The Billionaire’s Ward: McClellan Billionaires Book Three Page 3

  All her life, people called her a bleeding heart. And what, Maggie wondered, was so wrong with that? What was wrong with helping people who needed it?

  “Okay,” she agreed, touching his shoulder. “Don't worry. I'll stay. I'll help.”

  4

  Vane didn't like to think of himself as a caffeine addict, per se. Coffee was a tool. A tool that he used to help him get through his day. He'd been plagued by insomnia his whole life, and waking up feeling like he hadn't slept at all, or sometimes feeling more tired than he'd been when he laid down for the night, was something he was used to. It took at least two cups of the darkest, blackest coffee he could brew to even get his eyes fully open most mornings.

  But this morning he woke to a cloudless sky, a bright sun, and the kind of rested, restored feeling he'd always assumed was just a lie told by Hollywood to make you feel bad.

  He sat up in bed and tried to place himself. He was at the vacation house, at the start of the renovations, that much he knew. But other than that, he felt like a different person. Lighter and less careworn. It was as if last night's storm had washed everything so that it now gleamed clean and bright in the morning sun. Last night's turmoil seemed like a distant memory.

  But the hug from Maggie was as fresh as if she'd just released him.

  Vane ran his hand up his arms, tracing the places where their skin had touched. Hugs had always felt like a chore, something to get through because it was polite and expected. But the way Maggie had hugged him had felt genuine. She'd actually given him something in the gift of her nearness. It felt personal. Special. And it had dug deep under his skin so that he swore he could still feel it now, hours later.

  A jolt shot through him, launching him to his feet. He paced a tight circle in the center of his bedroom as he raked his fingers through his hair over and over again. “Shit,” he hissed to himself. “Cut this shit out right now.”

  Whatever he was feeling, he needed to stop feeling it immediately. Maggie was temporary. She'd agreed to stay on for six weeks and no more, so it would be stupid of him to start thinking about more ways they could touch each other... maybe make sure she was still able to feel him for hours afterward.

  “Cut it out,” he chastised himself again. He stalked to the window and stared blankly out at the white sand beach below. He exhaled sharply and dug his fingernails into the soft wood of the windowsill. “Just. Stop.”

  “Okay!” Annabelle's voice floated up to him from below, as if in reply. The screen door banged open, and she charged out into the sand, still barefoot and in her nightgown. Her fine, sandy hair streamed out behind her as she shrieked and laughed. She reached the edge of the water and turned around.

  Vane dug his fingernails into the wood even harder. Maggie was running across the sand towards Annabelle. “You can't get away!” she called to Annabelle. “I'm going to splash you!”

  Annabelle's delighted shriek went right to Vane's heart. The two of them bounded across the sand in such a perfect picture of happiness that Vane found himself turning to head out and join them. He stopped with a growl and raked his fingers through his hair yet again.

  If they were going to get the renovation done in time, he needed to concentrate on that. Not on playing tag with his ward and her nanny. Yes. Maggie was the nanny, and he wasn't about to screw up that relationship. Annabelle needed someone she trusted watching her. Much more than Vane needed to see what Maggie looked like naked.

  I bet she looks spectacular.

  That thought propelled him right into the shower with a groan, where a few minutes spent dancing under a freezing cold spray got his mind back in order. And without a moment to spare either. He was just pulling on his usual work uniform of a rugged pair of khaki trousers and a clean white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows when his cell phone rang.

  “Uncle Vane!” Annabelle shouted from downstairs. “There's a man!”

  “I got it, honey.” He jammed the phone to his ear. “I'm guessing you're downstairs?”

  “Time is money, McClellan.” Al Raymond was one of the best contractors around, and he knew it too. Vane appreciated how he never tried to kiss Vane's ass. Other contractors he'd worked with were too over-awed and grateful to be working with the famed architect Vane McClellan and had ended up being little more than yes-men because of it. Al, on the other hand, was never shy about telling Vane exactly how feasible his plans and ideas were. And he always made those assessments in the most sarcastic way possible. Case in point, his greeting when Vane reached the front door. “Did I interrupt your beauty sleep, pretty boy?”

