Mitchell tugged so hard on her legs she nearly toppled over.
“He’s a determined little guy,” Joe said, still strumming his guitar.
“Yes, he is,” said Allison. She felt nauseous at the way she’d primped and preened herself just minutes ago in the car.
“Come on,” Joe said. “Why not join in?”
She was Mitchell’s mommy; Joe was Mitchell’s nanny. That was the extent of their relationship. “I will,” she said. She kicked off her shoes and started to dance with Mitchell. The tune was so infectious that, after a few repetitions, she was singing along and miming the actions. She spun and twirled and gyrated, losing herself in the rhythm, laughing out loud with exhilaration.
Such energetic dancing made her feel flushed and warm and uncomfortable in her suit. She started to unbutton the tight-fitting jacket and slid it off her shoulders. She noticed Joe watching her.
Recklessly, she turned the removal of the jacket into something akin to a striptease, lingering as she pulled it off her body, aware of how her breasts thrust against the fine knit she wore underneath. Joe’s eyes narrowed and smoldered. Yes! She twirled the jacket around and then tossed it on to the sofa.
Joe looked at the jacket and back to her. He put down the guitar and jumped up to join her and Mitchell. “Sing,” he urged. “We’ll make the music.”
This song was a kids’ song but it had an adult, rock-and-roll rhythm, and Joe wasn’t dancing like a kid. His hips in faded blue denim swung in perfect time to the rhythm, his body sensuous and sinuous.
A thought flashed through her head, a leftover from her college party days when she and her friends would check out potential guys. “Dud at dancing—dud in bed.” Joe was good at dancing. Very good.
She was conscious of his eyes on her breasts and hips as she danced. Lucky Mitchell was between them, otherwise she might have boogied up closer to Joe, thrust her hips to his as they danced and wound her arms around his neck. That was not a wise thing to do with the nanny.
Instead she picked Mitchell up and whirled him around her. “More, momma, more,” he cried in delight. Then Joe took him and danced him around, singing to him all the while.
“No more,” Allison finally begged. For the final “Teddy turns around and Teddy falls down”, she tumbled over in a heap with Mitchell, breathless and laughing.
Joe was laughing too; his face flushed beneath his tan, his T-shirt molded to his powerful muscles. Her heart flipped over at how appealing he looked. But he wasn’t for her. He was her child’s nanny. And they had absolutely nothing in common except physical attraction. Why did she keep forgetting that?
“That’s such a cute song.” Allison hummed a few bars. “I haven’t heard it before. It’s going to be a big favorite with Mitchell and me.”
She propped Mitchell up on her knees and started to bounce him up and down. Joe picked up his guitar again. “I’m glad you like it,” he said.
Something proprietorial in his tone made her look up sharply. “You...you wrote it? You wrote that song?”
He nodded.
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
He was talented to write something like that. Talented and smart. And he had a real gift for communicating with kids.
He nodded again. “Yeah. I wrote it at first for my nieces and nephews. They liked it and it went from there.”
“Mitchell adores it.” Allison bounced Mitchell on her knees and then dropped them so he tumbled to the floor.
“And Teddy falls down...” she sang as he squealed and giggled. She planted a row of kisses on his neck, delighting in the baby softness of his skin.
Mitchell excitedly struggled free. “More, Joe, more!”
Forget the muscles, the darkly handsome face. Joe’s smile was the most devastating thing about him. And it was directed right at her.
How must she look sprawled on the carpet, her hair a mess, her skirt crushed? She had gotten totally carried away by the fun and warmth of the situation; the magic of Joe’s music.
She managed to stand up, tug her skirt down and slide with as much dignity as she could onto the sofa.
Joe took up more than his share of it. She was a fraction of an inch away from his hard, denim-clad thighs. Move a muscle and they’d be touching.
Mitchell nestled against her knees and she shifted forward, unintentionally sliding closer to Joe. Their legs touched, she could feel the warmth of his body through his jeans and the scant cover of her pantyhose. She felt his muscles tense. He didn’t move away. She breathed in his scent—an intoxicating blend of leather, spicy aftershave and fresh, male sweat.
