The Nanny's Plan

by Donna Clayton

  “Take this very moment, for instance. I’ve been sitting here choking back the urge to tell you how beautiful you look.”

  “Yeah, right.” If manners hadn’t mattered to her, she’d have snorted her disbelief at him.

  His fingers squeezed hers. “I’ve noticed the change, Amy. You’ve gone…I don’t know how to describe it…casual. Without all that makeup, your skin looks like a ripe peach. And your hair. The way it swings around your shoulders. It catches the light. Invites a man to touch it. Run his fingers through it.”

  He stopped suddenly, chagrin tingeing his cheeks, and Amy got the impression that he’d gotten carried away with his description.

  Pierce continued, “All I meant to say was that I’ve noticed your new look.” He moistened his lips before adding, “And I like it. A lot.”

  And here she’d been thinking that she’d succeeded with her transformation, that her reverse makeover made her something close to dowdy.

  “You weren’t supposed to like it.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked a smidgen. “Ah, so the change was for me. I’d been obsessing over why you’d do away so completely with the Ms Professional image.”

  Mild ire—make that pure unadulterated embarrassment at having been found out—made her attempt to pull her hand from underneath his, but he tightened his grip, a chuckle rumbling from deep in his chest.

  “Hold on, now,” he crooned. “Don’t be angry. You have to admit that the Amy sitting here now is quite different from the one who first arrived at the house a month ago.”

  She’d admit nothing. Especially the fact that she’d changed her physical appearance for him. It was true, of course, but she didn’t have to put herself through the humiliation of actually stating it.

  “You said I look unruffled.” He shrugged and grinned. “I think it’s important for you to understand that I’ve been obsessed with…the new you.”

  Pleasure nearly had her toes curling. She didn’t want to be delighted by all he was admitting. But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t.

  “Speaking of obsessed…” Changing the subject, she decided, was her best course of action. “I’ve been quite fixated on something myself.”

  Keen interest sparked his dark gaze and his brows waggled up and down. “Fixated, huh? I like the sound of that.”

  Rolling her eyes at him, Amy tugged her fingers free from his. “Would you please be serious? I have a question.”

  Again he leveled that concentrated energy on her, and the congealed air was so thick she felt as if she would suffocate.

  His gaze lingered momentarily on her mouth. “I’m as serious as leaf blight.”

  When she whispered his name her tone was brimming with warning. If he kept this up, her resistance to him—to this thing between them—would surely slip a notch.

  Her heart beat once, twice, and just when she thought he meant to persist in churning up the sensuous atmosphere, his shoulders relaxed, his gaze calmed and his lips curled into an easy smile.

  “Okay, I’ll stop. But I want you to know I’m doing so against my will.”

  Oh, Lord above, so was she.

  “So what’s your question?”

  Struck with sudden inhibition, she drew in on herself; she slid back in the seat, tucked her elbows close to her body and dipped her chin close to her chest. Now that she’d succeeded in veering off the risqué path he’d attempted to pave, she was shell-shocked to think that she’d so recklessly revealed to him that there was something about him that consumed her.

  He consumed her, of course. But she’d been battling that. With every ounce of her strength. And she’d continue to do so, too.

  Looking up at his handsome face through lowered lashes, she could see that Pierce was doing his darndest to rein in his emotions.

  He’d been surprised that she thought he was in control—unaffected by their situation—and he’d quickly set her straight. The things he’d revealed to her and the sexual aura that he’d so swiftly whipped up were proof that he was engaged in a combat as fierce as her own.

  So what did it matter if he discovered that the whys of his war interested her? It didn’t, she decided.

  Her inhalation was slow, bolstering, and she lifted steady eyes to his. She prefaced her inquiry with a tiny smile meant more to assure herself than him.

  “Well,” she began, “when we talked that night out on the deck…I told you about my goals, and how I felt it was my turn to reach for my dreams, and that I didn’t want anything to get in the way of those things happening….”

  He nodded.

