Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)

by C. M. Stunich

  “Nice save,” Zayden says as I rise to my feet, glancing over my shoulder to watch him slow clapping at me with his gorgeous hands. I want to suck his fingers into my mouth and see what they taste like.

  Uh.

  Forget I just said that.

  “Your babysitter quit on you?” he asks as I move back over to the bench and plop down on it, curling my fingers around the splintered wood.

  “Actually, yeah.” I look over at him, lounging on the picnic table like it's a recliner or something, like the man doesn't have a care in the world. It makes me want to know him, to hoist all of my cares onto somebody else's shoulders. But no. I'm stronger than that. I can do this. “Who do you use for your kids? Maybe I could borrow them for a night?”

  Zayden laughs, this easy, open sound that makes my skin tingle.

  “Oh, these aren't my kids,” he says, finally admitting it and gesturing at the baby with his thumb. “I'm just the nanny. I might not look the part, but I come dirt cheap.”

  My heart flutters—but not from his shockingly good looks this time. I spin in my seat and lean forward, reaching up to take Tattoo God by his strong, sexy shoulders.

  Oh, that feels nice.

  “Oh my God. I … listen. I gave my last fifty in cash to that bitch, and I don't exactly have the time or money to scour around for a babysitter.” I glance over at the happily sleeping baby. Leaving the girls with a stranger is … but if this guy's a nanny, then somebody must trust him, right? Besides, if I've learned anything over the years, it's that the people who aren't trustworthy often try to look it. If this guy was up to something, why would he advertise himself with all these tats and piercings? I mean, he's been nothing but normal and cool thus far. “Do you have references? I mean, I could check those real quick and we could work out a payment plan.”

  “Um, Brooke,” Zayden starts, but I'm desperate here. If I don't go to work tonight, then I have no job. No money. No rent. No food.

  “I'll get paid in two weeks—decent money, too. Oh, and tips. What's your going rate?”

  “I, uh,” he starts as two twin boys appear and launch themselves into his lap. He wrangles them under the bugling biceps in his arms and holds one on either side while they scream and giggle. I follow him up, rising to my feet and clasping my hands together in front of me.

  “Please, Zayden. Please, please, please. I need help. I …” Tears sting my eyes without my meaning them, too. I just feel so overwhelmed right now, like I can't breathe, like I'm suffocating beneath the weight of my new responsibilities. A twenty-two year old virgin stripper with two kids and an ugly hairless dog. What the hell happened to my life? “My sister got on a plane and left the country to live with her boyfriend. She left her kids behind and I'm all they've got and my parents are out of town and tonight I have to start a horrible new job …” I'm babbling and crying at the same time right now, but I can't help it. It all just comes tumbling out.

  Zayden bites his lower lip and deposits the twins on the grass in a giggling heap as he looks me over.

  “Please,” I whisper, my voice breathy, hair sticking to my wet cheeks as I sniffle and look up at him. “I don't have anybody else to ask.” I pause and take a deep breath. “Unless you think I should try Craigslist?”

  Zayden arches a pierced brow and puts his hands on his hips, cursing under his breath.

  “Fuck,” he says and that's it. “Just fuck.”

  I smile and then throw my arms around the neck of a perfect stranger.

  I have no idea why I do that; fuck doesn't exactly mean yes.

  I am such a huge fucking sucker for pretty girls in distress.

  That shit is gonna kill me one day. I can barely handle the four brats that I have now. Take on two more? I must be going insane. Like, literally insane. Hello straitjacket, sign my bitch ass up, so I can start my journey on the crazy train.

  My fingers rake through my hair as I pace back and forth and check the time on my phone.

  Seven fifty six.

  It's just about time to head over to that chick's house. Like, I wouldn't even go, but if she's naïve enough to just give me her address and invite me over to watch her kids, then I'm worried about her. What if she really does get on Craigslist and call up some weirdo? I … fuck. I couldn't live with myself.

  Why the fuck did I make that nanny joke? And why didn't I correct her? References? I don't have any references. My brother's exact words were: Do you think I'd have called if I had anyone else? That does not inspire much confidence in anyone.

