The Billionaire's Nanny: A BWWM Romantic Comedy Page 16

  Old Kiera wouldn’t think twice. Tap that ass! Or whatever girls are supposed to say now. I work too much to keep up. The last few times I hooked up though? I ended up feeling depressed for days afterward. And it’s not like I’d wanted something more, I never intended more than a one nighter. But still I was left feeling like I’d had a break up. My mom keeps telling me I need more human connection. Andrea tells me I should have enough fun for the both of us. My sister tells me it’s time to find a real boyfriend. But I don’t feel like I have time for any of those. You stop swimming, you sink to the bottom of the ocean. DC is packed full of the best and the brightest, the top of every law school in the country. And if I don’t keep working, no one is going to stop and hold my place for me.

  As I soap up the washcloth and rub it across my body, I can’t help think about how it felt to have Tyler behind me on the board. The way it felt to be wrapped in that strong body. To feel him pressed against my backside. My body is winning out over my brain, for sure.

  I wrap the towel around me and go to my closet. I wish I still had that white bandage dress, but Andrea had worn it when she went out and I hadn’t seen her or the dress since. It looked better on her anyway.

  I’m reaching for a loose, flowy dress when I look up to see Tyler in the doorway, watching me. The white towel wrapped around his hips is just barely tucked in, the gap exposing a muscular thigh. My heart starts to beat faster and I can’t help but notice the tenting starting at the front of that towel of his.

  “Oh, hi!” I say, ever eloquent.

  “Hey,” he says and takes a step toward me.

  “I thought you were hungry,” I tease, as he puts his hands on my shoulders and pulls me in.

  "I’m very hungry," he says, nuzzling into my neck. My knees feel like they’d like to give way like Allie’s did. My hands roam over the broad expanse of his back as he kisses up my neck and behind my ear. The towel on my hair falls off when I tilt my head to meet his lips.

  When our lips meet, he pulls me closer still, pressing our bodies together fiercely. Any doubts that thought they could nag me fall away, leaving me to the need of my body. When his towel finally gives up and falls to the floor, I let my hands drift down to his rear. As finely muscled as the rest of him, firm.

  My touch encourages him to pull the towel from my body as well and our skin comes together in near desperation. It feels good, right. I back him toward the bed as we kiss and we climb in.

  I am charmed by how pale he is from mid thigh to hip, like he’s put on a white bathing suit that has a shockingly anatomically correct (so very correct) drawing on the front.

  “I say I’m always prepared, but I’ve slipped up. Hang on, I need to go to my bag,” He starts to get up.

  There’s always that moment where I think “Do I offer the condom and look like a big ol’ slut that needs a stack of condoms at the bedside or just wait and let him get it?” And I know that no man should think less of me for it. But some do. And some find it sexy. I decide it’s best to know which sort he his.

  “I’ve got you covered,” I say. “As it were.” I open the bedside drawer and pull out the little foil packet. I tear it open with my teeth, smiling at him all the while. It’s pretty clear he’s not the sort to be troubled by it. His already impressive erection grows as I pull the condom out.

  When I roll it on, he lets out a moan. Nothing sexier than knowing a man is into what I’m doing. We’re not messing around here. Let all that surfboard time count as foreplay.

  I’m so ready for him, but I delay just a bit by kissing my way down that gorgeous chest. All that popping-up and core-work balancing on a board has served him well. Each muscle is defined by sun-kissed skin. I lay back on the bed and pull him to me. It’s like we fit perfectly. I feel him pressing at my opening and my hips rise to take him in.

  “In a hurry?” he breathes.

  I just nod. I don’t have words or snappy comebacks I just want this man inside me. Now. I’ll worry about feeling depressed later.

  He slides all the way in, stretching me. It’s been a while and he’s seriously hung.

  “Oh, Kiera,” he moans. He leans down to kiss his way across my breast to my nipple. He pulls it into his mouth, hard, making me gasp. His hips are still as he moves to the other breast. I feel completely filled and my body is urging him to thrust.

  Slowly at first, and gradually faster, Tyler begins to move and I move to meet him. My hands clutch at his back as I feel my pleasure mounting.

