Mr Masters: Chapter 4

I hold the tissue flat, press the soft white parchment to my lips then roll them together as I look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is full and curled just on the ends. My makeup is smoky sexy, and my lips are now a glossy gold.

I turn to look at my behind, and I feel my nerves flutter in my stomach.

I’m wearing a fitted, strapless cream dress, with high heeled gold stilettos complimenting it, plus a small gold clutch giving me something to cling on to. I look good. I know I look good. Sexy and fun was my aim, and I think I nailed the brief.

Tonight’s the night.

For twelve months, Emerson and I have planned our trip to London, convincing ourselves that we were going to be new people. People who have fun and live by the seat of their pants. Not that we didn’t do that back home, but we were definitely in a rut. I didn’t want to go out in fear that I would run into my ex and one of his bimbos. Emerson didn’t want to go out in case we saw her ex with someone else. Our social lives were completely dependent on other people, and I hate that we let that happen.

I hate that I unconsciously let my stupid ex determine what I did. Maybe I wasn’t ready to move on and that was just my excuse to keep my heart safe. I’ve been asked on dates—many times, actually—but nobody ever caught my interest, and I know it would have been a letdown and I’d have come home feeling flat. Declining dates was a better option than suffering disappointment.

So, Emerson and I would watch movies and eat takeout at each other’s houses to save money for our trip. We both moved home with our parents a year ago when our relationships fell apart, and that, in itself, was a challenge.

Neither of us had lived at home since we were twenty, but we didn’t want to commit to a new lease or anything until we came home from this trip. It was like our lives were on hold until we lived through this experience. And this is it… now we’re here.

But the bravery I was sure I would have has suddenly disappeared.

The Canadian boys we met on the plane were nice. One of them was gorgeous and we had an instant spark.

Is tonight the night, though? He leaves for Greece tomorrow. This is our one and only night together, and then I’ll probably never see him again. Not that I’m complaining. He isn’t the kind of man I can see myself ending up with long term, but one night of passion might not be such a bad thing. Will I really have sex with a stranger? I haven’t had sex in twelve months, and God, has that particular drought been hard. Harder than hard. I never realized how much I needed sex until I couldn’t have it.

I feel a wave of nausea run through my stomach. I know it’s just nerves, but staying home and spying on Mr. Masters while eating ice cream seems so much more appealing right now.

Ah, Mr. Masters—the man who makes my stomach flutter, whose voice makes me imagine things that I shouldn’t be imagining.

I need to call a cab. I’ll have to ask him who I call because I have no idea. With one quick look in the mirror, I make my way up into the main house.

Mr. Masters has been snappy with me all day, and I’m not really sure why. We seemed to get along well after our nanny scotch the other night but today, after he heard me on the phone talking about tonight, we are back to square one.

Sam is sprawled on the living room floor, and Mr. Masters is sitting in his wingback chair, reading his book. Willow is sitting at the kitchen table doing an assignment.

“Oh my God,” Sammy yells. “You look so beautiful.”

I hold my clutch in my hands with white-knuckle force, and I swallow the lump in my throat. Mr. Masters’ eyes rise over the top of the book, and he gives me the once over.

“Do you know what cab company I call, please?” I ask.

He smiles warmly. “You look lovely, Miss Brielle.”

A stupid smile crosses my face as I squeeze my handbag so tight I might break it. “Really?”

“Really.” His eyes hold mine.

I glance over to Willow who is watching me. “Do you like my dress, Will?” I ask.

She shrugs and goes back to her assignment.

Sammy jumps up from his place on the floor and circles me. “You look like a movie star.” He gasps. “Like a gold and glittery Barbie.”

Mr. Masters chuckles, and I feel the heat of it warm my blood.

“You have a beautiful laugh,” I say without thinking.

A scowl creases his forehead, and he stops laughing immediately. “I’ll have my driver pick you up.”

I frown, too. “I don’t want to bother you.” I twist my hands in front of me. “I’ll just catch a cab, honestly.”

“Don’t be daft.” He picks up his phone.

“But how much does your driver charge?” I ask. “I’m on a budget.”

