by Sami Lee
A neatly trimmed hedge rimmed the pool and partially concealed it from the house on one side, while leaving it open to the spectacular vista of Sydney Harbour on the other. Meg had rounded the hedge before she realised the pool was occupied.
Her steps faltered as her eyes caught the sight of Bryce cutting a path through the crystal-clear water, his bare shoulders glistening in the high sunshine, muscles flexing with each fluid stroke. His skin had a sun-kissed appearance that didn’t quite qualify as a tan, but it made him seem like a bronzed Adonis nonetheless.
Meg chastised her fanciful thoughts. He was a man, just like any other. She had to stop seeing him as something more than average. Handsome, smart and compassionate yes, but he had his faults too. He could be overbearing at times, closed off to new ideas. Anyone could see he needed to spend more time with Phillipa, be more open with her about her mother.
Still, it was difficult to keep his foibles in mind when he was half naked, wet and looking gracefully athletic. She wouldn’t get any reading done, that was for sure. Willing her legs to move she managed to execute a half turn. She realised she had dithered about for far too long when, sailing to the edge of the pool, Bryce lifted his head and saw her before she could escape.
‘Meg.’ He puffed out a breath. ‘I didn’t see you there.’
‘I just got here.’ Oh, about five laps ago. ‘I didn’t realise you’d be here. I’ll just go sit somewhere else.’
‘There’s no need. I’m done here.’
He set his hands on the edge of the pool and used them to lever himself out of the water. The motion was as fluid as his swimming stroke. Water sluiced down his body until a puddle of it gathered on the slate tiles at his feet. Meg kept her eyes lowered, watching those feet — big, sexy feet — as they moved toward one of the sun lounges. She was afraid if she allowed herself to look at anything else on his taut and enticing body she would start drooling.
‘You’re not swimming?’ he asked after a moment, forcing Meg to meet his eyes. She couldn’t help the furtive tour she took of his body on the way up. The flash of dark swimming trunks she saw before he wrapped a towel around his hips, the dark hair plastered in a thin line to his flat stomach, the expanse of firm, lightly haired chest. And those magnificently wide shoulders. He was, quite simply, breathtaking.
It was all Meg could do to stop herself from reaching out to touch that tempting expanse of damp, cool skin. Formulating a sentence was out of the question. She looked into his face, squinting against the sun’s brightness. ‘Ah…I…huh?’
His lips twitched. ‘I was wondering why you’re not swimming. The pool’s heated, so feel free.’ His eyes brushed over her shirt and jeans. His glance snapped back to her face with embarrassing rapidity, given the detailed perusal she had just afforded his body.
Meg fought to control a blush. She glanced down at the book in her hand. ‘I was just looking for somewhere to read. The house is a little noisy at the moment.’
‘I felt the need to escape during Phillipa’s violin lesson myself. I think Mrs Henderson earns her money.’
The underscore of good humour to his words gave Meg the temerity to say, ‘She really is terrible, isn’t she? It makes me wonder why you wouldn’t let her give up the lessons. I mean,’ Meg rushed on when his brows drew downward, ‘if she’s really not enjoying herself.’
‘Of course she’s not enjoying herself. Violin is a difficult instrument that takes time and effort to learn. But it was the instrument she insisted on taking up. She begged me for lessons relentlessly for weeks and I agreed on the proviso she stuck with it for a reasonable length of time. I am simply ensuring she lives up to her end of the bargain.’
‘You make it sound like she entered into a contract with you or something.’ Meg’s temper rose at his imperious tone. ‘She’s not a business associate. She’s your daughter.’
‘And she’s also her mother’s daughter. Isabelle is neither willing nor able to honour her commitments, so it falls on me to teach Phillipa how to do so. If she learns nothing else from me, she will learn that.’
‘To a fault? Shouldn’t a child be allowed to try a few things before they land on something they’re required to stick to for life?’ Meg challenged, one hand resting on her hip while she now used the book to shade her face, all the better to stare down Bryce. Or should that be, stare up? ‘Crikey, I tried three different musical instruments and I had no aptitude for a one of them, then I played four different sports before I found one I liked enough to stick with. Why don’t you give Phillipa a break?’