  A text comes in as I'm pacing. It's from Kitty again—and it's a picture of her pierced tits.

  Looking forward to tonight, it says and I swear, I can feel my cock crying tears of frustration.

  Sorry, babe. Babysitting isn't going well. You want to reschedule for tomorrow night?

  But then, that probably won't happen either. That girl, Brooke or whatever her name is, kind of implied that she needed me, like, all week. And I kind of didn't correct her because holy shit, what a hottie. I mean, wow. She might not be as colorful as Kitty with the Pink Hair, but that body … I squeeze my crotch and groan.

  “What are you doing?” I jump and stifle a scream as I spin to find Kinzie glaring at me. Is there seriously no such thing as privacy? I'm in the bathroom AND I've locked the goddamn door.

  “Did you pick the lock?” I ask and she grins at me, tossing a hair clip thing in the sink. “With a barrette?”

  “That's a bobby pin, stupid,” she tells me. “Mom taught me how because the twins always lock themselves in and refuse to come out.”

  “Great,” I say caustically, raking my fingers through the hair on the left side of my head. “Weren't you napping or something? Can I please have a minute here?”

  “I'm up now, and I'm hungry. Can we have burgers?”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever. Get your shoes on. We've gotta go.”

  “It's almost eight o'clock,” she says, and I narrow my eyes. “It's bedtime. And you haven't even fed us dinner yet. Frozen blueberries aren't dinner.”

  “Listen up, you,” I tell her as I lean over and give her a look. “You have a serious attitude, okay. I'm trying my best here. Cut me some slack, yeah?” Kinzie gives me a look … and then hauls out and kicks me in the shin. I grit my teeth, but I don't have time to play games right now. No, I'll save those for later. Because you know what? No spankings doesn't mean no time-outs, does it? And it doesn't mean I can't unplug the TV and take away her video games, right? Although that does sound unnecessarily cruel …

  Anyhow, it's time to whoop some metaphorical ass here.

  I gather the kids up and get them all in the car while the baby and the twins squirm and scream and cry about being woken up. Of course, by the time I get to Brooke's they're all asleep and I have to start the entire process all over again.

  The house is … kind of shitty, but it's definitely an upgrade over the duplex with the Bible-thumper on one side and the pot dealer on the other. I mean, Jesus, a trailer would be an upgrade over that place.

  “Let's go,” I say and notice that Kinzie's flat-out refusing to leave the car. Fine then. I lock her in, confident that the child safety locks will keep her there, and head to the front door, knocking twice before it swings open and Brooke's standing there with two lines of dark mascara tears running down her cheeks.

  Holy … shit.

  My knight in shining armor meter starts pinging.

  “Yo, Brooke, what's wrong, doll?” She shakes her head and sniffles, running her arm under her nose as she steps back to let us in. I carry the baby into a shabby little living room with a single couch, a love seat and a coffee table. Other than the TV and the rug, that's pretty much it. Not a lot of art or decorations or even toys. But at least there's space. And there's not a baby-hating asshole on the other side of the wall. I am going to murder that man, I swear to Christ. “I have to go back out and grab Satan's spawn. You gonna be alright for a second?”

  “I'm seriously fine,” Brooke sa
ys, but her voice is a goopy sob and her makeup's a mess. Her very, very thick stage makeup that looks nothing like what she's been wearing to the park these last few days. Where the hell is she working tonight?

  A second before I drag myself away—cannot stand to see a pretty girl cry like that—Kinzie appears at the front door and slams it behind her, sitting down hard on the couch and folding her arms cross her chest.

  Well, shit. At least she didn't run off.

  “I've got to go finish getting ready,” Brooke says as her girls appear on the steps and the brunette one, Bella I think it is, gets her first look at Kinzie. The two of them haven't exactly been playing together at the park. In fact, based on the looks they've been tossing each other's way … I think there's a good chance that they're rivals.

  Great. Nothing I love more than seven-year-old-girl drama.

  “Ugh, this is gonna suck,” Kinzie spits, kicking the coffee table.

  “Hey,” I snap, but I'm slightly distracted by Brooke as she moves up the stairs, sniffling and shaking like she's about to have a panic attack. Jesus.

