The Nanny & Her Scrooge

by DeAnna Talcott

  Jared’s fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle. His knuckles went white, and a feeling of helplessness rolled through him. “There’s been a lot of people in and out of her life,” he said, “Including me.”

  “It happens in a divorce,” she said finally. “Somebody stays, somebody goes.”

  “The thing was, I stayed—and she should have stayed with me.”

  When Nicki laid her hand across his forearm, Jared flinched. He tried to tell himself the gesture was instinctive, but could only stare at her slim fingers and every ovaled nail.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she said softly. “At least you invited her back into your life. You did more than my dad ever did. You just have to get to know her again. To feel comfortable with her again.”

  “Don’t get the idea I’m beating myself up over this,” he denied. “I’m not.”

  She dragged her hand from his sleeve. “And I’m not staying out of pity,” she replied. “Not for you. Or Madison. I’m staying for myself, too. I’m being selfish.”

  “Why? Because you want to see if a dad and his daughter can actually reconcile.”

  Nicki grimaced as if he’d physically hurt her. Only then did he realize how deeply she hurt. “No,” she said firmly. “I want a Christmas this year. A family Christmas. And yours is going to be it, whether you like it or not.”

  She extended the second flute.

  Jared gazed at it momentarily, then started to pour as she held the glass. “What if I don’t want to share?” he asked.

  “But you will. And you know why? Because you need me. You said it yourself. You need me to bridge the gap. And I made some progress with Madison today,” Nicki said slowly, her eyes trained on the wine.

  “I see that. A bath. Bangs that aren’t hanging in her eyes.” He twisted the bottle, and lifted it from the flute’s rim. “Clean clothes, and a smidgen of trust.”

  Nicki turned with the glass in her hand, to put the small of her back against the counter. She stared solemnly up at him. “Maybe the trust issues are genetic. Maybe she gets that from her daddy.”

  Jared felt his eyes go flat, his mouth hard. He set the bottle down and picked up the other flute. “As for Madison,” he said, clearly leaving himself out of the equation, “you have to understand that child is not the same little girl who left here two years ago. I had no idea—none—that she’d gotten so out of hand.”

  “How could you?”

  “I should have figured. Sandra’s parents indulged Madison shamelessly, but they offered her a sense of family, of security. That was something I couldn’t give her, not with the store and all my responsibilities. After they died, Sandra sold their home and started moving around a lot. I should have stepped in sooner, and brought suit against her for custody. But I didn’t want to do that, I didn’t want to put Madison in the middle of something that had the potential to get ugly.”

  “Jared?” He inclined his head, but didn’t look at her. “I’m sure you made the best decision you could at the time. There aren’t any blueprints for this kind of thing.” Nicki paused, and pensively twirled the flute between her fingers. The wine lapped the rim. “My dad left us when I was six years old. He never came back. He never wrote, he never called.”

  Jared paused. “I wondered. You never really said.”

  “I don’t like to talk about it. My mom lost everything. We lived in this nice house in a small town, and all she could find was a waitressing job. She thought it would get us through, until he sent money or came back.” She half laughed and shook her head. “It didn’t happen, Jared. My father never even cared enough to come back.” She raised the glass, nearly to her lips. “Give yourself some credit, Jared. At least you were man enough, father enough, to want your daughter back. I have to admire you for that.”

  He studied her expression, searching for a scrap of bitterness, anger. Nothing. But her mesmerizing dimples had fled, and her eyes were vacant of any emotion. Odd, he thought he was the only one who had the corner on betrayal.

  “This can have a happy ending,” she predicted. “Maddy’s only testing you. To see if you still want her, no matter what.” She let her words sink in. “Take it from someone who knows, Jared. This can be fixed, and you can be the one to fix it.”

  For a moment he didn’t know what to say. Finally he simply lifted his flute. “To Madison,” he whispered hoarsely, “may we find a way to mend her broken heart and tame her wild spirit.”

  “Together,” Nicki said, raising her glass to his.