‘You want me to measure Phillipa’s behaviour against yours? The woman who jumps into taxis with strangers and takes the first job offered on a whim?’
Meg narrowed her eyes, trying not to let him see how much his account of her stung. ‘Do I have to point out that you were the one who offered me that job? If you thought I was such a lunatic why did you do it?’
His reply seemed dragged out of him. ‘I don’t know.’
The silence stretched out between them and Meg felt her heart sinking. ‘Are you having regrets?’
His stare was hard on her face as he considered his response. The delay and his expression was enough answer for Meg. ‘I see.’ She took a step backward, away from the warmth of his body. Evidently he didn’t like the way she couldn’t seem to keep from saying what she thought all the time. Bryce Carlton preferred his employees to be seen and not heard.
‘Meg, wait. I didn’t mean it the way you think.’ He sighed, a frustrated sound, and brought his hand up to drag it through his hair. Droplets of water flung from the ends of his fingers and landed on Meg’s sleeve.
‘It’s all right Bryce. I understand perfectly.’ Oh yes, she understood. She understood that her luck had run out, just when she was starting to make headway with Phillipa. She hadn’t yet found an opening with a design firm, let alone a position, and he was already kicking her out.
‘I don’t think you do understand, Meg.’ He appeared deflated suddenly, almost sad.
‘Why don’t I make it easy on you? I’ll be gone by the end of the week. That should give you enough time to find a replacement.’
‘No.’ His voice turned harsh as he reached out a hand to stop her from turning away. His touch was hot, his fingers damp on her wrist. ‘I don’t want you to quit.’
Meg’s pulse skyrocketed in a way she hoped he wouldn’t notice. ‘You’d rather I wait until you fire me?’
‘I’m not going to fire you.’ Everything in his expression told her he it was the truth. ‘I was simply trying to say that hiring you was not one of my most carefully considered decisions. But I do believe it was the right decision for my daughter.’
‘But you don’t think I should have an opinion on what might make her happy.’
‘I’m willing to hear your opinions, Meg. As long as you remember that I am Phillipa’s father. As far as she’s concerned, what I say goes. Is that understood?’
For a long time, Meg returned his earnest gaze. He hadn’t relinquished his hold on her arm, as though he still felt the need to prevent her from leaving. The contact burned the sensitive skin of her wrist, made her pulse leap even further beyond her control. Although contact was restricted to that one, fairly innocuous, element, their bodies aligned closely, making Meg more than a little aware of how much she would like to be able to touch Bryce elsewhere.
The knowledge hit her like a sledgehammer. She didn’t merely appreciate Bryce’s attributes in an objective any-woman-would-take-a-second-look kind of way. She had developed a full-blown attraction to him — more than an attraction. The feeling that coursed through her was desire, hot and tingly.
And unrequited.
Oh, wasn’t she pitiable? The poor, lowly nanny lusting after her handsome, beyond-reach boss? She should take this opportunity to insist on handing in her resignation. But she couldn’t afford to leave until another job came up. She was simply going to have to harness her emotions and get on with things for now.
With a nod Meg replied, ‘Understood.’ She prayed her hormones got the message as well.
***
‘Carlton, I asked if you had any cause to see things differently than the rest of the board.’
Stanley Donaldson’s peevish tone snagged Bryce’s attention when his monotone report on the proposed changes to the organisation’s structure had not. Not that he had needed to listen. Bryce had read all the documentation necessary to make his own report, and had his own opinion about what should be done to improve DCA’s share price.
Still, it wasn’t like him to take a mental holiday during a meeting of the board of directors, even given their tendency to be overlong and not nearly as productive as he wished. At least, it hadn’t been like him until he had made the rash decision to hire Meg Lacy. Ever since, daydreaming about her had become his new hobby.
