Broken Daddy: A Single Dad & Nanny Romance

by Blake North

  I erased slowly from my mind the thought of what her naked body would look like—big breasts, small waist, generous hips, and those long legs, lying back on the bed, body raised on the pillow, legs provocatively apart…

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?” My voice sounded tight as I answered the driver and I hoped he’d put it down to nerves.

  “We lost them, sir. All but two motorbikes gone. We’ll lose them too. Just you wait and see.”

  “Good,” I said warmly. “Excellent driving skills, Sammy.” I felt slightly frustrated with him, though: he had just interrupted a beautiful train of thought. I blew my cheeks out in a sigh.

  I heard him smile. “Thanks, sir.”

  We sped through the LA streets and soon had lost the motorbikes too. They had evidently joined the majority in believing we were heading to the hotel. We nipped through silent streets and joined the road to Pasadena. Some of them will have the sense to lie in wait at my home. I just have to hope slipping in through the side gate fools them.

  It was important for me not to scare Hayley. She hated the press, and she had enough for one day. We had all the photos the tabloids could want and probably more than any of them could use. We would give an exclusive interview to Cosmopolitan sometime later this week. At least she would, as I would be out of town for a while for work. All the media scene was set.

  I was, to all intents and purpose, married again.

  The thought filled me with relief.

  That should sort those bastards out.

  I winced, hoping against hope that “they” would not try and contact me today. I didn’t need to hear anything from them. I wanted to block that sort of thing from my mind and simply enjoy the moment, enjoy the success of our plan. And besides, Hayley was perceptive. She had clearly noticed something was going on.

  She senses something. When I had that call the other night, I think she knew I was lying about it. I can’t hide stuff from her.

  And there was more and more stuff to hide.

  I thought back to a conversation I had with my security guy just yesterday. He hadn’t wanted to tell me that he had picked up footprints around the perimeter of the Sand Castle’s park. But he had. Someone had been trying to get into my garden.

  I felt my fists clench. Estella was at home. If they came in and tried to harm her, I would never forgive myself! It would be my fault.

  “Sammy?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Take us in the long way. By the back entrance. I don’t want to meet the welcome party.”

  He laughed. “You mean any of the press guys smart enough to know you’ll be back here?”

  I laughed shortly. “Yes, that is precisely what I meant.”

  He chuckled again and nodded. “Right you are, sir.”

  We were ascending the small slope that led to the Sand Castle, with its magical views over the surrounding landscape. We turned left and went around the back of the hill, climbing slowly as we took the winding back way up. Beside me, Hayley looked relaxed. She was leaning back in the leather seat, watching the scenery. I looked at her and she smiled.

  “You okay?” I asked. I reached across and pressed her hand. It was a bad idea, as feeling that satin-soft skin did something crazy to my loins. She seemed oblivious to that fact, however, and squeezed my fingers fondly, making my response even worse. I let out a strained breath and she let go.

  “I’m fine,” she said, a little frown on her brow that seemed to ask: “and what is the matter with you, then?”. I chuckled a little hysterically. She looked very calm.

  “Good. Well, then. Here we are…almost home.”

  She smiled and when Sammy took us through the tall iron gates at the back of the park, she looked around with interest. We rolled up along the drive to the garage, then stopped.

  “Here we are,” I said, sighing. “Back at last.”

  She smiled. “Good.”

  Sammy got out efficiently and opened my door, then went about unlocking the garage. I opened Hayley’s and we stood on the path together under tall chestnut trees under an afternoon sun.

  Hayley looked up at me, moist pink lips wearing a soft smile. I bit my own lip, fighting the desire to plunder her mouth with my own, and coughed.

  “Shall we go in?”

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  She walked beside me, her hand near my thigh. I tried to fight the temptation to hold it, but as we passed round by the back way into the house, I relented.

  I took her hand. She looked up at me. I squeezed her fingers and she squeezed back. I bent down toward her and my breath mingled with hers.