Joe picked up his guitar again to oblige his charge with a rock-flavored version of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” His distinctive, husky voice gave a unique twist to the old nursery rhyme.
Allison joined in, providing the requisite twinkling finger movements for Mitchell.
As Joe strummed the last chord, he murmured, “I think for my next number we’ll launch into ‘Hush a Bye Baby’ and calm him down for his bath.”
Mitchell broke into a big, uninhibited yawn. Allison met Joe’s eyes and they smiled at the little boy’s timing. She planted another kiss on her son’s chubby little cheek and stood up, tucking Mitchell under one arm as she did.
“That was fun, Joe. Thank you.”
“I enjoyed it too,” Joe said easily, standing up.
He towered over her and Allison was conscious of the breadth of his shoulders.
He was a man who could make a tall woman like herself feel petite. It made her feel protected, sheltered.
“I’ll give Mitchell his bath,” she said, suddenly very keen to run away from Joe and give herself time alone to think about the sensual feelings he was arousing in her. Feelings she hadn’t experienced in a long time. “I hardly ever get home early enough to bath him during the week and it’s something I really enjoy.”
“Sure. I’ll clear up in here. We’ve got toys all over the place.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s my job. I’m the nanny, remember?”
Yes, he was. Just the nanny. Although Allison had reminded herself of the fact several times that evening, hearing him state it made her feel as though he was putting her in her place. Right in her place. The boss lady. His employer. Nothing else.
As Allison left the room to bath Mitchell, Joe packed his guitar into its case and snapped the catches into place with more force than necessary.
Why did Allison have to be so gorgeous? He’d never seen a woman as sexy. Did she have any idea of how her skirt had ridden up while she was playing on the floor with her son?
It wasn’t just the long, shapely legs that seemed to go on forever he’d found so disturbing. Or the glimpse of black lace panties that had led him to speculate on some definitely no-go areas of his gorgeous employer.
He’d gone further. Her cheeks flushed from exertion had made him wonder how she’d look flushed with arousal and sprawled, not on a carpet playing with her son, but naked on a bed and writhing with passion under him.
Allison Bradley was beautiful. But he’d known other women as beautiful. What intrigued him was the special mix of sugar and steel that made her the woman she was.
The five-year age gap that had so dismayed him now seemed a positive advantage. Allison had set goals and achieved them. She wasn’t wondering what she’d do with her life. She’d gone out there and done it.
Each time he saw her, she revealed some appealing new facet. He’d seen the haughty boss lady. He’d seen the distraught parent ready to kill for her child. Tonight, he’d seen Allison Bradley relaxed and enjoying herself. And that was the most intriguing Allison Bradley of them all—warm, vibrant, loving.
He wanted to know her better—he wanted her in his bed—but he didn’t want to get involved in a relationship. That made taking anything further with her impossible. Allison was the right woman at the wrong time.
Joe picked up the toys and put them away. What a cute
kid Mitchell was. This evening Allison had drawn him into a magic little circle. But it was a circle he’d resist like hell joining—no matter how she attracted him. He wasn’t part of her family. Somewhere Mitchell had his own dad.
And here he was, cold-eyed Peter, in the photos Allison had placed around the room. Joe itched to turn them around. Particularly the wedding photos, where Allison looked so young and sweet.
He wasn’t ready for marriage himself. Not by a long way. He was only twenty-seven. So what was it about Allison Bradley that made him even think about the “m” word?
Taking on another man’s child was not for him. He wasn’t interested in dating other men’s ex-wives either. Deborah had taught him that lesson.
He had nothing to offer Allison in the way of a future. And he didn’t want to disappoint and hurt her, when she might be looking for something more permanent and committed.
That’s what had stopped him from kissing her senseless yesterday. This was not a lady to wound with a no-strings affair. He didn’t want to add to the sadness he could glimpse in Allison Bradley’s green eyes.
