Curiosity planted itself between her brows in the form of a frown. “Oh?” She wondered what he could mean by the statement.
“Before you moved in with the baby,” the doorman continued, “I was certain the complex administrator was going to replace Dr. Greg’s front door with one that—” again, he smiled “—revolved. He sure was a lady-killer, that one. I don’t mind tellin’ ya, I was envious. Forced to live vicariously, opening the door for all those lovely ladies coming and going. But it looks like you tamed him. You and your little girl, that is.”
Jane was stunned silent. If she was correctly understanding the man, he’d evidently mistaken her for Greg’s live-in lover.
There was nothing vulgar or suggestive in the doorman’s remarks. His smile was open and friendly. And Jane got the impression he simply meant to pay Greg—and her, for that matter—some sort of backhanded compliment. Although, for the life of her, she couldn’t work up any appreciation. In fact, what she felt was angry and insulted.
“Let me set you straight on a few things.” She straightened her spine and plunked her hand on her hip. “I have not tamed Dr. Greg, or anyone else for that matter.” She felt her face flush hot. “I am not this baby’s mother. I’m merely her nanny. And if this complex administrator you just spoke of were to get wind of your gossiping about the building’s tenants, I’m sure your job just might be in grave jeopardy.”
The doorman looked flabbergasted, to say the least. He blubbered, “B-but I was only…I didn’t think—”
“That much is quite obvious.”
“B-but,” he stammered again. “I like Dr. Greg. I didn’t mean any harm.”
“I realize that. And that’s the only reason I’m willing to keep this little incident between you and me. But I’d advise that, in the future, you keep your comments about the tenants to yourself. You do like your job, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said in a rush. “I’m awfully sorry, ma’am. I was only meaning to let you know that he must think an awful lot of you. I haven’t seen him go out with a woman…other than you…in several weeks. And that’s like some kind of record for Doc…”
His words trailed off as Jane placed her index finger against her lips in a gesture meant to make him stop talking.
Then he said, “I didn’t know you were…just the nanny.…”
Her eyes widened in exasperation when he didn’t heed her silent warning. “Shh,” Jane warned, her ire stirring yet again.
“My explanations—” the doorman looked miserable “—are only making it worse.”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really.”
Jane simply sighed in anger and frustration, turned the stroller onto the sidewalk and started off down the street.
“Just the nanny.” The words came out in a disgusted mutter.
In all honesty, she should thank the doorman. She needed to remember that “just the nanny” was all she was. And that’s all she would ever be. The thoughts she’d been dwelling on since their kiss—that he was attracted to her, that he made her feel as pretty as Liz Taylor, that the two of them could ever have any kind of relationship—were lunacy. Total lunacy! For as soon as Greg discovered the truth about her—the truth about how she’d lied and manipulated her way into his home—he’d be as mad as a wet hen. And he’d never forgive her in a million years.
Chapter Six
“So tell me, Greg, just how many women have you dated?”
The lightness inflected in her voice was meant to let him know she was teasing him. He looked up from the medical journal he was reading, his mouth automatically quirking up at one corner, as sexy as could be. He looked both wary and abashed, obviously unsure of where her comment was coming from…and where it might lead.
The poor man was fatigued to the bone. That much was clear. After putting in his regular office hours, he’d gone to not one, but two medical centers in center city to visit with patients. On top of that, he’d also stopped in at the Wilson Center to see how another of his patients—a young girl with an eating disorder—was responding to treatment and psychological counseling.
He’d called Jane to say he’d be late, so she’d been prepared. Joy had been fast asleep when Greg had walked through the door at nine. Jane had warmed up his dinner, and after he ate, he went to take a shower while she straightened up the kitchen.
Now he was sitting in the living room reading over some medical magazines. Jane should have gone on to bed and left him alone rather than asking him a question that could turn out to be as lethal as a loaded double-barrel shotgun. But once she’d seen him sit down with that work-related reading material, she hadn’t been able to resist offering what she felt would be a much-needed diversion. The man worked too hard.
She offered him one of the two glasses of wine she’d carried in from the kitchen, and he accepted with a silent nod, the sexy grin never leaving his mouth, the uncertainty never leaving his eyes.
Waiting for his answer, she tipped up her glass and sipped the fruity zinfandel.
“So you finally got wind of my reputation, huh?”
His tone might be tentative, but it was also as warm as velvet. Just what a woman wanted on a chilly fall evening.
