The Billionaire's Nanny: A BWWM Romantic Comedy (11 page)

“That’s the last thing I said to her. My wife. She hemorrhaged and died. Too quickly for them to do a thing. Her mother screamed”Murderer!" at me in the waiting room. She knew we fought all the time. She blamed me, saying it was our fighting that made the delivery go wrong. My parents had no idea anything was less than sunny. Well, until then."

He’s quiet for the length of a whole row. Finally he looks up at the starry sky and sighs. “This is the hard part,” he says.

I’m quiet, wondering how it gets worse than losing your wife in childbirth and having her mother call you a murderer.

“I left. I walked out of the hospital. I never even held my newborn daughter.”

Corbin’s voice is tight. I’m shocked, but I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back and is quiet for a while. I can hear that his breathing is ragged and I want to give him space to deal with it how he wants to. I don’t want to say “Are you okay” and open the floodgates because I think he’d hate that. But I don’t know. Because I don’t know him.

Finally, he takes in a deep breath of air and it only catches a little. "I went to India and I stayed for seven months. My parents took care of Maeve. My sisters all have kids, so there was lots of baby gear around and they just stepped up and took care of this helpless newborn.

“God, I’ve been such a shit. I felt guilty about Elise dying. I was angry that she left me with a baby that…” he swallows. "Well, a baby I never wanted. And then I felt guilty about
that.
So I just ran off to India, presumably to work. I hoped I could either find spiritual enlightenment or work myself to death. In the end, it was spirits–booze–and I tried to drink myself to death. I was a completely self-indulgent piece of crap for about three months. I never spoke to my parents, I never asked about Maeve. They knew where I was, but left me alone, no doubt telling themselves they weren’t surprised it had come to this, a fuckup like me.

"And when I realized that, when I saw that I was falling right back into it, I fought back. I stopped drinking. I started learning yoga and lifting weights. I started to go out into the community and realized that if I moved the textile mill, I’d destroy all these lives, wreck this village. So I instead worked to make conditions there better, to make the plant more efficient and cost effective so that I could sell the rest of the company on keeping our operation in Gujarat.

“I even started to ask about Maeve. It’s funny, her name was one of the very few things Elise and I agreed on. We fought over the middle name–I wanted Frances, after the sister born two years before me that died in infancy, she wanted Eleanor, after her richest aunt.”

I realize I don’t know Maeve’s middle name. “Who won?”

“She did. I even felt guilty about resenting that at first. My parents had been sending me photos of her all along and I started printing them out and hanging them up. I started Skyping with them so Maeve could see my face. But I still couldn’t face going back. Boston can be a really small town in some ways and the Hamiltons had turned a lot of people against me. But, about two months ago, my parents called to tell me that the Hamiltons were threatening to sue for custody of Maeve, on the basis that I’d abandoned her.”

“Wow.”

“Well, I had. But they had seldom visited her at my parents’ house, since the Hamiltons and the Pierces were barely civil. So my parents offered me the vineyard. Bob Jenkins was retiring and rather than hire someone with actual knowledge about it, they’d send me out, away from Boston. It’s been in the black for years, I guess they figured I couldn’t screw it up too badly. So I came back home and had about two weeks of baby boot camp before they sent me out.”

“Wow,” I said again.

“Yeah. The plan had been that Deborah, the nanny my parents hired, would come out with us, but she had a family emergency that would delay her. They wanted me to wait for her, but I disliked her from the start and thought I’d find someone on my own. In hindsight, it was probably stupid, but it worked out okay, I think.”

Corbin stops at the edge of the vineyard and smiles at me. “My jaw hurts from talking,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve talked that much in weeks.” He looks at me searchingly. “How do you feel now? I just laid a lot on you.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Um, it’s a lot. I won’t pretend I’m not shocked by you taking off for India, but…I think I understand. Grief is weird and it can come out all kinds of ways. After my parents died, my Grandma had to hold it together for me. And she was great, really, considering. She lost her only child–and she had my mom when she was only 18, so she’d been a constant companion. But she was very strict with me. Even though she wasn’t Catholic, she sent me to a strict Catholic school. And I could see that it hurt her to shout at me, to ground me for getting a B on a test, but it was just her grief. She tried to control
me
, since my mom was gone, out of her control. After a few years, she started easing up and now we’re very close, but it was hard. Really hard for a while there.”

