The Billionaire And The Nanny (Book One)

by Paige North

  I want it again.

  As I draw away from Travis to risk a look at him, I see something that makes my blood stop pounding.

  His gaze is cool as he looks down at me.

  I don’t know what to say—I don’t know if I can even speak—as he eases me to the bed so I’m sitting on it. He stands and runs his hand through his hair, just as dispassionate as he was when I first met him.

  I try to figure out the change in his mood, the sudden dark clouds in his eyes. What just happened?

  “Get some sleep,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Then he leaves me without another word, as cool as an arctic breeze.

  Chapter 6

  Needless to say, it’s impossible for me to get to sleep.

  In my dim, strange new bedroom, there’s a light show on the wall from the city’s nighttime traffic: headlights, taillights, streetlights. I’ve kept the curtains open because I thought the illumination would keep me company and make me comfortable enough so I could eventually close my eyes and drift off.

  But then there’s the show that’s going on inside of my head, where I see Travis during every charged breath I take.

  Travis, with those emerald green eyes that can either fire up or chill down, eyes that can burn up with wanting me or be dark and mysterious and suddenly cold, disinterested. Travis, whose body I keep imagining as I fantasize about pulling off his suit jacket, his tie, his shirt. I know he’s all muscle, his arms like rock, his abs ridged, everything about his body like the cool marble of a Greek statue. As I think of him while lying here in bed, I rest one of my arms above my head and stare at the ceiling, running my other hand up my opposite side until I cup my breast, feeling it through the thin material of the peignoir he gave me.

  I sigh, thinking of how he touched me in this private place. Then I slide my hand down between my legs, feeling the smoothness of my pussy. That’s what he called it, pussy and another word I blush to use, and, dear god, when he stroked me there it was so hot that a fever rises in me even now.

  Bending one of my legs, I open myself, just as I did for him when he told me to. I slip my fingers between my folds, just as he did, stroking and rubbing. I turn my head to the side, burying my face in the crook of my arm as I writhe with every caress, picturing Travis, wanting him…

  Then I exhale. It’s just not the same. I can build myself up by fantasizing about how sexy he is, yet I can’t put myself over the edge without him here, because the old anxiety has set in again. What’s going to happen next with him? When? Will he turn cold once again, like he did tonight?

  I squeeze my thighs together, trying to chase the pulsing need away. I press my fingers to my pussy and hope that it’s enough to smooth away the craving for him. Meanwhile, fears run through my mind, making me wonder if I disappointed Travis in some way tonight. Why did he suddenly turn so cool again after I climaxed? Did I do something wrong?

  Worst of all, what if he tells me he wants to end the contract for sure?

  This feels like a probationary period, ever since I had to convince him—beg him practically—to keep me on after he said he wanted to end the contract.

  I listen to the soft, metallic hum of traffic below, the echo of the occasional car horn from the street, and gradually it all fades into a fall of darkness.

  As it fades, my mind circles back to my mother and brother. Hoping they’re okay, hoping, praying that I can make this up to them. Yes, I left, but someday I’ll come back and help you both escape with me…

  I only awaken the next morning to the gush of sunlight through the window.

  As I take in my unfamiliar surroundings, my heart clogs my throat while my pulse rips through me. For a moment, I’m panicked and confused. Then I remember: I’m in a gorgeous luxury apartment in New York.

  Me!

  Suddenly full of excitement, I bolt up in bed, glancing at the antique clock that tells me I’ve slept in and it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Wow, talk about a lazybones. I’ve never slept this late in my life, and it feels decadent. I almost brace myself for Gary’s threats—Get me some lunch you dumb little bitch! Get to work or I’ll get the belt out and lay it on your ass!—and I realize that I’m far away from him.

  And I have Travis to thank for that.

  When I catch sight of myself in the mirror, my dark hair tangled, my cheeks pink, I smile. See what a good night’s sleep—well, a little bit of sleep—can do? I feel much better now.

