His Secret Love by Ava Ryan
13
Jake
“I’m home,”I call as I let myself into my apartment and toss my keys onto the console early one evening in early December. I have a surprise planned for the kids, but I need a quick dose of Skye first. “Where’s my family?”
No one answers, but I don’t let that stop a smile from commandeering my face. This is my new state of mind. Happy. Although, to be fair, I have no idea how long I’ll be able to enjoy it. If I keep leaving the hospital early the way I’ve been doing for months now, I may well find myself out of a job soon.
Still, I can’t say I’d mind. Back when I was married to Marlene, I looked for excuses to stay late at the hospital. I wanted to get home and see the kids, yeah, but the trade-off was dealing with Marlene and our deteriorating relationship. Once we split, I vacillated between dreading the loneliness here in the apartment on the nights when the kids were with Marlene and dreading the exhaustion that came with managing the kids by myself at the end of a long day at the hospital. Neither random hookups nor all my delight in the kids ever came close to filling that empty spot inside me.
These days? Nothing but peace, light and happiness.
Not an empty spot in sight.
There’s one woman to thank for that, and it’s not Marlene. Although I give credit where credit is due and extend my silent thanks to Marlene for extending her trip overseas. It’s made my covert life with Skye much easier the past several weeks, although I’m sure the kids miss their mother.
But it’s all about Skye for me, man.
Skye.
My grin lingers, reminding me of just how far gone I am when it comes to her. I’m so far gone I could probably reach out and touch one of the outer rings of Saturn. A scary but undeniable thought. She’s here when I get home in the evenings, her smile going a long way toward smoothing any rough edges I’ve encountered at the hospital during the day. We eat dinner with the kids. We laugh. We tease each other. All of us. I get the kids ready for bed. Some nights we watch TV for a bit, with Skye and I making eyes at each other over the tops of the kids’ heads. We read bedtime stories to the kids every night, the only question being whose turn it is.
What’s that phrase photographers use? The golden hour? When the light is perfect?
My golden hour is when the kids go to bed.
Skye and I reconvene in the living room, where we huddle up on the sofa with glasses of wine, put our heads together and talk about our days. About politics. Books we’ve read. The kids. Traveling we’d like to do. Childhood triumphs and traumas. We talk about anything and everything. Except where this relationship is going and what we expect to happen once Marlene returns. We’re free to touch each other during the golden hour. Free to hold hands. To kiss.
Maybe even to dream a little bit.
I know that’s not what this is supposed to be about. I get that. Skye and I are supposed to enjoy each other with no strings and no regrets. It’s not some grand romance. I can always rely on my fresh memories of my nasty divorce to remind me that I’m not in the market for anything relationship-wise. Having freed myself from a toxic marriage, even the idea of, say, a date for Valentine’s Day is likely to give me hives. Not to mention the fact that I’m only one half of this equation, and a twenty-something woman with her entire life in front of her probably isn’t keen to saddle herself with an older guy with a ready-made family for any significant period of time.
Even so…
Even so, there’s a quiet part of me that wishes I could enjoy a million more nights exactly like the ones Skye and I have experienced together. That part of me anticipates a great deal of difficulty saying goodbye to her when her term as nanny ends in a few weeks. Worst of all, that part of me seems to be growing louder and more vocal by the day.
For example? I no longer feel content with my stolen moments with Skye. I’m grateful for any time with her, sure, but these abbreviated snippets are no longer enough. I resent the need to sneak around my own damn apartment and remain hypervigilant that the kids don’t catch us making eyes at each other. It’s not that easy keeping my hands to myself where Skye’s concerned, much less guarding my expression when I look at her. I don’t appreciate the fact that the two of us need to sleep with one eye open to make sure we don’t oversleep and miss the opportunity for Skye to sneak back to her own bedroom at the crack of dawn.
I hate all these limitations on our relationship.
Too bad I have no idea what to do about them.
Nothing like all these morose thoughts for killing my goofy grin. I loosen my tie and shake my head at myself, thinking back to those early days after Liam, Michael and I first sold the medical device and became rich overnight. Funny how happy I thought I was at the time. Funny how much happier I am now and how little money has to do with it. Almost as funny as the sobering fact that I have the best sex of my life with Skye, but I treasure my time sipping wine with her on the sofa as much as (more than?) my time in bed with her.