  “Don't knock it till you've tried it. Which, by the looks of you, you never have,” Vane said with a grin as he accepted Al's bone-crushing handshake.

  Al smirked. “And maybe you'd better stay awake longer. Any more sleep, and you're going to wake up looking like that one over there.” He raised his eyebrows in Maggie's direction appreciatively. “New nanny? Where'd you find that one?”

  “She's temporary,” Vane snapped, suddenly irritated.

  “Shame.”

  “You mean because I’ll have to start interviewing people all over again in less than a month?”

  “Sure. That's exactly what I mean.”

  Vane narrowed his eyes. “She's Annabelle's teacher.”

  “I could teach her a thing or two.” Al caught sight of Vane's face and laughed. “Or how 'bout not, since you look like you wanna murder me for even looking in her direction. Fine then, let's stop talking about your pretty Mary Poppins and start making this trash heap livable?”

  Vane grinned in spite of himself. “Time is money, Al. It'd be nice if you stopped dragging your feet.”

  Al snorted again and let out a sharp whistle. At his cue, the small army of his crew emerged from their waiting pickups.

  Vane rubbed his hands together. It was finally happening. After all the planning and red tape and nearly tripling his initial budget, he was almost taken aback by how casually the start of the renovation actually was. No fanfare, no explosions. Just a bunch of guys checking measurements and good-naturedly insulting each other's moms.

  This was just another job to them, but to him it was so much more. This was his childhood retreat. The place that he held in his heart. The setting for all his best memories.

  The significance of the house's history had weighed on him when he first started planning the renovation. Would he be able to divorce himself from nostalgia enough to do a good job? That thought had kept him up many nights before he’d arrived here just yesterday. But now that it was happening, it was easy to slip into the role of architect, rather than the role of worried homeowner. He made the rounds, introducing himself to the foreman and the various crew heads, shaking hands and double-checking they had all they needed. This was the fun part, the hopeful beginning of any project, when everyone was still under budget and the deadline was still far enough away to seem perfectly doable.

  He whistled to himself as he came around the corner of the house, then stopped short at the edge of the jetty and stared.

  Maggie stood ankle deep in the foaming surf. The stiff, post-storm breeze pressed her T-shirt to her body in a way that made Vane's throat go dry. She pointed down the shoreline and then laughed as Annabelle hurried over, laden down with buckets and shovels.

  They were collecting seashells washed up by the storm, Vane realized with a smile. He'd done the same thing after every stormy night, returning home with a sandy, stinky collection that his mother would coo over proudly. The best seashells always collected in the little inlet just south of their private beach, but they wouldn't know that.

  He jumped down from the jetty and hurried across the sand to tell them.

  “Hey there!” Maggie shielded her eyes from the sun and smiled at him. “You sure do get an early start.”

  “So do you two,” he said with a smile. He gently touched Annabelle's shoulder. “Mornin'. Can I get a hug?” he asked her.

  “Okay.” Annabelle rested her
head against Vane's chest and accepted his greeting. “We're finding seashells.”

  “You know, the best ones are always down there. See where the water comes in a bit down that way? That's a tide pool. I bet if we go there, you'll find a bunch.”

  “Not you!” Annabelle commanded. “I want to do it by myself.”

  Vane pressed his lips together. “I'd like to watch you.”

  “Watch from here,” Annabelle ordered. “You, too,” she said to Maggie. “Stay right here. I'm going by myself.”

  “Off you go, then,” Maggie said with a smile. Annabelle tore across the sand and then whirled around again. “We're staying here!” Maggie laughed. “Don't worry!”

  “Sit down!” Annabelle called. “Right there!”

  “Here?” Vane asked, dropping down into the sand. Annabelle folded her arms until Maggie laughed again and followed his lead, sitting in the sand.

