by Emerson Rose
Doesn’t he know how much ranchers can drink? Or what they’re capable of after that much alcohol?
And if he thinks the men are bad, wait until he gets a load of the girlfriends, wives, and whores. These are hardworking farm people who don’t get a chance to let loose very often and when they do they are a destructive, rowdy, loudmouthed group.
Add to that the People magazine thing, and you’ve got an intolerable situation. I’ve been the butt of a million jokes tonight and hit on by no less than a hundred women, most of which are not even remotely available or desirable.
I made an appearance, broke bread, had a few drinks, and now I am so outta here. No business is being conducted here tonight anyway. I should have skipped out and spent the evening with Stella and Cannon.
It’s one o’clock in the morning and I haven’t had any phone calls or heard any sirens so I assume things must be going all right, first time for everything.
My reputation as a hardcore, bad boy, party animal earned me countless after-party invitations, but I’ve never wanted to go home more. I excuse myself by saying I’m going to the bathroom and find my way into the kitchen.
The cooks are long gone, and the only people left in the kitchen are a lone dishwasher and a waitress. They look up and I wink at the waitress who blushes and I give the nod to the dishwasher while I stroll past like I’m supposed to be there. When I press the button for the elevator, the doors open right away and there stands Mr. Valentino.
“Ah, Mr. Pride, we meet again. Hiding from paparazzi?” he asks in his stupid fake accent.
“No, no paparazzi, just very drunk people who have been drinking from an open bar for hours. I hope your insurance is all paid up. I’m willing to bet there’s gonna be a lot of damage to your rooms tonight.” He presses his thin lips into a straight line and frowns before answering without his accent.
“You think?”
Ha, I knew it. He’s not fucking Italian. He sounds more like he’s from the Bronx than Vienna.
“Yes, I do think. Those folks don’t get their drink on in public often, and they’re wasted.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” The accent is back. I wonder if he even realizes he slipped?
We switch places while we talk and now I’m in the elevator and he is standing in the kitchen lost in thought, most likely worrying about holes in the walls and broken furniture.
“Have a good night.”
His head snaps up as the doors are closing and I see the panic in his eyes. How the hell did this guy get to be the general manager?
Upstairs I exit the service elevator and make my way to room #1 without running into anyone I know. I let myself in and look around the living room for signs of a struggle, a food fight, insects, or reptiles. Nothing. All of Cannon’s books and toys are picked up, pillows are plumped and sitting in a row on the couch, the television is off, and there’s not a french fry or a bug in sight.
Will the miracles ever cease? I remove my boots and answer my own question when I line them up next to Stella’s black and white Converse and Cannon’s Nikes.
Three pairs of shoes in a row.
By the door.
Clean and together in pairs.
Amazing.
The suite is quiet, and Stella is nowhere in sight. I pad across the room removing my jacket and loosening my tie on my way to Cannon’s room. But I stop short and take ahold of the doorjamb when I see them in my bed asleep, her front to his back, spooning like… like a mother and son.
I inhale a deep breath and hold it for a second before blowing it out and continue into the room. I sit in a chair at the bedside, cross my ankle over my knee and rub my chin watching them sleep.
No one has ever had such a way with my son. I wonder if there is any possibility of Stella becoming a part of our lives. I would pay her anything, give her anything, agree to any stipulations if she would be his nanny instead of just his friend.
But she’s a family rancher, and that’s not something people walk away from easily. I could ask, but if she has any loyalty to her family, she’ll say no.
Cannon stretches out his legs in his sleep jostling Stella. Her eyes open a slit, and she moves back to give him more room. When she sees me watching them her body stills.
“You’re back.”
“I am.”
“You’re watching me sleep.”
“I’m watching both of you sleep.”
“Why?”
“You two look so peaceful and believe me, Cannon is not a peaceful sleeper. He’s not a peaceful anything. He’s a thrasher, a cover hog, a wild animal who often ends up sleeping on the floor. You bring something out in him, a different person. The one I’ve had a glimpse of, but never fully seen until now. If you knew how he usually acts, you’d be in awe, too.”
“If you weren’t his daddy I wouldn’t believe you. He’s a great kid. I like him a lot.”
I stand up and round the bed to her side. She follows me with her eyes. “Come on, let’s have a glass of wine.”
She rolls away from Cannon, and I help her slide her arm out from under him. Cannon flops onto his back and stretches out into a star, all four limbs extended as far as they will go. Now, that looks more like the way my son sleeps.
“How did you end up spooning with my kid?” I ask tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she adjusts her clothes. She freezes at the tender gesture, and I take a step back to give her space.
The last thing I need to do is scare her off.
“I, uh, I couldn’t put him down without waking him up. We kind of rolled into bed together and I guess I fell asleep.”
“He’s hard to get down, but once he is, he’s out cold for a good eight or nine hours. You could have tossed him in bed, and he wouldn’t have moved a muscle.”
“I’ll remember that.”
I like the sound of that. I’ll remember that leaves the door open to possibilities of her being around in the future.
