A Nanny Named Nick

Auteur

Miranda Lee

Lezers

16,1K

Hoofdstukken

Auteur

Miranda Lee

Lezers

16,1K

Hoofdstukken

💕 Romance 👩🏼‍🦱 Nannies 🏙️ Contemporary 🥵 Erotica 👩🏻‍🍼 Mothers

Chapter 1

FROM the street outside came the low rumble of a motorbike as it burbled into the kerb. Thirty seconds later, the bike’s owner appeared in the bar doorway, his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette momentarily blocking out the noonday sun.

Dave glanced up from where he was sitting alone at a table, cradling a schooner of beer. His eyes widened as recognition struck.

Good Lord. Nick! Nick was back from wherever it was he’d disappeared to nearly eighteen months before.

Dave wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not. He liked Nick. A lot. He enjoyed his company more than that of any man he’d ever met. But there had been a measure of relief in having his nephew’s biological father vanish off the face of the map.

Dave had known right from the start that he should not have allowed Linda to coerce him into finding her a suitable sperm donor for the baby she’d suddenly been determined to have.

But he’d been afraid that if he didn’t do what she wanted his headstrong kid sister would simply go off and sleep with someone highly unsuitable.

Her long-term live-in lover had just been tragically killed while on a photographic assignment in Cambodia, and Linda had decided to fill the great hole in her heart and her life by having the baby that Gordon had always promised her but never delivered.

Not just any old baby, of course. She’d wanted her child to inherit the sort of genes that Gordon would have passed on if he’d lived. Consequently, the sperm donor was to be nothing short of a creative genius. And a perfect physical specimen as well. She’d seen some damned programme on TV about an American clinic which had ‘smart’ sperm to give to women who wanted good-looking, gifted children and she’d thought the concept quite wonderful!

Naturally, there wasn’t such an advanced-thinking clinic in Australia. Neither had Linda’s foray to Sydney’s sperm bank found even a remote match to her prerequisites for the prospective father of her ‘gifted’ progeny.

So she’d turned to her big brother—which she only did in moments of dire need—flattering his male ego by saying he must know of someone in his circle of smart, sophisticated friends who would fit the bill. Some clever, creative, unconventional fellow who had looks to burn and no qualms about giving some unknown woman the seed of his loins.

Dave had immediately thought of Nick.

Though most wouldn’t have.

He smiled wryly to himself as the man in question strode further into the bar, bringing his not inconsiderable physical assets under the overhead lighting.

Tall. dark and handsome was hardly an adequate description. It did fit, superficially. Yet it was far too bland to encompass the complex man Dave had found Nick to be.

When people—and especially women—first looked at Nick, they never associated him with either intelligence or creativity, except of the most basic kind. Dave could appreciate their mistake. It was difficult to see past that incredible body to the real man inside, or past the highly sexual gleam in those brilliant black eyes to the brains behind them.

Nick was not what he seemed. Aside from his well-disguised IQ he also looked a damned sight younger than his thirty-five years, which meant he could get away with wearing collar-length hair, skin-tight jeans and a black leather jacket with a fierce-looking eagle emblazoned across the back. Dave was barely two years older than Nick, but knew he’d look damned stupid in that get-up.

‘Okay if I use the piano, Hal?’ Nick asked the barman.

Hal nodded, and those who weren’t long-time regulars stared in amazement as this macho-looking bikie walked over to the battered upright piano in the corner, slapped his leather gloves down on the lid, sat down at the scratched wooden stool and began to play a Chopin polonaise.

His long, lean fingers flew over the keys, passionate and note-perfect in their execution. The hotel patrons grew silent as they listened, amazed and intrigued. Classical music might not have been the usual fare offered in this setting but they recognised the brilliance of the player and the contradiction in terms of what they were seeing and hearing.

