The Billionaire’s Ward: McClellan Billionaires Book Three Read online

  It made no sense, she chastised herself as she set her boxes down and wiped her hair back from her face. When she was away from him, she wanted him to be close. But when he was close, she wanted to run as far from him as she could get. With a grunt of frustration, she retied her hair back and squared her shoulders. Sometimes, when one of her students was scared of something, be it a dog or a thunderclap, she held their hand while they faced it again and again.

  The only way to stop feeling nervous around Vane was to face him. Again, and again.

  She climbed back into the attic and stopped at the top.

  Vane knelt in the sunbeam with Annabelle. He dangled Felicia the marionette so that she danced along the floor. “See? It's all in the wrist,” he told a fascinated Annabelle.

  “Was that yours?” Maggie blurted.

  Vane looked up. He gave her such a wide, happy smile that she forgot her nerves. She smiled back readily before kneeling next to Annabelle.

  “I guess, in a way it is now,” Vane said, a note of wistfulness in his voice. “But no. It was actually my grandmother's.” He made the puppet twirl. “She had two of these, I remember, a mother and a daughter. I'm not sure where the mother ended up, but this little lady was always my favorite anyway. I used to think she was a princess.”

  “She is. A princess ballerina,” Annabelle added.

  “Of course,” Vane agreed. “My grandmother actually made them. She sewed these clothes by hand. I think the pair were meant to be her and my mother.”

  “Did your mother play with them?” Maggie asked, fascinated.

  “You know, she probably did, but not with me. It was always my grandmother who'd take them out.”

  “We should find the other one,” Annabelle announced, sprinting over to the pile of boxes. “I bet she's in here somewhere.” She yanked down a box from a random stack and knelt with it on the floor. “Memorabilia,” she sounded out. “Maybe in here?”

  “Go for it,” Vane said. He shifted back onto his heels. His shoulder bumped against Maggie's, and he grinned again. Warmth spread in her belly once more.

  Annabelle tore the box open and lifted a glass dome. A golden key stuck out from the back. She gave it a twist. Inside, a golden gear clicked and set four orbs to spinning. “What's this?” she asked.

  Vane frowned. “Looks like it might be a clockwork something or other.”

  “You don't know?”

  Vane shook his head with a laugh. “I doubt anyone alive would know what that is.”

  Annabelle froze for a long moment, then she set the clockwork on the floor, her lips pinched together in a bloodless white.

  Alarmed, Maggie scrambled to her feet. “Annabelle? Honey, what's the matter?”

  Annabelle stood. Two spots of furious color blazed high on her otherwise pale cheeks. “You mean, someone used to love this, but you don't know because they're dead. Dead and forgotten about.”

  “Hey now,” Vane said, standing up carefully.

  But Annabelle shook her head. “That's what's going to happen with my dad. And my mom too. They're dead and soon everyone will forget them too!”

  “Oh honey, no—” Maggie broke in, but Vane reached out to bar her from rushing to gather Annabelle in her arms. He licked his lips and then looked the girl right in her tear-streaked face.

  “Yes, honey. In time, people forget. But that doesn't mean that those people were any less loved.” He gently lifted the puppet. “I kept this because I loved my grandmother, and I wanted to keep a piece of her here with me, even when she couldn't be. Someone else did the same for that clockwork. They held on to that piece of memory and kept that love alive.”

  “Until they died too,” Annabelle said dully.

  “But that's okay, because things aren't people, right? They're just tokens. Little bits and pieces. It's what we hold here that counts.” He touched his heart.

  Maggie blinked rapidly. Annabelle's head drooped, despair written in every line of her body. Maggie ground her teeth in frustration. It's too much for her. She's just a kid, she can't handle the nuance.

  But then Annabelle straightened back up again, and to Maggie's surprise, her eyes were clear again. “I'm going to lie down,” she said, in a flat, small voice.

  “Oh, honey,” Maggie said, but once again, Vane barred her from rushing to her charge.

  “Give her space,” he murmured. He reached around her waist.