  We find our rhythm easily, as if we’ve been lovers for months, but with the excitement of new passion. I’ve always been…easy to please and I climax twice before he finishes, crying out my name.

  When, at last, he rolls to my side, we both lie there, spent. I don’t think I could move if the hotel was on fire.

  “Oh, wow,” he breathes.

  “No kidding,” I say. It’s an effort just to make my mouth move. “I’m going to need a nap before dinner. Before I take another breath.”

  Tyler brushes a wisp of hair off my forehead. “Want me to lay here with you or will you sleep better if I get up?”

  My smile comes easily. “If you’re sleepy, stay. If you’re going to fidget, scram.”

  “I’ll see you when you wake,” he says, stroking my arm as he gets up.

  “Wake me up in an hour if I don’t get up myself!”

  I’m pretty sure I’d have slept through until morning on my own, but it was nice to wake up to that smile anyway.

  “I’m hungry for food now,” he says standing beside me, “although I could probably be coaxed back into bed.”

  “Uh-uh” I say, sitting up. “I’m hungry for food, too. I’m going to shower again and this time you have to let me get dressed.”

  “No promises.” He’s already dressed in shorts and a linen shirt. The linen has that perfect not-ironed-but-not-too-wrinkly look. I can never figure out how people do that.

  When I emerge after my shower, in that flowing blue dress at last, Tyler is sprawled on the couch, scrolling around on his phone.

  “Mm, you look gorgeous,” he says, sitting up. “The spirit of the islands. How about some authentic Aruban food?”

  “Iguana and coconut? They don’t grow a whole lot here.”

  “I read that iguana’s illegal now, but if you have a hankerin’” there was that Southern accent again, “I’m sure I can find a guy to hook you up.”

  I make a face at the thought. “I’m good, thanks.”

  After a ride in to the center of the island, we pull up at a big old house that has been converted into a restaurant and gallery. It has the usual feeling of benign neglect. Much of this island feels like a lawsuit waiting to happen. Hard to leave work completely behind.

  When we enter, the man behind the little podium lights up.

  “Mr. Tyler! You came back! Welcome!” He embraces Tyler and kisses his cheek before doing the same to me. “You brought us a beautiful girl!”

  “This is Kiera, Fredo.” He turns to me, “Fredo has the best Aruban food on the island.”

  “Or anywhere else,” Fredo booms, “because you don’t find Aruban food anywhere else!”

  Once we’re seated at a cozy little table, I ask, “I thought you’d never been to the island before?”

  “Oh I haven’t. I just came here a couple of days ago. I’m a good tipper. I make an impression.” He opens the menu.

  “So, what do you do to give you that good tippin’ money? You say the surfing doesn’t pay, but clearly you spend a lot of time doing it.”

  Fredo arrives at the table with a bottle of white wine. “Compliments of the house,” he says, pouring.

  We thank him and when he leaves again I say, “Are you in the mob?”

  Tyler laughs. “No, nothing that glamorous. I just made some good investments.”

  I give him a little kick under the table. “You know you’re making it worse with your half answers. What do you do?”

  He folds the menu and sets it down
. “Um, nothing?” he says with that crooked grin. “I’m currently between jobs.”

  Ah. A beach bum with a trust fund. He works to make enough money to play and when the money runs out he goes back to work. Never worries because there’s family money to fall back on. I’ve met the type. Cute and funny as he is, I’m glad this is just an island fling so I don’t end up having to loan him money or letting him crash in the guest room.

  “What do you do?” he asks.

  I take a sip of the wine, wondering if I should come up with a lower paying job to throw him off the trail. I decide it isn’t worth the hassle. I’ll be leaving soon anyway. “I work at a law firm in DC. I handle corporate cases. Well, not handle, I’ve only been with the firm three years, but I work on corporate cases.”

  “Ah, like people suing companies or copyright law or what?”

  I hesitate. It’s still a little embarrassing. “Defense, usually. Like, environmental complaints lodged against companies.” I see the look in his eyes, I’ve seen it before. Hell, I’ve felt it myself. “I know, it’s evil, mostly. But it pays really well and I have a lot of debt. I went to Georgetown Law and that does not come cheaply. I figure I put in some time here and then I can go do what I want.”