  We kissed. Her mouth was soft and welcoming, the inside tasting sweet, like sugar. As I probed it with my tongue, I felt my loins tense. I held her close, my lips tracing over hers, tongue exploring her sweet mouth, body crushed to my chest.

  Then I opened my eyes a moment, seeing hers closed, her lashes resting on her cheek, face still in blissful surrender.

  I groaned as my groin tensed.

  “Shall we go in?” I said, running a hand through my hair. She was looking up at me curiously, as if I had just turned blue and asked her what she thought had made it happen. She nodded.

  “Yes,” she said in a small voice. “Let’s go.”

  We walked around the side of the house together. I felt tense, glancing up the long white-gravel drive to see if any press people were lying in wait there. We sneaked around to the front door, feeling like fugitives. I heard a twig crack and tensed, stiffening behind a bush. The path around the house passed behind the shrubbery and we could hide here, passing from bush to shadow to bush, concealed from the distance of the front gate. We reached the door.

  The front steps were just shaded on one side by the oak tree. I went up first, reaching down a hand.

  “Come up, quick,” I whispered. Once on the front step, we would be clearly visible from the drive, at least for the seconds between reaching the top of the small stairway and getting into the house. I hoped Mrs. Delange was either here ahead of us or had assigned someone the duty of opening the front door. I would take too long trying to take out my keys.

  She looked up at me. Bit her lip, her huge caramel-brown eyes nervous. I felt an overwhelming tenderness blossom inside me, a need to protect her and keep her safe from everything. She nodded and stepped up the stairs.

  At the top step, we had been there for perhaps two seconds when a roar went up from the drive. She whipped round, eyes huge, terrified.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered, then, hastily, “Inside.”

  Mrs. Delange appeared at the door, and I considered bolting in first before sliding out of the way as gracefully as could be done as Hayley threw herself through the gap, me following narrowly behind.

  “There!”

  Mrs. Delange slammed the door, and they were thwarted. I looked at Hayley. She looked at me.

  We all looked at each other, shy; relieved.

  Then we burst out laughing.

  Myself, Hayley and Mrs. Delange were all chuckling in the hallway, the unreality crashing over us and breaking, like waves on the shore. Then, sniffing, breathing in deep, I turned to the other two.

  “Right,” I said, feeling my heart soaring with lightness. “That’s that, then.”

  They both looked at me. Then they giggled. Hayley stopped abruptly, and walked toward me. Her face was very solemn, utterly still.

  “Right,” she said in a small voice. “That’s done.”

  She took my hand and we walked inside together. In the dining-room, we were met by Estella and Cameron.

  “Hooray!” Estella shouted, coming over to give me a smothering embrace. “Well done, Daddy!”

  As she embraced Hayley and then drew back, both of them blinking furiously to stop crying, I felt a stab of remorse.

  Hayley is not really my wife. Estella thinks she is. This lie has taken hold.

  There was nothing I could do about it, though, but smile and be pleased and accept the champag
ne and take a seat at the table and chat away with Cameron and Estella about the day, the press, the car.

  All I wanted to do was to stop time a moment and go back to the day I met Hayley, or to when we signed that contract. The one in which I promised I would not touch her.

  I wanted this to be my first night with her. I wanted her so much. But I had signed, and she had signed. What could we do. We were, to all intents and purpose, man and wife.

  But I couldn’t touch her even though I wanted to so very, very badly. I sat beside her and tried to focus on Estella, resplendent in a turquoise gown of floaty fabric, on Cameron, whose solemn, squarish face was lit with smiles. I tried not to look at the quiet, soft radiant presence beside me; the vision in filmy white who was, after all, not my wife.

  I could not risk looking at her and falling any more head-over-heels than I already was.

  That night I fell asleep in a cold bed. I found it hard to actually fall asleep in the beginning: I kept on tossing and turning, my thoughts full of thoughts of Hayley.