  “Boys,” I dig my phone from my pocket and pass it into their grasping hands. “Play Angry Birds or poop game or something, that one where it bounces and giggles and shit.”

  “Curse jar,” Kinzie mutters as I lock the chain on the front door—would not put it past my niece to take off—and grab the baby, moving up the staircase to search for Brooke.

  I find her in the bathroom attached to the master bedroom, a curler in her hand, her long silky hair twisting around the curled metal end as her hands continue to shake.

  Sadie goes on the floor, still strapped into the car seat (because I learned from Google that it's like, totally unsafe to leave a baby unstrapped in one). Some blessing from an ancient god keeps her asleep as I lean my forearm against the door frame and watch Brooke getting ready inside.

  “What's the matter? And don't tell me nothing because I don't buy that shit.” Brooke glances at me in the mirror, but she doesn't stop curling her hair. Downstairs, I hear a TV turn on. A quick tiptoe down the hallway and a glance at the living room shows the twins mesmerized by my phone and the three girls settled in various parts of the living room to watch some weird ass cartoon with glittering purple ponies. Ooookay.

  I head back to Brooke and cross my arms over my chest.

  “Well?”

  “It doesn't matter,” she says as she sniffles one last time and squares her shoulders, feet spread apart in a warrior's pose. “Telling you won't change anything.”

  “You won't know that until you actually conjure the words to speak, huh?” Brooke whirls around, still clutching the iron and glaring at me with those vibrant eyes of hers. The color might be pale, but the intensity is … just wow.

  “Let me have some pride, okay? If I tell you then everyone will know. I don't want everyone to know.” Her eyes water again, but she glances away before the tears can fall. When she pulls the curling iron away from her face, a bouncy brown curl drops onto her forehead.

  “It can't be all that bad, right?” I ask and then wish I hadn't said it as her breath catches hard in her throat and she tosses the curler into the sink, leaning forward to put her hands on the counter. I step into the room, putting a hand on her lower back and rubbing in circles. It feels good to touch her, like my hand's on fire, the palm licking flames against the small band of exposed flesh between her pants and shirt.

  “I'm stripping,” she whispers and it takes me a second to register that. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Tonight, I'm taking my clothes off for fucking strangers, and I hate it. I hate it. I feel sick to my stomach.” She leans even farther forward, putting her forehead against the white linoleum surface. “This is my body. Mine. I don't want to do this. I don't want to take money for this.”

  “Then don't,” I snap, getting pissy and defensive. This is so fucked. So, so, so fucked. A cute little naïve girl like this? She … this isn't right. I feel protective and righteously pissed on her behalf. “Take some more time. Find another job. Hey, listen, it's not like I need the money, okay? You can just not pay me.”

  Brooke lifts her head and looks at me in the mirror, curls tumbling around her face. Some loose strands of hair brush my hand from where they rest on her back.

  “That's nice of you, Zay, really. But I need food. And I need rent. And my sister hasn't bought Bella shoes in like three years. All of hers have holes in the toes. I need gas to get to the university, and I need money for electricity. I don't have another choice. Eureka isn't exactly a bustling metropolis. There aren't a lot of options for me here. Look, I know we don't know each other and this is kind of the last thing you want to be dealing with.”

  “Not a big deal,” I say even though it kind of is, but hell, it's not really her that I'm pissed at. I'm not exactly sure who I'm supposed to be mad at, so I curl my hands into fists and lean into the door frame again as Brooke starts to fix her makeup. “I can understand why you don't want to do this.”

  “It's worse than you think,” she says and I raise an eyebrow as she accidentally smears liner across her cheek and curses, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and trying to dab it off. “Have you ever heard of a virgin stripper before? Only in stupid romance novels. And this isn't a stupid romance novel.”

  No, it's a damn good romance novel, I think and then wonder where that weird ass thought came from. Anyway …

  “What do you mean virgin?” I ask as Brooke smears red across her mouth. “Like virgin as in never stripped before or …”

  “Virgin as in never been poked.” She said it, not me. Both of my brows go up now as I hook my fingers behind my head and suck in a deep breath. Holy hell. A twenty-two year old virgin. I mean, those aren't unheard of, right? My buddy at the shop has a brother who's twenty-five and still a virgin, some hopeless romantic kid that wants the one. Is that who this girl is? Holy fucknuts. “So now a bunch of weird, gross guys are going to see me naked when I haven't even gotten to decide who I want to show myself naked to.”

