Single Dad's Spring Break: A Billionaire's Second Chance Romance

Running a billion-dollar empire…

While being the best father I can be is the hardest thing I’ve done.

My hot new nanny, Avery, is just what I need.

It isn’t right. It’s wrong. And filthy.

I need filthy.

But what happens when I start to want more from Avery than just a good time?

EXCLUSIVE: FILTHY DADDY

CHAPTER ONE

SPENCER

It was exceedingly rare that anyone in their twenties impressed me. But, Avery Porter certainly was very impressive. It was more than just the way her white button-up blouse hugged her body tightly in all the right places, or the dark pencil skirt that kept riding up even though she kept trying to pull it down to her knees.

No, as much as I could stare at her all day, it was her spirit and that fire inside that shone from her confident gaze, that impressed me the most.

Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a twist, with soft tendrils falling loose and framing her delicate, heart-shaped face. She wore black-rimmed glasses that made her look a lot like a librarian – the kind of sexy librarian that fueled many men's fantasies – and seemed to highlight her big blue eyes even more. She wasn't wearing much, if any, makeup. Her skin was naturally fair and smooth. Her lashes were long and thick, and her lips juicy and plump – much like her breasts.

I adjusted in my seat, trying to hide the erection growing in my slacks. I mentally chided myself. It wasn't appropriate to think of her like that. She was essentially just a kid, fresh out of college, bursting with innocence and naivete. It would be so incredibly wrong to take advantage of that.

As I tried to focus my mind on the more appropriate matters at hand, I could already tell she was a smart young woman. Sharp. Quick. I liked that. She also had an impressive background, one I thought made her ideal for this role.

Avery had a degree in Education with a minor in , and, according to her, had experience being a nanny, both to make ends meet during her college years, and to her own siblings growing up. She also had a long list of references and encouraged me to call them all to verify her work.

There was no denying it; Avery pretty much fit the job requirements perfectly.

“Would you like to meet my girls?” I asked.

As I sat there with her talking, I made the snap decision to move forward to the next step in the process. She was the first candidate that had made it this far; the only one I felt comfortable enough to move along. If I were to judge by the way her face lit up when I asked about meeting my girls, it gave me a very good feeling about potentially bringing her on board. Her happiness was genuine, not forced. I could tell she enjoyed being around children – a feeling I hadn't gotten from any of my other prospective candidates.

“Of course!” she said, beaming with joy. “ I'd love to meet them.”

I nodded. “Before you do, I just have one thing I need to mention. My daughter, Lola, can be timid with strangers,” I explained. “Maisie is a little more outgoing, but both went through quite a lot when their mother died.”

I steeled my face and tamped down my nerves and emotions, locking them all in a box somewhere deep in the back of my mind. I was so used to it by now, it was second nature to me. An automatic reflex. Whenever I talked about Bree, I hid myself behind a mask. The pain was still too fresh. The wound too raw.

Bree had been the light of my world, my everything. She had been the person I'd planned to spend the rest of my life with, and she'd been taken from me in an instant. Gone in a flash. Just like that.

My two little girls had been with her when she died. Even though they'd been very young when it happened, and thankfully, the many therapists we'd seen said they probably didn't remember it in excruciating detail, they still bore the scars.

They'd never really spoken of it with me, so I never really knew how much they remembered. Sometimes it seemed like they remembered nothing from the car accident that took their mother's life. Other times, it seemed like they relived it every single day.

Especially my daughter, Lola, who'd struggled the most since the accident.

“I understand, Mr. Sullivan,” Avery said. “I lost my mother when I was young too.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that,” I said. “I see how my girls struggle sometimes. I can't imagine what it must be like to be in that position.”

She gave me a polite smile, but there was a clear and obvious pain in her eyes. Apparently, time did not, in fact, heal all wounds. I could see that the memory of her loss hurt her still, even though she was an adult with two degrees and a wealth of experience behind her.

As I looked at Avery, I wondered if my daughters would, like her, live with the blanket of their mother's death hovering over them like a shroud as adults. Or perhaps they might be spared that heartache. I certainly hoped for the latter.

My mind was suddenly racing in a thousand different directions – none of them that would do any of us any good. I was letting the conversation get way off track, and I knew I needed to turn the focus back to where it belonged. I cleared my throat and continued.