  “I was honest with you about the reasons I felt we needed—” for a moment she was at a loss for words, but then it came to her “—the p-pact we made.”

  “You were.”

  One of her shoulders rose a fraction. “So I’ve been wondering about yours. Your reasons, that is, for wanting…o-our pact.”

  It was disquieting that her tongue continued to trip over the description of their situation. But she guessed that couldn’t be helped.

  “My reasons? You’ve been fixated on my reasons?”

  The manner in which he enunciated the word sent a delicious chill coursing over her skin. He was baiting her, trying to stir up that sensual air again. But she refused to allow him to lure her.

  Finally he chuckled. “Okay, okay.” He relented. “I’ll keep to the topic.”

  His low, sexy laughter made her smile. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that very much.”

  This game they were toying with made her feel light and airy inside, and it was loads of fun. But she also knew it was highly dangerous.

  Pierce sighed, absently picking up the paper napkin that sat at his place setting. Directing his gaze to the small candle in the center of the table, its golden flame flickering warmly, he said, “My reason is solitary. It’s my father. Or rather, the fact that I resemble him too closely for my liking.”

  The motivations that drove him had had her thinking, wondering, for two weeks now. She’d imagined him having been hurt by a first love, or betrayed by a woman to whom he’d given his heart.

  But she’d never imagined that his reason might involve his father. The one time Pierce had mentioned the man, he’d spoken with a bitterness that had set her mind to wondering. His statement that he resembled his father, someone for whom he obviously had ill feelings, only had her feeling bewildered, and she was certain that her face expressed just that.

  “My father,” he haltingly continued, “wasn’t much of a parent. He was a brilliant man. An acclaimed scientist. And I admired him. Looked up to him. Like any boy would. But I was always looking for something from him that he was unable to give.”

  Seconds ticked by, and Amy could feel the anxiety vibrating around him, off him. She worried that he might be unable to continue. But then he curled his fingers into fists and tucked them beneath the table, leveling his gaze on her face.

  He clarified. “Paternal love. Fatherly involvement. He left me feeling lacking in so many areas—concern, affection, protection. In every way, really, that a father can fail, mine did.

  “My sister feels the same way. Cynthia and I have talked about it over the years. Our father wasn’t there for us.” A muscle in his jaw jerked. “He wasn’t there for our mother, either.”

  He released the napkin, rested one elbow on the table again and curled his fingers lightly under his chin. “Mom loved the bastard. Even though he didn’t deserve it. Never, in all my days of growing up here, did I see him reach out to her. Offer her a single demonstration of affection.”

  Reaching up, he combed his fingers through his hair.

  “I’m sure my parents had a physical relationship,” he said. The sound he emitted could have been described as laughter, but it held not an ounce of humor. “At least twice, anyway.”

  In any other circumstance, the quip would have made Amy smile.

  “My mother was the only parent Cynthia and I ever knew. She took us to our club meetings, to sc
hool events and sporting practices. She helped us with our homework. She did everything in her power to give me and my sister happy, normal upbringings.”

  The solemnity that shadowed his green eyes deeply affected Amy.

  “My father,” Pierce told her, “was always too busy in the lab, or in the greenhouse, or off at some symposium presenting his findings, or accepting some reward, or talking some company CEO into funding his next new project.

  “He didn’t have time for us. He never wanted us. He didn’t want to be a husband. And he sure didn’t want to be a father.”

  The agitation bombarding him made the very air around them quiver. She felt it just as surely as if someone had taken the laminated menu and waved it in front of her face.

  “He was a selfish, self-centered workaholic who couldn’t make time for a family.” Pierce heaved a sigh before he continued. His eyes were riveted on hers as he proclaimed, “And I’m just like him.”

  Chapter Seven

  Amy came awake knowing something wasn’t right. She sat up in the darkness of her room, listening. Something—she couldn’t say what—had her tossing back the sheet, planting her feet on the carpet and reaching for her robe.

