11. MATT
11
MATT
I barely see Aries for the next week. I’m in the office most of the time and I’m certain she’s avoiding me when I’m home. I get back after Lucie’s asleep. I always go to her room to give her a kiss goodnight, but Aries is never there.
Tonight, the light is on in Aries’ room; I see the strip of it beneath the door. I don’t know why my heart thuds so fucking awkwardly when I walk past. Two weeks . Two weeks of this woman living in my house, and I’m like a hopeless kid with a crush.
I shake my head, determined to put the nanny out of my mind. What happened last week outside the sauna was unfortunate. She’s over-familiar. Not my type of woman at all. Far too open, unguarded… and yet I can’t get her out of my head.
It’s Friday night and I have no plans. Really sliding into that sad divorcé stereotype. Nico asked me if I wanted to have dinner with him and Kate, but I don’t really want to hang out with them when they’re so smitten and happy. Not that I mind. I’m pleased for him, but sometimes it hits home just how fucked up my situation is. All the years I wasted in a miserable marriage.
After a lonely meal at the kitchen island—one of Alec’s frozen lasagnas—I head upstairs to bed, but I can’t fucking sleep. I keep thinking of Aries, upstairs, that peek of light from beneath her door.
What’s she doing right now?
Sleeping, you idiot. That’s what she’s doing.
I bring up my phone, scrolling through emails. Most are dull, work-related items, but one snags my attention. It’s from Charlie’s Housemaster, an old family friend called Barney Wentworth, at Marsden College.
My heart sinks. If Aries thinks I’m lacking empathy when it comes to Lucie, she’d have a field day with Charlie. I don’t even know where or when it went wrong, but the subject line sinks like a metal weight in my gut.
Charles Hawkston: Disciplinary matters.
I open it.
Dear Matt,
Some matters have arisen in relation to Charlie, which are best discussed over the phone. When might be a good time to talk?
Best,
Barney.
Barney Wentworth must be nearing retirement. He’s a contemporary of my father, and he was teaching at Marsden College when me, Nico and Seb were at the school.
I pull out my phone and bring up his phone number. I have no idea what he's about to say, but I know it won't be good, and as the ring tone buzzes in my ear, a chill runs down my spine.
“Matt,” says Barney’s gruff voice. “Didn’t expect you to call so late.”
“This email,” I reply. “What’s it about?”
Barney splutters before clearing his throat. “One of the boys found a bag of marijuana in Charlie’s sock drawer.”
I wait, and every muscle in my chest tenses until it feels like my entire torso has solidified. The divorce has been hard on Charlie, but for some reason it never crossed my mind that he would turn to drugs. I'm not prepared for this . “And?”
“You know the rules. If a student is found in possession of drugs, he’s out.”
Expulsion . I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Want me to fund a new library?”
Barney is quiet. “This is serious, Matthew.”
“Sorry. I know. What did Charlie say?”
“That’s the thing. Charlie says it’s not his. Said he’d never seen it before.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“I want to, but his grades have been dropping off. For the last year, he hasn’t been himself. Longer, probably. He looks…”
His voice fades as if he's reluctant to pass judgement, but I can't bear the silence so I fill in the blanks. “Stoned?”
Barney sighs. “Not necessarily. But tired. Haunted, even.” Haunted ? “Your son is a wreck, Matt.”
I close my eyes again, letting the sentence sink in. Your son is a wreck . I’m not sure anything has ever felt this bad. “Who found it?”
“What?”
“The bag of weed. Who found it?”
There’s a creaking sound, like Barney is leaning back in his chair. “Hugo Charlton.”
For fuck’s sake. Hugo Charlton is one of Mark Charlton’s twins. And Mark Charlton is Gemma’s new boyfriend. Damn unfortunate that she’s decided to play house with a man whose sons are at school with Charlie. In the same boarding house, no less. I’ve even wondered if she had her eye on him before we got divorced. Her wandering eye . The seeds were sown, at any rate. God knows, we saw Mark often enough when we went up to the school. “What the hell is Hugo Charlton doing going through Charlie’s sock drawer?”
