The Billionaire’s Ward: McClellan Billionaires Book Three Page 4

  “Every thought you have shows on your face before you even say it. I bet you're a terrible poker player.”

  “I've never played poker.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “I've never had enough money that I could feel comfortable throwing it away.”

  He raised his glass. “Touché. But come on. Out with it. I can tell you're itching to lecture me on something.”

  She gulped down her wine to hide her hurt. Lecture? Is that how he thought of her advice, as lecturing? She turned away and kept her eyes glued to the line of light that still clung to the horizon. “Well, I was wondering why you never took me up on my offers to see Annabelle in the classroom setting.”

  “Work,” he said shortly.

  “I know. Lots of parents have that issue. You're not the only one,” she soothed. “But I think that if you'd come, you might have seen how we handle,” she paused and considered her words carefully. “Discipline in the classroom.”

  “Are you saying I don't discipline Annabelle correctly?”

  “Not in the slightest,” she corrected quickly. This wasn't going how she'd envisioned it. She'd pictured him being a lot more open to her input. But he kept cutting her off. Even his body language was closed up tight, much more than it had been on the sand earlier today, when they'd playfully shoved each other. She'd been sure she was getting through to him. “The first thing I do is make sure a child knows they can come to me with their problems and concerns. They can tell me anything without worrying about my reaction.” Vane snorted into his glass. Maggie frowned but pressed on. “No matter how mundane and unimportant it might seem to us, to a child, it's important. Something like the wrong bus driver picking them up because their regular one is sick could derail their entire day, and they need to feel like they can tell us. Open up to us and say anything.”

  “Just like you?”

  “What”

  “Never mind.” He pressed his lips together and looked away from her.

  Irritation flashed in Maggie's veins. “See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. You want to tell me something. I can tell. I'm really good at reading people.”

  “You are, huh?” The amusement in his voice only made her irritation heighten. “You really believe that?”

  “I do. And a whole lot of the world's problems would clear up overnight if people just said what they meant instead of keeping it all bottled up inside.” She nodded, slowly at first, and then faster. “Annabelle clearly has a lot of feelings bottled up inside, and she needs to feel safe with you to voice whatever’s on her mind.”

  “Like she does with you. Like you do with everyone.”

  Maggie blinked. “Well, sure.”

  “You think she should be allowed to just say the first thing that leaps into her head?” He leaned back and cleared his throat, clearly struggling to keep his voice down. Maggie was bewildered by the anger in his voice. “See now, that's where we differ, because I think it's pretty damn important to learn that sometimes you need to keep your mouth shut and not just spout off without thinking.”

  Maggie crossed her arms. “Why do I get the feeling you're talking about me?”

  “Do you get that feeling? Wow, you really are good at reading people,” he scoffed. He leaned forward again and drained his wineglass in one gulp, then reached for the bottle.

  Maggie grabbed his arm. He froze and stared at her, looking shocked. “No,” she protested. “Keep talking. Say it.”

  He laughed and yanked his hand back. “You're unbelievable.”

  “So are you!”

  His eyes blazed. “Do you have any idea how badly you screwed me over today?”

  Maggie sagged back. His words were like a knife, stabbing her in the chest. She clapped her hand to her heart. “Me? What did I do?”

  He laughed again, a derisive snort. “Your inability to keep from saying the first thing that came to your mind just cost me huge.”

  Her mouth fell open. “The water damage?”

  “You were right, of course. But did you have to say it in front of the permit guy?”

  “I didn't—” Under her hand, her heart skittered and jumped like a frightened animal. “I wasn't—”

  “Thinking? No. You just said the first thing that came to your mind.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Well, so what? You said yourself that I'm right. You were going to have to deal with that water issue sooner or later. Best to get it done now.”

  “Really?” He looked at her like she had three heads, which only made her madder. “So you really don't see the problem here?”

  “No.” Of course she did, but he was being a real jerk right now. “I see no problem.”