Nick’s fingers flew faster till finally the climax of the piece was reached in one last dramatic, flamboyant flourish of notes. For a few moments, he bent over the keyboard as though exhausted, eyes closed, his unruly black hair falling forward.

But then he straightened, pushed back his hair, closed the piano, stood up and gave a mock bow to his partially stunned audience. Dave began to clap, soon followed by the rest of the Saturday afternoon drinkers.

Nick turned to smile at his friend, then indicated he would get a beer before joining him.

‘I see you haven’t lost your touch,’ Dave complimented Nick when his friend scraped out a chair and sat down.

Nick laughed. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. Rusty as hell, I am. There again, I haven’t touched a piano since I was last here.’ He lifted the beer to his lips, drinking deeply. ‘Ah,’ he said appreciatively as he wiped the froth from his top lip. ‘That hits the spot. It’s damned hot outside for early November.’

‘Long time no see, Nick,’ Dave said, trying not to sound accusing.

‘Sure is,’ Nick agreed. ‘You’re looking well, Dave.’

Dave smiled ruefully at the lie. He’d once been a handsome young man, but life now found him overweight and his light brown hair was thinning. Not that he cared too much; his life didn’t revolve around his looks.

‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked his friend.

‘Around and about.’

Dave shook his head and sighed. ‘I see you haven’t changed. Just as communicative as ever.’

Nick grinned. ‘Come now, Dave, that’s not true. You and I have had some of the longest chats in history at this very table. We’ve discussed everything from A to Z. We’ve theoretically solved the world’s environmental problems, picked every politician alive to pieces and critically analysed just about every book worth reading!’

‘That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. Damn it all, Nick, you could have at least had the decency to inform me before you just took off for destination unknown. I thought we were mates.’

‘We are. But you know me. Never stay anywhere for long. I get bored.’

Dave wasn’t quite sure how long Nick had been a regular here before his disappearance. Only a few weeks, he supposed. It just seemed longer. Nick was a very interesting man to talk to. He’d been to so many places, had seen so many things. He’d done a myriad of jobs as well, from oil-rig worker to short-order cook, from chauffeur to brick-layer. You name it and he’d done it.

‘So how long can we expect to have the privilege of your company this time round?’

‘God knows. A week. A month. A year. Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘Hell, Dave, don’t ask me. I go with the flow.’

‘I’ll bet it was a woman,’ Dave muttered.

Nick’s normally carefree face froze, his dark eyes piercing Dave with a dagger-like glare. ‘What in hell are you on about?’

Dave was taken aback. This was a side of Nick he’d never seen before. The sudden switch of mood from easygoing to coldly aggressive was quite startling. Everything about the man had changed in an instant. His whole demeanour from his body language to his voice, which had dropped to a gravelly growl.

‘Nothing to get het up about,’ Dave hurried to reassure him. ‘I was just hazarding a guess to the reason for the swift exit from Sydney last time. I thought maybe one of your women might have tried to put the hard word on you for some kind of commitment.’

Nick visibly relaxed, immediately back to being the old familiar Nick again, his very engaging smile carrying a degree of amusement. ‘One of my women, Dave?’ He leaned back in the chair and took another deeply satisfying swallow of beer. ‘You make it sound like I have a harem.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘Not at all. I’m a one-at-a-time kind of guy.’

‘Yeah, right, Nick. One night at a time, don’t you mean? I’ve never seen you with the same woman in here two times in a row.’

Nick shrugged. ‘Variety is the spice of life, you know.’

‘Lucky devil. Still, if I looked like you I’d probably be the same. Though to be honest I think I prefer my own quiet and largely celibate lifestyle. Women are nothing but trouble. So you didn’t do a flit because some lovesick dolly-bird was putting the pressure on you for baby bootees and wedding bells?’

‘Heavens, no. I never get tangled up with that type of female. Lord preserve me. It was a lady, though,’ he admitted, ‘who brought me back to Sydney.’

‘Really? I’m all ears. She must be something to bring you back for a second serve.’