  She starts to shake again and I see why this is such a seriously big deal for her.

  Ouch. I can't even imagine. Yikes.

  “There … I don't want men with money to be the first people to see me naked.”

  There's a long, awkward pause there where I realize that I'm the only man in the room currently. But no, no. After what I've just learned, this girl is an absolute no. Never gonna happen. A virgin stripper with two inherited kids? Fuck that shit.

  “Listen, Brooke,” I start as she turns to me and looks at me with those big fucking Bambi eyes. Jesus, they're like marbles or something. She sweeps her long, dark hair over her shoulder and then reaches down to the top button on her shirt.

  “Please,” she whispers, and I have no idea how I'm supposed to tell her no. Especially because my body is one hundred percent on board with this plan. Brooke's shaking fingers start to pull buttons apart as I take a step back and she follows me into the room. I'm not sure what the hell I'm supposed to be doing with her at this point, but I settle for scooting Sadie over and sitting on the bed. The baby's still asleep, but I tilt her seat away from the action anyway. “Just look at me,” she says and my entire body flushes hot and warm, my cock rising to the occasion with gusto. My fingers curl into the blankets as I force myself to hold still and watch.

  Brooke pulls her purple plaid top off and tosses it aside, leaving her breasts trapped in mint green fabric with little pink roses. I kind of want to bite them all off, but I make myself stay sitting because, hell, I'm not a fucking predator. I'm not gonna pray on some chick who's about to have a panic attack. When she starts undoing her pants though, a groan builds in my throat and I wish with a wild fervor that we were both in Vegas, strangers undressing in my apartment—alone—without six kids in the house.

  Kids.

  Those kids could come up here at any minute and yet … I don't hear anyone on the stairs, so I make myself sit stone still, watching, my eyes eating up the sight as Br
ooke pushes her jeans to the floor and steps out of them, her undies a baggy pair of black cotton granny panties that'd be hilarious under any other circumstances.

  “You were going to strip in those?” I ask, but it's not as funny of a joke as I'd meant it to be. When Brooke moves closer, putting a knee on one side of me and then straddling my lap—and the hard bulge of my erect cock—I'm powerless to resist. She's a beautiful girl and I'm turned-on as hell and here she is, offering herself to me. Who am I to say no?

  Brooke wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me, her tongue hot and slick, sliding into my mouth and flicking across my teeth. Hmm. Not bad for a virgin.

  I put my hands on her hips and kiss her back, showing her how to move her tongue, let me in to take control. And that's what she wants right now, I can tell. She wants someone else to take control of the situation, stop her from doing this. I can't exactly make that call, now can I? But I can give her this. If she wants to take this away from those men, this first look at her naked body, then I'll take it for her.

  My hands smooth up to Brooke's waist before I lift her away from my lap and stand up.

  “Take it all off,” I say as I strip my shirt and she takes a small step back, pausing for a split second before tossing her bra and stepping out of those hideous panties. Her breasts are full but not huge, perky and taut with hard pink nipples and a rosy flush. I want them in my goddamn hands now.

  I step forward and breathe in Brooke's sweet scent. God, I love how women smell. Like fruit and flowers and vanilla. A sweep of my hands through her long hair makes the scent stronger, reminds me of cucumbers and watermelon. Yum.

  “Lay down,” I whisper as I move back and let her crawl onto the bed, her bare ass perky and plump as she turns and then lays back, letting me get a good, long look at her, at the shaved line of her pussy, the whiteness of her thighs. When I crawl onto the bed, it dips under my weight, squeaking softly as I line my body up with Brooke's and kiss her mouth hard, let her touch and caress my back and chest and belly. Her hands are everywhere, like she's desperate for me, her hips lifting up off the bed, grinding into me as I clench my hands in the sheets and struggle to keep this above the belt.