  I imagined her taking off that splendid dress; undressing herself. Undoing that zipper and wriggling from the tight bodice, all soft pale skin and lacy underwear and high, round breasts. I let myself dwell on the mental picture further; filling in the curve of her waist, the generous hips, the long legs. I imagined her taking off her bra, showing me those full breasts; sliding off her panties and lying back, waiting for me.

  I groaned and turned over and, drawing the pillow over my head in despair, tried to fall asleep. It must have worked eventually, for I woke up the next morning rested but still as confused as I had been when I went to sleep, and still wanting her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN BECKETT

  I woke up the next morning with wonder and foreboding arguing for place in my heart. As I sat up, my head still thick with sleep, it seemed Foreboding won. I slumped back against the pillows, my heart sore and my head confused. Outside, the birds were still singing in the leafy trees beyond my curtained windows even though the clock said it was nine in the morning, a Sunday. I had a lot to be excited about, I reminded myself. But right now, the concern overrode all else.

  What am I going to do?

  I slipped out of my satiny sheets and dragged myself to the bathroom. As I brushed my teeth, I pondered the routes left to me.

  Hayley had to know. I had tortured myself with her words for most of the previous evening, finding it hard to settle down to sleep. She was right.

  I have to tell her. I have to risk that she will hate me for it. She must have this knowledge.

  It could be dangerous for her not to know the reason for her being here. I hoped my ruse would work. But if it didn’t, well, I might just have put two people in the firing line. Estella and Hayley.

  The people who had to believe Hayley and I were married also were the very same people who would not hesitate to use her as a weapon if I were to renege on any of my promises to them. They had already threatened me with Estella, which was why I had gone through this farce to start off with.

  I had expected I would stage a marriage, let everyone believe it for a few weeks and then quietly separate from my aforementioned wife, trying to keep the press reports to a minimum. I would have kept my word to my detractors, and everything would be easy.

  I had absolutely not figured into my clever plan the remote, but I realized now the real possibility that I would fall for said woman. I had realized this far too late.

  I got dressed in Levi’s, a white-and-navy shirt and dark blazer. Then I sat down, groaning. There was every chance my plan would work, but there was equal chance it wouldn’t. I fired up my laptop, then sat back down on the bed.

  A few seconds later, I was scrolling down the sites of all the major newspapers, admiring views of myself in various depictions of married joy.

  “They might have done better than that one,” I sighed, glancing at myself on the front of The Chronicle. I hate my nose from the side, and they had plastered a great big profile picture of me on the front. It was a nice picture of Hayley, though. She was sweeping down the steps, her long train moving out to one side, a wide grin on her face. The sun was on her glossy hair and she looked pleased, excited and lovely. It could have really been a wedding snap.

  I winced. I also looked as if it was. On the Times version, I was looking at her. My face was soft in a way I had no idea it went, with an expression of such melting tenderness on it that it stabbed my heart.

  I am in love with her.

  The picture was like a bell, clanging in my head, announcing the truth to me in an undeniable manner. I was in love. I had to do something.

  I chuckled a little sadly. I had set a trap for the people who were hounding me. And now it felt like I’d fallen into it myself. Drawn there by the honey-sweetness of my actress bride.

  Nothing else to it, I thought grimly. I had to tell her.

  I went along the hallway to the breakfast room, found it empty and went downstairs. Mrs. Delange had laid out a fine breakfast in the dining room, and my stomach twisted painfully as the scent of fresh toast reached my nostrils. I drew back a seat and poured myself coffee. I glanced at the newspapers on the sideboard.

  “Beckett?”

  I looked up. Hayley was there. As softly as a gentle breath she had drifted up to the table. I hadn’t heard her come in. She looked down at me and our eyes met.

  I breathed in as if I was drowning in molasses, then cleared my throat.

  “Hayley. Good morning. You slept well?”

  “Very well, thank you,” she said softly. “You?”

  “Yes.” It wasn’t quite true, but I didn’t want to go into it. Not yet.