  I adjust the top of the peignoir, and even though it’s gauzy, you can only see a hint of the tips of my breasts through the fabric. If Travis walked in right now, would he think I’m being too forward for greeting him on the bed wearing this? I mean, he gave it to me so…

  Wait. When did he say he’ll be returning?

  My heart takes a dive as I realize that he didn’t specify a time, so I roll out of bed and head for the attached bathroom. It gleams with gold trim and marble everything, and the shower has multiple heads that I can’t wait to try. But the bathtub...

  Oh, the bathtub.

  It’s a marble submerged hot tub with a waterfall that spills from the wall, and I quickly turn it on full blast. I pour in bubble bath, and as I lounge in this frothy fantasyland, I enjoy a view of the city outside the window. I take my sweet time, probably an hour, washing my hair, soaping myself up and down. The sound of the waterfall sings to me, and I relax completely.

  Travis sure has good taste, even if I’m still not certain why his tastes run to me, besides the whole virgin thing.

  At any rate, after I dry off, I slather on sinfully thick orange blossom lotion, then wrap myself in the fluffy robe that’s been set out for me. I head back to my bedroom, and once there, I notice something amiss.

  My bed has been made.

  I glance around, but there’s no one here.

  “Hello?” I ask.

  I think I hear a door close in the entry vestibule, and I pull the robe around me tighter. Then I see that there’s a light on in the immense walk-in closet that Travis showed me yesterday. I make my way toward it.

  I enter, then stop in my tracks. Where there were empty shelves and hangers before, now there are gowns, skirts, blouses, and shoes.

  I’m like Dorothy in Oz. I’ve never seen so many pretty things in one place before, and I wander around, checking sizes, which are all accurate, and noticing the designer labels.

  Someone’s been in here, all right: a maid, and perhaps others. Either way, whoever it was did a lot in a short time.

  I hustle around the rest of the apartment, but no one’s there either. However, there are a bunch of new treats that have been left for me: the fridge and cabinets are stocked with food, including the creamy blueberry ice cream and shelled pistachios that I listed as guilty pleasures on the Highest Bidder website. All the curtains are open to show me the bright view of the city, and when I turn on the plasma TV, I find that every channel I could possibly want to watch is on there.

  Last night I thought I’d stepped into heaven. Now I’m sure of it.

  After looking around to see that I’m definitely alone, I run to an overstuffed leather sofa and crash onto it, laughing, wondering when I’m going to wake up from this fantastic dream. Then I attack that blueberry ice cream and pistachios, as well as drink a ready-made strawberry shortcake, bingeing on every show that I’ve ever wanted to watch on TV. Any moment I expect to be caught, to be told to get my ass in gear, but that’s not going to happen here.

  I sink into the cushions with a grateful smile and indulge myself, feeling no guilt whatsoever.

  A couple of hours pass. The sunlight angles through the window, and I finally get dressed into something from my closet that I think Travis will like when he arrives—an elegant yet flirty little sheath. It’s beige with a beaded pattern, the hem scalloped enough to offer a peek of the lacy slip that ends at my upper thigh. It has thin straps, and I choose a creamy strapless bra to go under it. I only wear the briefest of underwear—a bare piece of satin with wing-
like flutters of material on the sides, soft and feminine.

  I check my phone for any messages from Travis. Nothing.

  The horrible sense of dread that haunted me last night about pleasing him begins to creep up on me again. The TV starts to echo through the big apartment, emphasizing how lonely it can be, and my heartbeat begins to thud with worry.

  The sunlight dims through the window and the lights begin to go on in the city. The TV shows start to bore me, and I wander around, looking at the art on the walls, guessing why Travis bought each painting, each antique, each decoration and how long it took for him to get bored with them.

  I eat another meal by myself in the dining room, checking my phone the whole time to see if maybe I missed a message from him. I even consider calling Mom to reassure her that I’m in a safe place, but Gary will surely be monitoring her calls, so that’s out.