  The ping of the crystal provoked something deep and profound in the area of his heart. Nicki’s single confirmation—Together—echoed in his head.

  He wanted to reach for her, so very, very badly. His hands trembled when he raised the flute to his lips—for he wanted instead to drink of Nicki’s softness, to taste her wine, to immerse himself in her own unique bouquet. He wanted to lose some of his pain, and to absorb hers.

  As he sipped the wine, the most absurd rationalization popped into his head: maybe he just wanted to thank her, for all she’d done, and all she’d shared.

  Wet from the wine and parted, her lips looked so kissable. Her blouse was loose, the two top buttons undone, and her dark hair, slightly tousled, seemed to call like a siren for a man to thread his fingers through it. There were always beckoning curls at her temple, her nape.

  Jared acted on sheer impulse.

  He set the flute on the counter, and took hers from her hand. “Thank you for today,” he whispered, leaning over her and losing himself in her azure-blue irises.

  His mouth sought her cheek, for a mere gesture of appreciation. But it came as a shock, how warm and pliable her skin was. He couldn’t get enough, and a heady need filled him, driving him, to seek her lips, to graze his tongue against hers.

  Passion whorled, spinning an invisible net that bound them against each other. Her arms slid against his ribs, her palms resting flat against his back. He leaned into her middle, experiencing ecstasy when her breasts, curvy and firm, brushed his chest.

  The kiss deepened, experimentally. The more he pushed, the heavier her weight became. He ached to lift her, possess her. His hand lifted, to the warm underside of her breast, his fingers instinctively burrowing against her flesh.

  When she uttered the most involuntary, most incredible little noise in the back of her throat, he groaned. He went hard all over, with want, with need, with a passion that was spiraling out of control.

  His hand cupped her breast, and she arched, her mouth slipping from his as she dragged in a deep, rasping breath. His thumb stroked higher, questing for the firm tip. Beneath the fleshy pad of his thumb, he felt her nipple tighten and go hard.

  Without a shred of rational thought his fingers sought the buttons on her blouse, and he freed them, pushing back the fabric, to expose a delicate lacy bra, and skin so pure, so firm and beautiful that he wanted to absorb it, to bring it into himself. He wanted to taste, and to touch, and to explore. His forefinger moved under one silken strap and she quivered, feeling like an odd combination of velvet, of warm, pliable gelatin.

  She moved, ever so subtly, and his body reacted in an effort to synchronize his movements with hers. Pressing his hips, his thighs, against her, his mind warned that he should pin her to the counter, to prevent her response—not to encourage it.

  Yet his body moved with a will of its own, instinctively seeking satisfaction, and intent on slaking a deep-seated need. Dipping beneath the lacy cup of her bra, he gently caressed her breast, stroking dangerously close to the peak.

  She moaned, her head falling back and putting the slim column of her neck, the curve of her jaw, at his mouth. He lifted his head to nibble her earlobe, pressing soft, persuasive kisses just below her ear. Then, with his tongue he traced a wet, slick path to her collarbone. She shuddered, moving involuntarily toward his searching fingers, his probing tongue.

  “Jared,” she muttered hoarsely, the word lost against his hair.

  He was close
enough to hear her heartbeat. It was strange, to hear his name rattle around in her lungs, her chest, mingling with the short spurts of her labored breathing. She smelled like vanilla and sweet wildflowers. No aphrodisiac could have been more intoxicating.

  Lazily hooking a finger beneath the strap of her bra, he fully intended to take it down, to free her to his tongue, and the ravenous hunger that drove him. Just as he imagined taking her breast in his mouth, imagined laving at the rosebud-pink nipple, she shuddered.

  “Jared…I haven’t…” She made that crazy little sound again, and his eyes shuttered closed. “…Ever….”

  …Haven’t ever… The phrase tumbled seductively through his brain.

  As if he’d been doused with a bucket of cold water, Jared yanked back, taking in clear, cleansing breaths, before he lost it all. Pulling her close, he stood over her, cradling her in his arms before his forehead sank against hers.