I don’t know what any of that means. But I’m battling the growing feeling that none of it bodes well for me.
“Hello?” I call, frowning. “Where’s my family?”
“Your family isn’t here,” comes Skye’s voice and hurried footsteps down the hallway.
Yes, it is.
The unexpected thought, well outside the casual, fun boundaries of our relationship, catches me by surprise. But Skye appears in the foyer, saving me from trying to process it.
“Hey,” she says, bringing her warmth and her smile with her as she opens her arms. “How are you?”
“Better now,” I say, the same thing I always say because it’s always true. I can’t reel her in fast enough. Can’t hold her tight enough. Can’t get enough of her light fragrance or the silky feel of her hair against my lips as I press a kiss to the side of her head.
Some people need a shower when they get home to transition between the parts of the day. I just need five good seconds of this and I’m good to go for anything the world throws at me.
Just this. Just Skye.
“Good,” she says with that soft laughter that always gets under my skin.
“How was your day?”
“Good,” she says. “The kids and I did watercolor painting on the balcony and—”
“No,” I say, pulling back enough to see her face. Once again, doing this thing we always do is no longer enough. I’ve had several weeks of telling her I’m better when I’m with her and her responding by giving me a report on the kids as though she wants to make sure we’re getting the most out of our nanny experience with her. I need more. I don’t want to need more, but I do. “How was your day?”
She hesitates, color intensifying across her cheeks.
“I had a great day,” she says finally, holding my gaze. “Now it’s perfect.”
My smile creeps back in, but I don’t give it enough time to get entrenched. I’ve got more important things to do with my lips right now. So I go ahead and kiss her, a tender nuzzle with just a hint of tongue. Just enough to inflame. I know I’ve hit my mark when she tips her head up to give me better access and hits me with a helpless coo.
That’s all my greedy dick needs to hear.
I slide my hands around to her round ass, which is easily accessible through the filmy skirt of her little sundress. Her noises intensify, especially when I tighten my hold and grind against her sweet spot.
“Jake,”she says, husky-voiced and heavy-lidded when I let her up for air.
I recognize that need. I live for that need.
“Not so fast,” I murmur against her lips as I back her toward the console. “Where are the kids?”
“Downstairs with the Smiths.” Her mouth curves into a smile against mine. “As you very well know, because I mentioned their play date this morning.”
“Just checking,” I say with a nip of her lush lower lip.
“Why is that?” she says with an unmistakable flare of interest.
I slide my mouth around to her ear and take my time about answering. “Because I plan to fuck you up against this console,” I say. “Right now.”
A triumphant laugh from Skye as I turn her around, plant her hands on the console in question and reach under the hem of her dress. I’ve discovered many things that make her skin heat during our time together. For example, trailing my fingers up the insides of her thighs. Nipping the back of her neck, right where it joins her shoulder. Cupping her pussy with my fingers and rubbing it. Just like that. Just enough to make her gasp.
“You need to hurry,” she says, her voice nearly inaudible.
“All in good time.”
I hook my thumbs through the outer edges of her panties and slide them down to her knees. I use one of my legs to widen her stance. Then I quickly go to work on my belt and zipper, grateful I had the foresight this morning to replace the emergency condom in my wallet.
When I’m ready, I run a hand over her plump cheeks, savoring my luck.
“Look at that ass,” I say, anticipation sucking most of the air out of my lungs.
She jiggles it for me. It’s a move designed to ensure my complete insanity and/or my eternal devotion before this little interlude is over.
“Less looking,” she says, her voice as sultry as the sight in front of me. “More fucking.”
“Whatever the lady wants.”
A single thrust, quick and hard, and then I’m deep enough inside her to make my vision dim for a second. She’s so hot and slick. So responsive with her whispers, coos and groans. Her delicious pussy works some kind of voodoo magic on me with its powerful suction. I don’t know what kind of female exercises she’s doing to maintain a grip on me like that, and I don’t care. When it comes to Skye and me together, I don’t ask questions. I just thank my lucky stars and pray it never ends.
“I live for this,” I say, taking a moment to adjust to all the overwhelming sensations. I free up one of my hands to cup her breasts and run my nose along the smooth column of her throat before nipping her earlobe. “I dream about this. I think about this. Every second. I can barely make it through the day anymore.”
“Neither can I,” she says with a throaty laugh.
