Barely Yours (6 page)

Library? He didn’t tell me this place has it’s own freaking
library
! Oh my god. I could die of happiness, just standing here in this room, taking everything in. It’s incredible.
So
many books, stacked from floor to ceiling, enough to need a ladder to reach the top. You know that moment in
Beauty and the Beast
, when she’s in the dusty old bookshop, and she’s on the ladder, clutching the book to her chest, and she’s just singing with happiness?

Well, right now I feel like
that
. Except, Will isn’t exactly a beast, is he? Quite the opposite in fact. But I know I shouldn’t be thinking about how hot he is. He’s my
employer
, remember.

It’s my first night here alone. Will’s gone to Brussels for an emergency business meeting and Tabby is staying with her grandparents – Will’s mom and dad – tonight. And although I guess it’s kind of weird to be wandering alone around someone else’s house, I’m actually kind of glad that he’s not here. There’s just something a little bit too
intense
about being alone with him sometimes. And I really don’t think I could handle that on my first evening living in this house.

Because after all, I’m still shell shocked that this place – this beautiful mansion – is actually my home now. The whole thing just happened so fast.

One minute I was shooting my mouth off about my roommate, and the next thing I know, I’m piling my stuff into a moving truck while Magenta looks on incredulously. Because I’ve got to be lying, right? There’s no way in hell a girl like me could suddenly be moving to one of the most prestigious zip codes in London.

And yet, here I am.

I’ll have to write to Mom and Dad, to let them know I’ve moved. I hope they don’t think something funny’s going on when I tell them the scenario. Because it’s not weird, is it? Plenty of people get jobs as live in au pairs. It’s
totally normal
. 

I slip the beautiful first edition hardback book back on the shelf and leave the library empty handed, making a mental note to ask as soon as Will gets back if it’s okay if I borrow it. I’ve only been here five minutes after all, and I don’t want to be accused of theft or anything.

I stroll along the corridor and down a set of plushly-carpeted stairs into what I’m guessing must be the basement. But this isn’t any kind of basement I’m used to, the kind with a laundry room and some scruffy old armchair or pool table. This is a whole other
floor
.

It’s practically it’s own leisure complex. I can’t believe it. There’s a gym, a twelve-seater home cinema, and ...
Oh my god
. Is that a swimming pool?

Holy crap.

It’s all I can do to stop myself dancing from joy. This is amazing! This place has it’s own basement swimming pool? That is just completely unbelievable. Imagine actually living like this!

And then it dawns on me all over again.

I do. 

My meeting runs over so it’s already gone nine pm by the time my limo pulls into the driveway of the house in Chelsea. I’m glad to be home, of course, but also a touch frustrated to have missed Tabby’s bedtime. She’ll already be asleep by now, and putting her to bed is very important to me – one of the main joys in my life.

As I step through my own front door a wave of pleasant exhaustion hits me. I drop my bags where I stand in the hall. After all, I’ve worked hard this past week,
damn
hard, so I deserve a few little indulgences like a fleet of staff to tidy up after me. I think I’ve earned it.

I stroll through to the living room, and there, curled up in the mustard armchair is Chrissie, feet tucked under her, nose buried in a book.

She looks so lovely, so peaceful, that I don’t quite want to say hello and spoil things just yet. So instead, I remain in the doorway, watching her for a moment, but perhaps she senses me in the room, because suddenly she looks up startled and practically jumps out of her seat.

“Oh, Will, you’re back. The book, it’s from the library. I hope that’s okay? I haven’t taken it to my room or anything. I just got so into the story that I needed to know how it finished. But I can put it back right away if you like?”

She looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Nice to see you too,” I laugh. “Of course, you can borrow any books you want. I didn’t know you were such a reader. But that’s great. I want Tabby growing up in a house where reading is normal, where she’s exposed to as many books as possible.”

I walk over and collapse onto the sofa nearest to her with a relaxed sigh.

“How was your journey?” she asks, closing the book and setting it down on the arm of her chair, those pretty green eyes glimmering in the firelight.

“Tiring,” I reply honestly. “You’ve no
idea
how boring these Brussels bureaucrats can be. I just want to relax. Do something mindless. Maybe watch a film or something.”

She smiles at me.

“Do you mean like in your
home cinema
?” she asks with a teasing note to her voice. “You didn’t tell me about that, Will!” 

“Oh, that,” I groan. “My grandparents insisted we put one in, years ago. But it was just a fad. All the houses round here have got them but nobody bloody uses them. But the den on the second floor? Now that’s got a huge TV screen and it’s more comfortable, too. How about we go in there and watch something?”

“Sure thing,” she replies with a shy smile.

“Excellent,” I reply. “Although, it’s my choice and I warn you, I’m in the mood for something old fashioned tonight.”

§

I wasn’t lying when I said old fashioned. Because that’s how we end up in the den, watching a timeless classic: Katharine Hepburn in
Bringing Up Baby.