  He couldn’t let her go. Not yet.

  His breathing wasn’t right, and he knew it. “That shouldn’t have happened,” he said, fighting to put his voice on an even keel. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s just—I don’t…do that. Not casually or—”

  “Trust me, Nicki, I don’t, either.” He felt her tremble, as if she, too, were fighting to fling off the silken threads of ardor.

  “I suppose it’s easier to say no, if no one makes you feel…” She ducked her head, obviously saying more than she intended. “It’s…okay. Forget it. Maybe we both needed a little comfort. This was not what we expected. Not for either of us.”

  He wondered at the double meaning, and pulled his shoulders back, away from her breasts. When he did so, he knew, through the sheer fabric, that her nipples remained taut and round with want. He swallowed, convulsively, refusing to think of what she must look like completely freed from her blouse, freed from the wispy binding of her brassiere. He banished the image from his mind: how his hand had touched her there, cupping her, exploring the peaks, the valley.

  His lips twisted. “Comfort?” he asked. “Nicki, there’s degrees of comfort. And we sure as hell went past that. From here on out, I’d recommend that we both indulge in a good wallop of self-control.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nicki tried to clear her head. Yet all she could see was Jared’s hard-core good looks. The slash of his brow, the cleft in his chin. Since this morning, when he’d last shaved, his day-old beard had become coarse and dark. He’d kissed her, and the stubble chafed her cheek. The flesh on her neck and chest tingled, offering up a painful reminder of far more intimate kisses.

  He’d felt so good against her that she wanted to cling to him. She wanted some of his strength, just as she wanted to neutralize his arrogance with her own innocence. He was strong, and hard, and sculpted in all the places her hands wanted to discover. She wanted to pull his head down between her breasts, she wanted to writhe against him—even though she knew it wasn’t safe, or sane, or sensible.

  She should be shocked and embarrassed. She never told anyone about her absent father, she never divulged intimate details about her life. She never went around kissing, or touching, or going past the boundaries.

  What was it about Jared Gillette that made her surrender? He had become an uncanny force in her life, stripping her down to nagging thoughts and reckless behavior.

  The moment was nothing but awkward.

  “I know you’re my boss. I know that,” she said with more vehemence than she felt.

  The reluctance with which he pulled away from her was obvious. “And that’s why it shouldn’t have happened,” he said firmly. “I live by a strict code of ethics, especially for employers and employees.”

  It was a struggle to laugh, but she managed it, clutching the front of her blouse with one hand. “You don’t have to tell me. I have firsthand knowledge of that.”

  The intensity in his features, the nerve throbbing along his jaw, the grim line of his brow, told her he wasn’t going to back down. Or be swayed into making light of this uncomfortable situation.

  “It won’t happen again,” he said, brushing her hands away to rebutton her blouse. “Not like that.” When he finished, he sank back on his heel, imperceptibly putting more distance between them. “It’s obvious we connect on…certain levels. But they have to remain centered on Madison. That’s all there is.”

  “I understand that.”

  He shook his head so violently his perfectly sheared hair tumbled forward, splaying across his forehead. “No. I don’t think you do.”

  “I know she’s your first concern. I do.”

  Jared skimmed her with an anguished look. “My first marriage,” he said, “was nothing short of a disaster. It was a relief when Sandra walked out—and I promised myself then to keep my life simple. No commitments, no involvements. Not even a fling. I don’t get close to anybody, Nicki. Not even you.”

  The air around them went electric, white-hot, and throbbed with tension.

  Nicki steeled herself, refusing to let him see how much his words hurt. “It must be a horrible way to live, Jared,” she said softly. “Not ever giving anybody, not even yourself, a second chance.”

  A flicker of disbelief went through his ebony dark eyes. “It’s the way I live,” he announced. “And it will be better for both of us to keep it that way.”

  “Jared—”

  “No,” he said harshly. “With Madison in between us we have to be friends—and we can be that—but we never go beyond it. Never again.”

