Читать книгу His Potential Wife - Grace Green, Grace Green - Страница 9

HELL will freeze over first!

Willow tried to sputter the words out but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. Her body measurements? Wasn’t it bad enough that the man had caught her naked…now he wanted to know her bust size? His boldness beggared belief! What kind of a sleazy—

“I—” He shifted his feet awkwardly. “I want to put you in an outfit and since I have to order it from a catalog—”

“An outfit, Dr. Galbraith?” At last she’d found her voice but it was so stunned she hardly recognized it. “What kind of an outfit? Do you see me perhaps in a crimson lace bra with a black and crimson garter belt and…and…sheer black stockings with red sparkly high-heeled shoes…and—”

“I meant…a uniform, Ms. Tyler.” The man sounded as if he had a fishbone stuck in his craw. “A nanny’s uniform, of the type my children’s previous nannies wore. Ordered through the smartnannies.com catalog on the Internet.”

Willow wanted to shrivel up and disappear. A nanny’s uniform. What an absolute idiot she’d made of herself.

“I apologize.” Her cheeks must be as crimson as the scanty lace bra her imagination had so vividly conjured up. “We seem to have been talking at cross-purposes.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “It would seem we have.”

But, she reflected defensively, it hadn’t been totally her fault. He should have made himself clear, instead of bumbling along like an embarrassed teenager. With a touch of asperity, she said, “Did none of your previous nannies balk at providing you with such…personal…information?”

“I always left that kind of stuff to my stepmother. She did the hiring of the nannies…and the ordering of their uniforms. This is all new to me, Ms. Tyler. I’d appreciate if you’d make some allowances!”

His sudden smile was as unexpected as it was disarming: a curve of sensual lips, a flash of white teeth, a twinkle of wickedly blue eyes. The smile not only dazzled her, but it almost felled her. When Scott Galbraith set out to charm—as he was obviously doing now!—he was irresistible.

And when she stared, transfixed, into those arresting blue eyes, she realized with a bone-chilling sense of alarm that if she let her guard down, how dangerously easy it would be to let herself fall in love with him. She sensed herself teetering on the edge of it already—as if she were balancing in the open doorway of a plane at thirty thousand feet, with no parachute strapped to her back.

And falling for Dr. Scott Galbraith would be the worst mistake she had ever made.

No, the second worst. The worst mistake was the one she’d made seven years ago, when she had—with such tragic consequences—mistaken teenage infatuation for true love.

He was speaking again, and drawing in a shivery breath, she dragged her thoughts from the past and forced herself to concentrate.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Since you seem so averse to giving me your measurements, I’ll set you up at my computer and you can input your order yourself.” He started toward his desk. “Would you find that acceptable?”

“No.”

He halted and regarded her with a surprised expression.

“You don’t want to input the info yourself?” he asked.

“I’d…prefer not to wear a uniform.”

“Why not?”

“It would come between me and the children.”

“Ms. Tyler, they’re accustomed to their nannies being in uniform. If anything, it would give them a feeling of continuity, which could only be good.”

“Granted, but it would also set me apart, which could only be bad.”

“It would give you an aura of authority,” he argued, “which would help you to establish control.”

“From what you’ve told me,” she said, “wearing a uniform didn’t help the previous nannies in that regard! Besides,” she added, “a uniform might be appropriate in a city setting but here…”

“Yes?”

“I can’t see myself in a uniform while I splash around in the creek with the children, or while we play hide-and-seek in the woods. Can you?”

He stared at her with a perplexed expression, as if she’d posed a highly complex problem.

“I’ll order a couple of uniforms,” he said finally. “And you’ll give it your best shot. If after one week, you find it too…cumbersome…for certain activities, then we’ll discuss the matter again and come up with a compromise that satisfies us both. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes,” she said, but without any great enthusiasm. “That would be acceptable.”

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” He took his seat at the desk, in front of the computer.

She should have been watching the screen as he accessed the Web site, instead she found herself looking down at the top of his head…and noticing how rich his black hair was, and how much silkier it seemed, up close—

He rose from his chair. “Sit down.”

She did, and felt his warmth lingering on the padded leather seat. There was an intimacy about it that she found disconcerting. Wriggling impatiently, she shifted her mind to a higher plane as he crossed to the window and stood with his back to her.

After she’d input her info, she rolled back the swivel chair and got to her feet.

She said, to the back of his head and his impressively wide shoulders, “It seems a bit stupid now…”

He turned. “What does?”

“That I made such a fuss about giving out my measurements.” She gave an ironic chuckle and added, almost to herself, “It’s not as if I’ve that much to hide!”