  Finally, after the sky darkens, I get ready to read one of the books from the library in the living room, setting my iPhone in the docking station by the stereo. My limbs feel heavy, and it’s not because of jet lag or emotional exhaustion—I feel like a failure.

  Perhaps I’m just one of many dolls sitting on the shelf, waiting to be selected for use. Maybe I won’t be used again.

  The thought startles me and frightens me.

  I know I should be happy that I could make the money for doing just about nothing, but the truth is that I love the way Travis Star makes me feel. I already miss it.

  After some more time goes by, I start to take off my sexy little dress, because it looks like Travis isn’t going to see it, when a knock sounds on the door to the apartment.

  I push back my excitement, although a vein in my neck pounds so hard that I’m sure he’ll notice. After I scamper to the door, I look at the built-in security monitor screen and see Travis standing outside in the hall, his hands folded behind his back, head down.

  “It’s Travis,” he says in a level voice. “Open the door.”

  I take a moment to gather my composure, then open the door. He strides in, tenser than I’ve ever seen him, his shoulders taut under his jacket. Who knows what’s troubling him, but it’s clear that something’s wrong.

  He moves into the living room, where I’ve been luxuriating all day, and takes a seat in a white leather armchair, leaning back, giving me that appraising eye.

  And I’m already heating up, just by seeing him again. Just by being under his scrutiny.

  “I meant to be here earlier,” he says, “but I had a lot going on at work. Issues needed to be tended to and I wasn’t able to get away.”

  “That’s fine.” I fold my hands in front of me, but then I feel foolish, like a little schoolgirl in her big sister’s sexy dress. I force myself to look casual with my hands at my sides. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

  “Are you?”

  I nod. I want to ask what issues are hounding him, but something tells me he isn’t about to discuss it. He wants to leave everything behind, and that’s why he’s come here, to be with me.

  He scans me slowly, taking in my dress, my bare legs and feet, then back up until he gets to my face. Thank goodness I put on makeup. I only wish I’d worn those strappy high heels in the closet so he could see me as some glamorous creature, a woman on his high-end level.

  But as his gaze begins to burn into me, I think he doesn’t mind the lack of shoes so much.

  “Is there anything I can get you? A drink?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  “I don’t need a drink at the moment. But there is something you can do for me,” he says.

  “Sure. What can I do?”

  His eyes darken and his nostrils flare. “Strip for me, Nova,” he says.

  Chapter 7

  He wants me to take off my clothes for him, right here, right now.

  I can feel my skin go red at his demand. Judging from Travis’s tense posture as he sits in that chair, my guess is that he wants this because it’ll somehow relieve the stress he walked in here with; he thinks this will distract from whatever is bothering him.

  But I’ve never stripped in any way or form before—not for another person, not even for my own amusement in front of a mirror. I’ve only seen movies with strippers in them, and their bodies are perfect.

  Mine isn’t so much.

  Travis obviously senses my lack of confidence. “You’re hesitating.”

  “That’s because this is—”

  “Your first time. But that’s what I want from you, remember?” He grips the armrests on the chair. “Just take off your clothes, Beautiful, and do it slowly, so I can appreciate every cock-teasing inch of your gorgeous body.”

  My god.

  His voice is a rumble, the tone of a man who won’t be denied, and he only confirms that when he repeats, “I told you to strip, Nova.”

  Even as my belly swirls with sexual anticipation, I smooth my hands down the pretty sheath he gave me to wear. Despite my anxiety, I can do this for the money, for the chance to have a new life, and god, maybe for another orgasm like the one that rocked me last night.

  I just have to find the guts to get started.

  Music, I think. I’ll need a song or two that’ll get me going, songs that I’ve listened to in the dark of my room at home, in my own private place where I could imagine a man’s hands on me without anyone ever knowing how it would really feel.

  I move to the stereo system where I’d already put my phone into the docking station. As I access my most secret playlist, my hands shake. Then the music starts, the sound barely covering my shallow breathing, my anxious heartbeat.

