9. Caelon
Chapter Nine
CAELON
Knowing Ivy is under my roof is a special type of torture, one that has left me tossing and turning every night for the past two weeks. One that had me in my home gym at five o’clock this morning just to work off some of the tension tightening my muscles. One that has me wondering what she wears to bed. I could look, this place has more security cameras than Buckingham Palace, but I wouldn’t invade Ivy’s privacy no matter how many times I’ve thought about it.
Since Ivy took up her post, I’ve been working from home most days, and today is no different. I glance at the framed photograph of Isabella on my desk. .
‘You’d like her,’ I mutter. ‘She’s sunny and warm, and she’s great with the kids.’
I used to be sunny and warm once, before this eternal blackness set in to my soul. Now all I can think about is revenge.
I skim through my emails to find there’s been a delay in construction starting on the Monaco hotel. The company we hired has gone bust, and it’s taking an age to secure a new one. There are endless issues with permits and planning, but time is money. I fire off a message to Stephanie, my PA, to chase up the planning application and then call Killian.
Although each of my brothers runs a different division of the family empire, we all operate under the same global corporation. Killian’s security company provides everything from world-class CCTV to trained bodyguards and his services have become the most sought-after in Europe.
‘Caelon,’ Killian answers in his usual gruff tone. Out of all four of my brothers, Killian is the most taciturn. He’s the first brother I’d call in a crisis, and the last I’d call if I wanted a drinking buddy.
‘Any update?’ I cut to the chase. Every week without fail, I call him for a report on the O’Connor situation. Killian has men inside the prison. His guys are overqualified to work as prison guards, but get paid well to pretend. They’re our eyes and ears in there. James suggested Killian’s men should simply take out our enemies quietly, make it look like an accident, or a suicide, but I want the O’Connors to suffer like I am.
He sighs. ‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’
‘It’s been over two years. To say I’m beginning to get impatient is an understatement.’
‘You think I don’t know that, brother?’ Killian says grimly. ‘You think I don’t want to punish the person who ordered the hit on my sister-in-law?’
‘Sorry. It’s just frustrating.’
‘Look,’ he pauses for a long beat, ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up but I might have something.’
‘Seriously?’ I shoot forward in my seat. My eyes home in on the picture of my wife again. I will avenge Isabella if it’s the last thing I do.
‘Don’t get excited now, I’ve yet to prove anything, but Danny Bourke’s wife, Stacy, has been mouthing off about how her old man set her up for life with “one last job.” I can’t find a paper trail of money, but she could be using a foreign bank account. I won’t give up until I find out.’
‘The fucking audacity!’ Rage ripples over my skin. ‘Bragging about her useless waste of space husband who ploughed a car into my fucking wife! Doesn’t she realise the only reason I pay his medical bills is because I want to be the one to kill him myself after I’ve found out who put him up to it? I swear if she knows anything about it, I’ll burn her and Danny’s world down, as well as Declan O’Connor’s.’
‘And I will help you, brother, believe me. Just sit tight for a while longer,’ Killian promises.
‘If only Danny would wake up.’ I would drag the truth out of him, even if it meant sawing off every one of his limbs.
‘Sit tight, don’t do anything irrational. You’ve got two kids relying on you,’ Killian says, like I need reminding.
‘Call me the second you know more.’
‘Obviously.’ Killian disconnects the call without so much as a goodbye.
I pace my office like a caged lion, hungry for action or distraction. Seeing as I’m not in a position for action, I opt for the latter.
I pull up the mansion’s elaborate CCTV system on my computer screen and scan the cameras until I find what I’m looking for. Ivy. Though I haven’t stooped to snooping on her in her bedroom, the communal quarters are fair game. Spying on her is something I’ve been doing way more than is healthy over the past couple of weeks. I could pretend I’m checking on her abilities as a nanny, but truthfully, I’m checking out which ass-sculpting pair of yoga pants she’s wearing.
Her sheer proximity is driving me demented with lust, which is why I’ve been hiding out in my office until past ten every night since she moved in, just to avoid being alone with her.
This morning, she’s in the playroom with Orla and Owen. Her blonde hair is tied up in a high ponytail that reveals a long, slender neck. She’s wearing a fitted white t-shirt, and a pair of faded denim cut-off shorts that reveal tanned, toned legs. The very same legs that had me gawping like a fucking horny teenager in the bar a few weeks ago.
Orla’s snuggled onto her knees, listening to whatever story she’s reading. I crank up the volume to hear which one.
‘Will you teach me your roar?’ Ivy singsongs the story, her honeyed voice flooding my office.
Owen is curled up on a beanbag in the corner with Patches tucked under his arm. He’s forcing an expression of boredom, but I know he’s listening because this story, The Lion Inside, is one of his favourites. Ivy seems to be making progress with him, slowly but surely, but he’s not making things easy for her.
She readjusts Orla on her lap, using one hand to turn the page and the other hand to stroke through Orla’s dark curly hair. I swallow back the emotion pricking my throat.
‘Yep, you’d love her,’ I look at Isabella’s photograph again. ‘She’s perfect for the kids.’ Which is why I need to stop perving on her on the cameras and get on with my fucking work.