The question hangs unanswered for a few moments before Barney speaks. “I know this is a thorny situation. And I want to believe Charlie. I really do. But the rules are rules—”
“It won’t be Charlie’s. You can’t expel him. He wasn’t smoking it. It wasn’t on his person, was it?”
“No. In the sock drawer.”
“Anyone could have put it there. You cannot expel him for this. And I’m serious about the library. Or science block. Whatever you want. Whatever the school needs.”
“Matt…” Barney’s voice is low and quiet, and the sad tone of it causes a shattering sensation behind my breastbone and a thickening in my throat. “Focus on your son. Some things you can’t fix with money. We’ll have to investigate this marijuana situation, but if there’s no evidence he’s smoking it or sharing it or whatever, then we can dismiss it this time.” He breathes down the line for a few moments. “But there’s something here that you really need to pay attention to. I’m advising you to take notice of your son, especially with the holidays coming up. He’ll be under your care then. Not mine.”
It feels a lot like I’m being reprimanded and I have to check the urge to protest. To fight back. “Okay. I appreciate the call.”
Silence falls, during which one of us should say goodbye, but the word sticks to the roof of my mouth, and I hang up before Barney has the chance to say it.
In the dark corners of my mind, I can hear a voice, but it’s not mine. What do you mean he’s a wreck? Of course he isn’t. He’s a fucking Hawkston, and we can weather all the shit life throws at us .
The image of my father fucking our housekeeper flashes in my mind and I wince at the recollection. I was eleven when I found him, and when I told my mother what I’d seen she screamed at me. Told me to mind my own business. To keep my mouth shut and never mention it again, because ‘Daddy needs to do what Daddy needs to do’.
I’m not a stranger to fucked-up family lives, and I turned out all right. Didn’t I? I certainly didn’t give the kids a happy home, and Charlie shouldered most of that. I hope Lucie won’t remember me and Gemma living together because it was beyond miserable.
I thought I’d be happy once the divorce was finalised, but I’m not sure I am. It wasn’t the magic pill I thought it would be. Yes, we aren’t fighting all the time, and I don’t come home to find a woman I can’t stand waiting in the house for me… but I’m not happy. But maybe ‘happy’ is an illusion. A temptation that doesn’t fucking exist. A word used to drive us forward, always seeking that elusive fucking happiness, but never finding it. Like the pot of fucking gold at the end of the rainbow.
Unable to relax, I head down to the kitchen in my boxers to get a glass of water. Fuck it, water won’t cut it. I pour a scotch in a crystal glass and stare at it for a while. Then I take a few sips and listen to the creaks of the house. I move to sit on the sofa, which is tucked away towards one corner of the large kitchen. I sit and place my Scotch on the low level coffee table in front of me. A feeling of hopelessness spreads over me and I hang my head in my hands.
I haven’t turned on the lights, and moonlight streams in the basement window. I don’t know how long I sit there, drinking quietly in the dark, savouring this one glass of Scotch. Sipping it slowly, hoping it’ll take the edge off. Could be twenty minutes, could be an hour. Either way, it’s late.
The clink of keys in the lock shocks me, but I don’t move.
“Thanks so much, it was so fun. Just what I needed.”
It’s Aries. I check the time: 2.30 am. I’ve been in a daze for hours. I forgot she was going out. God knows how it slipped my mind, because Mrs Minter told me before she left, but… Jesus . I’m really not with it at the moment.
A man’s voice replies and my heart clenches in the oddest way. Was that Alec? Or someone else? She’d better not be bringing someone down here. I listen, hardly breathing.
They say goodbye, and I hear Aries’ footsteps clatter down the stairs. She’s coming.
