Redeem Me (Beckett Brothers #2)

26. Caelon

Chapter Twenty-Six

CAELON

‘I don’t give a flying fuck who you need to bribe or blackmail. Just get that fucking planning approved.’ I bang the phone down, glancing around my office in Beckett’s Monaco Bliss Boutique Hotel. It’s anything but bliss for me. However tortured I was before, I’m a million times worse now. Knowing Ivy is in my house, wandering around in yet another low-cut sundress, while I’m stuck here under an avalanche of administration, is driving my dick demented.

I’ve already been here two nights and there isn’t a hope of hell I can get back for at least another two. I have meetings lined up with investors tomorrow, a new team of architects the following day, and a charity event, brushing shoulders with Monaco’s elite, that evening. Networking, James calls it. I call it a waste of my fucking time. The organisers should save everyone an evening of ass-kissing and let me get home.

Stephanie, my PA, sticks her head around the door with a grim look. Whatever she’s about to say, I already don’t like it. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr Beckett, but there’s an article I think you’ll want to read. I forwarded it to you, but when I saw you hadn’t opened it, I thought I’d better pop in. ’

It must be urgent because Stephanie never ”pops in”. No one does.

‘Thanks, Stephanie.’ I wave her out the door. She’s been with me for two years, and travels everywhere with me, but I know no more about her than when I hired her – other than that she’s efficient, discreet and reliable.

I find the email and click on the attachment with a clenched jaw. Probably another damn hoop to jump over with some bullshit architect with a stick up his ass, pointing out some obscure planning regulation. Honestly, I have to deal with so many anal quibbles. My hotels bring so much trade to the area, to the surrounding restaurants, and a hundred other tourist-dependent businesses, yet it seems I’m constantly faced with red tape.

But it’s not more red tape. It’s a giant red flag.

The article is from Tattler’s Tale, Dublin’s trashiest blog and includes a photo of Ivy and me on the pier two days ago, lip locked in the most sensual kiss of my life. My hands are on her hips, holding her tight and her fingers gripping my neck like she’s afraid I’m going to pull back. The headline reads, ‘Money Can’t Buy Privacy: Caelon Beckett caught kissing on camera with mystery woman.’

Fuck. I scan the article with a sinking sense of dread. Thankfully, Ivy isn’t identified, but if Dermot sees this, he will rip my head off and shit down my neck.

I snatch up my phone and dial my brother, James. He answers immediately.

‘I see you got papped with your hand in the honey pot,’ he chuckles. ‘I knew you were fucking the nanny!’

‘I wasn’t then, but I am now.’ I rub my hand over the prickly stubble dotting my jawline. ‘Can you get it taken down?’

‘It’s already done, little brother.’ James says smugly. ‘Money can buy privacy, and it can also buy pain. ’

‘Thank you,’ I sigh. ‘Dermot will not take kindly to me defiling his little sister, even if she enjoyed every second.’

His low chuckle rumbles through the phone. ‘I like her. She’s got sass.’

‘By the bucket load,’ I agree. A warmth heats my chest.

‘She’s good for you, you know,’ James says. ‘Scarlett adored her. They swapped numbers and they’re planning to meet up.’

I don’t know how I feel about that, so I don’t answer. I click the link again, but the article’s no longer accessible. Looks like my head might remain on my neck for another day. Unless Dermot has already seen it.

But I don’t think so. If he had, he’d have been at my house by now and dragged Ivy home with him. I’ve been keeping a close eye on the cameras and that hasn’t happened.

‘Oh, by the way, I’m sending a driver around this evening to collect the kids for a sleepover. Harper is desperate for her cousins to stay, and that way you can have some alone time with Ivy.’

I blink hard. ‘I’m in Monaco.’

‘Well, leave Monaco,’ he says, like it’s that simple.

‘I can’t. I have meetings.’

‘Are you sure you’re not just avoiding the nanny now that you’ve fucked her?’

‘I’m not avoiding anyone.’

‘You know Isabella wouldn’t want you to be alone forever,’ James continues wistfully.

‘Yeah, so everyone keeps telling me.’ I purse my lips.

‘But can I make a small suggestion?’ There’s a cautioning note in his tone.

‘Go on.’ I hate it already.

‘If you’re serious about Ivy, you should probably tell your best friend you’re shagging his kid sister. Imagine it was Dermot and Zara. We’d line up to tear his limbs off.’

‘It’s not serious,’ I lie. I’ve broken all my own rules for Ivy. I’ve kissed her on the mouth. Fucked her in my house. And I think about her all-damn day. I have done from the night she walked into that bar. It’s about as serious as it gets, whether I like it or not.