  A soft, sensual yet playful beat from a song begins, and I turn to Travis. I do everything I can to keep myself together and not run away from his fervid gaze.

  Strip, he said, but before I begin, I lower my head so my hair spills partway over my face. That way I won’t be able to see Travis watching me; I won’t see his disappointment when I reveal all of my body, all my curves and imperfections. I won’t see his frustration with my clumsy attempts at seducing him.

  The singer’s gravelly, velvety voice tangles with the bass, piano, and guitar, and as he sings, I pretend I’m dancing alone in my room. I let the music flow through me and I sway, skimming my hands down my hips and moving my shoulders slightly. Almost accidentally, I catch a glimpse at Travis through my hair and see him watching, his jaw tensed, his knuckles white as he clutches those armrests. His gaze devours me, and my heart quakes in my chest.

  He’s into this. Keep going.

  The music really kicks in, the singer’s voice deep with longing. My confidence grows, and I shimmy, using one hand to push back my hair a little. I look into Travis’s unwavering gaze and start to go creamy between my legs, where I’ve already started to pulse for him.

  The song builds, growing more passionate, the thuds from the bass echoing through me, and I bite my bottom lip.

  “Your dress,” Travis says. “Take it off.”

  I ease down one dress strap. I glimpse at him as his eyes follow my fingers. The fabric at my chest gapes, showing the top of one breast, and seeing how ravenous Travis is for more I shrug, letting the material dip down farther, giving him what he wants.

  But not too much.

  He gives a slow, curved smile. At least I think he does, because he wipes his hand over his mouth, and when he’s done, he’s just as stony as ever. Yet his eyes…

  His eyes say everything, and sparks tumble through my veins like hot blood.

  “More,” he says.

  I turn my back to him, still swaying as I push down my other strap. Slowly, I allow my dress to gather around my waist.

  The music plays on, the singer pleading now, the beat pushing forward as I wait a moment, long enough for me to peek back at Travis from beneath my hair. He’s running his gaze down my back, over my bottom, still gripping the armrests with both hands. My wicked body responds with a sharp tug of lust from my clit. I can feel how slippery my pussy is getting, and that plus his obvious desire
urges me on.

  “Your bra,” he says. “Take that off now.”

  I reach in back of me to unclasp the strapless bra, and as it loosens, I cup my hands over my breasts, taking my time in turning around to face the man who hired me.

  I pause, my pulse drilling through me. Travis’s obvious craving for me is almost too much, and it’s all I can do to stay here, rooted to the spot, not running away from such raw need. I’m still too embarrassed about what I’m doing, too new at this, and I stand there with my hands over the cups of my bra, pressing them to my breasts.

  Then Travis leans forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. “More,” he whispers. “Goddammit, Nova, give me what I want.”

  His voice is as gritty as it was last night when he was touching me, working me to my first orgasm, and as the memory slides over me, I let the bra drop to the floor.

  He lavishes a gaze over my breasts, and my nipples go hard, caressed by the air and by his obvious appetite. I think I hear a tortured groan come from him.

  And that’s all it takes.

  I push the dress down my hips, and even though I don’t mean to shimmy again I do it anyway.

  “Fuck,” Travis murmurs.

  The song is at its peak, my pulse chugging with the driving rhythm. I can feel how sopped my panties are now as I start to push them down, taking my sweet time as Travis’s gaze follows their descent, as I expose my bare pussy to him.

  When I step out of those panties, the next song on my playlist starts, sensuous and dreamy.

  My clit is beating hard for him, begging for him to reach for me, to pull me onto his lap again so he can make me come. But Travis only watches me with a gaze that’s fully in control, even though there’s an edge there that I can’t define.

  “Jesus, Nova,” he says harshly, his voice betraying what that edge is. He sounds desperate for me, and for some reason, instinct makes me start to cover myself up with my hands.

  “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t you fucking dare.”