by JJ Knight
He perches on the arm of the sofa. “It’s nothing. Tell me how it went with our wayward daughter.”
The phrase, and the way he says it, warms me to the core. I can almost imagine the impossible. Dell, me, and Grace, having a cozy evening. Spoon-feeding her baby cereal. Laughing as it dribbles out of her mouth. Dell and I kissing over the high chair.
“Arianna?”
I manage to recover. “She was great. She’s a perfect baby. We played a little. Sang some songs. She got a bottle and went right to sleep.”
Dell takes a sip. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Well, I’m around a lot of babies,” I say. “It’s what I do.”
“It is,” he says. Then he tips his head to the side. “And why does Arianna Hart tend to babies?” he asks. “What in her upbringing led her to this profession?”
He scrutinizes me for a moment.
This sounds like an interview, and he told me it was an important skill, critical to success in anything.
So I treat it that way.
“I was raised by nannies,” I say. “My parents wanted me to major in prelaw, but while I was at Brown, I just didn’t feel called to that sort of work. I felt around a little, then just settled on a liberal arts degree.”
He frowns at this. “Not business?”
I shake my head. “I would have had to totally regroup and start again to go that direction. It was easy just to build on my core classes and graduate.”
“Grad school?”
“No, I had capital. A trust fund. When I graduated, I cashed it in and hired a financial manager to help me formulate a business plan for the child spa.”
“Is it turning a profit?”
This makes me smile. “Since year two. It’s easy if you charge as much as I do. I just had to impress parents with a facility like none other. They assume that if you can do that, you’ll hire the proper help. In reality, it’s the other way around. Spaces are easy. People are the real asset.”
He raises his eyebrow at that. “So you trained them to be what you wanted.”
“It’s like you said. The interview tells you everything. Even if they botch it.” I walk over to an armchair and sit down. “I don’t look for the same qualities you do. But I can spot what I need.”
“Fascinating.” He stands up, considering this. “So it doesn’t matter if they put on a good front when you bring them in. You care more about their interior lives. Their motives, not their ability to impress.”
“Something like that,” I say. I turn to watch him walk around the room, looking at his own walls and fireplace and art as if he’s never seen them before.
“All right,” he says. “I think we can form a partnership on this. I provide the stability and proper upbringing for Grace, and you do the nurturing.”
My heart beats in my throat. “So you think I can adopt her?”
He turns suddenly. “I don’t know about that. We should wait on Monday before discussing legalities.”
Right. The DNA test.
“Are you saying there is a different plan if she’s yours than if she’s not? Because I’m here either way.”
“Just for the paperwork,” he says. His eyes fall back on my chest, lingering. “Need a refill?”
My heart races for a different reason now. Dell is acting differently. Like we’re on the same level. I’m no longer just a babysitter.
And he finds that really hot.
But I’m not so sure anymore. If I can get Grace, maybe I should hold back from Dell. I can’t be a drunk hookup.
“Actually, I’m good,” I say. “Should I check on her? I can just sleep on the bed in her room. The other one is Carrie’s now.”
But he’s closed in already. “I can think of a better place for you to sleep.”
Chapter 29: Dell
This woman is way more than I bargained for. Damn smart. Crazy sexy. Owner of the world’s most perfect breasts.
I’m done talking about business. And babies.
I couldn’t get away from Meredith fast enough. I kept fumbling, making it obvious my mind was elsewhere.
And now I’m here.
Arianna plucks at her shirt. She has to know what it’s doing to me. Each perfect globe is punctuated by a sharply delineated nipple. I could take it in my mouth through the flimsy fabric.
I plan to.
She hesitates after my line about where to sleep, her eyes big and round. She looks incredibly innocent, like she isn’t twenty-seven and surely intimately acquainted with what I’m after.
I give her no time to think of some way to say no. My mouth is on hers, and it’s as sweet and yielding as I remember.
Desire blasts through me like a flash fire. It’s fueled by all the images of her that played through my head at dinner, culminating in me just walking out. Meredith stayed behind, cozying up to some hedge fund investor as soon as she sensed I had cooled.
Fine by me.
My palm presses against the back of Arianna’s head, fingers working their way into the funny twist of her hair. It loosens easily, and soon her curls cascade down.
I touch them, soft and wild. I want to touch all of her, taste her, worship her.
I walk her back to the sofa, my arm around her waist. Then we’re down, her lying beneath me.
The position is too tempting. I’m raging for her, my tongue teasing the inside of her mouth, my cock pressed against her soft thighs. But she’s dressed. Jeans. Shirt. Bra.
I thread my fingers through a strap. Expertly, I drag one side down her arm, then the other. I reach beneath her and find the hook. In one swift movement, I’ve pulled it free, dragging it from under her shirt.
She gasps against my mouth, but I don’t release her. I won’t stop tasting her until I’ve moved to the next part of her body to savor.
My hand slides up her shirt, greedy to touch what I’ve recently freed. Her nipple beneath the thin stretchy fabric of her shirt is hard and pebbled. I roll it between my fingers.
