Page 58 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

Chapter Fourteen

“Thanks for letting me crashwith you guys. Ipromise I won’t stay long.”

Mallory dropped her weekender tote at the foot of the bed in the larger of her sister’s two spare bedrooms. Funny, she thought, staring at the familiar bag. She’d left Florida the same way she’d come. Just the one piece of luggage, the rest of her belongings on a truck somewhere along the I-95 corridor.

No. That wasn’t entirely true. She’d left with a lot more baggage than she brought. She just carried it on the inside.

“Stay as long as you like,” Brooke said, crossing to the window and opening the blinds to let in some late-afternoon sunlight. “We’ve got plenty of room. And Brooklyn’s way more hip than Huntington.”

“Anywhere Mom and Dad aren’t is more hip.” Mallory shuddered at the thought of moving back to her parents’ Long Island estate. She owed her sister big-time for sparing her from that humiliation. Which was why overstaying her welcome wasn’t an option. “But I don’t want to cramp your newlywed style.”

“More like you don’t want to listen to us go at it all night long,” Brooke teased.

“Please.” Mallory sat on the bed. “That’s an image I can’t unsee.”

“Don’t worry.” Brooke plopped down next to her. “You won’t hear a thing. The walls in this place are really thick. Eli designed them to keep the heat in in the winter and out in the summer. The soundproofing’s an added bonus.”

“The next thing I know you’ll be telling me you have a red room of pain.”

“No.” Brooke kicked off her Chuck Taylors and tucked her feet underneath her. “We thought about it but opted for a wine cellar instead.”

“On the fifth floor? Very funny.”

Mallory flopped onto her back, fighting a yawn. Travel always wore her out, and today was no exception. Long lines at TSA. Packed plane. Getting stuck between two guys who could have been sumo wrestlers with an antsy toddler behind her, kicking her seat back for the entire three-hour flight home.

Strike that. Not home. Home was Flamingo Key. Or had been. Now she was drifting, like a ship without a port, until she got her next assignment from the staffing agency. Which, according to Alison, wouldn’t be long. No kids this time, just cooking, per Mallory’s request.

If leaving Rhys had been heartbreaking, leaving Oliver was gut-wrenching. No amount of explaining could convince him that even though it was time for her to move on, she still cared for him. All he could see was that another woman he’d grown to love and depend on was deserting him. By the time she stepped onto the launch with Collins for her final ride, they’d both shed enough tears to flood the Atlantic Ocean.

It was an experience she had zero desire to repeat.

Mallory covered her eyes with one arm and tried to regulate her breathing. In, out. Slow and steady. Her own version of playing possum. Maybe if she lay there like that long enough her sister would get the hint and give her some peace and quiet before starting the inevitable interrogation.

“So…” Brooke let the word dangle, and Mallory’s stomach churned with the knowledge she wasn’t going to like what was coming next. So much for her sister getting the hint. “Are you going to tell me what happened with von Dreamy? Last I heard you two were hot and heavy.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It usually is, especially when sex is involved. Of course…” Brooke paused for dramatic effect. “If it was more than sex, then it’s even more complicated.”

Mallory opted for the safest course and stayed silent, knowing she’d give herself away if she spoke. It was more than sex for her and, she was almost certain, for Rhys. They’d never said the words, but the feeling was there in every kiss, every touch, every secret, shared smile.

She loved Rhys Dalton. She loved his razor-sharp mind, his huge heart, how he could make her laugh one second and moan with pleasure the next. She especially loved the way he made her feel—cherished and important and more alive than ever before.

But what good was loving him when she couldn’t be with him, not if it meant being an accomplice in isolating his son? She hadn’t come this far—bucking her parents’ wishes, quitting her job, leaving New York—only to take a giant step backward by going against everything her hard-fought independence stood for.

It was true what they said about standing on principle. More often than not, it meant standing alone.

“Was it?” Brooke prodded.

“Was it what?” Mallory asked, not ready to say out loud what her heart was silently screaming.

Brooke let out a frustrated huff. “More than sex.”

“I haven’t unpacked. Do we have to do this now?” Mallory sat up. Feigning sleep was a bust. Once her sister got started, she was relentless, like a hungry dog with a particularly juicy bone. “I’ve seenLaw & Order. Even criminals get a glass of water and a cigarette before the cops start questioning them.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“You know what I mean.”