  “Is it going to rain today, do you think?” she asked, inclining her head to the window where some clouds scudded across a pale blue sky. It looked like a beautiful day. I breathed in the scent of her floral, light perfume and sighed.

  “Probably not,” I mused. “We should check the forecast, if you have plans for today?”

  “No,” she said, laughing lightly. “Just wondering.”

  She crunched into a bite of toast, then licked those soft pink lips. I focused on the wall a moment, feeling my body do unwanted things, and changed the subject.

  “You saw us?” I asked, inclining my head at the stack of papers Mrs. Delange had obligingly left there for us. The Chronicle, I noticed, was top-most, with the offensive profile picture. I chuckled, thinking that she might have done it on purpose. Humbling me was something she seemed to accept as part of her job description.

  Hayley’s eyebrows went up fractionally. “I saw some. Any good pictures?”

  I laughed. She looked quite calm. Now that the media storm was over, at least for now, she seemed to be relaxing into things. I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was disconcert her again. And the news I would have to tell her was worse than simply disconcerting.

  “There are some. Don’t look at the Chronicle. No, no…”

  I tried to make a grab for her as she reached out for it, coming around to stand by my chair. I took her hand, trying to stop her from taking the newspaper. I stood and made a grab for it as she danced away, laughing.

  “No!” I wailed, still laughing. “It’s a horrible picture.”

  I grabbed at the paper and she laughed, holding it behind her back.

  “No,” she said, laughing at me. “I won’t give it up.”

  I made a grab for it, reaching round behind her. We were both giggling away like two naughty kids, grappling with the newspaper, when her body pressed against mine.

  I leaned down and she gasped against me as we kissed.

  My arms held her tight, her body pressed to mine. I tightened my grip and pushed her against me, my body throbbing with need as I felt her smooth breasts against my chest. My tongue twined round hers and we devoured each other.

  “More coffee, Mr. Sand? Oh…”

  I jumped as the familiar voice of Mrs. Delange rang out. I moved away from Hayley as if I had been struck by lightning
. The two of us looked round guiltily.

  Mrs Delange was in the doorway, a pot of coffee on a tray before her, her cheeks red and a twinkle in her eye that suggested to me that her interruption was not all as innocent as it seemed. I cleared my throat, cheeks burning. She smiled.

  “I…I’m terribly sorry,” she said, though from the look on her face she wasn’t vaguely sorry but relishing our discomfort. “I brought more coffee. Here, I’ll leave it on the table…” she trailed off, putting down the jug of coffee on the table and walking lightly from the room.

  I looked at Hayley. She looked back at me with a dazed expression. We stood there, facing each other, the newspaper trailing from her fingers like a bouquet of flowers, until we were sure she’d gone.

  Then, like the naughty kids we’d acted like a few minutes previous, we burst out laughing.

  “What the…”

  “Did you…”

  We both started talking at once. I smiled. “After you,” I said. She blushed.

  “Did you see the look on her face!” Hayley said, cheeks fiery red with delicious shame. Seeing her blush, I grinned.

  “I did. I was going to say, what the heck was that all about? She knew we were in here. I swear she meant to catch us.”

  Hayley laughed. “She probably did. Why shouldn’t we be kissing though?” she asked, then looked at her hands.

  I felt my heart wrench. The memory that this was all an act had caught her just as it caught me. I bit my lip.

  “Hayley,” I said softly.

  “No,” she said, flapping a hand at me. She drew out her chair and sat down. “I need to think.”

  I sighed. If I had wanted to make the right time for telling her the truth, I’d probably just gone and messed it right back up again. Though, now that the topic had been raised, perhaps I could use that to my best advantage.

  “Hayley,” I said. She closed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Beckett. I’m just having trouble processing all this.”

  “I understand,” I sighed. “Remember what you said yesterday?”

  “What did I say yesterday?”

  Her eyes were still closed. Her voice came from far off, as if she, though close, was lost in thought, unreachable by anyone until she chose to come back. I waited.