Forcing his attention to the business at hand, Bryce eyed the older man levelly. ‘I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear I do see things differently, Stanley. You’re already well aware of my opinion on the subject of cutting staff in our branches and focussing more on online customer service. I think it’s a mistake, and that the staff that have been loyal to DCA despite the recent merger and several management overhauls deserve better.’
A chorus of wearied murmurs broke out amid the sound of gold-plated pens being tossed on the lacquered boardroom table. Bryce remained composed in his leather chair and waited for the ruckus to die down, knowing he would spend the next hour or more trying to convince the board of his position and that the meeting would likely end without resolution.
Aside from himself, there was only one other board member who originated from Carlton and Associates. The remainder of the eight-strong board had been installed from Drake International, the larger wealth management company with whom Bryce had merged his own two years ago. The fact that his father had started Carlton and Associates forty years ago and built it into one of the most successful and respected wealth management companies in the country meant Bryce’s seat on the board was assured, as was his position as CEO.
But it certainly didn’t guarantee smooth sailing when it came to implementing operational decisions of his choice. Most of the board members were a good twenty years older than he and considered him rash and inexperienced. Little did they know how mightily he tried to rein in his rash impulses. Especially where his daughter’s nanny was concerned.
As much as he tried to put all thought of Meg Lacy from his mind, she remained firmly entrenched in his thoughts after the board meeting broke up and he headed back to his office. He remembered the feel of her skin, sun-warmed and soft against his fingers as he’d held her wrist by the pool on Saturday. He remembered almost admitting in his frustration the real reason behind his reservations about hiring her; that he was immutably attracted to her, despite all his efforts to combat the inconvenient feeling.
Having her in his house while knowing he could never touch her was a particularly masochistic type of self-torture. Especially when she walked around in those impossibly fitted jeans and jaunty T-shirts of hers, her slim thighs encased in soft denim, her breasts outlined by worn cotton, the imprint of her bra visible…
Bryce muttered a gruff curse just as his assistant, an elegant woman in her fifties named Claudia Wilkins, knocked on his partially open office door. ‘Mr Carlton, is something wrong?’
Nothing a long cold shower, or better yet, a willing woman wouldn’t fix. ‘No…nothing out of the ordinary, Claudia,’ he sighed. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I have some papers for you to sign’ She traversed the expanse of plush beige carpet toward his oak desk, carrying a pile of documents. ‘And you have that meeting at four-thirty with Maree from Human Resources.’
Darn. The meeting had slipped his mind. Something else he had never done before that he was starting to do a lot of lately — forget his schedule. If he weren’t so vexed by persistent fantasies of Meg wearing one of her tiny cotton T-shirts and little else…
‘Where is it you buy your outfits, Claudia?’
His sudden question made his demure, impeccably presented assistant’s jaw drop. Her brown eyes widened behind her frameless spectacles. ‘Excuse me, sir?’
‘Your clothes.’ Bryce tilted his head at her prim navy pantsuit and low-heeled shoes. A perfectly modest outfit that didn’t skim the woman’s curves or for that matter let a man know whether she even had any.
Claudia was almost twenty years older than he was, and he had never thought of her in that way, but he felt quite sure that if Meg wore clothes like that around the house — perfectly staid, perfectly functional and perfectly boring — she would prove not nearly the tenacious distraction she had thus far.
‘You want me to tell you where I shop for clothes?’
Claudia eyed at him warily, as though he were about to go mad and run screaming through the building. Deciding the less explaining he did about his odd query the better, Bryce merely smiled in a way he hoped would assure the woman of his sanity. ‘If you don’t mind.’
***
On Tuesday afternoon, Meg ascended the stairs from her room to the living area, where she found Mrs Dunkirk sitting forward on the edge of the couch, leaning toward the television with a look of avid interest on her face. On the screen a woman was hiding in a cupboard while a shadowy figure paced the room just beyond her to the background sound of suspenseful music.
‘What are you watching?’
At Meg’s question the other woman almost leapt off the couch, whirling around to face her. ‘Blimey girl, you scared me! I thought you were out.’