  And squeezed her tight.

  Maggie turned to him. He nodded once and then leaned in.

  Another kiss? Now? She was about to shake her head at him, this not being the time or the place, when his other hand landed on her shoulder.

  “Fuck,” he sighed. And then pulled her to him into an awkward, sidelong hug. “God, that was rough, but I'm trying.”

  Maggie closed her eyes against the tears that suddenly pricked at the edges. “You are,” she sniffled, rubbing soothing circles along his back as he hugged her. She turned her face to his cheek and inhaled sharply. His back was broad and strong, but curved in such a vulnerable, heart-breaking way. “You did good,” she said, and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

  He turned at that exact moment, and her lips caught the edge of his mouth. He made a soft noise and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Where last night's kiss had been all wine-soaked passion, this one was gentle. Searching, even. His lips were warm and yielding, and the way he sighed into her sent a thrill up her spine. She turned into him and let him pull her close.

  “Maggie,” he murmured against her lips.

  “Miss Stewart!” Annabelle called from below. “Uncle Vane?”

  Maggie pulled back from him with a gasp. He grunted and looked down at his feet. “Still up here,” he called down the stairs.

  “I'll go first,” Maggie blurted.

  “She called both of us.”

  “I know, but—”

  “We're not doing anything wrong,” Vane told her, holding her gaze.

  Maggie wondered which one of them he was trying to convince.

  7

  “Hey.” Maggie knocked softly on Annabelle's half-open door. “Mind if I come in a sec?”

  Annabelle set her chapter book on her bedside table and sat up in bed. She was dressed in an old, faded men's softball shirt as a nightgown, and Maggie wondered if it had belonged to her dad. “Hey,” she said sleepily. “Sure.”

  Maggie sat down at the edge of the bed. “Today ended up fun, right? Thanks for the help with baking.”

  “Next time I want to make the glazed cookies,” Annabelle insisted. “Chocolate chip is boring.”

  “It's a classic for a reason, but fine. Once we finish eating this batch, we can do another round of baking. How does that sound?” Annabelle nodded sleepily, and Maggie paused, wondering if she should bring this up now. “So it ended nice, but I wanted to talk about the beginning.”

  “When you went to your house?”

  “After that. In the attic.”

  “Oh.”

  “I wanted to check in, just us girls.” She glanced at the door and gave it a gentle nudge closed with her foot. “See how you're doing.”

  “Yeah.” Annabelle sighed. “Sorry I yelled.”

  “Oh honey, no, I'm not talking about that. I just... you seemed pretty sad.”

  “I was.” Annabelle shrugged. “But Uncle Vane is right.”

  Maggie drew her hand back, surprised. “You think so.”

  “Maybe. I don't know.” She shrugged again. “But I know he'd never lie to me. Even if it sucks hearing.” She blinked. “Don't tell him I said 'suck.'“

  “I'm sure he wouldn't mind. It does suck.” Maggie smiled softly. This was not at all what she'd expected to hear.

  “Yeah it does.” Annabelle fell back onto her pillow. “And most of the time grown-ups want me to put a happy face on. Like, they lie to me and tell me Daddy is floating around on a cloud and playing a harp. Like come on, he would hate that. If Daddy's playing a harp, then it's because he's being punished, n
ot in a place where he's happy.”

  Maggie hid her smile behind her hand. “What would he be doing in his Heaven?”

  “Riding his mountain bike,” Annabelle said immediately. “And he'd be as good at it as he was before he got sick.”

  “I bet that's what he's doing then.”

  “But not Mom,” Annabelle went on. “Daddy riding his mountain bike would be her punishment.”

  “You were a baby when she passed—”

  “Died,” Annabelle corrected.

  Maggie flushed. “Right. When she died.”

  “I don't remember her, but Daddy told me so many stories sometimes I think I do. Like this dress she always wore with blue stripes, and this fuzzy sweater. I remember how it felt against my cheek when she hugged me, but I know I only ever held it after she was already gone.”