In the living room, she sits on one end of the couch tucking her feet underneath her and covers her mouth when she yawns.
“Red or white?”
“I’m not much of a wine person. Do you have any whiskey in that bar?”
There’s a bottle of almost everything in this bar. It’s the Presidential Suite. I reach to the third row back and pick a bottle of Royal Crown Black.
“I do. Do you want it neat or straight up?”
“Neat, please.”
“Double?” I look back at her over my shoulder and smirk, but she doesn’t return the flirt. Instead, she blinks slow and cocks her head to the side.
“Sure.” When her answer comes right away, I worry if she drinks doubles of whiskey every day.
I pour our drinks and cross the room to hand it to her. I sit on the opposite end of the couch with my leg pulled up facing her.
“To a successful night with Cannon,” I say lifting my glass to hers.
She raises hers slowly, “Not sure if that’s something worth toasting but okay, to a successful night with a very sweet boy.”
Our glasses clink together, and I let the amber liquid burn down my throat and relax my insides with its warmth. She does the same and adjusts her position so that she’s able to rest her head against the back of the couch.
“Tell me about yourself.”
Her eyebrows pop up, and she gives me a you’re kidding, right look.
I know it’s late, and we have both had a long day, but I can’t resist the temptation to learn more about her.
“Humor me.”
“Uh, well, okay, I’m from Redwater, Montana. I was born and raised on the Deardon Rose Ranch. I’m thirty years old. I have a younger sister in college at Iowa State University and a little brother who works on the ranch like me. Not much else to tell.”
“Did you go to college?”
She looks down at her drink in her hands and swirls the fluid in gentle circles.
“No. I would have liked to, but no.”
“Why didn’t
you then? Your sister’s in college, right?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m not. There was only enough money for one of us to go to college. Charlotte wants to be a veterinarian on our ranch, so of course, the money was best spent on her education.”
“Why was there only enough money for one of you to go? Shouldn’t your parents have split it three ways and encouraged you all to get scholarships to make up the difference?”
She examines me closely like she’s deciding whether or not to trust me with more information.
“Jack Jr. had no desire to go to school past the twelfth grade. He’s more of a ranch hand than a scholar. And I wasn’t ready to go to college right away when I graduated high school. I didn't know what I wanted to do, and life on the ranch was simple. Back then I needed simple. Then I don’t know, I guess the longer I waited the more it was assumed that I was never going. Then Charlotte announced her plans and they gave the money to her.”
“Are you bitter about that?”
“No, I’m glad Charlotte is getting to do what she wants, she deserves it. She's my sister and I love her.”
“But you don’t?” I take another long swallow of my drink and narrow my eyes on Stella.
“I don’t what?”
“Deserve to get what you want?”
“I don’t know what I want to do with my life. What I didn’t want was to waste my parent’s hard earned money on a stupid liberal arts degree that wouldn’t help support the family.”
“Liberal arts degrees lead to other things, Stella. A lot of kids go to college and figure out what they want to do while they’re there. It’s not like you have to have your life planned out on a graph before you go.”
“Maybe not, but I wasn’t comfortable risking it. I couldn’t waste my parent's money.”
“I see. So, now I know your age, siblings, and education. Tell me about the real Stella Deardon.”
“Like I said, not much to tell. What about you?”
“I’m the sexiest man alive according to People magazine,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows up and down.
“That’s not fair. Those people have never met you. They’re only going off of a bunch of pictures they’ve seen online.”
“So you’re saying if they had met me in person they wouldn’t think I’m sexy?”
God, I love messing with her about this, even if it might get me into a lot of trouble with my son.
“Not exactly, I mean you’re good-looking, I just don’t think they can judge how sexy a man is from pictures. Being sexy is about more than that.”
“This isn’t the conversation I was planning on having with you.”
“Oh yeah? What conversation were you planning on having?”
“Honest?”
“That’s the only way I like it.”
Good to know. “I was going to ask you if you would be interested in being Cannon’s full-time friend.”
“You mean his nanny?”
“No, he doesn’t think of you like that, and I’m wondering if that’s not the difference. He’s hated every one of his nannies at first sight, but he’s taken to you like a duck to water.” She stares at me and leans forward to set her drink on the coffee table.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious.”
“Ash, I’m flattered and he’s a good boy, but I have to go home at the end of the week. My family needs me. I can’t just leave them short-handed.”
“I thought you might say that.”
“You run a family ranch, you know how it is. I’m really sorry, I wish I could help.”
“I don’t have a family ranch. My father is in politics but, yes, I understand. If you ever change your mind let me know. I’ll pay you whatever you want. You could get a college degree online while you work, just a thought.”
I catch a glimmer of interest in her eyes when I mention the pay and college. But it fades as quick as it came. “I’m sorry, that’s a very generous offer but I have to say no.”
I’ve never had to beg for a nanny before. They’re usually falling all over themselves applying for the job. None of them give a crap about being a real nanny, they use the position as an opportunity to get into my bed, and when they find out I don’t fuck the nanny, they’re gone. If they even make it that long, Cannon’s got a knack for getting them to run screaming out of our lives pretty quick.