As soon as she’d spoken, she wished the words unsaid. Thanks to her strip-show at the creek, her employer knew exactly how much—or, rather, how little!—she had to hide. And she knew, by the shadow darkening his blue eyes, that reminding him of it had not been one of her better ideas.

He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and she heard the impatient jingle of coins or keys. The sound was as dismissive as the ring of a school bell.

“Will that be all?” she asked.

“Just one more thing. This morning I drove to Crestville to visit my in-laws and I’ve invited them here for dinner. On Friday. That’ll give Mrs. Caird time to get used to my kitchen before she has to cook for guests, and it will give you the best part of a week to lick my children into some kind of shape so they don’t disgrace me too deplorably. Do you think you can do that?”

Willow hadn’t been aware that his in-laws lived in Crestville, a town about fifty miles up the highway. “I’ll certainly do my best.”

“That’s all I can ask. But,” he added, and flashed her another of his debilitating smiles, “I can hope for a miracle!”

A series of warm tingles fluttered Willow’s senses as she was exposed to the full force of his charm. Did Scott Galbraith have any idea what a heartbreaker he was?

But even as she asked herself the question, she recalled what Ida Trent had said about the man believing himself to be “devilishly attractive” to the opposite sex. The memory frosted the warm glow that had suffused her skin. And instead of fainting at his feet as she’d momentarily felt prone to do, she returned crisply,

“Hope, as they say, springs eternal! Now, will that be all?”

“Yes, that will be all. Good night, Ms. Tyler.”

“Good night, Dr. Galbraith.”

As she drew the door closed behind her, she heard him add, very softly, “Try to get to bed early, Ms. Tyler. We wouldn’t want your sleeping in to become a habit.”

Next morning, Willow’s alarm went off at seven.

Yawning, she flicked it off and got up. Then she wansdered sleepily across the plush pink carpet to the window and drew back the luxuriously heavy pink drapes.

It was dreary outside. A wild gale was blowing and rain lashed the countryside in gunmetal-gray sheets. Unless the storm eased up later, it would be too wet to take the children out. She’d be cooped up in the house with the little monsters. The prospect made her shudder.

But as she padded toward the en suite bathroom—past the bed with its pink-sprigged duvet and past the elegant white wicker furniture—she experienced a sudden rush of pleasure. How lucky she was to have such beautiful quarters. Quite a change from home, where space was at a premium—and walking barefoot over toy-littered floors was as risk-fraught as crossing a minefield!

After showering, she dressed in jeans and an aqua sweatshirt and then set out to check on her charges.

She was almost at Mikey’s room, which was next door to her own, when she heard a fretful cry.

She pushed the door open and switched on the light.

The sudden brightness took the child aback, and his cry stopped in midstream. As Willow entered the room, she saw him standing up in his crib, his cheeks scarlet, his eyes pearled with tears, his hands clutching the crib rail.

He stared at her for ten long seconds, then he released the crib rail and plumped down onto his bottom. Lower lip jutting, he watched warily as she approached the crib.

Willow set her hands on the top rail and looked down at him with a smile. “Hi,” she said. “Good morning!”

He scowled. “Not!”

She laughed. “You’re right. Actually it’s not. It’s raining and it looks as if it might be on for the duration!

Now,” she said, “let’s get your diaper changed and—”

“Dry!”

She lowered the side of the crib and leaning over, checked his diaper and found it was, indeed, dry. “What a good boy!” She looked at him admiringly. “Aren’t you clever!”

His face creased in a delighted smile. “I clever!”

He was so like his father! He had the same electric-blue eyes, the same heart-stealing smile. What a cute little guy he was. And of course he wasn’t a monster. How could she ever have thought he was!

“Up!” he demanded. “Potty!”

“Right!” She swung him up and gave him a big hug. He grabbed her hair, and snuggled his face in it, sniffing it.

“So we’re friends now?” she asked as she carried him out to the passage and across to the large bathroom shared by the three children.

She felt his arms go around her neck. Felt his lips against her skin as he pressed his open mouth to her cheek.

His response was muffled so she couldn’t make out what he was saying. But she didn’t need to.

His message was clear.

Scott zipped up his jeans, and fastening the metal button at the waistband, headed for his bedroom door.

Stepping out into the passage, he caught sight of his new nanny. She was crossing to the children’s bathroom from Mikey’s room and she had his son in her arms. Even from twenty feet away, he could sense the rapport between them.

It didn’t surprise him. Mikey was usually pretty easy to win over when his sisters weren’t around. Ms. Tyler would find the girls a much bigger challenge. But at least, he mused as she disappeared from sight, she had made a start.

Checking on his daughters, he found them still asleep. Whistling under his breath, he made his way to the kitchen. After putting on coffee, he boiled an egg for Mikey, made toast and fried a batch of eggs and tomatoes and hash browns while he nuked rashers of bacon in the microwave.