He had to stop himself from being so damn aware of her whenever she was in the room. Stop counting the minutes until she came home from work. Stop wondering what had gone wrong with her marriage and whether she was dating anyone.
Particularly whether she was dating anyone.
Allison brought a clean, pajama-clad Mitchell back downstairs to say goodnight to Joe. “I guess you can go early if you like,” she offered.
“You pay me until seven, I can stay until seven.”
She felt a ridiculous little leap of gladness—he didn’t want to rush away. And then she chastised herself for reading into a situation something that simply wasn’t there. Joe was conscientious, just doing his job.
Mitchell put his little arms out to Joe. “Nye, nye Joe.”
“Night, night, Tiger.” Joe leaned over to affectionately ruffle the little boy’s thatch of ginger hair.
“Joe, would you like to come up with us for story time?” Allison asked on an impulse.
“Sure,” he said immediately, which pleased her.
Joe followed her up the stairs. He was just one step behind and Allison was conscious every second of his closeness. She could sense the heat of his body.
What if Mitchell was already in bed asleep and Joe was following her up, not to Mitchell’s room but to her own bedroom? Not to read Mitchell a story but to take her in his arms and kiss her again. Her heart rate trebled as she thought about his mouth on hers. How good it had felt.
She reached Mitchell’s bedroom. Mitchell struggled down from her arms and toddled across to his bookshelf. He found his favorite Where’s Spot? book and waved it imperiously at Joe. “Joe read.”
Again Allison felt a searing pang of jealousy she fought to suppress. She was glad Mitchell had bonded so well with Joe—though what would happen at the end of Joe’s probationary week, she didn’t know. Would Joe want to stay on longer?
She hadn’t looked for another nanny, had told Help From Above she was pleased with Joe. Laughing, she’d refused to be drawn by Sandy into a discussion of Joe’s hunk rating. But secretly she wanted to gossip with Sandy and find out more about Joe’s personal life. For example, how important was that girl on his motorbike?
Joe settled into the armchair, and Allison perched on its arm. Through every word of the story of Spot the dog’s adventures she was intensely aware of how close they were. When Joe turned a page, his arm brushed against her thigh and it felt like an electric current was jolting her. Was he aware of it too? Could he be touching her on purpose? She trembled at the thought.
She wanted the story to go on forever. But within seconds of the story’s end, Mitchell’s eyes were closed. Joe lifted him into his cot. Allison tucked him in, switched on the monitor so she could hear him in the kitchen if he awoke, and then she and Joe tiptoed out of the room.
Allison followed Joe down the stairs. She found herself checking out his back view. Broad shoulders and the best butt she’d ever seen fill a pair of jeans made Joe’s back view just as sexy as the front. His hunk rating soared higher. To at least 200 percent. She wished she could share this observation with Sandy and her assistant at the bank, Rebecca. But she didn’t want to admit to anyone how attracted she was to Mitchell’s nanny.
All the same, she couldn’t stop a smile at the sight of this hunk of masculine perfection marching into her kitchen. There was something very heart-warming about such a big, strongly-built man so completely taking over.
Some men would be afraid it would make them look wimpy. But Joe Martin exuded the utter confidence of a man so sure of his masculinity that he would never, ever, be called a wimp.
Even as he tied one of her checked dishtowels around his waist as a makeshift apron.
He reached for a saucepan simmering on the stove. “I’m checking on the sauce I’ve made for your dinner. Tomato with basil. You can boil some pasta when you’re ready to eat.”
“Joe,” she protested, “you don’t have to cook for me, you know. I really don’t expect it.”
“All part of the job.”
His eyes were warm with some kind of emotion but she wasn’t sure what she saw there. She looked away, confused.
She wasn’t used to this kind of consideration from a man. Peter had expected her to cook for him every evening they spent at home—no matter how late she’d finished work.
But she hadn’t seen Peter’s attitude as unusual. It had been the same when she was growing up. Even when her mother had been ill, she’d dragged herself around the kitchen and taken care of the household. Her father had demanded it.