  “What do you want?”

  I sigh. “I wish I knew. Not this. It feels good to pay the bills and go on vacation with my friend. But it does kill my soul a little.”

  “Just a little?” he smiles and the candlelight on his face is just…there’s no other word, he looks beautiful. Why do I want to spill my guts to this slacker?

  But I do. “A lot. I hate it. My boss is an asshole, the firm is sleazy. Our clients are scuzz balls. I don’t sleep well and it’s embarrassing to tell people what I do. My only good friend is Andrea because I don’t trust the other people in my firm and that’s who I see for 60 hours a week.” I actually feel tears spring to my eyes. I never cry. I also never really let myself think about this stuff. I blink them away. “But it’s a job people would kill for. Maybe literally. And it pays the bills. I tell myself it’s temporary, but I wonder how many people grow old in a job they hate that they thought was temporary?”

  Tyler reaches across the table to take my hand. “A lot of them. But you don’t have to. You’re young, you live in the lawyer capitol of the world. Do you think you’d stay in law?”

  “Yeah. Probably? I don’t know. It’s what I know how to do. It’s what I spent 130 thousand dollars learning to do.” I sniff and smile at him. “I think I can cross professional surf god off my career list.”

  “Are you kidding? A gorgeous black woman that surfs? You’d be like a unicorn. A few more lessons and you’re in the big time.” He grins at me.

  “I don’t want your Affirmative Action charity. Or to make my living almost drowning. At least I get to breathe air in a law firm.”

  “It’s not all sulfur and brimstone then?”

  “Only in the partners’ offices.” I glance at the menu. “So, what do we eat?”

  Tyler waves the waitress over and orders Kerry Kerry and Keshi Yena.

  “So…what will those be?”

  “Wait and see,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “So you were going to tell me where your friend has gone?”

  “Ah, right. Andrea. Well, I brought her here hoping to help her forget a man she thought was cheating on her, but it turned out he wasn’t and he came down here and bought a boat and rescued her from a terrible date and took her away to his house on Bonaire. You know, as you do.”

  “Uh, wow!”

  “I know, right? Billionaires, who needs ’em?” I drained my wine glass and set it down for more.

  Tyler

  What the hell is this?

  I’ve known this girl what, five hours? six? and I can barely focus on her words. And not because I’m busy thinking about how to get her into bed–did that, thanks, and it was great–but because my brain has turned to mush. It’s like all I can do is look at her in the candlelight and think, “Girl pretty.”

  I feel like I hit a time warp, and I’m sixteen year old me, stunned that a girl is even talking to me, unable to think of what to say back. Only I’m 35 now and that computer obsession that made me a social reject in high school has made me a billionaire.

  I summon the analytical part of my brain. Kiera is attractive, yes–big brown eyes with a keen intellect behind them, a smile that suggests she’s up to no good, killer bod that she knows just how to use…but I’ve been able to have my pick of hot girls for quite a while now. I even get smart hot girls. Even smart, hot, rich girls. But it’s almost chemical…I’m just…she’s…Girl pretty.

  I pour more wine into her empty glass, but only half way. At least until we get some food. Focus on her words. Ah right, friend ran off with a rich dude.

  “Who is he?” I ask. I’d come to the island for a high stakes poker tournament. Aruba was thick with billionaires at the moment.

  “Walker Alexander. Tiny Tina Snack Cakes? And she’s this health food nut!” Kiera takes another sip. Those lips, perfectly soft. “She seems happy, though. He seems nice.”

  “A nice rich guy, go figure.” I smile, hoping to get a gauge of how she really feels.

  She gives a little shrug. I imagine that in her job, she doesn’t see the best of humanity. And while it’s totally legit that you’d get down on the One Percent if your job introduces you to the high class criminal element, I don’t want to mislead her. I don’t need this to turn into some sitcom “she doesn’t know he’s rich” scenario.

  “Since you’ve been so honest with me, I’ll admit that I’m actually pretty rich.” I try to give my most winning smile, but really there’s no way to say that that doesn’t make you sound like a total douche.

