couldn't pull my gaze away no matter how hard I tried.
God, she was beautiful. Even standing there in a stained shirt with her tousled red hair spilling all around her shoulders, she was a sight too beautiful for words. Her youthful, sweet face and the freckles that lightly dusted her nose and cheeks made her the epitome of girl next door beauty. She was somehow both innocent and sultry.
She took a slow sip from her glass, never breaking eye contact with me. Neither one of us spoke, not at first. The silence wasn't strained or awkward though. If I had to come up with one word for it, it would have been companionable. Finally though, she broke the silence once her glass was empty.
“This really was the best wine I'd ever had,” she said.
“Just wait until I introduce you to some of my own collection,” I said with a playful wink.
“I can't wait,” she said.
Her lips curled up in a seductive smile and her tone was a little flirty, but as soon as we both realized it, she dropped her eyes to the floor.
“Anyway, I should probably get to bed,” she said, clearing her throat.
“Sure you wouldn't want another glass?”
“My shirt isn't that expensive,” she teased.
“Well, consider it a bonus for a job well done today with the girls,” I said.
I reached out and plucked the wine glass from her hands, and before she could protest, I filled it once more. She started to say something, but her words dissolved into a fit of giggles.
“Sure, okay. I guess one more wouldn't hurt,” she said. “But, if I'm hungover tomorrow at work, you get to explain things to my boss.”
“Sure thing,” I said. “I happen to know him pretty well.”
I took a long sip from my glass and stared at her over the rim. It had been so long since anyone had caused my body to react the way it was reacting to her. My groin ached with a burning need as my erection pressed hard against my slacks. I prayed she wouldn't be able to see the hard-on I was sporting for her, but it was hard not to. All she had to do was look down, and – yep, just as I thought it, Avery's eyes moved down to my crotch.
Her perfectly plump mouth opened and then closed, her eyes grew wide. She put the wine glass on the counter and muttered something. She looked up at me, giving me an awkward smile.
“I really do think I should probably go to bed now,” she said.
She stepped around the counter, and for the first time, I noticed the shorts she was wearing. Blue bottoms that matched the wine stained top. Nothing spectacular about them except that they were super short and rode high up onto her thighs. That didn't help my dirty mind or painfully swollen cock at all.
She was right. She should go upstairs and go to bed. She was the nanny. I was her boss. That was the end of it, and I shouldn't be having such impure thoughts about her. Still, I couldn’t seem to help myself.
As she walked toward the door, I grabbed her arm. I'm not sure why, I just seemed to be acting on instinct. She stopped and looked at me, but she didn't try to pull away. “You don't have to go to bed,” I said, my voice soft.
“I really probably should,” she said, biting her lip as her breathing grew heavier. I went to pull my hand away, but instead, pulled her closer to me. She didn't resist. She came willingly. Her lips parted, and her tongue darted out, licking them as if preparing them for a kiss we both knew was coming, even if we'd never admit it to ourselves.
I leaned forward, brushing my lips against hers. She gasped, her body tensed for a second, causing me to pull back, afraid I'd gone too far. Avery's free hand, however, reached out and held my chin, pulling my face back closer to her. She kissed me long and hard, her tongue now darting into my mouth, our kiss growing in intensity and passion.
She let her hand fall from my face and slid it along my collarbone and then down to my chest. I shuddered against her, my cock pulsing, aching to be freed from the confines of my slacks. Her breasts pressed into me, her nipples hard and begging to be touched. I allowed my hands to stroke her breasts, circling her stiff nipple with my thumb. She whimpered against me as I continued playing with the tight nub through her wine-stained shirt.
“Yes,” she whimpered. “That feels so good.”
Her voice was soft, but also carried a note of surprise to it. I wanted to keep touching her, and I did, allowing my hands to completely envelop her breasts, my palms kneading at her sensitive nipples. Her mouth pulled away from mine, but she didn't separate from my touch. Our foreheads pressed together, her eyes closed, as my hands explored her exquisite figure.
I yearned to move lower, to feel the wetness of her panties soaking through her shorts. I let my fingers travel down her curves until I reached her inner thighs. I slipped a hand up her shorts, and her eyes popped open. She bit her lower lip as she stared into m
y eyes.
God, I wanted her. I wanted to bend her over the counter and fuck her right there, on the countertop in the kitchen. Break in the new place, so to speak. In that moment, there was nothing I wanted more in the world than to be inside of Avery.
Her beautiful blue eyes were begging me to continue, but she put her hands on my chest and used it as leverage to push herself away from me. The message was clear – although our bodies might ache for it, there was a line in the sand we shouldn't cross.
“Damn. I'm sorry, Avery,” I said softly. “That was wrong of me.”
She stepped back, her cheeks flushed redder than I'd ever seen them before.
“ I've clearly had too much to drink,” I said, pouring the rest of my wine down the sink. “I shouldn't have come on to you like that.”
“I understand, Spencer. We should just pretend this didn't happen and never talk about it again.”
“Good. I'd appreciate that,” I said, standing up tall and taking a deep breath. “I think we should both go to bed now. Tomorrow, we start early with the French lessons.”
“Got it,” she said meekly.
She didn't look up at me as she hurried from the kitchen, leaving me alone once more with nothing but an empty glass of wine, a throbbing cock, and memories of what could have been.
CHAPTER FOUR
AVERY
The sound of the alarm was shrill, piercing, and entirely annoying. I cracked my eyes open and immediately wished I hadn't. The sunlight streaming in through the windows burned and made me wince like I was a vampire. My eyes were grainy, and they stung, and I wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep for the next three days.
But, I knew I couldn't. I knew the girls wouldn't be taking the day off, regardless of how much – or how little – sleep they got, which meant that duty called.
It had been a long and mostly sleepless night. Mostly because my head was still spinning around what had happened with Spencer. I still couldn't believe we'd gone as far as we had. I was glad I stopped it when I did. I couldn't get used to the idea of sleeping with my boss – although he was a gorgeous, sexy man, and it was powerfully tempting.