  As she headed for the bedroom door she heard muffled sounds that she guessed were coming from the boys’ room next door.

  The hallway was dark as she slipped from her room. The fat summer moon streamed in through the window, casting a luminous glow over Benjamin and Jeremiah in their beds. Benjamin pitched, his head jerking from side to side as he muttered in his sleep.

  Amy hurried to him, put her hand on his arm and gently shook him out of the depths of his disturbing slumber.

  The child’s gaze was wide, his chest heaving.

  “Oh, honey,” Amy crooned in a whisper. “You having a bad dream?”

  “It was chasing me.” Benjamin fisted the sleep from his eyes.

  “Well, the dream is over now. You’re safe. You can turn over and go back to sleep.”

  Alarm furrowed his brow. “I don’t want to go back to sleep. Stay with me, okay?”

  “Of course, sweetheart.” Then she suggested, “Let’s go downstairs for some milk. That way we won’t disturb your brother.”

  Benjamin quickly scrambled from the tangle of his light cotton blanket and puttered across the room, Amy close on his heels. She took a quick peek at a sleeping Jeremiah before she pulled the bedroom door closed behind her.

  Down in the kitchen, Amy poured a few inches of milk into two glasses and brought them over to the table. She set one down in front of Benjamin and then slid into the chair adjacent to his.

  “Where do bad dreams come from, anyway?” His tone conveyed that the experience had him quite scared.

  Amy smiled. “I guess they’re like…well, stories. Stories that your mind makes up.”

  “I didn’t like that story. A big dog was chasing me. Stringy slobber was hanging from his jaws. His teeth were bared. And big. And sharp.” He picked up his glass and took a slug of milk.

  “We saw dogs at the park today,” she said. “Were you afraid of them?”

  He lifted his face to hers, sporting a white mustache.

  “No.” He swiped at his upper lip with the back of his hand. “Those puppies were little. They were run nin’ all around chasin’ that ball. I had fun watchin’ ’em.”

  She reached out and patted his forearm. “Well, the puppies in the park today probably planted the idea of a dog in your head. But there could be any number of reasons for your mind to turn your day of fun into a scary dream.”

  He moved the glass and the milk sloshed a little, but his young features were focused on Amy’s face.

  “You could have been overtired when you went to bed,” she continued. “If you’re upset or feeling stressed, that could bring on a bad dream, too.”

  Benjamin was quiet, contemplative. And when he lifted his chin, his dark eyes glistened. In a tight, rusty tone, he admitted, “I was thinking of Mommy today.”

  He was doing all he could to keep his wits about him.

  “I miss her.”

  “I know you do, honey. It’s very normal that you would think about her and miss her.”

  Benjamin sniffed. “I miss her hugs. And she always smells so good.”

  Empathy radiated through Amy.

  He turned his head, evidently embarrassed by the things he’d revealed. But then he swung to face her again, his gaze suddenly reckless. “Mommy lets me sit on her lap. A-and I was thinkin’ today that…that when she gets back I want to sit on her lap for a whole hour, and I don’t care if Jeremiah makes fun of me or not.”

  A knot rose in Amy’s throat. She was afraid that emotion would cause the words she wanted to say to come out all wobbly.

  “I know I’m not your mom, honey, but I’d be happy to hug you anytime. And I have a lap, too, you know. You’re welcome to sit on my lap. Of course, it wouldn’t really be the same….”

  The boy looked sorely tempted, and she pulled her chair back, opening her arms.

  After only a moment’s hesitation, he slid from his seat. “I don’t think we should tell Jeremiah about this,” he told her quite matter-of-factly, letting Amy pull him up against her chest. “He might think I’m a baby.”

  “Oh, he wouldn’t think that. Everyone needs a hug now and then.”

  She wrapped her arms around him tightly and he settled into a comfortable position, his head cradled against her shoulder, his little body warm against hers. Amy cuddled his forehead with her cheek, smelled the clean scent of his freshly shampooed hair. She kissed his temple.