“Like I said, if you change your mind.”
She smiles reassured that I’m not going to press the issue. “So your dad is in politics?”
“Yeah, he’s running for Governor of Montana this fall.”
“Oh my gosh, how did I miss that? You look just like him, Joseph Pride, right?”
She follows politics. Great. She probably knows more about me than I do.
“Yep, don’t believe everything you read either.” I finish my drink and stand up. “If we’re going to talk politics, I’m going to need another, you?” I ask holding up my empty tumbler.
“Uh, no, that’s okay, I’m good. Not your favorite topic?”
“That’s an understatement but, no, I don’t like talking about politics or my father.”
“Got it, well, I should be going, it’s late and the convention starts tomorrow.” She unfolds her legs from beneath her and begins to stand.
I offer her a hand to help her up, but once her hand is in mine I can't let her go. Standing toe to toe with me, the couch at the back of her legs, there is nowhere for her to go, nowhere to look but up into my face.
“You don’t have to go,” I say, softly. I scan her face reading her energy, anticipating her reaction but she does nothing but blink slowly and sway to the right ever so slightly. I reach for her waist to steady her. The drink must have affected her more than she thought and that’s good, now I can scratch possible alcoholic off my short list of worries about Stella Deardon.
What happens next isn’t planned. It wasn’t thought out or orchestrated in any way, but that’s what makes it incredible.
Electricity crackles in the air between us pushing us toward one another, her up onto her toes and me bending at the knees to press her against the front of my body.
I cover her mouth with mine and our tongues tangle together along with the warm taste of whiskey. Her hands wind around my neck sifting into my hair. I slide my hands under her perfect ass lifting her up. Her legs wrap around my waist and the pressure of her warm apex against my growing erection makes me moan into her mouth.
I had no intention of kissing her tonight, let alone hoisting her into my arms and carrying her off to bed, but that’s what I'm doing. Within five minutes, we are locked inside one of the three bedrooms in the Presidential Suite. I hover over her in a queen-sized bed that isn’t nearly big enough to do all the things I want to do to her.
I didn’t mean to do this, in fact, I promised myself I wouldn’t. I was going to leave her alone so that Cannon could keep her as his friend.
I don’t get involved with the nanny. It causes too much confusion. They think they’re more a part of the family than they are and then they start playing house. Cannon gets confused and acts out, and eventually he drives them away, or I send them away. It’s not worth it.
But she said no to being the nanny, so she’s free game now, right? No, not right, she’s my son’s friend. The problem is, I’m a selfish man and she’s fucking irresistible, I want her and I’m taking what I want.
Both of us panting I stop kissing her and ask one more time, with our lips still touching, “You’re sure you don’t want to be our nanny?” Her eyes flutter and open a slit. She shakes her head back and forth.
“I play kinda rough, you up for that?”
The corners of her lips twitch in a smile letting me know that she is.
I pull at her hoodie and she squirms under me until her arms are free. I shove her white T-shirt with the sparkly VS on the front over her head and twist it to keep her hands together and her arms raised.
I nip and kiss a trail to her breasts
and yank her bra down exposing two perfect swollen mounds. Her nipples are erect and begging for attention. I close my eyes for a second trying to slow down and let myself enjoy this, but I can’t. There's a frenzy taking over inside my body, I’ve never wanted a woman more and I want her everywhere, every way, all at once.
“Ash?” she whimpers arching her body against mine, asking for what I want so badly to give her. I open my eyes, “I don't want to hurt you." That’s not something a woman wants to hear her first time in bed with a new man, but it's the truth. She’s going to think I’m a serial killer but instead of shying away or freaking out, she smiles a wicked smile.
“Show me what you got, sexiest man alive.”
I moan and proceed to do just that, scooting her up the bed and stripping her of her shirt and bra in one expert move.
I kneel over her half-nude body and slide my belt out of its loops. “Arms up,” I order and she raises them to grasp the spools of the headboard. I rise over her and secure them with the belt. A shiver runs through her body and I scan her face to be sure it’s not from fear.
Her eyes are smoldering, fully dilated, not an ounce of fear anywhere. “Good girl, don’t move.” I hook my fingers into the waistband of her black sweatpants and slide them along with her delicate pink lace panties down her legs. When she’s naked, I spread her legs wide and take her in.
Her skin is flawless except for a scar on her torso near her naval, she’s flushed, and best of all she’s soaking wet for me.
“You, Stella Deardon, should be People magazine’s next sexiest person alive.”
Her flat belly quivers with a laugh and I lean down and kiss her right below her belly button. She sucks in a breath, “Ash…” I look up at her, and she’s staring at the ceiling instead of me. I move up and place one hand on either side of her body looking down into her eyes.
“Stella?”
She won’t look at me when she speaks, “This is going to sound weird but could you stay away from my scar?” I hook her chin with my finger and turn her to face me forcing her eyes to connect with mine.
“Of course, are you still okay?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, and I kiss her full lips until her legs wrap around my waist and the stress related to her scar is forgotten. For the moment…