  Living in Jared’s house was not easy. Especially after his ultimatum. There were simply too many reminders. Nicki saw him in everything she did. She couldn’t walk by his leather chair without seeing the creases he’d put in it. The gold Cross pens he used to write with were always scattered across his desk, or next to his chair on the end table. JG—the monograms on his towels, inside his cashmere coat, his briefcase. The huge carafe of poppy seed salad dressing the housekeeper made especially for him. Even the Sunday newspaper inserts, with the Gillette’s ads, were a reminder.

  She began to see his traits in Madison. Worse, she began to look for them.

  The way Madison frowned, the way she drummed her fingers when she was frustrated or pulled her ear when she was concentrating. Her penchant for orange juice; her distaste for broccoli.

  There were so many things about him no one knew—and which she coveted. The way he paused at old black-and-white movies when he went through the cable channels. How he filled the bird feeder every other day, no matter how cold or dark or miserable it was outside.

  Two days ago the housekeeper had sent Nicki on an errand to his library to find a blue folder. She’d discovered, quite by accident, a printout of his most recent charitable contributions. Toys for the foster care program, personal care items for the women’s shelter, canned goods for the food pantry, clothing for community services. The list was endless.

  The man was the devil-incarnate businessman by day and an angel of mercy by night. Either that, or his financial advisor was working overtime to get as many tax write-offs as possible.

  Nicki experienced a consuming need to know who this man was, to know what he believed in and why. Sure, he’d told her that he didn’t want to get involved, but his acts of charity belied his words. His tolerance and patience with Madison disproved his vow to remain uncommitted to anything or anyone.

  Maybe a child was different, she idly told herself at night when a vision of his face tormented her and she remembered, too vividly, what it was like to kiss him. To surrender in his arms, to melt against him. To crave another human being.

  Maybe, to Jared Gillette, a child was responsibility, obligation.

  Of course, as her mother had always said, blood was thicker than water.

  Nicki, obviously, was just a dash of rainwater on Jared’s privileged life—a minor inconvenience to be brushed aside and quickly forgotten.

  She tried to remind herself of that every time she stood in the background and watched as Madison ran to hi
m and hugged his knees when he walked in the door. Clutching her latest art project to seek his approval, Madison would look over her shoulder and grin at Nicki when he complimented her cotton ball snowman or macaroni necklace. He might acknowledge her presence at those times, but Nicki had to remind herself it meant nothing. Because when Madison was nowhere near, he kept his word: she was just hired help. He remained silent, aloof, and unapproachable.

  Even though Nicki’s heart went out to him, logic told her he had made his choice.

  The only thing they had between them, truly, was Madison.

  Nicki offered Jared a surreptitious glance, painfully aware of how pleasant it was to share a calm, leisurely dinner with him every night. It was almost like being a family. They sat down to dinner and talked about the day’s events, they praised Madison’s accomplishments, planned for the future, and tarried over dessert. A dad, a fill-in mom, and a child.

  Of course, it wasn’t all rosy. Madison still had moments where she remained hardheaded and stubborn. A trait not unlike her father’s, Nicki mused silently, comparing the firm set of his jaw and the intensity of his dark gaze to Maddy’s jutting chin and bright blue eyes. Yet, overall, things were going better with her. True, there had been minor skirmishes, but Nicki was certain they were headed in the right direction. Maddy never mentioned her mom, and she’d adjusted fairly well to the routine Nicki had established for her.

  The rapport between Madison and herself was growing daily.

  The bond between Jared and Madison was tangible—although they had moments they seemed to circle each other, as if waiting for the other’s reaction.

  “You know,” Nicki said, offering back the dinner roll Madison had asked her to butter, “the Winter Park Zoo is having a huge event for Christmas. It’s called the Zoobilie Celebration.”

  “Zoobilie…?” Madison tried the word on her tongue.

  “Mmm-hmm. The paper said every building is lighted and there are tons of Christmas displays. They have a special exhibit of reindeer, and there’s supposed to be thousands of lights. Something like fifty thousand.”