The Nanny Plan

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “You,” he whispered. And then her lips were against his and he was kissing her back and it was good. So good. His hands kept right on moving of their own accord, sliding down until he’d cupped her bottom, the pads of his fingertips digging in as he pushed her higher. Her mouth opened for him and he tasted her, dipping his tongue into her honeyed sweetness. He went hard in an instant, pressing against the soft warmth of her stomach. Her nipples seemed to respond, growing hard and hot against his chest—so hot he could feel them through his shirt.

  God, her mouth—this kiss—it was right. She was right, tucked in his arms where he could taste her and feel her body pressed against his and—and—

  She pulled away. Not very far, but far enough that he had to stop kissing her, which was harder to do than he expected.

  Her arms unlinked from around his neck and then, as coolly as if the kiss had never happened, she was smoothing the shirt over his shoulders. “You’re going to be late.”

  “Um...yeah.” That was not exactly the kind of thing a man liked to hear after the kind of kiss that left said man practically unable to walk. “I should—I should go.”

  She stepped away from him and it was only then that he saw how the kiss had affected her. Her eyes were glazed and her chest was heaving with what he hoped was desire. As he watched, the tip of her tongue darted out and ran over her top lip as if she were tasting his kiss and he almost lost it. Almost fell to his knees to beg her forgiveness but he was going to sleep with her, contractual language be damned. All that mattered was him and her and absolutely no bow ties.

  She took another step back. “Don’t—” She took a deep breath, which did some interesting things to her chest. “Don’t let Lola steamroll you, okay?”

  He managed a perfectly serviceable grin, as if her body in his arms was not a big deal at all. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

  * * *

  Nate didn’t want to do this. He did not want to walk into one of the premiere high-society events of the social season. He did not want women to look at him like he was a lamb being led to sacrifice on the altar of Eligible Billionaire Bachelors. He didn’t want to sit through a dinner on a dais in front of the room and know that people were watching him to see if he would do something of note.

  “Mr. Longmire,” an older gentleman who looked vaguely familiar said as he hurried forth and shook Nate’s hand vigorously. “We weren’t sure if you were actually going to make it.”

  “Yes,” Nate said, feeling the wall go up between him and his surroundings. He hated social events in general and formal ones in particular. The only way to get through this was to pretend that he was somehow above the proceedings. That’s how he’d gotten through the lawsuits and it probably had contributed to his reputation as being ruthless.

  He’d be much happier back home—even if Trish had locked herself in her room and he spent the night in the media room, staring at code.

  He’d kissed her.

  At the very least, he’d kissed her back.

  But hot on the heels of that delicious memory of her tasting him and him tasting her, a terrible thought occurred to him.

  He’d broken the deal.

  Oh, no. How could he have done that? A deal was a deal and he always kept a deal.

  Except for this. Except for Trish.

  Worst-case scenarios—each more terrible than the last—flipped through his mind. They all ended in basically the same way—Trish packing up her things and being gone by morning, all because he couldn’t resist her.

  The older gentleman’s welcoming smile faltered. “Yes, well, this way, please. Mr. Martin Finklestein has been asking after you.”

  “I bet he has.” The older man’s smile faltered so much that he lost his grip on it entirely, which made Nate feel bad. He was sure the rumor mill was working overtime as it was. “Lead on, please.”

  The older man—Nate could not remember his name—turned and all but scurried off toward the bar. Alcohol was already flowing, all the better to get people to crack open their wallets.

  Nate followed. He was aware of people pausing in their conversations and watching him as he passed, but he was too worried about what Trish might be doing at this very moment to give a damn.

  “Ah, Nate.” The bright—some might say grating—voice of Lola Finklestein snaked through the hushed conversations and assaulted his ears. “There you are!”

  He turned toward the voice. It was a shame, really. Her voice notwithstanding, Lola was a beautiful woman. She had a mass of thick black curls that were always artfully arranged. She had a swan’s graceful neck and a slim figure. She was a beloved patron of the arts and of course she was heiress to the Finklestein fortune. By all objective measures, she was one hell of a catch.

  Despite it all, Nate couldn’t stand her. Her voice rubbed his nerve endings raw and she always had an odd scent, like...peaches and onions. He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life stuffing cotton balls in his ears and lighting scented candles to cover the smell of her perfume.

  Especially not after that kiss. Not after having Trish in his arms.

  “Here I am,” he agreed, feeling like a condemned man standing before the gallows.

  “We’ve been worried sick about you. Where on earth have you been keeping yourself for the last three weeks? You know that the Celebration of the Zoo last week was just no fun without you.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” Nate said. Which was a lame excuse—but still much better than being subjected to all kinds of condolences from this crowd. That was one of the reasons he kept Brad and Elena’s deaths out of the press. He simply couldn’t bear the thought of Lola hugging him and crying for his family.

  He kept his back straight and what he hoped was a polite smile on his face. Of course, he’d seen photos of his “polite smile.” It barely broke the threshold of “impolite snarl,” but it was the best he could do.

  He just wanted to be back at home. With Trish.