We cross the lawn below the kitchen garden in silence.

Finally, Corbin stops and takes both of my hands. “Thanks,” he says, his blue eyes intense. “Thank you for being understanding.” He starts to walk with me again, saying, “It was so hard to tell you that. It seemed pretty reasonable to expect you to be disgusted. I mean,
I’m
disgusted with me and who’s more on my side than me?”

I chuckle and he squeezes my hand again. “It’s not good,” I tell him. “But it helps that I can see you’re trying. If there’s one thing I learned from the nuns, it’s that repenting is the first step. That and that bad handwriting is the sign of a feeble mind.”

“Note to self: hide all handwriting samples. I’m starving,” Corbin says as we reach the kitchen door. “Join me for a snack?”

“Good idea.”

I’m a little surprised to see that Corbin actually knows where things are in the kitchen, he must be a regular late night snacker, when Marta has gone to bed. In no time, he’s whipped up two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

“Specialty of the house,” he says, setting the plate down with a flourish. “Pate de peanut and jam a la strawberry.”

“Mmm…gourmet,”

“Everything sounds fancy if it’s French. Sorry, I’m not much of a cook.” He sits down across the table from me and bites into the white bread.

“Me either,” I confess. “I’m good at finding cheap take out. Teacher’s salaries don’t allow for a lot of fancy.”

“How did you come to be teaching out here?” Corbin asks. “Of course I know it’s a charter school, I know that you’re dedicated to it. But I don’t know why you’re still in California, instead of back in Georgia.”

“Well, at first it was to pay off my loans. I got the job through America Teaches, and if I worked in an underserved area for two years, they’d pay off my college debt. I figured I could get debt free and then go to grad school. But I loved it, so I stayed.”

I tell him about the community, about the scared little third graders, so desperate to learn, about their parents so desperate for the kids to have a better life. My bread goes stale as I tell him about going to cookouts by the river with school families, about their hammocks strung in the trees and the meat cooking on the grills.

“It sounds like you’ve found the perfect spot for yourself,” he says, “I’m jealous. I guess I’d kind of thought I could charm you into leaving your job, but I can see it’s hopeless.” He chuckles. “I’ll have to pull strings and get it shut down so you have to stay.with us.”

“Yeah, you might not even have to. I actually needed to mention it to you–I will need Tuesday off to go to a meeting of the Board of Directors.”

“Of course, no problem. Just let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks,” I say, and finish my sandwich.

Corbin clears our plates to the sink and I stand up. “May I walk you back?” he asks, as if I lived across campus.

He takes my hand again as we walk back upstairs.

“I need to thank you again for being so understanding. I can’t tell you how hard that was. Or how much better I feel now that it’s out. I hope I didn’t over burden you.”

His speech has gone all stilted again. I decide to head it off and stop in the hallway leading to my room. I take both of his hands.

“You did not overburden me. Sharing like that is what people do–and not just on TV. I asked–actually,
demanded–
that you tell me what was going on and you did.”

I’m about to launch into a lecture about the danger of secrets or something when he leans down to kiss me. I rise up on my toes to meet him, my body melting into his. This time, when his tongue parts my lips, I don’t run away.

Corbin’s hands move from my head, sliding down my body, over my curves. When he pulls my hips tight against him, I feel the thrill throughout my body. It’s been a long time, true, but more than just physical need, I feel the closeness between us, like the wall Corbin had built has crumbled.

Our kissing gradually grows from deep and slow to slightly frenzied as our passion grows hotter. Corbin pushes me against the wall, lifting me so that my legs wrap around him. The surprise of being picked up is quickly wiped away by the feeling of his hard length pressed against me.

“Wanna come back to my place?” I gasp.

“I hope you don’t live far away, I’m not sure I can wait,” he replies, setting me down so that I can lead him to my room.