  “So, you wouldn't find it annoying if say—” He traced circles in the air with his long finger. “I came into your classroom while the principal was observing and pointed out that you were teaching the kids wrong?”

  “No. In fact, I would be grateful for your input.”

  “You are something else. Okay. So you really believe people should just blurt out what they're thinking?” He leaned in dizzyingly close. Maggie wanted to draw back, but she didn't want to give ground for even for a moment. “You probably wouldn't like it if I told you what I was thinking right now.”

  “Can't be worse than what I'm thinking,” she snapped.

  “Oh yeah? Tell me, please.”

  “I think you're sarcastic and stuck-up.”

  He leaned in closer. “I think you're naive and stubborn.”

  She swallowed. He was close enough now that she could only take him in in pieces. Dark hair, sculpted cheekbone, a dark swirl of stubble along his jaw. She'd thought his hair was straight, but now she could see that the end curled up where it grazed his ear.

  “Your hair is too long,” she blurted.

  “Your hair is pretty.”

  “What?” He'd complimented her. But looked angry about it. She touched her hair on instinct.

  He caught her wrist. “And your hands are so small—how do you hold anything?” Maggie held her breath as he inspected her fingertips with an expression of fascinated wonder. “They aren't much bigger than Annabelle's.”

  “I know,” she babbled. “I can wear kids’ gloves, and rings never fit me, so I have to wear them around my neck if they mean anything to me—”

  “You're beautiful. And right now, I'm thinking I really want to kiss you.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Tell me what you're thinking.”

  Maggie's head spun. Her body was still flushed with anger, but he was right. She was thinking the exact same thing he was. “I'm thinking you should.”

  “Good.” He was already so close that it was a matter of just tilting her head to the side to bring their lips together. A tiny distance, but the second they closed it, Maggie felt like she'd crossed oceans. Climbed mountains. Reached the stratosphere. There was no other way to explain how utterly changed she felt the second Vane took command of her mouth.

  He cupped her chin with his long fingers, holding her in place gently but firmly as he slowly teased her lips with his. He nibbled and nipped until she let her lips part with a gasp, and then he swept his tongue against hers with such authority that she felt dizzy. He tasted like wine and secrets, secrets that she wanted to know the reasons for and the answers to. She moaned eagerly, tucking her knee up under her to lift herself closer to him before twining her fingers in his too-long hair.

  He growled out a low, frustrated sound and pulled back with a curse. He raked both hands through his hair before letting his head droop. “Shit,” he said. “I have to slow down.”

  “I'm sorry I—”

  “Don't be sorry,” he silenced her. “I'm your boss now. That wasn't right.”

  She grinned in triumph. “You said what you were thinking, though.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I did. You've made your point.”

  “I wasn't trying to win or anything.”

  “Sure you were.” Even in the now-dark room, sh
e could see the mischief glinting in his eyes, and it made her stomach clench. He was such a mass of contradictions. Buttoned up to the point of robotic on the outside, but passion simmered under that polished surface.

  It fascinated her.

  She wanted to see it again.

  “Okay, maybe I was,” she agreed, tucking her foot up under her again. “But only because I've realized I like hearing what's on your mind.”

  “Oh yeah? You like it when I tell you I think you're beautiful.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded.

  He leaned in closer. “And that you kiss like you're daring me to go further.”

  A small sound escaped her throat.

  “And you're so sexy.” He grinned wolfishly, looking for all the world like he meant to devour her then and there.

  Maggie fell back against the couch as he leaned in again, eager for him to kiss her and maybe more. But in her haste to let him closer, her tucked foot shot out awkwardly, knocking her abandoned glass.

  “Oh!” she cried as the full glass splashed them both.

  Vane pulled back and wiped his cheek. Horrified, Maggie looked at the couch. “Oh my god,” she moaned. “I'm so sorry.”

  “Don't worry about the couch,” Vane chuckled, pointing.