  Instinctively she began to rock and hum.

  The achy feeling behind her breastbone startled her. Over the weeks she’d been caring for Benjamin and Jeremiah she’d truly enjoyed herself. However, she was learning that these boys were wiggling their way into her most tender emotions.

  That Benjamin would accept her offer of comfort in his mother’s stead amazed her. It made her feel about ten feet tall and as if her heart had expanded beyond its normal bounds.

  Motherhood.

  Amy had always thought of it as a dirty word. Something that would keep her from coming and going as she pleased. Something that would stifle her goals and aspirations.

  She’d watched as one after another of her friends had become pregnant, become trapped in a situation that Amy had always imagined to be tedious and dull.

  Her eyes drifted closed and she pressed her nose against Benjamin’s warm skin.

  Did those women back in Lebo know something she did not? An odd feeling stirred inside her, and she couldn’t help but think that they just might have a clearer understanding of something that had always been beyond her grasp.

  Until this moment.

  Imagining herself with children of her own wasn’t at all difficult while she cradled this sweet boy in her arms. Benjamin’s breathing had become slow and measured, and she realized he’d fallen asleep.

  She should take him back to his room and tuck him into bed. But she didn’t move. Cuddling him was a joy.

  Being a mother, she was beginning to think, would be a job filled with bliss and fascination. Experiencing life through the eyes of an inquisitive child was amazing. At least, that’s what she’d experienced over these past weeks. She remembered being with the boys as the three of them had explored the bay, read stories, drawn pictures, baked cookies and brownies. Amy had been overwhelmed, time and again, by the quirky and often innocently wise observations expressed by the twins.

  Of course, there was work involved. Lots of it. But she was starting to see that the good impacts and experiences of having children in your life far outweighed the bad.

  Comforting Benjamin, talking to him about his nightmare, rocking him now were some of the most satisfying moments of her life.

  Amy couldn’t help but think that she’d been wrong in painting such a dim picture of parenthood, of family.

  Family.

  Most often that involved a man as well as a
woman. A husband and wife who shared a loving relationship that resulted in blessings called children. Thoughts of Pierce floated into her mind like a brightly colored buoy bobbing on the still waters of the bay, too conspicuous to be ignored.

  If there was ever a man who might cause her to reconsider her feelings regarding—

  Before she could complete the thought, Pierce padded into the kitchen on bare feet. He paused suddenly, obviously surprised to see her there.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Her heart thudded as she stared. Broad, bare shoulders. A sexy smattering of dark, springy chest hair. Abdominal muscles that really did ripple—like those on a model in some clothing ad in a glossy magazine—all the way down his torso until they disappeared beneath the low-slung waistband of his pajama bottoms. The cotton cording was tied in a loose bow, and Amy stopped herself from moistening her lips as her eyes roved over the two knotted ends of the string that dangled down low over his…

  Her wide gaze made a beeline for his face, and she made every effort to keep her smile from faltering. He liked the fact that she noticed his body, that much was obvious even though he attempted to suppress the twinkle in his deep green eyes.

  “B-Benjamin had a bad dream,” she explained in a hushed tone. “He was feeling a little anxious, so we came down to have a glass of milk until he felt a little better.”

  Pierce approached them, placed one hand on her shoulder, smoothed the knuckles of his other hand across his nephew’s forehead. “Poor guy.”

  The heat of his fingers penetrated the fabric of her robe. Her pulse accelerated and she turned her head.

  His nails were trimmed neatly, his cuticles smooth. He let his hand hover on the curve of her shoulder, and for a moment she got the feeling he intended to let it glide up her neck, over her jaw.

  Oh, please! The small voice in her head was chastising. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. When she lifted her lids, his hand was gone from her shoulder and he’d moved to the refrigerator.

  “I was thirsty,” he whispered.

  He poured himself a glass of juice and drained it as he stood there with the fridge door open, its bulb casting a wedge of brightness on him that reminded Amy of a spotlighted actor on a stage.