Wild Christmas (Wild Heart Mountain: Wild Rider’s MC #17)

1. Freya

1

FREYA

M y foot hits the break and my jaw drops as Mr. Martell’s so-called cabin comes into view. I lean forward, peering through the windshield until I can see all three stories of what can only be described as a mansion made of wood.

Mr. Martell told me to meet him at his cabin for the interview and I was expecting something small and cozy nestled in the woods, not the multi-story mansion with a turret poking out on top surrounded by trees on three sides and sitting on a cliff’s edge with a view of the valley and the mountains beyond.

A delicious shiver creeps down my spine. It’s like something out of a fairytale only made of slatted wood.

Strains of “Last Christmas” blast out of my car speakers as I creep forward and park next to a Tesla, which seems far too white compared to my mud-splattered SUV. No one can keep a car that white in the mountains, and I wonder if he’s got a garage full of cars hidden away somewhere and the Tesla is just for show.

I cut the engine, cutting off George Michael, and am plunged into silence broken only by the rustle of the wind from the surrounding trees.

My younger self might have been intimidated by the sight of wealth, but two years working as an au pair in France have numbed me to it. I never saw a place like this in France or in any of the European countries I accompanied the family to on their many vacations though.

There’s something about the cabin, despite its size, that’s distinctly North Carolinian, and that makes it feel like home.

A late November chill has me pulling my coat tight around my chest as I walk over to the covered entrance. I love this time of year when the weather starts to bite, and I’m smiling as I head over to the huge pillars that hold up the second level balcony and lead to the entrance.

I’m halfway to the door when the roar of an engine coming up the gravel drive gets my attention.

I turn around as a motor bike roars into sight. It’s approaching too fast, and gravel kicks up under its wheels. I jump out of the way just in time as it slows down and parks next to my SUV.

The man on the bike is clad in black leather that hugs his taut frame. He pulls the helmet off and runs a hand over his dark hair, smoothing the short cut back into place. A set of thick eyebrows frown at me, and his mouth is set in a scowl that emphasizes his smooth jaw.

“You’re early. ”

The smile slips off my face as it dawns on me that the hottie with the scowl is my potential new employer. As he slides off the bike I’m struck by his size, broad-shouldered and tall, not at all what I expected from a computer geek. He pulls himself up to his full height, which is at least a foot taller than me. But I won’t be intimidated by a man wearing a scowl. My time in France taught me that too.

I check my watch, taking my time to respond. “Only by five minutes.”

He grunts and unbuckles the saddle bag on the back of his bike. From it he pulls a laptop bag and a backpack and a bunch of cables, surprising me by how much he can fit in there.

He strides over to the door, and I follow even though he hasn’t said anything else to me.

Aunt Maxine warned me that Mr. Martell was taciturn, which is a polite way of saying a grumpy ass.

“I’m Freya,” I say to his retreating back, figuring it’s best I start talking rather than follow him in silence. “My Aunt Maxine said you were in need of a temporary nanny.”

He props his knee against the door and rests the laptop bag there while he punches in a code on the key panel. The door unlocks with a click, and he turns the handle, then retrieves his bag. I think about offering to help, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who accepts help.

“I know who you are,” he says. “Judge told me you were turning up. ”

“Judge?” I wrack my brain trying to think of who Judge might be.

Mr. Martell puts the laptop and cables down on a bench in the hallway and carries the backpack with him down the corridor.

I hesitate on the threshold. He hasn’t invited me in, but Aunt Maxine assured me that the interview was set up. I learned boldness from the French too, so without waiting for an invitation, I follow him down the hall.

“Judge is Will’s road name, the man your aunt works for,” Mr. Martell explains.

Aunt Maxine told me Will was part of a motorcycle club for veterans and that Mr. Martell is in the club too. Which means he’s a veteran and has a road name too, probably Grumpy, or Rude, or Nice Ass, because I can’t keep my eyes off the way he moves in those tight leathers.

Pulling my gaze away from his perfectly formed butt, I follow Mr. Martell into the kitchen. He dumps his laptop on the marble kitchen island which takes up almost the entire length of the room. Four black wooden stools are tucked in on one side, and beyond is a dinner table and living room set consisting of two enormous couches, with the biggest flat screen TV I’ve ever seen mounted above a brick fireplace.

The cushions on the couches are neatly in place. There’s nothing on the dining room table, and the only ornaments are a couple of matching photo frames in the same black metal as the light fixtures. It looks like a show home, not a home where two little girls live .

I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve got the right place.

Mr. Martell dumps his backpack on the kitchen island and for the first time looks up at me properly. I stare back at him and fold my arms over my chest.

“You are Mr. Martell, right?”

He frowns. “Yes. And you’re Freya, twenty-four years old. You worked as an au pair in France for two years and three months. You have your degree in early childhood education, your background check is current, and you are qualified in children’s first aid. You like arts and crafts, music, you learned to ski in the Alps, and you’ve spent your last two summers on a yacht. You can cook, you like reading, and you’ve traveled to more countries in Europe than you’ve been to states in America.”

I stare at him as his green eyes bore into mine, wondering how the hell he knows how I spent my summers.

“Not all of that is on my CV.”

He shrugs. “I looked you up online.”

I take a step back. “Is that legal?”

Mr. Martell looks behind me, completely ignoring the question. “Did you bring your things? I need you to start straight away.”

I stare at him, trying to process what’s just happened. I think he just offered me the job. But I haven’t even had the interview yet.