Arianna lets out a whimpering groan and lifts her hips to mine. I grind against her. Yes, she knows where this is headed. At last.
My mouth moves down her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. Over the tank top, my breath is hot. My teeth find that wayward nipple and I take it in my mouth. The fabric is nothing, heating up with my breath.
Her hands are in my hair, her body moving rhythmically beneath mine. She’s so ready. So ready.
I shift my face up to near her ear. “Shall we retire to my room?”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see uncertainty there. I slip my hand along her body, cupping her breast, then down to the strip of belly exposed above her jeans. When my fingers come in contact with her skin, she draws in a quaking breath.
Finally, she nods. I shift away, standing, and take her hand to help her up. We’ve just passed the front door when we hear it.
Cries.
“Oh! Grace!” Arianna says. She rushes past me to the nursery.
I follow her, cursing the situation. I need a night nanny so I can seduce the babysitter.
Nanny. Friend. Whatever.
I run my hand through my hair with frustration. How are second children ever conceived?
Max is in the room, standing up. He looks at me with disapproving eyes, as if he knows what I’m thinking.
Arianna has the baby in her arms, up on her shoulder. She pats her back.
“Shh, shh, baby girl,” she says. “You’re okay. I’m here. I’m here.”
Her breasts sway as she moves, and my mind struggles with competing feelings.
“I think it’s gas again,” she says. “It’ll take some time for me to help her work it out.”
Great. I nod and sit on the bed for a moment. Arianna eases into the chair, laying Grace across her thighs.
I can’t watch. It’s torture. Those breasts. Those thighs. I want to fling myself back on the bed.
“I’m going to change,” I tell her. She nods, her eyes on the baby.
The hall feels te
n miles long. When I arrive in my bedroom, I kick off my shoes and strip off my shirt. Shit. My raging hard-on won’t go down. I have to peel the suit pants off over it.
I survey the tent in my boxers ruefully. “Give it up,” I tell it. “You’re screwed.”
Or not screwed, as it were.
I don’t even bother to pick up after myself, leaving tux parts strewn across the floor like a college kid after a kegger.
Nothing about this night has gone as planned.
Or this week.
I don’t know if I should go help her, or let her do her thing. My boxers aren’t exactly containing this one-eyed jack. I don’t want to frighten the kid.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
I head into the bathroom and brush my teeth. I could go work out, I guess.
But I’m not up for it. I don’t want to let this go.
I want her.
I pace around thinking about puppies and cemeteries, and puppies in cemeteries, until my boxers somewhat resemble a normal state.
Probably taking one look at her will send it off again.
When I make it back to Grace’s room, she’s bending over the carriage.
Maximillion has settled back on the rug, head on his paws.
I stand next to her. Grace is asleep again, arms thrown out.
“Get it out?” I whisper. It’s very strange to be discussing body functions of babies while trying to have sex with a woman.
“Not as well as I would like,” she says, her forehead scrunched. “Her belly is hard.”
“We should have gotten those drops,” I say, feeling pretty pleased that I even know about them.
“We do. Carrie got them. I gave her some.” She pats Grace’s belly. The child’s mouth pouts even in her sleep.
“Do we need to take her to urgent care?” I ask. “Call someone?” I won’t stand for her feeling pain.
“It’s a normal thing,” Arianna says. “But we might try switching formulas. Some babies are sensitive to certain kinds.”
My shoulders relax. That’s an easy fix. “I’ll send the shopper out tomorrow.”
“I can do it,” Arianna says. “It’s a Saturday. I’m off. I’d like to look them over and decide.”
I won’t argue with that. I doubt my shopper knows much about the intricacies of baby formula and digestion.
“I should sleep in here,” she says. “She might wake up again.”
The boxers resume their normal shape entirely now.
“I’ll stay with you.”
She gives me a weak smile. “You should sleep,” she says. “You need your six hours on the weekends, remember. It’s already after midnight.”
Damn, that woman has a good memory.
“All right,” I say. “Just wake me if you need me. I’ll leave my door open.” Hopefully she gets all the opportunities that entails.
But her gaze is back on the baby. “Okay. We’ll be here.”
And with that, I let her be.
It’s about as honorable as I get.
Chapter 30: Arianna
When I peer into Dell’s bedroom door early Saturday morning, he’s up and on his computer.
“Knock, knock,” I say. I’ve dressed before coming down the hall, this time in a more respectable top, a flowing short-sleeved tunic in the same slate blue as my employees’ smocks. I often wear it when we do events so that I both match and set myself apart from my staff.
He looks up, his hair playfully tousled, his chest bare. He wears more than last night, at least, a pair of running shorts pulled over the gray boxers that are seared in my memory after he appeared in them last night.
“Already been out?” I ask. As I get closer, I can see a sheen of sweat across his shoulders. I have to force myself to drag my eyes from it.
“Yes. I do some great thinking while running,” he says. “I came in and started looking immediately.”
I lean in beside him, assuming whatever it is will be no secret from me.