His eyes rise to meet mine, he shakes his head, and then holds a finger up. “Hello. This is Julian Masters. Can you come and pick a guest up from my estate, please?”

I bite my bottom lip as I listen. How much does a damn private driver cost? Shit.

He nods. “I see, that’s fine, although I will need you to pick her up later tonight, too.”

Oh no. I shake my head. “No, I’m staying at Emerson’s,” I mouth.

He frowns and looks down at the floor to avoid my gaze.

“She will call you when she is ready to come home.” He listens for a moment, and then smiles. “Yes, please, and I would like Frank to pick her up—”

“Mr. Masters,” I interrupt. “I’m not coming home tonight.”

He puts his hand over the phone. “Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” I whisper.

“Yes. You. Are.” He looks away and continues listening. “Yes, and charge her fare to my account, please.”

I huff and put my hands on my hips. Of all the nerve. It’s the weekend.

A trace of amusement crosses his face as he speaks. “Thank you. She’ll see you then.”

What the hell?

I glance up to Willow who is smirking to herself. “This isn’t funny, Will,” I call to her, and she smiles down at her paper.

Finally, Julian’s eyes rise to mine.

“Mr. Masters. I’m not coming home tonight. I’m staying at Emerson’s.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Brielle, I need you here in the morning as I’m playing golf. Some other time perhaps?”

My face falls. “But… I had plans tonight.”

His eyes hold mine and he raises a sarcastic brow. “Change them.”

He gets up and grabs his keys. “Come on.”

“Come on, where?” I sigh. Damn it. Emerson’s going to be pissed because she really wanted me to stay over at her new house. She’s called me five times today already.

“I’ll drive you into town… unless you’d prefer to walk?”

I smile and put my thumb out playfully. “I could always hitch a ride.”

“Looking like that, you wouldn’t last long.”

“Looking like what?”

He looks me up and down and frowns. “Like a gold and glittery Barbie.”

I smile. Oh, he’s being cute now. “It is a strain being this beautiful, you know.” I bat my eyelashes playfully and put my hands on my hips, wiggling my behind.

“Oh God,” I hear Willow moan, and Sammy giggles in the background.

Mr. Masters smirks. “I have no doubt. Now get in the car before I throw you in the trunk.”

I bite my bottom lip and smile at his playful return. Has his mood switched because I am no longer staying out?

Interesting.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he tells the children.

I smile at his fancy accent. He sounds like British Royalty or something. I’ve never known anyone who talks as snootily as he does.

“Okay,” the kids reply, going back to what they were doing.

I follow him as he walks down the front steps and out to the garage. The roller door goes up slowly and the Porsche lights beep as it unlocks.

My eyes widen in excitement. “Are we taking the pimp car?”

His face falls. “The pimp car?” He slinks into the lowered seat.

I bounce in beside him. “Yes, you know… I would expect the mafia or something to own this car.” I look around. Wow! This really is a pimp car. It’s compact, sporty, sexy…not at all something I would have imagined he would drive.

He rolls his eyes and looks through the rearview mirror to reverse the car out of the garage. ‘Or perhaps just a man who has studied at university for twelve years,’ he replies dryly.

“That, too,” I giggle. “Although a pimp car does sound way more exciting.”

He smirks, and we make our way down the driveway. I don’t know if it’s the excitement of going out in London for the first time, my sexy dress, or the fact that a gorgeous older man is driving me out in a Porsche, but I feel excited, alive, and I can hardly wipe the stupid smile from my face.

We pull out onto the open road and drive for a while, until I look over at him. “Show me.”

He raises a brow. “Show you what?”

“What this baby can do.”

I see excitement dance in his eyes, and it isn’t long before he accepts my dare.

Without emotion, he changes gears and floors it. The engine roars like a tiger, and I am thrown back into my seat as the car takes off like a rocket.

I squeal with excitement, and he laughs at my reaction, and then moments later he slows the car back to what feels like a snail’s pace now. We’re back to the speed limit.

I smile broadly as I stare through the windscreen, my heart pumping hard as adrenaline courses through my veins.

His eyes flash to me.