  Right next to Vane.

  Her arm brushed his, electrifying the places that were still smoldering from her touch last night. He coughed into his hand and then gave her an apologetic nudge. “Sorry about that,” he said. “The therapists all say its important for her to have a sense of control.”

  Maggie nudged him right back. “Don't apologize. I loved the way you asked before you hugged her.”

  He smiled. “So are you telling me to ask you before I do this?” He nudged her again, a little harder this time.

  She dimpled prettily. “That might be a good idea.”

  “Hey Maggie, can I...”

  “Try to knock me over? Is that what you're doing?”

  In truth, Vane had no idea what he was doing. “Go on,” he teased her. “You're not a wimp, I can tell.” He pressed against her arm. She laughed and braced her leg in the sand, then pushed back with enough force that he had to fling his arm out. She crowed in triumph. “I wasn't expecting that,” he admitted with a laugh.

  “Good. I never want to be predictable.” She gathered her hair and twisted it up from her neck.

  She was the sexiest woman he'd ever seen.

  Vane licked his lips, ready to ask if he could press other parts of his body against other parts of hers, but was cut off when Al shouted from the house. “McClellan!”

  With a groan, Vane hopped to his feet. “I've gotta go see what he wants.”

  Maggie nodded. “Annabelle! Want some breakfast?” she called.

  “Five more minutes?” Annabelle pleaded.

  Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Fine!” She smiled at Vane. “This is really for my own benefit. If I don't eat in the morning, I get pissy.”

  “Vane!” Al called again. “Permit guy!”

  “Oh, shit.” Vane ran his hands through his hair. City inspectors showing up on site were never a good thing, and surprise visits were even worse. “Coming!”

  He hurried up to the house, vaulting over the jetty instead of taking the stairs. He tugged at his shirt and then extended his hand to the inspector. “Vane McClellan. We weren't expecting you.”

  “I know, that was intentional.” The inspector accepted Vane's handshake like it was an offer of a dead fish. “This is a historical property on the register....”

  “I am fully aware of that, it being my family's history.”

  The inspector eyed his clipboard. “Then you'll understand why I have an obligation to make sure no unauthorized construction is going on.”

  Vane swallowed down his irritation. “Of course. Come with me.”

  He'd dealt with bureaucrats enough to know that they fed off a mix of flattery and feigned ignorance. If he told this man the sky was blue, he would huff in exasperation and rattle off exactly which paragraph in the city ordinances stated it was green. With people like this, it was best not to volunteer any information. They were happiest when they could discover the problems all on their own.

  The inspector had happily pointed out the rotted beams and weathered shingles that he and Al had already accounted for. Vane made the proper noises of acknowledgment, and the inspector was just starting to wrap up when Maggie padded up to join them.

  “Hey!” she said with a bright smile. “I'm Maggie.” She pointed to the house. “Are you here to do something about that water damage?”

  Vane froze. Al swore under his breath. The inspector clicked his pen. “I'm sorry. Who are you?”

  She smiled winningly. “I'm the nanny. But I used to work with a handyman. Well, I mean, not exactly work, since I was like... ten.” She waved her hands in the air. “That doesn't matter, the point is that I learned a lot, which is why I can tell that there's water damage to the foundation right there.” She pointed.

  “Holy hell,” Al grumbled.

  “Your nanny,” the inspector sniffed out the word like it smelled bad. “Is right. Water damage to the foundation means there's probably—”

  “Mold,” Maggie supplied cheerfully. “And that's a real bitch to get rid of. The whole basement wall will need to—”

  “Be replaced,” the inspector finished with an evil smile. He made a note on his clipboard and then nodded at Vane. “I will need a new set of permits on file for this.”

  Vane eyed Maggie. She was still smiling, unaware of the trouble she'd just caused. A new set of permits would take time to acquire.

  Time he didn't have.