  “That's kind of like what your Uncle Vane was saying. That holding on to her sweater helped keep her alive in your heart.”

  Annabelle smiled sleepily. “Yeah.”

  Maggie touched her soft cheek. “Good night, honey.”

  “Night, Miss Stewart.” She rolled over on her side and was asleep by her next breath.

  Maggie stood up and carefully edged out of the bedroom. She shut the door with a gentle click and then let her forehead drop against the wood.

  “Oh, my god,” she whispered on a long exhale. She closed her eyes and dragged her hands down her face.

  All her training and she was still finding out she knew nothing about the resilience of children. All day long she'd worried that Vane had ripped the scab off Annabelle's fresh wound, but really his bluntness had helped her heal just a little bit more.

  Once more she felt that push and pull, the need to be far from him warring with the need to be close. This whole time they'd been equally matched.

  But now it was no contest. The need to be with him won easily.

  She hurried down the stairs.

  He wasn't in his customary place in the living room. Maggie paused and smiled when she realized where he was. Grabbing a quilt from the back of the couch, she hurried through the kitchen. Then paused and turned back.

  “Okay, we'll do glazed tomorrow then,” she promised the air, then grabbed the plate of homemade cookies she and Annabelle had baked and stepped out the back door.

  Just like she'd figured, Vane was already out on the beach. He stood with his back to the house, and for a moment she paused just to take in the picture of him, tall and broad-shouldered against the backdrop of the fading sunset. The open bottle of wine sat on the porch rail, and Maggie grabbed that, too, before stepping out on the soft sand. “Hey,” she called softly, not wanting to startle him. “I come bearing gifts.”

  Vane turned warily. The usual smile that ghosted across his face whenever he saw her was absent, and Maggie felt its absence keenly. She extended the plate. “Apology cookies?”

  “You're apologizing?” He broke a piece off the nearest cookie but held it instead of eating it.

  “Here.” She spread the blanket out and gestured for him to sit. “You might want to sit down for this one.”

  He looked amused as he sat, which made her feel better. “Okay, I'm sitting down.”

  “Good. Because I wanted to tell you that I don't know everything about children.”

  Vane blinked. “You're right. I am glad I am sitting down right now.”

  Maggie plopped down next to him with a sigh. “I thought you might have given her too much to handle in the attic earlier. But she respects you for telling her the truth.”

  He nodded. “I promised her I always would. Annabelle doesn't want to be treated like she's delicate, so I never have I think that might be the only thing I've gotten right about parenting this whole time.”

  “I think you're right. I mean, about the need to treat her like she's tough, not about that being the only thing you got right.” To her relief, Vane grinned. “So, truce?”

  “I didn't realize we were fighting, but sure. Truce.” He popped the bit of cookie into his mouth and then smiled at the wine bottle. “I didn't bring you out a glass. Let me go grab one.”

  He jumped up and headed back inside, and Maggie felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Vane's smile warmed her all the way to her fingertips. She leaned back on her elbows and kept her eyes trained on the back door, idly tracing the lines of the house, noting where it had been expanded and added to as the years went by, until he returned with her glass. He dropped to a crouch next to her and poured her a generous amount. “Cheers. To truces.”

  “To truces.” She clinked his glass and then sipped. “It looks like this isn't the first time this house has undergone renovations, huh?”

  He followed her gaze and nodded. “It was built in 1888 by my great-great-grandfather. It was the only house out here back then. It was considered the ends of the earth.” A soft smile tinged with wistfulness played about his mouth. “He lost his son, my great uncle, in the San Francisco earthquake, and after that he insisted that this should be the center of the family. A way to keep us all together.”

  “Is that why you have all those boxes in the attic?”

  He nodded. “Families have a way of expanding outward.” His smile fell and he looked down at his glass. “They get unwieldy when there's no center, or no central place to return to. When I was a kid, we came here to see my cousins, to get to know my aunts and uncles. My cousin Connor, was right in the middle between my brother and me, age-wise, so our summers here meant we grew up as close as brothers. It kept us together.”

