Redeem Me (Beckett Brothers #2)

7. Caelon

Chapter Seven

CAELON

‘Your room is upstairs. Fifth door on the right,’ I tell Ivy, without adding that it’s not the usual nanny room, it’s the most opulent guest bedroom in the house and, coincidentally, the furthest room away from mine. ‘Samuel will take your luggage up shortly.’

I must be mad letting her stay, but how could I say no when Orla has latched onto her like a vine clinging to an oak tree?

‘Thank you.’ she flicks her golden hair from her shoulders and my focus is drawn to the bare skin of her chest. Her vest does nothing to conceal the perky tits straining beneath, or the faint outline of the lace pattern of her bra.

Where is Nanny McPhee when I need her?

Instead, I’m stuck with Nanny McSexy. Nanny McSunshine. Nanny McBestFriend’s FuckingSister.

All the work I have on at the moment suddenly seems like a blessing. Manual labour in ninety-degree heat would be less work than keeping my eyes off my newest employee.

And that’s the crux of the problem.

I don’t date. I fuck. There’s a reason I don’t bring women home. I don’t let women near my house or my kids. And now, suddenly, the woman I’ve spent the weekend wanking myself stupid over is my new roommate.

Even if I was looking for something, which I’m not, other than revenge, of course, Ivy is completely and utterly off limits for a million different reasons.

Liz steps out into the sunshine carrying two plates of pasta bake for the kids, places them on the table and returns to the kitchen.

‘You should have most of the information you require in the contract, but I’ll run over it quickly, anyway.’ Ground rules. That’s what we need. Firm, rigid, unwavering ground rules, for my benefit, as much as for hers.

‘Great.’ Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip and I imagine it darting over my cock.

Fuck’s sake, Caelon. Get a grip.

I blink hard, forcing the image away.

Orla stabs a piece of penne with her fork, gazing at Ivy like she’s some sort of goddess. Ivy winks at her and pats her forearm affectionately. She really is a natural with children. At least her sunny, sassy warmth is good for something.

‘I work long hours. I travel frequently. It’s easier during term time when the kids are in school, but summers are hard. I need someone who is prepared to be here when I can’t be. Having said that, I always try to be home on Friday night to put the kids to bed myself. If I am, you can take the night off. Saturday nights I usually go out.’ I avert my eyes as the memories of last Saturday night crash back through my brain. ‘And all my employees have Sundays off.’

‘That’s very generous,’ Ivy says, and I can’t work out if she’s being sarcastic or not.

‘The nights I am home, we eat together as a family. You’re welcome to join us.’ I clear my throat. ‘We have a gym, a cinema room, and you can see the pool. Use them as you like. I’d like you to spend half an hour each day helping the kids with their reading. Other than that, you’re free to entertain them any way you like.’

‘Ah, Daddy! I hate reading,’ Owen complains.

‘I know, buddy, but you hate it because it’s hard. Sometimes the things we find the hardest are the most important things to master.’

Isn’t that the truth?

Liz returns with two giant bowls of Caesar salad topped with parmesan. The scent of smoked bacon wafts through the air.

‘I can cook, if you want me to,’ Ivy offers.

‘You most certainly can’t!’ Liz exclaims, her thin lips purse into a tight line. ‘That’s my department.’

‘Oh,’ Ivy startles, ‘I didn’t mean to step on anyone’s toes. I’m just saying I can help in other ways if you need me to. Use me any way you like.’

I cough to cover my gasp.

‘Oh God, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean…’ Her fingers fly to her luscious lips as her cheeks flush to a hot pink.

‘Uncle James told Daddy it’s okay to use women, as long as they understand up front that’s all it will ever be,’ Orla announces with a mouth full of penne. ‘I heard them talking at Granny’s house last weekend.’

Liz’s jaw almost hits the floor. She spins on her sensible flat shoes and stalks back to the kitchen.

Oh my God.

Now it’s my cheeks flushing red.

Ivy splutters and thumps her chest with a fist before reaching for a glass of water.

I clear my throat. ‘Thank you, Orla, but that was a private conversation between grown-ups. You mustn’t eavesdrop on adult conversations. ’

‘Oh, you mean like the time I heard?—’

‘That’s enough. Thank you.’ I cut her off before she can say anything to lower Ivy’s opinion of me further.

Not that I care what she thinks, of course.

‘There’s an SUV in the garage. It’s yours while you work for this family. I’ll get you the keys, along with a set of house keys, and I’ll get you a credit card. Take the kids out. Buy them things. Spoil them. They’ve been through enough. I want them to be happy.’

‘Perfect. Is there anything else I should know?’ Ivy spears a chunk of chicken and pops it into her mouth.

Not unless you want to know how many times I’ve thought about your slippery wet cunt in the last thirty-six hours.

‘The kids go to bed at seven-thirty. When I’m here, I prefer to read their stories myself.’

‘Okay dokey.’ Her mouth moves as she chews and it’s a struggle to tear my gaze away.

‘What will Dermot think of you working for me?’ Truthfully, it’s the least of my worries, but I am aware it might cause some tension.

‘I’m sure he’ll be happy knowing I’m in safe hands.’ She smirks and I scowl. ‘Better the devil you know, right?’

She has no idea.

We both reach for the salt at the same time and our fingers meet. A sharp shock sears my skin.

‘Sorry,’ she stammers, yanking her hand back.

So am I.

Sorry that she stirs something in my trousers.

Sorry that I know how fucking sweet she tastes.

And sorry that I can never taste her again.