  5

  Maggie hummed to herself as she cleaned up the remnants of Annabelle's dinner. The light was rapidly fading from the room, but she didn't feel like turning on the lights yet. The sky still gleamed magenta and orange in the west, the remnants of a truly spectacular sunset. A perfect end to a perfect day, she thought to herself.

  It had been one of those days when everything just seemed to line up. She'd come here to help, and by gosh, that was exactly what she was doing. She'd fed Annabelle and gotten her to bed with no trouble, and so far there were no sign of night terrors. She paused in the middle of the kitchen and listened just to be sure. No screaming. She smiled with relief.

  She was doing good things here. She was sure of it.

  Footfalls on the stairs made her turn eagerly to the doorway. Vane had been working in his office nearly all day. In fact, she hadn't seen him since the inspector's visit.

  She twisted the dish cloth in her hands. She'd been waiting for this moment. A chance to talk with him, one-on-one, about what she'd seen with Annabelle today.

  There was no denying that Annabelle outside of the classroom was an entirely different child. In the three months she'd had Annabelle as a student, she'd gotten to know her as a quiet, eager-to-please child who was slow to warm up to people but gave them all the love she had once she knew them. She had a little group of friends that she moved with, and she was eager to share everything with them, seemingly out of the goodness of her heart.

  But here she was different. She seemed frustrated and prone to outbursts, and whenever Maggie's attention was caught up in something else, like preparing meals or even going to the bathroom, Annabelle would act out. Maggie knew that for a lot of kids, negative attention was just as good as positive attention, so she tried not to react when Annabelle openly defied her requests. But there was something almost... desperate in the way she campaigned for Maggie's attention.

  Maybe that's it, she imagined herself telling Vane. She needs more undivided attention from you. It could just be that simple.

  She was pretty sure she'd hit on it, and that would be another way she'd have helped in her short time here. And nothing was better than being appreciated.

  She really wanted Vane to appreciate her.

  But the footsteps had stopped. She listened carefully, then chided herself for being ridiculous. “Vane?” she called out.

  He appeared in the doorway, and Maggie had to mentally restrain herself from letting her mouth fall open. His hair was rumpled and sticking out crazily, as if he'd been running his fingers through it. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, and his eyelids looked heavy with exhaustion, which tugged at her heart, but the way his soft gray lounge pants hu
ng low on his hips tugged at a whole other part of her. She pasted on a bright smile. “There you are.”

  “Here I am.” He didn't smile back. He just looked at her. His gaze felt heavy with significance, but for once Maggie couldn't tell what someone was thinking. Was he amused? Angry? Tired? Intrigued? That inscrutable look could mean anything, and the fact that she couldn't nail it down made Maggie feel unstable. Like she was trying to keep her balance on a wobbly stool. A little warning bell sounded in her brain. Careful.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” she said.

  “Come sit, then.” He led her into the great room, with its wide bay window facing the sea, and sank into the buttery soft leather couch with a sigh. “I opened a bottle already if you want some.” He indicated the open wine bottle on the glass-topped coffee table.

  “Two glasses?” She was strangely touched. Maybe she didn't have to tread carefully after all? Maybe her gut was wrong? Maggie leaned over the table as she poured the deep red liquid to hide her indecision. She wasn't used to feeling so unsure about what another person was feeling. “Thank you. Since I'm not on the clock any more.”

  He chuckled into his glass. “Your boss would have to be a real dick not to let you have some time off once in a while.”

  She grinned and sipped. And then tried and failed to suppress a moan of pleasure. “Oh God. This is really good.”

  “I buy it by the case whenever I fly east. I actually prefer New York wines over our California ones. The grapes are more... honest.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows at him.

  He grinned. “What? Go ahead and laugh, but some very famous sommeliers agree with me.”

  “I don't even know if I fully understand what sommeliers do, but I will say this is a good wine.” She sipped carefully, resisting the urge to gulp the bright nectar down.

  Vane eyed her over the rim of his glass. “You look like that's not the only thing you will say.”

  She set her glass down and then folded her hands primly in her lap. “How could you tell?”