“This car is a fucking turn on,” I whisper as I rub the dashboard. “I hope you do that on all your first dates with women. That, dear sir, is a legitimate deal closer.”

He throws his head back and laughs freely. “I don’t need a car to close my deals, Miss Brielle.”

I smile as butterflies dance in my stomach, my eyes lingering on his handsome face. I bet he doesn’t. A tiny part of me wonders what it would be like to go on a date with him—to get that deal sealed. He’s so controlled and powerful, but I just saw a tiny glimmer of his naughty side.

Fucking hot is an understatement.

We pull into town, and for some reason, I don’t really want to get out of the car now. I want to drive around at high speed in this pimp car with Mr. Masters.

The car roars into the parking spot, and he turns to me. “The restaurant is just across the road.”

I look up and see the packed, trendy restaurant, and I know Emerson is inside. She’s already texted me three times since I left. “Thanks.” I smile.

His hand is resting on the steering wheel. ‘Have a great night. Be safe.’

I stay seated in the car, and he looks over and raises an impatient eyebrow.

Oh shit! Get out, you idiot.

I climb out of the car and lean in through the window. “I’m glad the cab company couldn’t bring me. That was way more fun.”

He smiles sexily and revs the engine.

I laugh and shake my head. “See you in the morning.”

The car pulls out and roars up the street as I watch on.

Wow, that was unexpected. Who knew?

I walk into the crowded restaurant to see Emerson waving from her table at the back. I laugh and almost run to meet her. “Oh God, it’s so good to see you.” I smile into her hair, hugging her tight. It feels like so much has happened since I saw her last.

“Look at us being all hot and grown up in London.”

“I know.” I giggle as I fall into my seat opposite her. “Can you believe we are actually here?”

“Yes.” She smiles broadly as a waiter comes over with two margaritas and puts them in front of us.

I hunch my shoulders together. “Are we drinking cocktails?”

“Why not? It’s our opening night. Screw it.”

I pick up my drink and take a sip. Heaven in a glass. “Ah, that’s the stuff.” I eye my glass suspiciously. “How much are these babies?”

“More than we can afford, but who cares?” She holds her drink up and we clink our glasses together. “To London.” She smiles proudly.

“To London.” I giggle.

“Tell me everything.” She widens her eyes.

I shake my head and hold up my hand. “You wouldn’t believe the three days I’ve had.”

“Try me.”

“Well, Mr. Masters picks me up, and you saw what he was like…”

“Cranky. Has he got any better?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, but get this… I think he jacked off to my photo.”

Emerson spits out her drink and nearly chokes. “What the fuck?” She then goes into a full on coughing fit as she tries to deal with margarita up her nose.

“He showed me to my room and wouldn’t come in, and then later that night, when I was spying on him—”

She scowls hard. “Wait, what? You were spying on him?” she interrupts.

I put my hands over my face. “Long story, but he’s kind of hot.”

“He’s old, Brell.”

“He’s thirty eight… or nine. I’m not actually sure, to be honest,” I reply dryly.

“Either one is still old.”

I roll my eyes. “Anyway, I was spying on him and I saw him take my photo off the fridge. Then he put his hands down his boxer shorts and played with himself.”

Emerson’s eyes widen, and her mouth falls open.

“Then he took the photo and went upstairs to his bedroom.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’ve still got it.” I giggle, and we clink our glasses together.

We smile at each other as we sip our drinks. This is so much fun.

“Oh my God, tell me about Mark.”

She twists her lips. “He’s okay, I suppose.”

I wince. “Just okay?”

“He’s a bit of a dick, to be honest.” She thinks on it for a moment. “I’ve met a few dicks this week, come to think of it.”

For some reason I get the giggles and hold my glass up in a cheers symbol. “Well, I got fired. Beat that.”

Emerson chokes again. “What?” She begins to drain her glass, and I throw my head back and laugh. “What the hell, Brell?”

I shake my head. ‘The first morning I’m working, the little boy, Samuel, comes into my room sleepwalking. Mr. Masters then came into my room to get him.’

She frowns as she listens. “What are the kids like?”

“Sammy is eight and beautiful.”

“That’s the boy?”

