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I keep wondering whether she feels the same way, which is so juvenile. I’m her boss, for Christ’s sake. Knowing it’s stupid doesn’t stop me from obsessing, though. And if she does like me in any way other than as her boss, she doesn’t show it. She’s wonderfully warm with Daisy but with me she’s polite and 100% professional, to the point where I don’t know what to make of it. It’s like she has her guard up, which is only to be expected in her line of work. I bet she’s had some real creeps come on to her, and I feel the urge to protect her, which I realise sounds ridiculously incongruent with my intense sexual fantasies.
I put my foot down on the open stretch of road and flick on the radio to take my mind off my predicament. Not that there is a predicament, as such. Even if she does secretly like me, it can’t go anywhere, anyway. If I make a move, it can only end in disaster and put us both in an awkward spot. We’re out of options before we even begin.
Grandfather would have a fit if he so much as got a whiff of me lusting after the nanny. He has strict behavioural codes for how we all must interact with our household staff.
Even worse—if a worse scenario is possible—would be me messing things up for Daisy. She’s the happiest I’ve seen her—she’s loving school, and she adores Nathalie. We’ve both fallen for the nanny in a big way, so we have that in common. Our house is like a proper home for the first time in years, and I must not fuck with that. More’s the pity, but I must try not to fuck with her.Literally.
I shake my head and sigh.
Rochester, you’re being a complete and utter dick.
The truth is, I know women think I’m a charming smooth talker, not to mention I hold the attraction of being a high-net-worth divorced guy from a famous family, but underneath the bravado, I’m terrified of rejection.
It’s probably just as well, because it means I won’t make a move on Nathalie unless I’m certain she likes me, too. And we can barely steal a moment alone, what with the household staff and darling Daisy attached to her like superglue.
So that’s that.
I haven’t heard a word of the news, so I give up all pretence of listening and switch to a music channel as I abandon myself to the comforting growl of the Porsche and the engine gobbles up the miles to my childhood home.
Maddy, my ex-wife, was my only long-term relationship, and I’ve had just the occasional hook up since we split. I was faithful all the years we were together, which made me feel even more cheated when she walked out and married someone else.
Damian and Caspian like to play the field and I go out with them to a private club in town if I’m in the mood, but more often than not, I don’t. I must be missing an essential gene in my chemistry, as I can’t turn off my feelings like they do. There was one encounter after a night out with them, but that’s ages ago now. I was too uptight to relax, and then I felt so guilty about not wanting to see her again, that the experience left a sour taste in my mouth, and I vowed not to repeat it.
It’s not my style and the callousness of it made me feel shit. I just don’t operate that way any longer. Call me old-fashioned, but the thought of pretending I’m going to call when I know I won’t, ties my emotions in knots. And I can’t bring myself to say it’s just a one-off, so I’ve stopped doing it.
Caspian told me his fake girlfriend dating arrangement with a girl he’s known since university morphed into a sexual benefits scenario, so I think even he’s stopped hooking up for the time being.
Playing the field isn’t as much fun as people think.
Dating is a complex business for the Rochester heirs, and most of us keep our activities well under the radar, but even that’s difficult. The reporters are all over us like a rash at every opportunity. I hope Damian’s face hasn’t been flashed across the tabloids again, and the meeting with my grandfather isn’t anything to do with him.
As I don’t avail myself of random hook-ups, and don’t fancy a friends with benefits arrangement, sadly, I’m reduced to relieving the stress with my right hand. And I get stresseda lot, but never more than since the golden-haired Nathalie appeared in my front room with her stiff nips standing to attention.
Just visualising our first meeting has me bone hard again and like I’m going to bust out of my trousers. I curse. I must stop doing this to myself. But picturing her like that has become my favourite fantasy and turns me on every time. I imagine we’re alone, and I peel her costume off her body and suck on those tantalising nipples.
I think about what else I’d like to do to her with my tongue.
She seems like such an innocent and I’m sure she doesn’t suspect I fantasise about her in this crude manner.
Really, Rochester, you deserve a very hard slap.
The sign for Greystone Village looms before me and I dart off at the turning as my thoughts move to my grandfather and what he has to say that’s so important, he couldn’t tell me over the phone, and couldn’t wait until the next family get-together. I must calm down and focus.
What does the wily old fox have on his mind?
CHAPTER7
Nathalie
I appreciate the luxury of staying in bed this morning and stretch like a sleepy cat. My suite is fabulous and the kingsize bed is the most comfortable I’ve ever slept in. I’ve stayed in some beautiful houses in Paris, but Sebastian takes lifestyle to another level. Not that he is tacky or unduly ostentatious. It’s just that every feature in the house is obviously top of the range.
And why not? If I was from a multi-billionaire family, I’d buy the most elegant furniture and have the best of everything, too.
For Sabine and I it was a stretch to make ends meet, and I struggled to make sure we both got through university, even with all the subsidies we qualified for. Once we were out of foster care, we were free to do as we pleased, and I’m proud of both of us for completing our studies. Circumstance forced us to grow up quicker than our contemporaries did. I think we’re stronger and better women for it, but it’s nice not to worry about money or have money be the first thought on my mind when I wake up in the morning. We’re both much more financially stable now, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the realisation.
My employment package is more than generous and because I live in, I barely have any outgoings, so I plan to save the extra cash as a safety net for the future.
I lie in bed, relishing the rare lazy start, and my boss’s familiar face looms in my mind, stealing the show as usual. My heart flutters and I wonder if this crush I’ve had on him since the first second our eyes met is going to pass before my year in London is up.