I don’t move, watching as she stumbles towards the fridge. Is she drunk? She hasn’t noticed me sitting in the shadows. An illicit thrill runs through me at the idea of watching her without her knowledge. Is that fucked up? Maybe. I sink into the sofa, thankful that the kitchen is so large, and she’s unlikely to spot me, unless I make myself known.
She’s humming, dressed in a gold mini dress that’s all sequins, her hair free and messy. Lucie’s right with her Ariel nickname. She really does look like a mermaid, covered in shimmering scales. The dress makes her body look like a gift I want to unwrap. Slowly. I’d take my time with it… with her .
She pulls the fridge door open, staggering away as though she hasn’t realised her own strength, then she totters back towards it to peer at the contents. The glow of the fridge light puts her in a spotlight.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
She slides her heels off, pulls out a block of cheese, and grabs some eggs from a bowl on the counter.
When she kicks the fridge closed the room is dark again except for the moonlight streaming in the window. She grabs a candle from a shelf and a box of matches. She strikes one, and a flame bursts, making her look other-worldly in its glow as she lights the candle. I don’t know why she doesn’t turn on the full lights, but candlelight it is.
She’s still humming. Dancing, even. Her hips sway, and her dress molds to the curve of her arse as it rides up and exposes her thighs. I don’t think she’s wearing a bra because her full breasts move freely beneath her dress as she shimmies. But then I’ve noticed she hardly ever wears one. It’s mesmerising, hypnotizing, watching her move when she thinks she’s alone. I imagine touching her, sliding my hands over that arse, cupping each cheek, nuzzling my head between her breasts. Heat pools low in my stomach and tingles stir in the tip of my cock. This woman turns me on without even trying.
She begins cracking the eggs into a bowl, whisking them up. Why the fuck is she doing this down here and not upstairs in her kitchen? I’d be irritated if she wasn’t so pleasing to spy on. But I don’t want to be a creep…
“No eggs upstairs?” I say, announcing my presence.
She continues dancing, her back to me.
Didn’t she hear me? I peer at her, noticing she’s using the headphones I bought her. A burst of satisfaction courses through me, stronger than any reaction I ever had to seeing Gemma flaunt the expensive gifts I bought her.
Aries raises her hands over her head, hips shaking like she’s in the middle of a nightclub, and her words from the other day spring to mind. Don’t you ever wear a shirt ? And here I am in only my fucking boxers. Again.
I’m torn. Do I get up? Slink out? Sit still and wait until she’s finished, hoping she doesn’t see me at all?
That’s crazy. This is my house.
I push up from the sofa and pace towards her, driven by the urge to slide my arm around her waist, to pull her close, to press my fucking mouth against the pale skin of her neck… fuck .
I’ll leave. This is insane.
Suddenly, I’m right behind her. I don’t know how she can’t sense me, seeing as she’s all into her gut instinct and whatever other shit she rambles about, but she’s oblivious.
“Aries.”
She jumps out of her skin, spins one-eighty, and lets out a hair-raising scream as she flings two eggs at me. Maybe three. They crash against my chest, shells splintering on my skin. Aries isn’t far behind the eggs, coming at me, arms-whirling, walloping me with clenched fists.
Her attack is thwarted by the slick mess of raw egg that coats my chest. Her fingers are slip-sliding all over me. I don’t know if I’m in shock, but this definitely doesn’t feel as bad as it should.
She snatches her hands back, and the mixture of surprise and disgust on her face is absolutely priceless as she stares at the strings of raw egg that web her fingers.
She yanks her earphones out one at a time, dumps them on the counter like she’s annoyed with them, then steps back and flicks her hands, spraying raw egg everywhere. “Holy hell, where did you come from?” She’s breathing fast, like I’ve scared the life out of her.
“I was here before you were.” I point to the sofa.
Glaring at me, she picks up the leftover eggs, still safely in their box, as if she means to continue exactly what she was doing before I interrupted her, but then her eyes slide from my face to my egg-splattered chest, her mouth drops open, and she promptly drops the box of eggs to the floor, right at our feet.
