The Ceo's Nanny Affair. Joss Wood
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a master bedroom, a home office/library and Shaw’s bedroom and playroom.
She was on the third floor, in the middle bedroom, which was linked by an interleading door to Shaw’s old nursery.
Jo occupied the top floor but this ground-level floor was already Tate’s favorite. As a food lover, she was delighted by the state-of-the-art kitchen. She loved the way the kitchen flowed into an informal dining area and then into a relaxed living space filled with books and toys and...mess. Magazines and coloring books and handheld computer games. The mess reassured her that a family lived here.
Oh, she did love the house but... What was it about it that made her feel out of place? It wasn’t the luxury; she didn’t care about the expensive furnishings and the exclusive address. It was the permanence of The Den, Tate realized, that made her feel twitchy. Like Ballantyne’s store on Fifth Avenue, their flagship store, it was an institution. It screamed tradition, solidity...everything she, the ultimate rolling stone, was not.
She was a product of her tumultuous past, Tate decided as resentment twisted her stomach into knots. Her life had been perfect before Kari and her mom, Lauren, Tate’s mother’s twin, came to live with them for what was supposed to be a month or so, until the single mom found a job and her bearings. A month had turned into six, and her dad had moved out, threatening divorce unless their lives returned to a normal, Kari-and Lauren-free existence.
Her mom, Lane, chose her twin. Tate had lost her dad, her home and her mother, who seemed to prefer Kari to her, all in less than a year. They all had lost the financial security her father had brought to the table. Then when she was eight and Kari eleven, her aunt had been diagnosed with breast cancer and quickly passed away, leaving the three of them to muddle along, moving from one rental to another. Lane had managed to scrape enough money together to cover the legal fees for her to formally adopt Kari and to petition the courts to change Tate’s surname to Harper, with no objection from her father.
All her life Tate had felt like the third wheel and a stranger in her own house. Her teenage years with Kari had been pure hell. Kari had an uncontrollable temper, a sense of entitlement and was a master manipulator.
Tate had coped by dreaming of running away to places like Patagonia and Santorini, Istanbul and Ethiopia. Anywhere, she decided, was better than sharing a small house with a selfish, irresponsible drama queen and her enabler. When she left home to travel the world, she’d realized her teenage instincts were correct and that she was much happier having an ocean and a couple of continents between her and her mother and Kari. She liked being alone and free, not having to answer to anyone but herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t like people, she did, but her mom and Kari were emotional leeches. At a young age she’d learned to create little pockets of solitude around herself and tried to spend as much time there as possible.
When you didn’t rely on anybody for anything—companionship, love, company—they had no power to hurt you.
It was funny how two melded-together families, hers and Linc’s, could be so different. When Kari and Linc had become engaged, Tate made it her mission to study the family her sister was marrying into, and she’d been impressed by what she’d learned from press reports and interviews with various members of the famous family.
Their story was a modern-day fairy tale. Jaeger, Beck and Sage Ballantyne were orphaned young and placed into the care of their uncle, Connor Ballantyne. Linc was the housekeeper’s son, but Connor adopted all four children as his, and they were now one of the most powerful and influential families in Manhattan, known for their fierce love and loyalty to each other and the family name. If you messed with one Ballantyne, it was said, you messed with three more.
Their commitment to each other was absolute.
The Ballantynes functioned as a cohesive unit, whereas her family was a train wreck, and her only commitment was to her job and to avoiding Kari. That entailed staying on the move, never allowing herself to put down roots. Without roots and connections she couldn’t disappoint people and, more important, open herself up to being disappointed.
Using the light from the hallway, Tate headed for the stainless steel fridge and pulled out a bottle of milk. After opening cupboards she found a glass and sat at the informal table to drink her milk. She’d love a cookie, but she felt that rummaging about in the Ballantyne cupboards was an abuse of their hospitality.
Despite feeling like she was camping in the middle of enemy territory, Tate had enjoyed her evening with Shaw and Jo. It was a relief not to have Linc there, glaring at her as she ate; thank God for whatever it was that kept him at work past dinner and bedtime. Though, possibly, working late was just an excuse to avoid her. Truth or lie, Tate silently thanked him—the evening had been far more relaxed with Jo and Shaw than if she’d had to make awkward small talk with the deliciously sexy Linc.
She’d never understood why Kari walked out on the man. Kari craved status, and Tate had expected her to grab onto Linc like the lifeline that he was. After all, he had been—still was—New York’s biggest catch. Seriously smart and successful, devastatingly handsome, filthy rich. And judging by the way that Shaw’s eyes lit up when he spoke about his dad, he was an excellent father.
Linc was the type of guy women dreamed about. A full-time, fully involved father. Someone stable, committed, responsible.
Tate had never believed in fairy tales, in handsome princes and happy endings. But she did believe in the power of lust... It was simple attraction to Linc that made her heart thump, her blood heat and her panties a little uncomfortable. Images of them together, on his huge bed upstairs, bombarded her. She could easily envision herself naked on his sheets, his big body covering hers, his long, muscled legs tangled with hers. Chest to chest, breaths and mouths and hands mingling... Had he loved Kari like that in that same bed?
The thought barreled in from nowhere and Tate groaned. God, she now needed brain bleach to wipe out that thought. They might have made Shaw in that very bed!
Tate scrubbed her face as her heart constricted. She scowled at the unfamiliar sensation. Thoughts of Kari and Linc together made her feel totally off-kilter. Why? Tate didn’t like the only, and obvious, explanation. She was jealous; jealous of Kari, envious that she’d had that sexy mouth on hers, his broad hands stroking Kari’s skin and not her own. Tate shuddered at the thought of Linc and Kari, naked, doing what naked people did.
You are not allowed to lust after Kari’s ex, Tate told herself sternly. It was against the sister code, the cousin code, against the laws of nature.
Besides, Linc was the last guy on earth she should be attracted to. Like his house, he had an air of tradition, permanence, solidity. Kari had informed her—during their awful fight—that she and Linc agreed that she would be a stay-at-home mom, that they would have a traditional marriage, with Linc as the breadwinner. But that was too conventional for her sister, so she’d run.
Like Kari, Tate was a drifter. But unlike her sister, she was determined to keep her distance from people—men!—and she guarded her independence, like a mommy bear guarded her cubs.
She and Linc were noon and midnight, cliffs and sea, trains and planes...
And really, she had bigger problems to deal with than this inconvenient desire to see Linc naked. Get a grip for goodness’ sake! Lusting after Linc was a stupid waste of energy, and, besides, she knew that he would rather kiss Shaw’s bearded dragon than kiss her.
She was under no illusion that when Linc looked at her, he saw Kari, and, on the surface, they were alike. But if Linc took the time to get to know her, which he wouldn’t, he’d quickly see that they couldn’t be more different. She might not have the trappings of wealth, but she had a very healthy bank account, thanks to saving most of her salary for the past seven years. She worked hard, and she was committed to her career and her independence, but those came at a price. On occasion, she was desperately lonely, and sometimes she craved company, someone else to talk to besides her production crew. Sure, she wasn’t interested in a relationship, but she sometimes hungered for a connection, a pair of strong arms around her, a masculine chest to lay her head on, a deep voice whispering dirty things in her ear as hot hands explored her