Once inside, I turn to face him as he closes the door. “You are so beautiful,” he says. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

He reaches out and unbuttons my dress. When he slides it over my shoulders, it puddles around my feet. His hands are on my bare back as he unhooks my bra and the fire inside me grows. As the black satin comes away from my breasts, my already firm nipples become rock hard in the cool air of the room. Corbin cups my breasts in his hands, lowering his head to kiss first one dark nipple and then the other. He sucks the second into his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing the sensitive flesh, making me gasp. My hands go to his silky hair as he goes back to the first side, nibbling gently, making me wild.

Corbin sinks to his knees as he kisses down my stomach, kisses my belly button, and pulls down the elastic of my panties, planting a kiss on my mound as he exposes it. I step out of my clothes as the underpants hit my feet and stand naked before him as he rises back up. His eyes are burning with need and his loose pants can’t hide that he’s as eager as I am.

But he pulls me to him in another kiss and I feel the linen, rough on my bare skin. I press against him, moving my hips, and he moans and grips his fingers in the flesh of my rear.

“Enough with this chit chat,” he growls, “time for bed.”

I yank back the covers while he shucks off his clothes and we both fall into the downy softness of the big bed. Corbin kisses my neck while he reaches for the condom he’d dropped on the night stand.

“You were optimistic about how the night would go,” I tease.

“What have you got without hope?” he says, grinning. “Besides,” he says before ripping the package with his teeth, “Better to go home sad and over prepared than to have to stop and run to my room. It’s undignified. And you might get away.”

“No chance of that,” I say as he pushes me onto my back. “There are cameras everywhere.”

“Not in here,” he says, kissing my neck. Suddenly he lifts his head and raises an eyebrow at me. “Unless you want one?”

“No, thank you,” I say, “Gotta just live in the moment.”

And it’s a good moment, as Corbin kisses down my shoulder and back down to my breasts. I can feel his cock pressing against my leg, hard and ready. He doesn’t make me wait long.

When he enters me, a deep moan comes from my very depths. I don’t think I knew just how much I wanted this, but now that I have it, it’s all I ever want to do. I wrap my legs around his muscular back, driving him deeper within me.

There’s no time for gentle strokes. We are like people who’ve just been given water after crossing the desert. Our need is fierce.

I cling to him as he thrusts, our hips rocking in unison. I feel my climax building faster than I can ever remember, even when I’m on my own. I press harder against him. As the wave starts to crash over me, I bury my face in his neck to keep from crying out. The last thing I want is to wake Maeve right now.

Corbin is driven to his own brink by my passion and I feel his cock swell as he climaxes. Even his O face is gorgeous, who can do that?

We lay, panting, entangled and sweaty.

“That was too fast,” Corbin says, “I want to take it slow next time.”

I thrill a bit to the notion of “next time.”

We lay in one another’s arms, talking about everything and nothing–our favorite TV shows as kids (he has the gall to laugh at Power Rangers when
he
liked James Bond, Jr. But we agree that Earthworm Jim was the bomb), favorite music (he wants to make me watch Bollywood musicals. We’ll see), and pets (Bootsy’s my first pet ever. Corbin rattles off a roster of big slobbery dogs in his life)–until we’ve rested a bit.

This time, we take it slow, and it’s even better.

Chapter Eight

When I wake to the sound of Maeve’s cries, I find I’ve left a puddle of drool on Corbin’s chest. I try to mop it up before he wakes and notices, but when I look up, I see his blue eyes smiling down at me.

“Morning,” he says, “Tidying up?”

“Turns out, I’m a drooler. Sorry.” I climb out of bed and pull on a robe as Maeve’s cries become louder.

“No need to apologize, I take it as a compliment to have tired you out so well.”

“And you should!” I call over my shoulder, opening the door to Maeve’s suite. She stops crying as soon as she sees me and starts to bounce on her crib mattress.

“Hey Miss Maeve, good morning!”

“Ka!” she looks past me and shouts “Da! Ka Da!”

I turn to see Corbin standing there, shirtless, in his linen pants. It’s hard for my brain to find a place to put the sudden surge of lust. Baby. Diaper. Hot guy. It’s hard to learn to switch gears like that. Fake it ‘til you make it, though, right?

“Oh hey, it
is
your Da! C’mere, Da, it’s diaper time.”