“Yes, and the girl, Willow, is sixteen, and she’s a witch.”

“We were all witches at sixteen.”

“Exactly,” I reply. “She’ll warm up to me.” I sip my drink. “Anyway, after Mr. Masters leaves for work, I go upstairs to check on Sammy. He was fine and asleep, so I’m walking back to my room and I walk past Mr. Masters’ room, and I think to myself… I wonder what his room is like, you know?”

“Of course, good question. Anybody would want to know that.”

“So I go in, and I’m looking around, and then I open his bathroom cabinet.”

She lifts her glass at me. “You can tell a lot about a person from their bathroom cabinet.”

“Exactly.” I point at her.

“What did you find out?”

I sip my drink. “That he smells fucking good and he has a lot of sex.”

She giggles.

‘Next minute, he’s behind me growling and raging with anger when I look up to see his reflection in the mirror. What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Her eyes widen. “He came home?”

‘Yes. In some kind of bust a move, backdoor attack.’

“Oh no.”

We burst out laughing.

“Then I got caught lying about waking the kids up already when they were still in bed. After that, Willow and I had a stand up row and told each other to fuck off on the way to school.”

She puts her hands over her mouth in horror.

“And then he and I drank some freaky truth serum while he fired me.”

She downs her drink again. “Are you for real? Did this shit really happen?”

“I swear.”

“But I talked him round, and now I have nineteen days to prove myself before he fires me again.”

She looks at me, speechless.

“But…. it turns out he’s a scotch nanny virgin, and he is kind of hot, in a rich old guy way. So, I‘m going to try and be good so I can stay there. I think I can actually do it.”

Emerson holds her hand up. “You’ve completely lost me. What the hell is a scotch nanny virgin?”

“He’s never drunk scotch with his nanny before.”

She frowns. ‘And we played this mind fuck of a game where he dared me to ask him anything.’

She bites her fingernail as she listens, fascinated. “And?”

“And I asked him how he liked his women.”

“You did what?” she shrieks as she puts her hands over her eyes again. “Oh God, you really are going to get fired. Do you have to be so damn honest all the time?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to know the answer.”

She laughs. “So do I. What did he say?”

“He said he likes his women to be pure and wholesome with a side of dirty and slutty… but only for him.”

She bites her bottom lip as her eyes hold mine. “That’s kind of hot.”

“I know, right?”

We both sip our drinks as we think.

“Oh.” She smiles. “I met a pig.”

“You met a pig, as in oink oink pig?” I giggle.

“When I bought my ring.”

“Oh, show me your ring.”

She holds out her hand and shows me a gorgeous emerald ring. “I love it, I’m so glad you got it.”

“Me, too. But get this… I’m trying the ring on, when suddenly, this arrogant twat makes an offer on it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had the ring on my finger and this weird, rude guy starts bidding for it.”

“While you were still looking at it?”

“Yep.”

“You’re joking?”

“Nope. So then I had to buy it just so he couldn’t.” She smiles as she looks down at her hand and wiggles her fingers. “Sucked in, Mr. Twinkle.”

“Twinkle?” I frown.

She rolls her eyes. “He calls himself Star.”

I laugh and put my hand over my mouth. “Are you for real?”

“Yes.” She frowns as she thinks. “It was weird, you know… I felt like I knew him somehow.”

“Did you?”

“No. We’ve never met. He was Irish, had a beautiful accent. Shame he was such a pig.”

We both laugh.

“Can I take your order, ladies?” the waiter asks.

“What are we having?” I ask her.

She opens the menu and smiles broadly. “Whatever the hell we want.”

Three hours later, we walk into Club Alto, the two of us holding hands. I can hardly contain my excitement. We just got a call from the Canadian boys we met on the plane. They said they were near the bar, so we head over to it. We look around for a while, and Emerson lines up at the bar to get our drinks. I spot one of the guys through the crowd, and he waves back, instantly making his way over.

“Hello.” He smiles sexily.

“Hi.” But before I can say anything else he takes me in his arms and plants a soft, prolonged kiss on my lips. I feel my feet lift off the floor.

Oh shit. It’s like that, is it?