“Jesus, Aries.”
“Jesus, me? Jesus, you.” She’s still panting, and obviously unnerved. “What were you doing? Sitting in the dark like a perv?”
I’m not exactly calm myself, but my voice is level when I say, “My house, Aries. I can sit where I want. You have a kitchen upstairs.”
“No eggs up there,” she murmurs, with another glance at my chest.
“None here either,” I say, gesturing to my chest and the mess on the floor. “Have you been drinking?”
“A bit. Not a crime, is it?” She eyes me like she can’t work out whether I’m angry or not. I’m not sure if I am. Under her assessing gaze, everything feels tangled inside my ribcage.
“No,” I concede. “But if you’re going to smash every egg in the house, it might be.”
She laughs, and all trace of her annoyance vanishes, blasting away any trace of my own at the same time, like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I’m so sorry. I’ll replace the eggs.” She crouches to the floor, trying to sweep the eggs back into the cardboard box. Her fingers are dripping with the stuff.
I kneel to help, the two of us crouching in the dark, shadows being cast by the light of the candle flitting around us. We gather the shells back into the box and scoop up whatever we can of the mess.
“Good thing the lights aren’t on. I’d see right up your boxers,” she teases, nodding at where I’m crouched.
I stifle a snort. “Did no one teach you not to say whatever the fuck is on your mind?” I say as I stand.
She shrugs and throws the shells and the box in the bin. “Just saying. Crouching in boxers isn’t safe.”
“For whom?”
She blinks twice. It’s hard to tell with the flickering candle as our only light, but I think she’s blushing. “People.”
She turns away to wash her hands before she grabs a cloth from the sink and begins to wipe the floor. When she’s done, she rinses the cloth and leaves it on the side of the sink, and then she gets a clean one, which she wets and throws at me. I only see it coming at the last second and grab it in one hand.
“What the fuck?”
“Clean yourself,” she instructs, nodding at my chest. I’d almost forgotten about the mess on me. I wipe myself down as she watches. It’s fucking weird, whatever is happening right now, me rubbing a cloth over my bare torso and Aries glued to the spectacle. I want to take a shower, but I haven’t seen this woman for a week and I don’t want to leave.
The realisation that I want to stay here with Aries is a slow fucking creep that strangles something in my chest: I’m enjoying being near her .
As I’m wiping away the last of the raw egg, I notice the eggs she’s already cracked in the bowl. She’s too tipsy to realise there are any left. I tip my head at them. “What were you making?”
“Cheese omelet. I’ve had a lot of wine. Eggs and cheese are great for absorbing it.”
I grab the bowl and get a frying pan out of the cupboard.
She stares. “What are you doing?”
“Making your midnight feast.”
“Oh, no. Please, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know. But you’re drunk and if you lose these eggs”—I hold up the bowl—“then we’re out entirely and you’ll have to wait until morning, and by then it’ll be too late.” I point at a stool. “Sit. This will only take a minute.”
She does as I ask, propping her elbows on the counter. I feel her gaze on me like a river of fucking fire as I try to focus on the simplest of tasks—making an omelet. I grate the cheese and add it to the mixture. After a few minutes, she speaks. “Hold up.”
I glance at her. “Yeah?”
She rubs her eyes with both fists. “Am I dreaming or is my boss half-naked in the kitchen, cooking for me in the middle of the night? I must have had way too much to drink because this can’t be real.”
I chuckle as I flip the omelet, turn it up onto a plate and push it across to her, along with some cutlery from the drawer. “Not a dream. Enjoy.”
“Mmm.” She inhales and licks her lips. “Who knew you had a secret talent for cooking eggs?”
“It’s not hard.”
She scoffs a mouthful. “Mmm, but this is delicious. Yum.” I fill a glass of water and give it to her. “Thanks. You do this for all your nannies?”