He laughed lightly. “Who have you been talking to?”
She sat down on the couch next to him. Not wanting to give away her source, she said, “Let’s just say a little bird told me.”
“Ah.” He set aside the magazine and gently swirled the wineglass by the stem. “The infamous little bird.” His smile widened. “He can be a dangerous little guy.”
Jane’s own mouth twisted at the corners. “I promised myself not to believe a word he chirped until I had a chance to ask you myself.”
She’d promised herself no such thing. Asking him anything about his past had never entered her head until she’d seen how tired he’d looked. She’d only meant to take him away from those dry journals he’d planned to read. Get him to relax a bit.
He was silent, the deep green of his eyes reflecting the firelight as he watched her. She took another sip of wine. It warmed her throat as she swallowed, and she realized she felt…odd. Like a lazy cat that felt the need to stretch out languidly and purr.
She shouldn’t be sitting here sharing a glass of wine with him in front of the fire. She knew that. During her afternoon walk with Joy, Jane had gone over all the reasons she should ignore the attraction she felt for this man. But the afternoon had been long. The evening, too. And she’d found that she’d missed him today. Was it so bad to want a little human contact? A little adult conversation? A woman could only count and stack blocks and read Little Golden Books for so long before she wanted a little interaction with someone her own age. Was that so wrong?
Sure, there were many reasons why this was wrong. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of even one. This moment felt mysterious and magical, and Jane had experienced so little magic in her life. None, really. She didn’t want any doubt or fear to keep her from enjoying every instant of this one.
“That’s mighty nice of you,” he said, “not to believe any of those awful rumors about me. Birds can be quite malicious when they want to be, you know.”
She chuckled. His tone was as rich and heady as the traces of wine lingering on her tongue, and seemingly more potent. Much more potent. The sound of his voice chased a shiver down her spine. Her skin prickled and the fine hairs on her arms stood on end. Yes. The magic was growing with each passing second.
She didn’t understand it. She didn’t care to. She simply wanted to relish every wonderful minute.
He took a moment to take a drink, and Jane watched intently as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. She wondered what it might feel like to place a kiss on his jaw now that it was shadowed with a day’s growth of mahogany whiskers. Would his light beard feel soft or scratchy against her lips? she wondered. His dark red hair still glistened with dampness from his shower, and she curled her fingers into her palm to
keep from reaching out to touch the thick waves.
The urge to connect with him was so strong, so overwhelming. She’d not felt its like in her entire life.
After the firm talking-to she’d given herself this afternoon, she should be clearheaded and logical. She should be doing anything else but gazing at him, entertaining these luscious and oh-so-sexy notions welling, swirling, churning inside her. But the ocean swell that had caught her in its powerful current was awesome, and all she wanted to do was ride this enchanting wave to wherever it seemed so determined to take her.
She smiled at him, and the idea that she was flirting should have made her furiously embarrassed. But she wasn’t.
“Well,” she said, hearing the husky quality in her tone and feeling almost startled that such a seductive sound could emanate from her own throat, “I do like to give a man the chance to explain himself.”
He sighed. “I do have to admit it. I’ve dated a lot of women.” His gaze settled on the rim of his glass, then he looked at her. “You know, this society teaches us—males, I mean—as boys and young men to look at females almost as if they were a…a banquet table. And we’re encouraged to try as many different dishes as we can. Girls, on the other hand, are taught to…to…”
“Diet?” Jane chuckled, and so did he.
“Maybe food wasn’t the best metaphor of choice.”
Reaching up, she combed her fingers through her hair. “Good metaphor or not, I understand what you mean.”
“It’s in the movies. It’s on TV. It’s in New York Times bestselling novels. It’s in magazine advertisements. Men are actually urged to be ravenous. We’re made to feel as if it’s our right to reach out and pluck fruit from any tree we desire.”
Oh, how she wished he would feel ravenous for her! The mere idea caused her blood to heat. This feeling rolling over her was so new, so exciting! She wanted to be desired.
She grinned at him. “So it’s society’s fault.”
“No, no.” He shook his head. “I take full responsibility for my own actions. I just wish I’d learned sooner that…that…”
He seemed at a loss for words, so she supplied, “That women aren’t fruit trees meant to satiate the appetites of men?”
His face expressed a mixture of guilt and sheepish embarrassment that Jane found quite endearing.