  She looked down at her chest and gasped again. “Oh my god, I'm covered. I look like a Jackson Pollack painting, and this is my only shirt.” She bit her lip. “I have nothing to change into. All my stuff is still at my apartment.”

  “Do you want to send someone to get it?” Vane asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I have to water my plants and—oh, the mail! I should have asked my neighbor to get the mail, but I was all caught up here—”

  “In the next adventure,” Vane supplied knowingly. He leaned back and gave her another one of his impenetrable looks. “You'd better go get your things. But please, hurry back.”

  6

  She'd hurried, all right. She left the beach house the next morning, before dawn even thought of cracking, and was at her little apartment just as the sun peeked over the horizon. After a quick apology to her bone-dry houseplants, a fly-by visit with her elderly neighbor to let her know she'd be back—"And could you mist my peacock plant once in a while? She's a real diva about humidity”—she'd thrown every item of clothing she owned into a ragged duffel bag. Then she'd slung the bag over her shoulder, grabbed her favorite little succulent plant as a token of home, and hurried back to the beach house. Not because Vane had told her to hurry, she rationalized as she nudged the speedometer past ninety miles per hour. Because this was her adventure before her adventure.

  Maggie ran her fingers through her snarled hair, then smiled at herself in the rearview mirror. On the move again. This was what she craved. In a couple short months, she'd be committed to staying in the same place for five years. Five long years, filled with sameness. She'd be doing the same thing in the winter as she was in the summer. Not that summer in rural Alaska counted for much.

  “Doesn't that scare you?” her friend Kiara had asked her when Maggie confessed to accepting the Alaska posting. Kiara still lived out of her van, not because she needed to—her trust fund made sure of that—but because, like Maggie, she felt better when she knew she could up stakes at a moment’s notice.

  “I think we should do things that frighten us,” Maggie had told her. And it had sounded good at the time. But the closer she got to the future she'd mapped out for herself, the more she yearned to screw it all up. She wanted lighting to strike or a tornado to tear through. Something unpredictable. A reset button that would start her all over again from zero.

  Vane was staid and stable, the opposite of a tornado, but his sudden presence in her life was exactly the reset button Maggie needed. That kiss last night—she touched her lips and grinned—had shaken her, and she liked nothing better than that feeling of not knowing what came next.

  She was still smiling as she pulled back into the circular driveway in front of the beach house. The noise of the demolition assaulted her ears even before she opened her car door.

  Annabelle stood on the porch with her hands clapped over her ears. “You're back!” she yelled.

  “I'm back! Let's go inside where it's quieter!'

  “It's even louder in there!” Annabelle complained, but accepted Maggie's hug eagerly. “What's that?” the little girl asked, pointing to Maggie's treasured plant.

  “It's called an echeveria. It's a kind of succulent. I like it because it looks like a rose, but it's much tougher.” She tweaked Annabelle's nose. “Like you.”

  “I'm a rose. I'm pretty, but I have thorns.” She curled her fingers into claws, then clapped her hands over her ears again. “Uncle Vane!” she shouted up the stairs. “Make them stop.”

  Maggie swallowed and turned. Vane stood at the top of the stairs, a full floor away, but she could feel his presence so strongly, she may as well be pressed up against him. The corner of his mouth quirked when he caught her eye, and Maggie felt a flush start at the roots of her hair and burn all the way down to her toes.

  She'd risked a speeding ticket to get back to him, but now that she was here, the only thing she could think of was getting away. “Hey,” she called up to him. “I'm back.”

  “Good,” he said with a knowing smile that made her blush even harder. “It's quieter up in the attic, if you guys want to hide up there. I've been moving the boxes that were up there.”

  “Do you need help?” Maggie asked, glancing down at Annabelle to confirm. “That could be our job, right? Get away from the noise?”

  “Some of them are heavy,” Vane warned.

  “I'm strong!' Annabelle announced, striking a bodybuilder's pose.