  Something had shifted in his voice as he told that story. Like he was overturning the rock of his usual stoic nature and exposing the sadness and hurt underneath.

  “You're worried about losing them?” Maggie asked.

  He glanced at her. “Colby's death shocked all of us. We all thought he was beating the cancer. I think it turned us inward, away from each other.” He looked up at the house again. “I got it in my head that if I could make this place a home again, for all of us, it would help the whole family.”

  “That's kind of beautiful, Vane.”

  “Only kind of?” The corner of his mouth kicked up into a smile. “I thought it was very beautiful. Impressively beautiful, even. You don't agree?”

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “Are you asking me if I find you impressive?” she asked, pressing a mock-scandalized hand to her heart.

  “Actually, yes.” He leaned in close enough that she could see the tiny white nick of a scar in his dark brow.

  She impulsively traced her finger along it. “What happened here?”

  “I don't remember, but my mom said it had something to do with playing baseball without a ball.”

  “What did you use instead?”

  “A rock. From this jetty right here, actually.”

  She winced. “Oh my god, boys are an entirely different breed, I swear. Did it hurt?”

  “Like I said, I don't remember. Probably because I took a rock to the head.” His eyes softened. “But I'm sure either my mom or my grandma kissed it all better.”

  Maggie felt herself drawn to it. Slowly, carefully, she traced her finger along that silvery thread, then gently pressed her lips to it. She felt the brush of Vane's eyelash on her chin as he closed his eyes. He sighed something halfway between contentment and agony and tilted his face upward.

  Her lips caught his as if by accident, but she parted them eagerly, inviting him in with a moan. He seized her as he rose to his knees and pulled her flush to him. “Maggie.” She loved the way he said her name against her lips, letting her feel the shape of his voice.

  It was so easy to kiss him, she thought deliriously, as their breaths came faster. Her body sought his, like they'd done this a thousand times before. She couldn’t deny the connection, the thread that stretched between them and pulled tight every time she tried to put distance between them.

  She didn't want there to be distance anymore. “Vane,” she gasped as his lips sought down
ward. She tilted her head, exposing her neck to his kisses, and let herself go limp and boneless in his arms. For once, her mind didn't race ahead to what came next. If she spent the rest of her life here, letting this man place deliberate kisses along her skin, as if he meant to taste her one inch at a time, she knew that she could be happy.

  “I'm wild about you. You know that, right?” he murmured in a low voice that thrilled through her and made her toes curl.

  “I think so.”

  “Only think? Hmm, that's not good. I'd better be more clear here.” He grinned and tugged the collar of her T-shirt to one side.

  “Oh—” She caught her breath as he sucked on her skin.

  “I'm going to leave a mark right here,” he promised. “Right where you can see it when you look in the mirror tomorrow. But this isn't the only place I want you to feel me, Maggie. What do you think? Where else do you want my mouth?”

  The filthy promise of the question, combined with the dark hunger in his gaze, nearly sent her over the edge. “I, uh, have a few ideas.”

  “Show me.”

  Flushing hot, she lifted the hem of her T-shirt. He hissed in appreciation as she exposed her flat stomach. “Right there below that pretty little belly button?”

  She licked her lips. “I was thinking... lower.”

  Just then, a high, inhuman wail rose up from the direction of the house. Vane snapped his head towards it, his face frozen in a mask of anguish. He looked back at Maggie, tension radiating off his body.

  She cupped his cheek. “Go to her,” she whispered as she kissed him goodbye. “You're better at this part than I am.”

  He flashed her a grateful smile and was gone.

  She sagged back on the blanket, heart thumping. Above her, the stars winked into view one by one. Silver waves bathed in moonlight lapped against the dark shoreline, mirroring the rush of her blood as it thumped through her veins.

  All her life she'd been searching for a feeling she didn’t have a name for. Now she knew it was this one. How she felt here in this place. With Vane.

  Maggie licked her lips again, tasting his kisses. Yes, this was the feeling she'd been searching for.