I switch off my computer just before one and head for the kitchen in search of lunch. The house is unusually quiet.
‘Where is everyone?’ I ask Liz, swiping a chunk of cheese from the ploughman’s platter she’s preparing. It looks delicious.
She slaps my hand away and tsks. ‘Who knows where those hands have been!’
I know exactly where those hands have been. The memory is branded into my brain like a tattoo .
‘Wash them before you start plucking at my pretty platter.’ She nods towards the sink and lifts the wooden tray.
Liz is the only member of my staff who would dare to speak to me like that, but she’s practically family. She pretends she’s gruff and grumpy, but beneath it all she has a huge heart. When Isabella died, Liz single-handedly kept the house running. I simply wasn’t capable.
‘I’ll carry that out,’ I tell her. ‘It looks heavy. Give me a second.’ I cross the kitchen to the sink, turn the tap on and pump the soap dispenser.
As I scrub my hands, I glance out the window, and my eyes are drawn to Ivy. Specifically, her ass in those shorts. She’s running round the lawn chasing the kids. Owen’s clutching a water gun, firing it at Ivy and Orla. The distant sound of his laughter carries on the breeze and for the first time in a long time, my lips lift into a genuine smile.
But it freezes on my face when I spot Jared, my tight-vested gardener, meandering towards Ivy.
It’s impossible to hear what he’s saying to her. It’s also impossible to miss the way his beady eyes are roving over her torso like she’s a brand-new shiny toy. He stops, leaving barely a foot between them, and says something. She turns to him, throws her head back and laughs.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
I’m paying him to work, not to hit on my nanny.
And what’s so fucking funny?
Ivy runs her fingers through her hair and beams at him. It’s his turn to laugh. The urge to put my fist through his face is suddenly overwhelming.
‘Lunch is ready.’ Liz stands at the open patio doors, beckoning Ivy and the kids over.
Impeccable timing. My molars clank together as Jared reaches out and touches Ivy’s arm before backing away .
Clearly, I’m going to have to watch this newfound friendship.
‘I set the table outside again,’ Liz calls to me, obliviously. ‘Got to make the most of this weather while it lasts.’ She tilts her weathered face up to the sky and closes her eyes with a gentle exhale.
I dry my hands and lift the platter. ‘This looks amazing,’ I tell her as I pass. Even if my stomach is twisted to the point I might not be able to eat any of it.
‘Huh, flattery will get you nowhere with me, Mr Beckett,’ Liz snips, but there’s a hint of humour in her tone. I place the platter in the centre of the table and slide into my seat, dragging the summer air into my nose to calm down.
Why should I care if my gardener is flirting with my nanny?
Why?
Because she’s barely been here two weeks and she’s already got under your skin, a little voice shouts inside my head.
‘Daddy, did you see me?’ Owen shouts, jogging towards me. ‘I got the girls good.’ He thrusts the now-empty water gun in the air triumphantly.
‘I saw you, buddy. Looked like a lot of fun. Go wash your hands before lunch.’ I prise the water gun from his hands and place it on the ground behind me. ‘You too, Orla.’ She’s close on his heels, with Ivy tight on her tail.
Ivy in her wet, tight white t-shirt.
Fucking. Hell.
No wonder Jared was staring. I almost wouldn’t blame the guy – almost.
The thin white cotton is completely transparent over her tits. Dark rosy nipples are almost visible and the lace outline of her bra. It’s impossible not to stare. My cock thickens in my shorts .
‘Owen seems to be coming out of himself a bit,’ Ivy says, sliding into the seat opposite and grabbing a grape from the centre of the table.
‘He’s not the only one.’ I tear my eyes from her chest and scowl at Jared’s retreating back. ‘You should get changed.’
‘Me?’ She laughs, then glances down. ‘Oh, gosh.’ She swipes a napkin from the table and tucks it over her t-shirt. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise.’
‘It’s a spectacular sight, but one I’d prefer you didn’t treat my gardener to.’ My tone is thick with disapproval.
Her mouth drops open, but the kids trundle back to the table before she can articulate a reply. Thankfully, they keep a steady stream of conversation flowing because I have no idea what to say to the woman opposite. The woman I can’t stop stealing glances at. The woman I’m imagining bending over this table and fucking into next week.
‘Can we swim this afternoon?’ Owen asks, his eyes bright for once.
Ivy cocks her head at me. ‘If your dad says it’s okay, I’ll take you into the pool.’
Ivy in a swimsuit. Fuck.
‘I’ll keep them safe, I promise. I’m no Pamela Anderson,’ she laughs, glancing down at her chest, ‘but I’m a pretty good swimmer.’
The napkin is soaked and is also now completely transparent. Someone is testing my restraint.
‘I’d say you could give her a pretty good run for her money.’ I force my focus from her breasts to her face in time to see her look of surprise, followed shortly by a sliver of a smirk. Our eyes lock and electricity crackles in the air, tethering us together with an invisible thread.
‘Can we, Daddy, please?’ Owen begs.
‘Sure, I don’t see why not.’ I ruffle his hair, and he holds his hand up for a fist bump .
I need to get out of here. Time to go to my office in the city. Ivy in a swimsuit is not a sight me or my dick need imprinted into my sex-starved subconscious.