“No. Never done this for anyone.”
Her features widen in amazement. “Now I feel special.” She points her fork at me. “You shouldn’t go making a girl feel special if you don’t mean it.”
“It’s an omelet.”
She licks the side of her knife. “Special omelet.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Yes.” Her eyebrows move up and down in unison. “And you’re special.”
I laugh. Fuck, this woman is funny. She might be the strangest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. No one… and I mean no one , has ever spoken to me like this. Especially not an employee. I don’t even want to consider why I’m allowing it to happen…
For a few minutes, I watch her eat, which she does with gusto.
“Why were you awake? What were you doing down here?” she asks as she chows down a mouthful.
My mind flits to the email from Barney and the conversation about Charlie. There’s no way I’m getting into that now. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She arches a brow. “I can help with that.”
“How?”
“Reiki.”
I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t miss how her gaze slides over me, drawn by the movement, lingering on my upper arms. She gives a tiny shake of the head, as if to release whatever distracting thought popped into her mind. “Ah, yes. The reiki,” I say with a heavy dose of scepticism.
“It’s very relaxing. You lie down, I wave my hands over you—”
“No.” That sounds way too intimate. I’m not getting on my back for this woman, especially not if she’s drunk.
“No? You’d fall asleep in no time. My mother used to do it for me as a kid all the time. I’d fall asleep while she directed healing energy at my body. I felt surrounded with love while I drifted off.”
That sounds oddly appealing. “I thought you were a nanny, not a healer.”
“I’m a lot of things. Close your eyes.”
The air thickens around us, but I’m not sure she notices. She’s so bright, so bubbly. Maybe she’s completely oblivious to the attraction that’s pulsing through me right now.
“Here? Now? Standing up? Not that I mean to doubt you, but I’m not sure even you have the power to make me fall asleep standing up.”
Aries laughs, tipping her head back, rustling all that hair like an autumn breeze moving through fallen leaves. God, even this woman’s hair has me turning poetic. “I just meant for you to feel the sensation of it. The tingles.”
Tingles? That sounds dangerous … like it might lead to places I shouldn’t go with this woman. “No.”
Aries sighs as though I’m a disappointment to her. To think I might be makes me uncomfortable, like my skin has shrunk in a hot wash. “You’re such a sceptic. It’s written all over you.”
I can’t help it, but I let my arms fall and glance down at the bare skin of my forearms, my hands, my chest, as if something is actually written there, and Aries laughs again. I love the way she laughs… it’s so free . On the plus side, if she can laugh so easily then perhaps she isn’t too disappointed in me. Judging by the way she’s smiling at me, she’s certainly not holding onto any resentment.
“Thanks for the omelet. I’m going to go to bed. If you can’t sleep, message me.” She waves her phone at me as she stands to put her plate in the dishwasher. “I’ll send you some distance healing.”
I say nothing, because the only thing I want to do is tell her to scrap the distance part of that sentence. And maybe the healing part too.
Fuck it. “Wait.”
She turns. “Yeah?”
“If I sit down, will you do it?”
She pauses, considering this. “If you lie down, over there”—she indicates the sofa—“then yes.”
I suck a breath through tight lips and force it out. This is probably a bad idea . “Okay.” I pace over to it, intensely aware of the fact I’m wearing very little and she’s walking right behind me. The sweetest sense of nervous anticipation bubbles up inside me, and I do my best not to let it show. What the hell am I thinking doing this?
And yet, I don’t stop. I lie on my back on the sofa, and Aries drags a chair over from the kitchen table and sits next to me. She smiles, a small encouraging smile, obviously designed to put me at ease. She’d be a wonderful nurse. Or a doctor. There's a comforting warmth to her presence, and as long as she didn't start rambling, her bedside manner would be impeccable.
“Close your eyes,” she says, and I do, settling into the darkness behind my lids.