By the time he heard Ms. Tyler come down the stairs, everything was ready and the table set.

“Good timing,” he said as she came in. “I’m just finished.”

The nanny’s straight little nose crinkled. “I thought, when I smelled the bacon, that Mrs. Caird had arrived early!”

Her eyes looked more green than gray today, he noted absently—probably reflecting the color from her aqua sweatshirt. Quite pretty eyes, with incredibly long feathery lashes, a shade or two darker than her sandy hair.

“Dad!” Mikey strained toward him.

He stepped over and scooped the child from her arms—and got a whiff of whatever perfume she was wearing. It was soft and powdery. Feminine. It made him want to nuzzle his face into her neck, the way he’d seen Mikey do earlier!

And how totally inappropriate that would be. Grounds for a sexual harassment suit…

He squelched the wayward urge.

“Hi, Mikey.” He dropped a kiss on his son’s head before strapping the child into his high chair. “And good morning to you, Ms. Tyler. No, Mrs. Caird won’t be here till after lunch. Pour yourself a coffee, and I’ll feed Mikey.”

He peeled the toddler’s egg, dropped it into a bowl and chopped it up, before setting the bowl on Mikey’s white plastic tray along with a few fingers of buttered toast.

In the meantime, Ms. Tyler had poured her coffee and was hovering.

“I must admit,” she said, “that I’m surprised to find you so…at home…in the kitchen.”

“Did you think I was just a hewer of wood and a drawer of water?” He grinned. “Heck no, I’m a New Age Man. Able to turn my hand to any household task you care to mention.”

Waving her toward a chair, he said, “I hope you’re hungry.”

As she perched on the chair, he opened the oven door and withdrew two plates arranged with the bacon, over-easy eggs, hash browns and tomato wedges he’d prepared earlier. Setting a plate in front of her, he murmured, “Bon appétit.”

And setting the other plate down on the table across from her, he took his own seat.

She looked at her plate with a dazed expression.

“Dig in,” he said.

“I…usually just have coffee in the morning. But…I must admit, this is very tempting…”

“Coffee’s not a food, Ms. Tyler. As long as you’re under my roof, you’ll eat properly. And that means, no skipping breakfast. Understood?”

Her tone had a mischievous edge as she said, “Then perhaps we should have held off on ordering my uniform…or perhaps we should reorder now. The next size up!”

He deliberately sidestepped any further discussion of uniforms. “Believe me,” he said, “no matter how heartily you may eat, my brood will keep you so busy running after them you won’t put on a single ounce. I guarantee it.”

“Then—” she lowered her eyes demurely to her plate as she picked up her fork “—we’ll stick with the Small.”

Out of nowhere, he was suddenly visited by an image of her petite figure, stretching naked in the sunlight. The memory was vivid. Tantalizingly vivid.

He felt a stirring of desire and decided it was time—past time!—to change the subject completely.

“Tell me, Ms. Tyler, the little boy you were with at Morganti’s the other day…was he one of your charges?”

She dropped a morsel of bacon from her fork, and it fell into her mug. Her cheeks turned pink and she made a vexed tsking sound. She seemed to take an inordinate length of time to rescue the bacon scrap from the coffee. Only after she’d achieved her goal and finally transferred the scrap to the edge of her plate did she look up at him.

Her eyes were blank of emotion as she gazed at him levelly. “He’s my son.”

“Your son?”

“I’d assumed Mrs. Trent would have filled you in on my background.”

“Mrs. Trent filled me in on your credentials, and your experience, but…no, she didn’t mention that you have a child. Who’s looking after him at present? His father?”

The pink in her cheeks had faded away, leaving her skin pale. Paler than it had been before. “His father…isn’t involved. My mother looks after Jamie.”

“Does the guy at least give you financial support?”

“No.” Lowering her gaze to her plate, she toyed with her hash browns. When she looked up again, her gaze was still shuttered. “He’s no longer in my life. I’m a single mom, yes, but that’s not going to affect how I carry out my work here. I have everything under control.”

He nodded. “Good.”

And for the next few minutes they ate. He cleared his plate, and brushed his napkin over his mouth, before starting up the conversation again.

“Where,” he asked, “does your mother live?”

“We rent a house at the east end of town. It’s small, but the area’s quiet. My mother’s been a widow for some years—her health isn’t all that good so she doesn’t go out to work. She enjoys staying home and looking after Jamie.”

“How old is the boy?”

“Six.”

“In between Lizzie and Amy. But,” he added with a self-deprecatory twist of his lips, “judging by what I saw of him at Morganti’s, much better behaved.” He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you could bring him up here sometime? He might be a good influence.”