“I’m sorry I was sceptical,” Chrissie says, shaking her head as the end credits begin to roll. “That was a really good movie. And it actually seemed pretty modern too! Well, once you got used to it being in black and white, anyway.”

“I know,” I reply. “I’m so glad you liked it. It’s one of my absolute favourites. I just love Katherine Hepburn. She reminds me of ... well, of you, actually.”

The words leave my mouth before my brain has even checked into gear.

“What do you mean?” she says, meeting my eye for a moment.

She blushes, and I wonder if I’ve perhaps gone too far. I know I shouldn’t tell her how I feel, but I just can’t stop myself. It comes rushing out of me, all at once.

“She’s got this passion in her,” I explain. “She’s so
alive
. Her eyes burst into flames, her whole body on high alert, like a dancer, like a vixen caught in the hunt. You reminded me of her the other night, Chrissie, when you were telling me about your dreams, the way you wanted to travel.”

Okay, so she’s definitely blushing now. And she looks so beautiful, curled up next to me, here on the sofa, dressed in that simple white cotton dress, the one that shows off her long bare tanned legs to perfection. She lowers her head and looks up at me through those long, luscious lashes.

“I’m so relieved,” she says. “I was worried you thought I was crazy, the way I was going on!”

She’s so beautiful, I can’t help myself, can’t help what happens next. Because she makes
me
crazy, too – she makes me act in ways that I don’t understand, makes me act without thinking, without rational thought, just pure animal instinct. Without a word, I reach over and gently lift her chin so that she’s looking up at me.

And then ...

He touches my face, gently lifting my chin so that I’m forced to meet his gaze. His arresting passionate gaze, the very same one I’ve been trying to avoid ever since we stopped watching the movie, ever since we started talking, ever since he started talking about
me
.

Is this really going to happen?

Is he going to do what I
think
he’s going to do?

Or am I reading this all wrong, again, just like before?

I’m trembling as he moves those full sensuous lips ever closer to mine, and then gently – ever so gently at first – he kisses me. One, two, three, four, five, but this time he doesn’t break the kiss and neither do I. And soon it becomes more urgent, his lips pressing hard against mine, his tongue pushing into my mouth, flicking against my own.

I sigh as his hands move from my face into my hair, and I crush my aching body against his. I’m pressed against him so urgently now; it’s like we’ve been holding this off for so long that once it’s here, we need it with every inch of our bodies. Because all of a sudden, it’s gone
way
beyond a kiss.

I feel his hands cupping my ass, pulling me even closer against him, so close my breasts are grazing his broad, firm chest now. And before I even know what I’m doing, my hands are exploring the vast expanse of his back – all rippling muscles and taut firm skin. Then, with an electric flash of surprise, his hands have moved from my face to my breasts, cupping them through my dress, and it’s like everything gets even
more
intense.

We kiss like crazy, our hands exploring each other’s bodies, fast and frantic, totally hungry for each other.

I moan into his mouth, as I feel his hand slide up my thigh and then go right between my legs, working my aching clit through my panties. I even push back against his hand, grinding myself harder against him, pushing my tongue even deeper into his mouth, the yearning in my building ache inside me so intense now it’s almost like a pain. A moment later, he’s pushed my panties to the side, and I feel that flash of electric intensity as his fingers actually touch me there, teasing and toying with my swelling flesh, working me into a sighing shuddering mess.

With trembling fingers, I start fumbling with his belt, eagerly tugging at his suit pants, then pulling at his silk boxer shorts, and then –
oh my god
– my fingers are actually around him
there
, stroking him, realizing just how hot and hard and ...
big
he is for me.

He groans, and I feel him grow even bigger. Damn. He feels like he’s carved out of rock. My fingers glide up and down his hot hard shaft, guiding him between my legs, knowing it’s just crazy to be going
this far
, but somehow unable to stop myself, shuddering with pleasure as I actually start to brush the head of his cock back and forth against my pussy lips. It would take so little, just a push of his hips, and he’d be right inside me.

But then, all of a sudden, the quietness of the room is pierced with some kind of high-pitched electronic bleeping. What
is
that noise? It must be his cell, but right now it sounds more like an alarm – like a warning even – and it wrenches us out of the moment and into something that more closely resembles reality. 

We stop and look at each other, as if for the first time realizing exactly what we’re about to do. And suddenly the situation is clouded in a new uncertainty.

He doesn’t answers the call, just silences his phone, and I’m about to speak, when, from within the house, comes the deep low chime of the grandfather clock, again striking midnight. And I know, like before, just what this means. It means this is over. We’ve gone too far. This has to stop.

Will pushes himself off me and kneels up on the sofa, pulling up his trousers while I pull my dress back down and hurriedly begin to do up my buttons. And we’re nearly fully dressed, ruffled, uncertain and even a little embarrassed, when there’s
another
noise from the hallway: tiny feet and the whimper of a little girl.