  Vane chuckled. “That would be a huge help. They need to start reframing the wall, and I can't have them do that until we sort through all that. When that wall comes down, the whole attic is going to be exposed.”

  “Leave it to us. You go... do architect stuff.” Maggie smiled brightly and hoped it wasn't obvious she was trying to get away from him. “Come on, Wonder Woman, let's go be strong.”

  She let Annabelle lead her into the dusty attic. Labeled boxes were stacked nearly to the rafters, tucked against the lofty wooden beams. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the gloom, but it was oddly cool up here, and the sounds of the demolition around them were muffled enough to talk in a normal voice. Vane had started moving everything down to the lower floor, so that's what Maggie instructed Annabelle to do as well.

  They made three trips before Annabelle's energy started flagging. “This is boring.”

  “I thought you were strong.”

  “I guess I'm not.”

  Maggie laughed. “Don't give me that. Here. This one says clothes. You can handle it, right?”

  “Give me another one,” Annabelle urged. “So we can be done faster.”

  “Good plan. This one says... Toys!”

  Annabelle dropped the box of clothes. “Let's open it!”

  “Need a break already?” Maggie teased as Annabelle tore into the dusty box and yelped in glee before pulling out an old marionette. The puppet was beautifully constructed with wooden joints, but her face was smooth porcelain and clearly hand painted. She wore a dress with a white satin bodice and a cloud of taffeta for a skirt. Her dark eyes were rendered in such loving detail that Maggie got the feeling they were based on real life. She'd been tucked into the box in a cradle of brittle tissue paper that still bore the faint traces of a rose-scented perfume. “Wow, that's in amazing condition. Be careful with it!”

  “Her name is Felicia,” Annabelle corrected. “And she's a prima ballerina—watch.” She executed a clumsy pirouette, then wrinkled her nose. “I have to practice. Go over there and don't watch.”

  Maggie laughed. She loved seeing Annabelle like this. Happy and playing like a regular kid should. Vane should see this, she thought, and peeked out the window in the hopes she'd catch a glimpse of him. She wanted to ask where the mario
nette had come from. Was it his? His mother's? What was it doing packed away up here, when it was clearly so loved?

  A familiar long-legged figure strode into view below her. An errant breeze lifted his hair, raking through it the way she'd raked her fingers through it last night as he'd kissed her. She touched the glass. Drew her hand away like it had scalded her. There was no doubt she liked him, and she was pretty sure he liked her too. And that was definitely going to make these next few weeks interesting.

  But then she'd pack up and leave on her vacation. This whole nanny thing was just a means to an end, a little more money in her pocket before she set out on her next adventure. She hadn't taking this job to spend it mooning over him from his attic window.

  “You're not watching, right?” Annabelle squealed from the other corner. “I'm not ready yet.”

  Maggie shook her head to clear it and then smiled brightly. “You know what? I can still see you. Why don't you go over there?” She grabbed the boxes she'd set down. Annabelle took her prize over to the window and began practicing in the sunbeam, loudly claiming that Felicia loved the spotlight. That was fine. With her charge occupied and out of the way, it was easier to make headway on the wall of boxes.

  She hefted another load into her arms and carefully stepped down the steep staircase.

  “Careful there!”

  She turned with a yelp, sidestepped and managed to catch the top box before it crashed to the floor. “Don't sneak up on me!” she huffed.

  Vane lifted the top box from her stack and grinned at her. “I was just coming to see how you two were doing.”

  He was too close again. How did he look so immaculately pressed and meticulously groomed? She was covered in dust and needed a shower desperately. She backed away before he could catch a whiff of anything embarrassing. “I'm fine. Annabelle's playing.” Nervousness made her voice tight, and Vane's face fell.

  “Playing, huh?” He edged around her. “Hey, what did you find?” he called up the stairs.

  “Can I take her down, Uncle Vane?” Annabelle's eager voice floated down the stairs. Maggie pressed her lips together as Vane dashed up to her, taking two stairs at a time.