‘I’ll be leaving soon to collect Phillipa.’ Meg glanced again at the television. ‘Mrs Dunkirk, are you watching the soaps?’
Meg thought she saw an almost guilty flush infuse the older woman’s features. ‘I just turned on the television and the show happened to be on.’ Her face rearranged into her more familiar menacing scowl as she gave up the façade. ‘Oh, hush up will you? I’m just about to find out who the “Sunrise Valley Strangler” is.’
Smothering a smile, Meg moved to sit with dutiful quiet on the couch beside Mrs Dunkirk. She hadn’t seen this show in years, not since the last time she had been rugged up in bed with a stomach bug.
Meg watched, feeling Mrs Dunkirk’s tension as the shadowy figure continued to stalk through the room. The dramatic music reached a crescendo when the cupboard door swung open and the woman who had been hiding gasped in shock. ‘It’s you!’ she exclaimed, just before the screen froze on her face and the end credits began.
‘Blast!’ Mrs Dunkirk swore animatedly. ‘I really thought today was the day we’d find out.’
‘Ah, but this way you’ll be sure to watch tomorrow.’
Mrs Dunkirk narrowed her eyes. ‘It’s not polite to make fun of your elders, young lady.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Meg swiftly denied. ‘My mother used to watch this show whenever she got the chance. I remember watching it days I was home sick from school.’
‘My mother watches it too.’ Mrs Dunkirk’s scornful expression settled back into one of mere irritability. ‘She tapes it for me while I’m here and we watch it together at night. But today, I couldn’t help taking a peek.’
‘You live with your mother?’
‘She has a bad hip,’ she said testily, flicking off the remote control and rising swiftly to her feet. ‘She needs help getting around, and my no-good brother’s no help.’
Meg didn’t know what to say. She’d only been trying to make conversation with the woman. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. It’s very nice of you to help your mother out.’ In fact, the thought of Mrs Dunkirk sitting at home with her mother watching taped episodes of the silliest soap opera on television made her seem more human than she had appeared at any point up until now.
Mrs Dunkirk harrumphed. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than skulk around here bothering me?’
‘Actually, when Phillipa’s in school and you do all the housework, there d
oesn’t seem to be all that much to occupy me. What did the other nannies do?’
‘Sat around mostly.’ Mrs Dunkirk picked up a rag and bottle of cleaning spray and began polishing the coffee table’s surface. She made another sound in the back of her throat that conveyed displeasure. ‘Made themselves comfortable and took advantage of the cushy working conditions Mr Carlton provides. A few even spent their time devising ways to catch the boss’s attention. I’m sure you know what I mean.’
Meg could hardly miss the implication. A man like Bryce was sure to have even the most sensible person dreaming that he might sweep them off their tired, working-girl feet.
Not that she dreamt of any such thing, Meg assured herself, and almost believed it.
‘The young miss sorted those ones out pretty quickly,’ Mrs Dunkirk continued, a look very much like smug pride causing her mouth to curl. ‘She’s a clever girl, that one.’
‘Do you mean to tell me Phillipa has been purposely scaring away nannies she thinks might have eyes for her father?’ No wonder the girl had gone through so many carers. Is that why she had been so resistant to any attempts Meg had made to build a civil relationship?
Did Phillipa think she was after Bryce?
‘Saves me having to get nasty.’ Meg experienced a moment’s horror at the thought of the perennially cranky old woman getting any nastier. ‘That young man has been through enough, the last thing he needs is another gold-digging witch to dig her talons into him.’
‘I hope you don’t think that I fall into that category,’ Meg began, feeling her shoulders square as she met the other woman’s prickliness. ‘I have no interest in catching Bry — Mr Carlton’s attention in any way other than as an employee. And I’m not the kind of girl who can just hang around loafing all day. So if there’s ever anything you’d like me to do to help you, Mrs Dunkirk, say the word.’
The doorbell rang. To prove her assertion that she would help the housekeeper out wherever she could, Meg said, ‘I’ll get it,’ and sailed out of the living room toward the foyer.