‘Whatever you say, bro.’ James chortles.

‘I’ve got to go.’ I’m not ready to get into a deep and meaningful conversation with my brother about Ivy when I’m still processing what it all means.

It’s after eleven when I get back to my hotel suite. I shower, then crash on the bed, opening the home camera app on my iPad. The kids are at James’s house and I’m keen to see how my new nanny is spending her night off.

Now I’ve seen her naked, I have zero qualms about clicking on the camera in her bedroom. It’s not like I’m looking at something I haven’t already seen. Something I haven’t already licked, kissed and fucked.

Ivy’s sitting up in bed, squinting at her Kindle, tapping the screen every thirty seconds or so. Her legs are beneath the duvet, which is tucked around her waist. Her thin strappy top does nothing to conceal the pert swell of her breasts, or the outline of her nipples. Her wavy hair cascades over her tanned shoulders, wafting slightly from the breeze coming in from her open balcony doors.

I dial her number, watching as she pats around the bed for her phone.

A small smile flickers over her face as she peers at the screen.

‘Hello?’

‘What are you reading?’

Her head snaps up as she scans the room for the camera, homing in on the tiny circle above the balcony doors. ‘Are you spying on me?’

‘I’m admiring you.’

‘If you wanted to see me, you could video call like a normal person,’ she complains, but her smile doesn’t waver. ‘Were you hoping for a show?’ I watch on the iPad as she tosses her Kindle on the table next to the bed.

‘No. I told you; no one touches you but me.’

I watch as her chin juts out. ‘Remind me how far away you are again.’

A low growl reverberates in the back of my throat. ‘You promised. We had a deal. I’m the only one who gets to make you come.’

‘Why?’ Ivy taps the screen of her phone, placing me on speaker before tossing it next to her Kindle. Her fingers skim over the tops of her shoulders, sliding down each of the thin straps of her top, one by one.

‘Because I want you to be so desperate for a release by the time I get home, your slickness is sliding down your legs and your pussy is weeping for me.’

‘It always is,’ Ivy murmurs. ‘No matter how many times I get myself off, it doesn’t compare to having your mouth, your fingers, or your cock.’ Her fingers skim lower over her chest, tugging off her top and flinging it to the floor. Her big, beautiful breasts are on full display. I’m tempted to lick the screen.

‘Ivy,’ I warn her, as her palms brush over each pert nipple.

‘Let me show you what I do to myself when I think about you,’ she pants.

My cock thickens in my boxers. ‘No fucking way, Ivy. That’s cheating.’

‘It’s not,’ she argues.

‘I want all your pleasure. Every single drop of it.’

‘There’s plenty more.’ Her hand sinks lower, and she flips back the duvet. ‘I want you to see.’ The little brat hasn’t got any panties on and all I can see is inch after inch of creamy, flawless skin.

‘Are you trying to torture me?’ I hiss, torn between wanting to watch her get herself off and an irrational need to be the only one to get her off.

‘You’re already tortured, remember? I’m just trying to tease. Call it foreplay for when you get home.’ Her legs fall open and her hand sinks between them. She stares at the camera defiantly before her eyes roll up in pleasure. Pleasure which I would be giving her, if I wasn’t stuck here. ‘If you don’t want to watch me come hard, imagining it’s your hand between my legs, then I suggest you turn off the camera.’

‘Ivy,’ I bite out. This wasn’t the deal and as much as I want to watch her, I’m still going to punish her for this. Punish her for turning me on when I can’t touch her.

‘Touch yourself, Tortured,’ she urges. ‘Pretend it’s my hand wrapped around the base of your big, beautiful cock, and in a few days, it will be.’

‘Horny little brat. Have you got no sense of control?’ I hiss.

‘Not when it comes to you.’ Her hand moves up and down in languid strokes.

‘You are in so much trouble,’ I mutter, even as I slide my hand inside the waistband of my underwear. ‘I’m going to punish you for breaking our agreement.’

‘I prefer the term “negotiating” rather than “breaking”,’ she says with a smirk, rolling a nipple between her fingers with her left hand, while her right hand slides inside herself.

I pump my cock, watching her as tiny cat-like mews slip from her lips. ‘How wet are you?’

‘Soaking,’ she rasps. ‘I wish you were here.’

‘So do I.’ I watch as her eyelids close and the strokes of her fingers get faster.

‘Take your hand away, Ivy,’ I demand, jealous of her hand.

‘Make me,’ she pants, her pelvis jerking from the bed as she cries out in pure primal pleasure.