He looks down at me darkly and licks his lips. “I’ve been waiting to do that all week.”

“You have?” I smile.

He kisses me again, and this time his tongue slides into my mouth and I feel my arousal begin to roll in.

“I have,” he whispers. His hand drops down to my behind, and he gives it a firm squeeze. “Have you thought about me?”

This night is taking an exciting turn. “Not really.” I smile. “But I am now.”

Buzz, buzz.

Buzz, buzz.

Buzz, buzz.

I frown and roll over to grab my phone—the one currently dancing on my side table. I pick it up and see the blurred name of Miss Brielle light up the screen.

I glance at the clock. It’s 4:00 a.m.

Great. She’s obviously staying out and calling to let me know.

“Yes?” I snap on answering.

“Ohhhhhhh,” she slurs.

“What are you doing?” God, she’s blind drunk. I can hear it in her voice.

“Well…” She pauses. “Can you please put Julian on the phone, Mr. Masters?”

“Miss Brielle, it’s 4:00 a.m. and I’m not in the mood for your games. What do you want?”

“I’ve told you. I need to speak to Julian, my housemate, and not Mr. Masters, my boss.”

I lie back and inhale sharply. “Why do you need Julian?”

“Because I only have nineteen days left to prove that I’m a good nanny and I really don’t want to wake Mr. Masters up.” She hesitates. “I want to speak to Julian, please.”

“Miss Brielle, enough of the games.”

“Please,” she begs. “Put Julian on the phone.”

I roll my eyes and exhale heavily. “Speaking.”

“Oh my God, Julian, my key is not working and I’m locked out of the house.”

I close my eyes. “What? Where are you?”

“I’m at the front door.”

“Why isn’t your key working?”

“I don’t know, but can you come open the door before Mr. Masters wakes up. I’m on a good behavior bond, you know.”

I smirk, stupid fool. “Fine. But I’m telling him in the morning.”

“Whatever. Just don’t tell him now, and please hurry up.”

I climb out of bed and make my way downstairs to open the front door. The front light is on, but she’s not there. I look around. Where is she? “Miss Brielle?”

“Boo!” She springs out from around the corner, and I jump.

“What the hell?” I cry. Her hair is disheveled and her makeup worn off. She has her gold heels in her hand, and to be honest, she looks even better than she did when she left.

She laughs out loud and points at me. “Ha-ha, got you.” She looks down at me and stumbles back as her pointer finger drops to my stomach. “Ohhhh, your abs are out,” she slurs. “This is an added bonus.”

I look at her, deadpan.

She points at my boxer shorts. “I didn’t know you were coming down in your cutie patootie pyjamas.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Way too much. I just nearly had a nap in the front garden.” She nods and then does an over exaggerated hiccup. “True story.”

“Come in,” I sigh.

She links her arm through mine and tiptoes beside me.

I smirk at her over familiarity. “How was your night?” I ask.

“Oh God, my night,” she whispers. “You wouldn’t believe what happened.”

“Try me,” I whisper as we walk through the kitchen.

‘Oh.’ Her face suddenly gets excited. ‘We need to drink truth serum for this story.’

I raise my eyebrows. “Miss Brielle, I am not drinking scotch with you at 4:00 a.m.” My eyes drop down her hot body. “Not with you in this state.”

“Okay, good. You watch me drink it then. I need a snack anyway.”

She pushes me down onto a stool at the counter. “Sit there and I’ll make us food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She smiles sexily and leans over the bench toward me. My eyes drop to her large breasts that are ready to break free from her tight dress.

“All men say they’re not hungry, but they always eat the house down when it’s offered.”

I don’t know if it’s the fact that she’s wearing next to nothing, or the image I get of me eating every last drop of her, but I inhale sharply as I feel my cock begin to swell.

Cut it out.

“Miss Brielle,” I reply.

“Yes, Julian.”

Something about the way she says my name like that makes me smile, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to stay with her while she eats something. “Make it quick.”

“What do you want to eat?” she asks innocently.

I get an image of myself kissing her inner thigh as she lies back over the kitchen counter, but I snap myself out of the daydream quickly. “I’m really not hungry.”