  She looks genuinely surprised. Was I giving off “hobo” to her?

  “Oh yeah?” she asks, “so those good investments were really good,huh? It’s not a trust fund keeping you going?”

  “Hardly. I’m one of those assholes that sold an app to Google for way more than it was worth. You know, one of those dweebs that used to get beat up in high school but now hires jocks for minimum wage to go find us the last Star Wars figurine we need for our collection.” Only the first part of that is true, but I’ve found self-deprecation to be disarming in such situations. Okay, maybe I was kind of a dweeb.

  Kiera cocks her head at me and grins. The candlelight makes her skin seem to glow. Girl pretty. “I don’t believe you. I mean, I believe you may have made an app and sold it, but you just aren’t the figurine type.”

  “Busted. No, I was a skate rat, but not the cool kind the bad girls wanted to date. More the emo kid super into Weezer.”

  Kiera laughs out loud, actually thumping the table.

  "Not that funny," I mumble. “Weezer’s awesome.”

  Wiping the tears from her eyes, she says, “No. No they aren’t. But that’s okay, I liked some terrible bands, too.”

  Her eyes are shining with mirth. Makes it easier to forgive her slighting Weezer. “Oh yeah, like what?”

  She clears her throat and looks around the room as if making sure no one is listening. “I happen to own a Britney Spears poster. For real. Present tense. In my old bedroom at my folks’ house, sure, but I still have it.”

  “And you dare make fun of me? Hmpf.”

  “Just tell me one thing, Tyler. Did you wear eyeliner?”

  “No, but I wanted to. I wouldn’t have been allowed.”

  She cocks an eyebrow at me. “A rebel like you?”

  I sigh. I guess it’s about to get heavy. Either that or a quick change of subject. What the hell. Get it out of the way. “I grew up in foster care, so, you know, breaking the rules could mean getting booted out.”

  “Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” Her hand has gone to her mouth and the mischief has left her eyes. I swear, dropping the foster care bomb is like saying you have cancer.

  “No, it’s fine, Kiera, really. I wasn’t abused or anything. It’s just that you grow up without that un
conditional love a lot of times. So I was always aware of just how far I could push things without going too far. It wasn’t a storybook childhood, but it wasn’t Stephen King, either.”

  “Ugh, I do this all the time, stick my foot in my mouth! And I asked you about a trust fund!” She’s still horrified. I need to lighten it up.

  “Look, it made me who I am. I got to go to college for free because I had good grades and no money. I worked part time so I could stay in San Francisco since I had no real home. And that work gave me the skills to develop the app that made me a pile of cash. It all worked out okay. Honest.” I smile at her and take her hand. She smiles back, but it’s a sad smile.

  Before I try to launch into a comedy routine to see her laugh again, the waitress arrives with the food. I see the look on Kiera’s face and say, “It’s delicious, I swear!”

  That brings back a genuine grin. "It has to taste better than it looks," she says.

  The waitress laughs. “It’s not fancy food, just good food that stays with you. Kerry Kerry and Keshi Yena chicken.” She sets them down and heads off after we assure her we don’t need anything more.

  I serve some of each onto Kiera’s plate and she digs right in–always a good sign.

  "Oh, this is good. Which one is this?"

  “That’s the Keshi Yena. It’s like a wheel of cheese baked with chicken and pickles inside.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t tell me that before you ordered. That sounds revolting. But it’s good! So what’s the Kerry one?”

  “Shark meat in a cream sauce of some sort.”

  Kiera’s head comes up and she gives me the side eye. She spears a tiny piece and tastes it gingerly. “Huh. That’s good too. Mild. I never had shark before.”

  “Surfers love to eat sharks. Fuck those guys.”

  “And as a corporate attorney, I feel a little like a traitor.”

  “If they find out you’ve developed a taste for flesh, they won’t let you come back.”

  Kiera sighs, just a little. “Yeah, poor me.”

  “Don’t,” I say impulsively, “Don’t go back. Come with me. I’m going to sail back to my place in Peru. Peak surf season is coming, it’s gorgeous.”