She gives me some instructions about my breathing and releasing tension in my body. I breathe slowly in and out, letting her calming voice wash over me, amazed that I can feel so comfortable in her presence. I can’t remember the last time I lay down and took a moment, just for myself, to relax.
After a few minutes, a prickling sensation crawls over my skin, under my skin , like parts of me are shifting. It’s bizarre. The sensation radiates and moves to different areas of my body. My toes tingle, my calves, my shoulders. My chest seems to unlock, and I get a vision of petals opening like a time-lapse flower.
Next to me, Aries breathes quietly. Her knee brushes my thigh, sparks flying from the point of contact. And then, out of nowhere, a huge surge of energy rises from the base of my spine, pooling in my hips. The tip of my dick begins to tingle.
Fuck. I’m getting hard.
My eyes pop open and I sit upright, nearly crashing into Aries who’s leaning over me, but she leaps back at my sudden movement.
“Shit. What happened? Are you okay?” she stutters, leaning back in her chair, looking at me like I might attack her.
“Yeah. Great.” I grab a pillow and shove it over my crotch. Aries follows the motion with her eyes, eyebrows rising just a fraction, but she says nothing. “I think you should go to bed.”
But Aries doesn’t move. “Are you sure you want to stop?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“It happens,” she says, matter-of-factly, nodding at my crotch. “You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
Heat rages through me. “I’m not.” Liar .
“I know it’s not personal. It’s the energies. The way they flow through the body. It depends on what’s going on in your life. Where the blockages are. I don’t mind if you want to work this one through.”
What the fuck is she offering? It sounds incredibly tempting, but whatever is happening in my body right now, it’s not ‘the energies’, whatever the fuck that means. It’s her. And me. And the fact that I want to touch her. Kiss her. Fuck her. Have her ride my face until she screams my name.
And I’m a fucking idiot to have indulged myself this way tonight.
“An energy orgasm,” Aries clarifies. I grimace at the word ‘orgasm’, and my stomach feels like a myriad of dominoes are falling over. She never knows when to shut up. “That’s what we call it when you climax without being touched. I can hold the space for you, if you want. Looks like you need the release.”
Some sort of explosion must happen internally, because my body temperature ratchets up about a million degrees, and I can hardly breathe. “Fuck, no.” I peel back the edge of the cushion nearest my abdomen, trying to subtly peek beneath it. My dick is rock-solid. Aries needs to get the hell out of this room. “Absolutely not. No, thank you. Please go to bed.”
And I’ll work this one through alone.
Aries’ cheeks are turning a rosy pink. “All right.” She pushes her chair away from me, stands and paces across the kitchen. The further away she moves, the easier it is for me to breathe, but then she pauses, hovering in the doorway with a thoughtful expression on her face. I can tell she wants to say something, and I brace for whatever the hell might come out of her mouth. Something about the sauna, or about seeing me hard before, or about this becoming a regular fucking occurrence … Thankfully, her expression shifts a moment later, and she merely says, “Good night, Mr Hawkston.”
I sag with relief. “Night, Aries.”
I listen to the sound of her feet hitting the steps until it fades to nothing. The kitchen is empty, dark and quiet now. I toss the cushion to the other side of the sofa and drop my face into my hands. What the fuck? I allow myself a second of self-pity before I admit that there’s something more pressing I need to deal with, unable to hold back for a second longer. I get up and brace one arm on the wall as I slide my other hand into my boxers and grip my dick.
So fucking hard. A million recriminations spring up in my mind… I shouldn't be doing this … I ought to have some self control … But as I stroke up and down, they fade away, replaced only by visions of Aries. Her long hair, that sultry bottom lip, so soft and pink… I imagine a different ending for tonight’s encounter. Her, straddling me on the sofa, bouncing on my dick, red hair flying, breasts heaving...
When I come, I say her name. Quietly groaning it with my mouth pressed into the crook of my elbow as hot spurts of cum decorate my other fist.
And then I go to bed and try and forget about the entire thing.