She begins to open and close doors. “Where is the truth serum?”

I point to the cupboard, and she smiles and leans over to get it. My eyes drop to her behind. That dress leaves nothing to the imagination.

Tanned muscular thighs.

This isn’t a good situation to be in…at all.

Go. To. Bed.

She grabs two thick tumbler glasses, fills them with ice, and then places them on the counter in front of us. She pours the scotch into the first and I put my hand over the top of the second glass. “Not for me,” I mutter.

She lifts the glass and sips it, licking her lips. “I think scotch nanny virgin may be my new favorite thing.

“It’s just called scotch. The nanny virgin thing is irrelevant.”

She grins. “Or is it?”

The air zaps between us, and she holds my gaze, as if daring me to say something.

Don’t get into this with her. Go upstairs and go to sleep.

I can’t help myself. I have to ask. “Why would a nanny virgin be anything but irrelevant?”

She sips her drink and licks her lips again. I feel my cock contract.

Fuck.

Go. To. Bed.

She leans forward, resting on her elbows on the other side of the counter, and my eyes drop to her large, perfect tits. “I like the fact that you haven’t let your other nannies drink scotch with you.” She smiles innocently.

I get a vision of drinking scotch from her navel.

Cut it out.

“I’m going to bed, Miss Brielle.” I stand.

“No. No. No.” She shakes her head and grabs my shoulders, pushing me back onto my stool. “We just need some music. I’ll make us some toast and then I’ll go to bed, I promise.” She looks through the cupboard. “Do you have any Vegemite?”

“I don’t want Vegemite on toast.”

“You’ll get what you’re given.” She smiles cheekily.

Our eyes lock, and I feel electricity zap through the air between us.

Okay, what the fuck? Is she trying to turn me on right now?

Because it’s working.

She’ll get what she’s fucking given in a minute.

She picks up her phone and flicks through to Spotify. She hits play and a dance tune rings out, giving her an excuse to dance. “You like this song?”

“I don’t know it.”

“Sexy Bitch by David Guetta.”

She starts to dance freely, not trying to be cool at all, and her hips move to the rhythm as she turns to look in the fridge. With her back to me, my eyes stay firmly on her ass as it sways to the beat. The words ring out.

Oh, she’s a sexy bitch.

A sexy bitch.

I hold my breath as I watch her.

Fitting song. Sexy bitch should be her anthem. The song continues and she really gets into it, picking up her glass and giggling as she dances. She spills her drink down her forearm, and then she puts her arm up and slowly licks it off.

I clench as I feel it all the way to the tip of my cock.

Jesus Christ. I pick up the scotch and pour myself a glass too quickly. It sloshes over the side. How much seduction can a man take before he fucks his nanny on his kitchen floor?

I sip my drink as my eyes rake her in. She’s laughing freely as she dances.

The warmth of the liquor heats my throat, but its nothing like the fire that’s starting down below.

Stop dancing like that, baby, or you will wake Mr. Masters… and he doesn’t treat naughty girls like you so well.

She looks down and notices my drink. “Oh, you’re drinking now.” She smiles as she bounces to the beat. “Can we play truth or dare?”

I lick my bottom lip. “If you like.” This is dangerous territory, but I can’t make myself go to bed. At least… not alone.

“You go first.” She beams.

I sip my scotch as I think of my first question. “How did your night go with the man you met on the plane?”

She curls her lip. “Started out okay.” She shrugs. “We kissed.”

“How was it?”

Her eyes drop to my lips and she licks her own. My cock clenches in approval.

“The kiss?” she asks.

I nod.

“The kiss was okay, I guess.”

I can’t help myself and I have to ask. “You went home with him?”

This is so inappropriate.

She shakes her head. “No.” She shrugs. “He asked me to have a threesome with him and his friend.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Who on Earth would want to share you?”

Our eyes lock.

She leans over the counter onto her elbows, our faces only inches apart.

Electricity zaps between us.

“Did you come home because you were angry with him for asking you for a threesome?” I ask.

“No. I came home because when I was kissing him I was thinking of somebody else.”

“Who?”

“I think you know.”