I squeeze her tighter, zeroing in on the pointy beads of her nipples. Then I nip her neck for the thrill of hearing her gasp.
“You know what I think about more than this sweet little pussy?”
“What?”
“Your smile. I need you to get out of my head.”
There’s a pause.
“No,” she says, tightening all those secret muscles down around my dick as she grinds her ass against me.
Yeah, I didn’t expect her to have mercy on me. So I show none to her.
I free up her breasts and move that hand to the vee between her legs, maintaining steady pressure as I fuck her in slow swivels. She does her best to speed me up and make me go harder and deeper, but I resist that temptation because she’s got me feeling unexpectedly tender.
Maintaining that level of control with my body screaming for release is difficult, yeah, but the reward is worth it. And it comes even sooner than I could’ve hoped.
Skye tenses and cries a loud and agonized “Ah, God,” before her entire body shudders against mine. Her back arches. Her head falls back. One thrilling second passes during which she’s weightless in my hands and I’d swear she’s soaring with the stars. Then her head drops, making her hair swing in her face, and she goes limp as though I’ve wrung her out and left nothing inside her body but lingering pleasure.
Mission accomplished.
I don’t think she’ll fall, but I tighten my grip anyway because I’m not taking any chances.
NowI speed up my strokes and let my body drive me toward the inevitable conclusion. I stiffen. Spasm. Do my best to remain upright and not keel over as the pleasure obliterates me. By the time my orgasm finishes groaning its way out of my mouth, I’m not sure which one of us is supporting the other one. Nor am I sure where she ends and I begin.
And I never want to find out.
Awkwardness intrudes as I slowly return to full consciousness and let her go. I pull free and turn away as I adjust my pants, telling myself I’m not hiding my face or avoiding her gaze and knowing I’m a damn liar. That’s the most unsettling thing about being with Skye: these terrifying moments when I realize both that I’ve said way too much and that the scary part about it is not that I said it but that I don’t want to take any of it back.
“One second,” I say, hurrying off and catching a flash of what looks like hurt as she nods.
When I emerge from the bathroom a couple minutes later, I’m startled to hear the loud and excited voices of my kids. And my mother. The surprise.
“Shit,” I mutter as I pick up the pace. I hoped Skye and I would have more time to clean up and hopefully not look like we were just fucking each other in the foyer. No such luck.
“What’s all this?” I say, meeting them in the living room. A glance at Skye reveals a vivid blush and a shell-shocked expression that’s an exact match to the way I’m currently feeling. My mother, meanwhile, looks as cool and collected as ever, with her white linen, matching shoes and bag and sunglasses perched on top of her head.
“Dad! Look who’s here! It’s Grandma!” Charlie bounces up and down as though he’s had invisible pogo sticks surgically attached to the bottoms of his feet. “We ran into her in the hallway!”
“She surprised us!” Becca adds, also bouncing. “She came from Connecticut to surprise us!”
“You don’t say,” I say, drawing my mother in for a kiss. “How was the train?”
“A nightmare as usual,” she says breezily before gesturing at Skye. “This lovely young woman let us in.”
My face begins to burn, probably because my mother is giving me the exact narrow-eyed and speculative look I feared even though I wanted to introduce her to Skye. For reasons best left unexplored. Anyway, it didn’t take long. It never does with my mother, who has the unerring sense of a beagle cornering a fox during a hunt in the English countryside when it comes to the personal life of anyone in her vicinity.
“This lovely young woman is, ah, Skye Graham. The, ah, kids’ nanny.” I hear the hitch in my voice and give myself a swift mental smack on the head to get my shit together. If only it were that easy. “Marlene hired her. At the beginning of the, ah, fall.”
“Is that right?” my mother says, swinging all that nosiness back around to Skye and zeroing in for a closer look at her. “Are you married with your own family, Skye? Kids?”
“I’m not,” Skye says. “I need to get my career situation figured out first.”
To her credit, Skye keeps her pleasant smile firmly in place. But I can see the strain around her eyes even if my mother can’t. I feel terrible for putting her in this awkward position. Well, I don’t feel terrible about the sex, obviously. I feel terrible about exposing her to my mother so soon after the sex, without giving Skye a warning and the chance to freshen up. All of which underscores the wisdom of my plan to get my mother out of here as soon as possible and give Skye a chance to regroup.
“So,” I say, clapping my hands. “Dinner.”