  Was there a chance, however small, that the kiss had been the start of something else? Something more?

  “Well, you’re here now,” Lola said, leaning in to brush kisses across both of his cheeks. “Oh, I have someone I want you to meet.” She turned. “Diana?”

  The name barely had a moment to register before a blonde woman in a blue dress separated from the others. Nate’s brain crashed so fast, it felt like someone had tripped the surge protector in his mind.

  She looked different now. Her face was tighter, her breasts larger—and was her nose slimmer, too?

  Diana Carter.

  The woman who’d nearly ruined him.

  “Oh,” she said in the breathy voice that he’d only heard on a few occasions—like when he’d told her about the first big round of investing he’d managed to secure for SnAppShot. And when he’d introduced her to Brad. “Nate and I do know each other. We go way back.”

  “Diana. You’re looking...lovely.” He realized he’d forgotten his polite smile, but this was possibly the worst thing that could have happened tonight.

  Well, not the worst. Trish could have slapped him after that kiss. She could still leave.

  But this was a close second.

  Diana batted her eyes at him.

  Damn it all. A very close second.

  “I need to talk to you. Privately,” he added as Lola stepped forward. Lola frowned.

  Diana’s demure face froze before she purred, “Of course.”

  “This way.” Nate stalked off to a corner, chasing a lingering waiter away with a glare. “What are you doing here?” he demanded when they could speak without being overheard.

  She gave him a reproachful look, as if he’d wounded her pride. “Is that any way to greet your fiancée?”

  His teeth ground together. “Former fiancée. And yes, it is.”

 
“About that.” She sighed, her new and improved chest rising dramatically. “I was actually hoping to talk to you.”

  Nate’s mouth opened to tell her where she could go but he slammed the brakes on and got his mouth shut just in time. If he looked hard enough, he could see the woman he’d once thought he’d loved. The Diana he’d known had been pretty enough, but with glasses and a habit of smiling nervously. She’d been shy and a little geeky and intelligent—exactly the kind of woman he’d thought he’d needed.

  Until he’d taken her home to meet his family. And then she’d revealed that she was something more than all that.

  “Why?”

  Diana dropped her gaze and then looked up at him through her thick lashes. It felt entirely calculated. “I thought...we could let bygones be bygones.” She exhaled through slightly parted lips. “I thought we might start over.”

  His mental circuitry overloaded and suddenly he was back at a single blinking cursor on an otherwise blank screen. The woman who’d broken his heart and tried to claim half of his company as her own because they’d just started dating when Nate thought it up— “You want to start over?”

  She had the nerve to look hopeful. “Yes.”

  No. No.

  “Brad’s dead.”

  This time, Diana’s reaction wasn’t schooled or calculated. The blood drained out of her face and she took a shocked step backwards. “What?”

  “You remember Brad? My older brother, the one you slept with because—and stop me if I’m not remembering this part correctly—you told me it was because he was ‘like me’ but better? He’s dead.”

  Diana fell back another step. Her hand dropped to her side and what was left of her champagne spilled onto the floor. “What—when?”

  “After we settled in court, he married an old girlfriend and they had a baby. They were very happy.” He didn’t know why he was telling her this. Only that, on some level, he felt like she deserved to know. “Until three weeks ago. A car accident. And now they’re both dead.”

  Diana covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes painfully wide. “I didn’t—I hadn’t heard. I didn’t know.”

  “No, of course not. After you cheated on me—after you tried to cheat me out of my company—I learned to keep things close to the vest. I learned how to avoid giving people anything they might use against me. I learned how to keep things out of the media.”

  Diana shook her head from side to side, as if she could deny that she’d changed him. That he’d let her change him. She took another step back and Nate matched it with a step forward. “I have you to thank for that. So, to answer your question, no. We can’t start over. We can’t go back. I can’t trust you. Not now, not ever. You said it yourself, didn’t you? ‘I can do better.’ That’s the justification you had for falling into Brad’s bed. He was better than me in everything but brains. That’s the justification you used to try and take half of SnAppShot. And now that I’m the richest damn man in the room, you realize you can’t do better, can you?”

  “No—that’s—I’m—”

  He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t lock it down and bury all of this behind his wall of distance. In a moment of panic, he even tried to recall the original code to give him some measure of control over himself, but all he had was a flash of white-hot anger. Because she’d changed him. She’d made him afraid to be himself because being Nate Longmire hadn’t been good enough. And he was tired of only being good enough because he was a billionaire.

  That’s not how Trish saw him. He was not a bank account to be conquered. He was a man who hadn’t figured out all the mechanics of changing a diaper, who wasn’t afraid to ask for help. He was not a meal ticket to be exploited until there was nothing left.

  “It is. And I’m not the same naive nerd anymore, grateful for a pretty girl who didn’t think I was a total loser.”

  “I never said that about you.” She seemed to be regaining her balance. “I cared for you.”

  “But you didn’t care enough.” All of his anger bled out of him.