I don’t even know if I want the job. I have a bit of money saved and Aunt Maxine said I can stay with her as long as l want, but I’m keen to get on my own two feet and get settled in somewhere .

But this guy is so arrogant that he assumes I’m falling over myself to work for him.

“I don’t know anything about you or your girls. What makes you think I want the job?”

He raises his eyebrows in what I think is an amused expression, but it’s hard to tell because he’s still scowling.

“Because you’re here for an interview. It usually means you want a job.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off.

“I’m Nate. I work with computers. I have clients all over the mountain, and I’m sometimes called out on short notice and at all hours. If a small business has a computer problem in the middle of the night, they don’t want to wait till morning to fix it. I need a live-in nanny so I can be sure there’s always someone here for the girls.

“They are six and four. The oldest, Dora, is at school, and Maisie will join her next year. They like arts and crafts and music, which is why you’ll be a good fit.

“I emailed your past employer, and she gushed about you. The job is yours. You start today.”

I fold my arms in front of my chest. Half of me is impressed that he’s done his homework on me, but it would have been nice to have had a chance to tell him about my experience rather than have him digging around the internet without my permission.

The more time I spend with the arrogant but annoyingly hot Nate, the less certain I am I want the job.

“Aren’t you part of a motorcycle gang?”

He smirks, and it’s annoyingly handsome on him. “A motorcycle club, yes. The Wild Riders. We’re all ex- veterans and all our business is legit, if that’s what you’re worried about. We own the Wild Taste Bar and Restaurant as well as a bike mechanic’s shop and an art studio.”

An art studio doesn’t sound very badass so maybe they aren’t all bad, which is what Aunt Maxine told me. But I’m still not sure.

“Why did your last nanny quit?”

He unzips his backpack and pulls out a small bag, and from it he gently pulls out a computer part and lays it on the bench, frowning at the thing.

“She didn’t like me.”

I bark out a laugh and he looks up at me, his expression serious. Oh, he’s not joking.

“The contract is only for six weeks until my sister arrives to take over. You can have Christmas Day off if you want, but I do get called out during holidays, so if you can stay, I’ll pay you double.”

I must be frowning, because one look at me and he holds up his hands. “Okay, triple.”

My eyebrows shoot into my head. This guy must be desperate, and I wonder if I remain silent if he’ll keep raising the price.

“You’ve got an entire suite of rooms at your disposal, a bedroom, separate bathroom, and a living area. Like I said, I need you here in case I have to leave in a hurry, but we’re not friends. We’re not roommates. You’ve got your own space, and when you’re not with the girls, I expect you to stay in it.”

“Wow.” My mouth drops open. The arrogance of this man. I was never treated this rudely by any of the wealthiest families I crossed paths with during my time in France. I’m not going to put up with it now.

I open my mouth to tell him I’m not taking the job when the hum of an engine snatches my attention. Through the window, I glimpse a large classic car pulling up out front.

“Is that a Cadillac?” It seems as out of place on the mountain as a Tesla.

“That’ll be Danni, dropping the girls off. She’s been helping me out while I’m between nannies.”

The car door open and two little girls scramble out, their hair wild as they run for the front door. For the first time since I’ve met Mr. Grumpy Pants, the scowl leaves his face and his expression softens. “They wanted to meet you.”

“Oh no…” I start to say, but it’s too late.

The door to the cabin bursts open, and two little girls barrel down the hall. They slow to a trot when they see their father, and the youngest crashes into the back of the oldest.

“Are you the new nanny?” the oldest, Dora, asks with wide hopeful eyes as deep green as her father’s. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m not taking the job.

“Maybe,” I say.

She seems to take that as a yes, because she jumps from one foot to another and the biggest, warmest smile spreads across her face. “I made a clock in school today.”

She pulls a clock face out of her school bag and proceeds to tell me how to tell the time. Meanwhile, the youngest has gone to her father, and he scoops her into his arms. She puts her little arms around his neck and plants a kiss on his cheek. Nate smiles, revealing a dimple on each cheek that I had no idea was hiding there.

I’m fascinated by the change that’s come over him upon the arrival of his daughters. He kisses the cheek of the little girl and nuzzles into her neck, making her giggle.

Suddenly with the laughter of little girls, the house feels like a home.

A woman in a red polka dot dress with its skirt flaring out and her hair in a 1950’s style role waves from the door.

“I can’t stop. Bettie’s asleep in the back.”

“Thanks Danni,” Nate calls.

She glances at me with a warm smile. “Sorry I can’t stay to meet you properly. I’m sure I’ll see you at the club.”

I’m not sure what club she’s talking about, and the woman frowns at my confusion.

“Make sure you bring her to the club, won’t you Bit Rate. Don’t keep her locked away here.”

She waves goodbye, and I turn to Nate. “Bit Rate?”

“It’s my road name. Danni’s one of the old ladies at the Wild Riders MC.”

I nod slowly, wondering about this man who loves computers and bikes and his girls. There’s more to Nate Martell than a tight pair of buns, and that curiosity as much as the little hand that slips into mine makes me decide to take the job.

Dora squeezes my hand, “Can I show you your room? I made you a card, and you can sleep with Bongus so you don’t get scared.”

She tugs at my arm, and the last of my doubts leave me. The girls need a nanny, I need a job, and it’s only for six weeks. Maybe I can stay out of the way of their grumpy dad, and we can all get along just fine.

This time when she tugs on my hand, I let her lead me out of the room. “Show me where I’ll be sleeping.”