Nick laughed. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

‘I’d believe anything about you.’

‘She’s a nun.’

‘A nun,’ Dave repeated, shaking his head. ‘Good God, Nick, aren’t there plenty of available women in the world without you hitting on some poor naive creature in a convent?’

Nick laughed. ‘Sister Augustine is rising eighty.’

‘Oh. In that case, perhaps she’s just safe.’

‘She practically raised me.’

‘No kidding? Do tell.’

‘Not much to tell. Her order used to run an orphanage and kids’ home in Strathfield. I was dumped on their doorstep one day thirty-five years ago when I was a few weeks old, with a note saying my name was Nick. The nuns, and especially Sister Augustine, brought me up. They gave me the surname of Joseph.’

“Why weren’t you adopted out if you were so young?’

‘I was supposed to be, but the story goes that every time a couple wanted me, they would take tea with Sister Augustine, after which they would suddenly change their minds and choose another baby. Lord knows what she told them. Maybe that I was mentally deficient, or something equally deflecting. She’s always claimed she never said anything detrimental at all. She claims it was God’s will that I stayed with them. Anyway, by the time I was around two the nuns stopped showing me to prospective parents and I was safe to be spoilt rotten by them all.’

‘See? You had women falling in love with you even back then.’

Nick smiled. It was a soft, sweet smile, giving Dave a glimpse of yet another side to Nick. His sensitive side. ‘I think they were just lonely,’ he said. ‘Especially Sister Augustine. Her maternal instinct was probably starving for someone of her own to mother. Which reminds me, Dave—did I do the trick last year for that couple who couldn’t have a child? Is there some bouncing baby boy or cute little girl to gladden that poor woman’s unhappy heart?’

Dave was taken aback at Nick’s bringing up this subject. After his abrupt disappearance, Dave had never imagined Nick would return, let alone ask about the outcome of his generous act eighteen months before.

Dave wasn’t sure what to say. He’d lied to Nick about who it was who’d wanted a sperm donor back then because he hadn’t thought Nick would be too wrapped in helping a single woman wanting a baby, let alone Dave’s own sister. So Dave had invented an infertile married couple—friends of friends—who were having trouble getting a decent donor from traditional sources.

The temptation to lie again was strong.

Dave pondered his dilemma before rushing into an answer. It didn’t seem likely that Nick would ever meet Linda and son. No doubt he’d take off again soon. But, given the slight possibility of an accidental meeting, he could not risk Nick knowing he’d fathered a child somewhere. Nick might take one look at Linda’s boy and jump to the right conclusion. Then there would be hell to pay.

‘Er ... I’m sorry, but no, it didn’t take,’ he lied again. ‘The woman in question was not all that young, you know, so maybe it was all for the best.’

Nick nodded slowly. ‘You’re probably right. Actually, I did find it a little unnerving later to think I had a child somewhere whom I would never know—and who would never know me in return.’

A mental picture of Linda’s incredibly beautiful baby boy popped into Dave’s mind. Rory was Nick’s offspring through and through: jet-black curls covered his head and his wide dark eyes were bright with intelligence. At nine months old he was already crawling, and even pulling himself up onto furniture. His legs were long and his body strong.

Just like Nick’s.

Whilst sentiment whispered to Dave that it was a pity Nick would never know Rory and vice versa, common sense demanded he keep father and son apart. Linda would kill him, for one thing. She’d demanded everyone’s identities be kept secret all round. No doubt she wanted to live the fantasy that Rory was Gordon’s child.

To be honest, Rory looked nothing like Gordon despite Linda’s lover also having been tall, dark and handsome. Gordon had been more of a pretty boy, with an elegant frame. Linda’s baby was the spitting image of his real father, whose body was all macho muscle and his facial features chiselled in granite. One look at sire and son together and anyone without preconceived ideas might put two and two together—and get big trouble!