“I appreciate you cooking,” she said. “I usually just heat something in the microwave and eat it in front of the TV.”
Why had she said that? She wished she could drag the words back into her mouth. They made her sound like some kind of social reject. That wasn’t the image she wanted to project to Joe Martin. She might be date-less but she was far from desperate.
She forced a laugh. “All this healthy stuff you’re cooking me is good for my figure.”
His already husky voice deepened to almost a growl. “You’ve got an amazing figure.”
Allison was about to say she could lose a pound or two, but was halted by the sensual gleam in Joe’s eyes as he appraised her body. His gaze roamed over her breasts, her waist, her hips, lingered on her legs and returned to her face.
Her nipples hardened in response and she could feel a flush climbing up her neck like a rising tide. She prayed he wouldn’t notice. Her knees started trembling with a sudden weakness. If just by looking at her he could arouse such feelings, what would it feel like if he were to touch her? To stroke and caress her and make her body sing?
This time there was no mistaking the passion that gleamed hot in his eyes. “I like a woman to look like a woman,” he said, his voice husky with sensuous undertones.
Allison’s heart missed a beat. Had she heard him right? Was Mitchell’s nanny coming onto her?
She smiled, but was so shocked she could only stammer out, “Th...thank you.”
She was so overwhelmed by her attraction to him she could hardly speak—and she didn’t know how to handle the situation. She, who had never trusted physical attraction, was unprepared for the force of the pull she felt to him. She couldn’t keep her eyes from his face, from his mouth and the sensual admiration in his eyes. It made her feel sexy and desirable and womanly. And she hadn’t thought about herself in that way for a long time.
Joe abruptly turned to the stove. But seconds later he turned back to her. His expression, his stance—he looked as though he’d fought a battle with himself and lost. It was the first time she’d seen him lose his unbeatable aura of self-confidence.
She stood as still as he did for a long second—his gaze reflecting her own uncertainty—before he reached out and gripped her shoulders. She could feel the warmth and strength of his hands through the silky knit of
her top. Her heart started a violent, excited hammering. His face was close, his eyes so intense they seemed no longer blue but black. He slid his hands down her back and she wound her arms around his neck, linking her hands behind his head.
Then his mouth, fierce and demanding, found hers. She kissed him back with equal fervor; her pent-up longing fuelled her passionate response. She tightened her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts to his chest.
Her mouth opened under his and she shuddered with delight as his tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips and then sought entrance to her mouth. She welcomed him, the tip of her tongue inviting him to explore further. He pulled her tighter. His hand slid up the back of her top and caressed her back. She quivered with the pleasure of it.
His hands were warm and firm on her skin. Her senses were filled with his scent. She could hardly believe this was happening. She was kissing Joe in her kitchen, her body aflame for him, the blood pounding through her head—and it was heaven.
Time seemed to stand still as she gave herself over to sensation. Her and Joe. It was all she was aware of.
The baby monitor on the countertop crackled. Once. Twice. She froze, her mouth still pressed to Joe’s. Mitchell moaned in his sleep. Reluctantly, Allison broke away from Joe’s kiss to listen more intently.
“Momma,” Mitchell murmured sleepily through the monitor. What bad, bad timing from her baby. Please don’t let him call out again, she prayed, not wanting this moment with Joe to end. But “Momma” came the little voice again.
Joe released her. “You’d better go to him.”
Allison felt dizzy, her breath coming in soft, panting gasps and it took a second for her to orientate herself. She nodded and raced upstairs to Mitchell. As she’d suspected, her little boy was fast asleep and didn’t stir at her arrival. His forehead felt cool to her touch, he was probably just dreaming. Gently she stroked his cheek.
Her heart was still pounding at a million miles an hour. She welcomed a few minutes to think in the quiet of Mitchell’s room.
What was she doing, lusting after Mitchell’s nanny like some hormone-crazed adolescent? Thank heaven Mitchell’s monitor had brought her to her senses, before she’d done something she would regret.
Something About Joe Page 6