“Dinner!” Charlie says, succumbing to a renewed wave of dance fever. “Thank God! I’m starving!”
“Settle down,” Becca says, shooting him a disdainful look.
“I can have dinner finished in half an hour or so,” Skye says, stepping forward with her usual brisk efficiency. “The kids and I made potato salad earlier. I just need to grill the corn and the salmon, and we should be good to go. There’s plenty for your mom.”
“No!” Becca cries, throwing her arms around my mother’s waist. “We want Junior’s! We always get Junior’s when Grandma comes.”
“Ah, yeah,” I tell Skye. “I should’ve mentioned. We’ll just go to Junior’s. Give you some free time for a while.”
Something flickers in Skye’s expression, but that smile never wavers.
“Oh. Okay. No worries.”
“Sorry about that,” I tell Skye, trying my best to silently telegraph that I’m sorry about a lot more than the dinner snafu.
“The salmon will keep until tomorrow,” she says with a new coolness toward me before extending her hand to my mother. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Quinn. Have a great night.”
“And you, dear,” my mother says, her double-handed grasp of Skye’s hand and the knowing gleam in her eyes revealing a terrifying glimpse into her omniscience where I’m concerned. “I have the feeling we’ll be seeing each other again.”
“Enjoy your dinner,” Skye says before turning to the kids and giving them each a quick hug. “Bye, guys. Have fun. Remember your manners. Charlie, where does your napkin go?”
“My lap!” Charlie says.
“I’ll remind him,” Becca says with grim determination, eliciting a groan from Charlie.
“Becca, you let Charlie handle Charlie. You handle your own self,” Skye says.
“It’s not that easy!” Becca says.
Skye looks unimpressed. “Try.”
“Let’s go, guys,” I say, herding the kids toward the door and opening it to speed them on their way. “Whose turn is it to press the elevator button?”
“Mine!” they both cry, taking off with banshee shrieks, my mother hot on their heels.
Giving me the quick second I need with Skye.
“I’ll bring you back something for dinner,” I tell her, the dull ache in my chest growing by the second as I linger on the threshold. I don’t want to leave her behind. I don’t want this chill between us when we were so close less than half an hour ago. For the life of me, I don’t know what to do about my growing attachment. I just know that she’s special and I’m not smart enough not to fuck things up between us. “What would you like?”
“I’ll just grab something from the fridge,” she says, keeping her gaze lowered as she starts to shut the door.
“Skye,”I say, because something feels bad suddenly and I can’t leave it like this. I know my life isn’t a daytime drama or a Lifetime movie. I know she hasn’t, say, thrown an engagement ring back in my face and screeched that she never wants to see me again. But there’s a fissure between us that wasn’t there earlier, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. “You okay?”
I’m not prepared for the subtle accusation in her eyes when she finally looks at me again.
It’s a shock to realize on the fly that any hurt to her also hurts me. But it does. There’s no denying it.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Sometimes I just need the reminder of what I am around here. And what I’m not.”
I wince as a sudden dose of clarity hits me with the force of a cannonball. Just like that, I get it. I see what she sees. It’s the oldest story in the book, isn’t it? An older boss with all the power. A younger nanny in a precarious financial position who can’t help but care about children who aren’t hers. An employee in an intimate position with the family with none of the perks or status of being an actual member of the family. Sex on demand and console quickies with no formal commitment from me. A no-strings arrangement with a shelf life set to expire soon. At which point… What, exactly?
Hell if I know.
I just know that I don’t want it to end.
“Skye…”
“Daddy!” Charlie calls. “Elevator!”
“Coming,”I call over my shoulder, rising frustration making me gruffer than I mean to be before I turn back to Skye. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Not tonight,” she says coolly. I note, with a sinking heart, that her eyes have turned a subdued color I’ve never seen before, a dying green in the last second before brown takes over. “I’m done talking for now. And it’s time for me to be a little smarter where you’re concerned, so I’ll be in my room watching Law & Order. Alone.”
With that, she shuts my own damn door in my face. I can’t blame her. It’s exactly what I deserve. I also can’t blame her for thinking that I’m using her. She has no idea how much she means to me. Neither did I. Until this very second.
I hurry to the elevator, distracted by my churning thoughts.
“She seems nice,” my mother says in a stage whisper as I edge past her into the car. “I really like her.”
“So do I,” I say grimly.