“Daddy, daddy! I had a nightmare!”

“I’m coming sweetie,” he cries, pushing himself quickly off the sofa, opening the door and racing away to comfort his daughter.

I don’t blame him. It’s the right thing to do, the kind thing to do, the fatherly thing to do. But even so, now I’m left here. Alone. Confused. Ashamed.

I want to run away, but that’s when it hits me: I have nowhere to run to.

This is my home now.

So with a weary heart, I leave the room and climb the lonely three flights of stairs – up to my attic floor – to hide myself away like some shameful secret.

§

I don’t even know how I got to sleep. But I must have. Because the next thing I know, it’s a bright new morning, the sunlight streaming through the blinds, and time to start another day. Like last night, I just want to run – to escape this house. But of course, this isn’t just my home. It’s my job, too. I’ve got nowhere else to go and I have to stay here.

Or do I? I mean, apart from the fact that I was so taken by Will’s good looks, one of the things that attracted me to this job in the first place, was the crazy money I was being offered – enough to put my savings account into hyper-drive, enough to get me to South America in no time.

From my bed, I can see the World map on the opposite wall, and I think again about all the places I want to go – Brazil, Peru, Columbia. I need to see the world. After all, I’m pretty sure that I want to study something to do with International Development at grad school. And if I don’t go out and actually
see
the world, then how will I know that’s the right career path for me?

But this job, with its crazy salary isn’t the only way to get me there. I need to remind myself that only a few weeks ago, it wasn’t even an option.

I just walked out of Madame Iris’s Baby Boutique, didn’t I? What exactly is stopping me from resigning my position here, too. Booking a one way ticket to Brazil. All it would cost me is a maxed out credit card.

But then I think about Tabby. About Will. And even though he was so cold to me last night, it’s like something is stopping me from giving up on him. On both of them.

I force myself out of bed, quickly shower in the en-suite bathroom, throw on some clothes, then head to the nursery to see if Tabby’s waiting for me in there. But weirdly, the nursery quarters are empty, save for one of the housemaids who’s busy changing the bedding.

“Good morning, Miss!” she says brightly. “Miss Tabitha is breakfasting with her father this morning.”

This must be a good sign
, I think.
If he hasn’t hidden himself away, then that must mean he wants to talk about last night. I was kinda worried he was going to pretend it had never even happened.

But when I get to the kitchen, there’s no cute little girl to say good morning to me. Oh no. Instead, there’s just Will: dressed in a sharp black business suit, cup of coffee in his hand, and an icy cold expression on his face as he turns the page of the
Financial Times
.

And when I enter the room and stand awkwardly at the end of the huge table, he barely looks up to register my presence.

“Good morning?” I say, unable to get the questioning tone quite out of my voice.

No answer.

I was glad to see him a second ago, but now I’m not so sure. I nervously make myself a cup of coffee too, just to keep busy. Luckily, the Scandinavian wood kitchen table is so big that I can sit on the other end of it, and put some distance between us.

“Where’s Tabby?” I offer.

“I sent Tabitha to the TV room,” he replies coolly, still not even looking up from his paper. “And actually, I wanted to talk to you about something privately. I’m slightly concerned that Tabby is picking up some ... how can I put this?
Slovenly
habits from you.”

I’m stunned. What the hell? I’ve no idea where all this is suddenly coming from.

“She called me
pop
this morning. A dreadful Americanism, which I can only assume she picked up from you. If you would
please
be more careful with the language you use around my daughter,” he adds witheringly. “She comes from a very good family and she will grow up a proper lady. Therefore it is imperative she talks like one. “

I’m totally dumbstruck, no idea how to reply. For one thing, I don’t even use the word pop myself. I’ve always just called Dad, well, Dad. It’s not a word I’ve used, and so Tabby can’t have picked it up from me. 

I feel anger rising up inside me and I want to defend myself, to shout out:
I don’t use that word. It’s not my fault. Maybe it’s all the television you let her watch. Did you ever think she might have picked it up from there?!?

But one look at his face tells me that would be a pretty dangerous move. This subject is clearly no longer up for discussion, this or any other subject for that matter.

I stare down into my cup of coffee. Coffee that now tastes so bitter.

And then I mutter quietly, barely audibly, “Roger that.”

Will snaps his newspaper shut, as if to signal a satisfactory end to the discussion.

“I’m going to the office,” he announces.

And those dark eyes – eyes that last night seemed so alive, burning with fire and passion – are now totally steely and cold, emotionless, dead.

“Try to do something educational with Tabitha today,” he adds.

And with that he drains his coffee, places his cup back on the table, picks up the embossed dark leather briefcase, and without another word leaves the room.

Alone in the silent kitchen, it’s all I can do to fight back the tears.