“My staff was able to confirm that twenty-three of the twenty-five potential mothers were not pregnant this year. Recent photos, news links.”
“But not the last two,” I say.
“Right. They’ve gone missing for almost a year.”
“Do they show back up?” I ask.
“One does,” he says. “And look at the before and after.”
He pulls up two photos of a tall blond woman.
The first shows a bright, vibrant thirtysomething in stylish clothes, waving to a crowd from a red carpet. She’s with an extremely handsome man.
“The Emmy Awards,” he says. “Early last fall. She would have been about one month pregnant. Might not even know it yet.”
His mouse hovers over the second image. Same woman, but completely different look. Tired, haggard, sad. Her hair shows dark roots. Her clothes are baggy. The caption says her name is Winnie Simmons.
“When is that one?” I ask.
“Two weeks ago.”
“Wow,” I say. “Something definitely happened.”
“I’ve been reading,” he says. “You can’t get your hair dyed while you’re pregnant.”
“You’re not supposed to,” I say. “But people do. Generally, though, women who are planning to get pregnant will revert to their natural color.”
“Exactly,” he says. “She didn’t plan it.”
“Was she the sort of woman who would sacrifice her looks for a pregnancy?” I ask.
“Maybe,” he says. “She was a kind woman. Thoughtful. We spent a week in Paris just before this. So the timing is good.”
I look at the vibrant picture, jealousy slicing through me. So she got a whole week with him. In Paris, no less.
I think about last night and what I could have done differently. I could have gone to him. When Grace went back to sleep, there would have been time.
But I have a bigger purpose now. I want her. I want this baby.
I’m not going to throw that away if he decides to discard me and blow me off like that girl who lost her shoe.
“Where is she now?” I ask.
“Chicago,” he says. “I’ve already got my pilot filing a flight plan.”
“Wait, you’re going?” I can’t hide my shock. “I thought you were waiting on DNA.”
“I was,” he says. “But look at this.” He pulls up another picture. It’s the haggard version of the woman again, but this time, she’s standing in front of a very well-known location. Radio City Music Hall.
I gasp. “She was here?”
“Four days ago,” he says. “That puts her right here in town to leave Grace with me.”
“But why the big secret?” I ask. “Why not just bring her over?”
He pushes back from the computer. “That’s the million-dollar question.”
“You think if you just confront her, she’ll spill?”
He kicks off his running shoes. “I’m banking on it. When I show up with Grace, she’ll know she’s busted.”
“You’re taking Grace?”
He slides his running shorts down his legs. “Hell, yes. Carrie can take care of her on the trip.”
There’s a quick knock on the door. “Did I hear my name?”
“Come in,” Dell says. “You may need to rush home to pack.”
“Pack for what?” Carrie asks. She comes in, halting when she sees me. Then Dell, wearing nothing but gray boxers and socks. “Oh!”
“Arianna spent the night to help with Grace since you couldn’t. I’m taking the baby to Chicago.”
“Today?” Carrie looks from Dell to me.
“Today,” he says. “I can only really spare the time on a weekend.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “And you want me to go?”
“Yes, that was the deal. Days and nights until Monday.”
She frowns. “I didn’t know we’d be traveling.”
“It’s a private plane,” Dell says. “Easy and quick.”
The color drains from her face. “
I can’t do that.”
Dell pauses in the middle of pulling off his socks. I was wondering exactly how bare he was going to go with both of us in the room.
“Why not?”
Carrie twists her hands. “I’m…afraid of flying.”
Dell stands, tossing his socks toward the closet. “And you were going to tell me this when?”
Carrie’s face is contorted. “I didn’t think it would come up! You’d travel. I’d stay with the baby.”
He waves her off. “You’ll just have to get over it. Take a Xanax or something.”
Carrie looks panicked. “I’m working on it. But I can’t just…go. Not with a baby too!” She gestures to me. “Take Arianna.”
Now it’s my turn to stand a little straighter.
“It’s the weekend,” Carrie says. “It will be a fun little trip for you!”
Dell turns to me. “You up for it?”
The last four days flash before my eyes. Grace. Dell. Shopping. Kissing. Bare chests.
But what else do I say? I want the time with Grace. “Of course.”
“All right,” Dell says. “Carrie, we’ll let you know when we return. Probably late tomorrow night.”
Carrie’s relief is evident. “I’ll be here the minute you call,” she says. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to shower,” Dell says, dropping his boxers to the floor. He faces me. “Can you be packed and ready in an hour?”
“Uh…yes, sure.” I’m surprised my mouth works at all. Dell is standing naked before both of us. He’s glorious.
“Good. I’ll be out shortly.” He strides into his bathroom. After a moment, we hear the sounds of the shower.
Carrie and I turn to look at each other.
“Does he always do that?” Carrie asks. She’s fanning herself with her hand.
“Not when I’m around,” I say. Frankly, I’m relieved it’s a first for her too.
“This might be a very interesting job,” she says.
I turn back to the bathroom. I don’t say it, but I think to myself, this could be a very interesting trip.
Chapter 31: Dell