  She had changed him. She’d made him tougher, smarter. He knew how to play the game now. It wasn’t all bad. Just a broken heart. Everyone had one, once. He couldn’t hold a grudge. “I wish you luck, Diana. I hope you find the man who’s good enough for you. But it’s not me. It never was me and we both know it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  He turned and walked off, pushing through the crowd like they were just so many sheep in Armani tuxedos. He couldn’t bear to be here for another moment. He needed to breathe again and he couldn’t do that with this stupid tie around his neck.

  “Nate? Wait!”

  He didn’t know why he slowed. He’d said what he needed to say. But he slowed, anyway.

  Diana Carter—the woman who had held so much sway over his life—caught up to him. “Nate,” she said, her perfectly made-up eyes wet with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry about your brother and his wife. Please—” Her chest hiccupped a little. She reached over and touched his shoulder. “Please accept my condolences on your loss.”

  “Thank you.” He patted her hand where she was touching him and then, on impulse, lifted her hand to his lips.

  She nodded in acceptance. “She’s a lucky woman.”

  “Who?”

  Diana gave him a watery smile, then she leaned up on her toes and brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Whoever she is. Goodbye, Nate.”

  “Goodbye, Diana.” Their hands touched for another moment and then, by unspoken agreement, they separated. Nate had to bail. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t sit in the front of this crowded room and pretend he was above the dinner and the speeches and all the people trying to figure out how to get closer to him. He couldn’t put up his walls. Hell, he couldn’t find his walls. Even his original code, which always kept him calm, failed him.

  “Nate?” The voice was unmistakable. Lola. “Nate! Where are you going? You just got here!” Honestly, it was like fingernails down a chalkboard.

  Nate kept going. He’d had things to say to Diana. He’d been close to marrying her, after all. But Lola? No, he didn’t have things to say to her.

  He dug out his phone and called for a hired car as he stalked out of the Opera House.

  He had things he wanted to say to Trish.

  He hoped like hell she’d listen.

  Eight

  Trish had her laptop on her lap, her thesis document open.

  She wasn’t looking at it.

  She wasn’t looking at anything, really. Her eyes were focused out the big curved picture window in Nate’s front parlor, but the darkness was not what she was seeing.

  No, what she was seeing was the way Nate’s pulse had jumped in his throat when she’d grabbed the ends of his tie. She was feeling the way his hands had settled around her waist.

  She was tasting the kiss on her lips. His kiss.

  This was a fine how-do-you-do, wasn’t it? She’d kissed him. She didn’t kiss people. She didn’t sleep with people. She kept anyone who might even be remotely interested in her at twenty paces. Technically, that made her a twenty-five-year-old virgin, although she’d never thought about it in those terms. Not often, anyway. Sure, sex was probably a lot of fun—why else did her mother keep having it?—but she wasn’t going to pay for twenty minutes of pleasure with the rest of her life.

  She was not her mother’s daughter, damn it all. At least, she hadn’t been until one week ago. She was only four months from being twenty-six. By the time Pat Hunter was twenty-six, she had three kids, was pregnant with her fourth and had six more yet to come. She couldn’t hold a job or a man. She was barely getting by.

  That’s not what Trish was. Trish was educated. She had a plan. She had things to do, things that would be derailed by something so grand as falling in love and so base as ge
tting laid. She kept her eyes on the prize and her pants firmly zipped.

  Until Nate. Until the very moment when he’d walked out on stage, if she was going to be honest about it. She hadn’t had a single intention of doing anything remotely sexual with, about, or to Nate Longmire when she’d researched him. She’d noted he was attractive in the same way she might admire a well-carved statue, but there’d been no attraction. No desire.

  There sure as hell was now. Because she’d kissed him. Prim, proper—some would say prudish—Patricia Hunter had kissed Nate Longmire.

  What was she doing?

  Wondering what sex with Nate would be like, that’s what. Wondering if she’d actually go through with it, or if her healthy respect for the consequences would slam her legs shut again.

  She could do it, after all. She was smart enough to use protection. She could enjoy safe sex with a man she was attracted to without losing herself in him, like Pat always had.

  Couldn’t she?

  Dimly, she was aware of traffic outside, but it wasn’t until the front door slammed shut that she became aware of her surroundings.

  Then he was there. Nate Longmire filled the parlor doorway, each hand on the door frame as if he was physically holding himself back.

  “Nate! Is everything all right?” She glanced at the clock. It was only 8:45. “I wasn’t expecting you home for hours.”

  “I want you to know something,” he said, his voice low and from somewhere deep in the back of his throat. A shiver raced down her back at his commanding tone. “I want you to understand—I do not break a deal.”

  He bit the words out as if he were furious with them—or with her. She sat there for moment in a state of shock. This was, by far and away, the most enraged she’d ever seen him. “Oh?”

  “I keep my word. My word is my bond. That’s how my father raised me.” She saw his fingers flex around the doorjamb. Would he rip the wood right off the wall? “When I say I’m going to do something—or not do something—then that’s how it is. Canceling those two events because of Brad and Elena—it drove me nuts. But it couldn’t be helped.”