No, Nick could never be told the truth, Dave reaffirmed to himself. There was no reason to feel so guilty about it, either. What Nick didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. If Nick had wanted to be a father for real he could have been one by now. He could have married as well.

Dave looked over at his handsome and highly intelligent friend, and wondered why he hadn’t. What was it that had set him upon a rolling stone, swinging bachelor lifestyle? Had something happened in his past to turn him off the idea of family and commitment?

Could be, Dave supposed. There were a lot of emotionally damaged people out there these days.

Nevertheless, Nick didn’t look at all emotionally damaged as he sat there, sipping a beer, his long legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed. He looked happy with himself, and totally relaxed.

Dave sought a more simple explanation for his friend’s rather selfish choice of lifestyle. Maybe that unusual upbringing by nuns hadn’t given Nick the example of a normal family life which would make him want it for himself. He’d admitted being spoiled to death. Perhaps he’d grown up never having to satisfy anyone’s needs but his own.

Still, that was only speculation.

‘Nick?’

Nick took the beer away from his lips and placed it on the table. ‘Yep?’ he replied equably.

‘How come you’ve never married and had kids?’

Was he wrong or did Nick stiffen again, showing another glimpse of that briefly uptight creature Dave had spotted a while ago?

‘Why do you ask?’ came Nick’s curt enquiry.

‘Just curious. You’re a good-looking guy. And you’re certainly not gay, from what I’ve observed at first hand. Most straight men get married at some time or other.’

‘Marriage is not for me,’ he said, again quite curtly. But then he smiled, and the old Nick was back once more. His black eyes gleamed and his mouth was lightly mocking. ‘I could ask the same of you, Dave. Why haven’t you a wife and family?’

‘I did have a wife. Once.’

Nick just stared at him. He looked quite shocked. ‘What happened?’

Dave shrugged. ‘Nothing drastic. Just divorce. But it turned me off marriage for life. As for kids... The truth is I can’t have any.’

‘Oh, God. That’s rotten luck, Dave. You’d have been a great father.’

‘Well, that’s a matter of opinion.’

Actually, Dave was not one of those men who related easily to children. Or babies. He’d made it perfectly clear to Linda from the word go that she wasn’t to expect him to babysit except in cases of extreme emergency. He’d told her quite firmly that if she was silly enough to become a single mother on purpose, then the responsibility was hers and hers alone.

Linda had scoffed at ever needing her brother’s non-existent babysitting abilities. The dear girl had gone into unmarried motherhood with rose-coloured glasses, only to discover it wasn’t nearly as easy as she’d thought it would be.

Postnatal depression and an inability to breastfeed had been dismaying starters, gradually followed by the grim acceptance that good parenting was not something that miraculously happened on the birth of one’s baby, however wanted and loved that baby might be. There were some women who, while they loved their offspring to death, just weren’t cut out to be with them twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

This realisation had depressed Linda all the more.

But, Linda being Linda, she hadn’t wallowed in her own weaknesses for too long. She’d hired her widowed neighbour to be Rory’s minder during the day and had gone back to work. She wasn’t totally happy with the situation, but she was at least sane.

Linda’s experience confirmed to Dave that the Sawyer siblings were not natural parents, and that being childless was not the end of the world.

To be perfectly frank,’ he told Nick now, ‘I’m not unhappy with the status quo. I’ve always been married to my job. And children have never been a priority with me, even before I knew I was sterile. My wife was right to divorce me. She now has a new husband and three incredibly noisy boys.’

‘So how is the job down at the paper?’ Nick asked.

‘Flat out as usual. I came here straight from the office. Worked all night and all morning getting Sunday’s edition ready. I’m just about to go home to bed and I don’t intend resurfacing for the next twenty hours. But first I think I’d better visit the Gents. That beer’s gone straight through me. Mind my mobile, will you? When you’re a journo they never leave you alone for too long. If it rings, answer it and tell whoever it is that I’m in a coma.’