“I didn’t bring this up to make you feel bad,” she said. “Lots of women look at men—at life—with the same ‘banquet table’ mentality. My mother was one of them.”
The words tumbled off her tongue without thought, shocking her. Then a thought whizzed through her head, your sister is another.
She noticed that he’d grown still, obviously waiting for her to explain. What harm would it do to tell him a little of the truth about her own past? Just so long as she was very careful not to mention Pricilla.
“See, there were men always coming and going in my mother’s life.” She moistened her lips. “My sister and I had different fathers. Our mother wasn’t a very smart woman. She was either too stupid, or too drunk, to protect herself against pregnancy.” Jane paused, expecting the old anger to raise its ugly head. But all she felt was numb when she thought about her mother. “She didn’t want the responsibility of me or my sister. That was quite clear from the very beginning. So as soon as I was old enough to work, she took off and left us. I haven’t seen her for years. And that’s okay. We’re better off without her in our lives.”
She thought of Pricilla. Of how much her sister took after their mother. It wasn’t as if this was a new idea to her. But actually explaining their mother’s life-style out loud and in her own words, Jane found herself wondering. She’d thought about searching for Pricilla often since coming here. She’d pondered lots of different ways of going about the task. But now she questioned whether or not she should even try to locate her sister. Maybe Pricilla—like her mother—was better off left to her own devices.
Suddenly, she was aware of three things. The first was the heat coming from the fireplace. Second, was the quiet. Third, was the intensity infused in Greg’s green eyes. His gaze was just as intimate and arousing as the physical touch of his fingertips on her hot skin would have been.
She blinked. Tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Then, after inhaling deeply, she drained the wine in her glass.
“I’m awfully sorry.” Her voice was quiet now. Terribly quiet. “I didn’t mean to bring up my morbid past.” She tried to lighten the mood with a laugh, but the sound fell flat. “I only meant to razz you a little about your reputation.”
The air was so tight, she thought she’d surely strangle. If he didn’t stop looking at her with that deep concern she was going to literally fall to pieces. No one had ever cared about her as much as he seemed to at this moment.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed now.” She made to rise, but he reached out and circled her wrist with his warm fingers. Immediately, she felt sheltered. Cherished. It might be silly. But that’s what she felt. It might even be the wine. But that’s still what she felt.
“Wait,” he whispered.
He pulled her back toward him, and she simply didn’t have it in her to resist him.
“I think it’s commendable that you took care of yourself and your sister.”
She offered him a small, embarrassed smile and murmured, “Thanks.” It was very considerate of him to focus on the positive and not bring up her mother’s behavior.
“I’m not just being polite,” he told her. “I’m serious. You’re a very…admirable person. Tell me more. How old were you when you were forced to take over as head of your household?”
He seemed genuinely interested. And Jane felt flattered by the attention. But he was getting too close to the truth. If she began talking in too much detail about her life with Pricilla, she just might slip up. She just might ruin everything. She couldn’t risk her place here with Joy. She just couldn’t. No matter how much she might want to be honest with him. Now just wasn’t the time to tell him the truth.
His eyes were as green as a lush, shady knoll, and she wanted desperately to become lost in their cool, comforting depths. His hand was still on her forearm. And all of a sudden she was ultraconscious of how his thumb was roving slowly, back and forth, across her skin.
Feeling unable to safely reveal any more about her past to him, she could think of only one way to distract him from his query.
She kissed him.
She tasted of wine, heated and honey-sweet. He inhaled slowly, pulling the erotic scent of her deep into his lungs. His hand slid up her arm, over the delicate curve of her shoulder. He wrapped her in his arms and gently tugged her against him.
He’d waited—hoped—for this kiss for what had seemed an eternity. Although only two-and-a-half short weeks had passed since she’d come to live in his home, he felt he knew this woman. She was kind. Strong minded. Capable. And she was loving.
Attraction had fairly pulsated between them for days and days. However, he’d been adamant that he would not be the first to outwardly react to the vibrating current. He refused to behave in a fashion that might leave Jane feeling used or exploited. He’d made a silent pledge to allow her the freedom to make the first move—or not to make any move at all. The effort of not reaching out to her, not acting on the awesome, mind-blowing urges that had plagued him like some medieval torture, had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.
But he was glad he’d succeeded in suppressing his desire for her. On account of his restraint, he now knew she was in his arms, kissing his lips, because she wanted to be doing these things and not because she’d been wooed or pursued or blindsided by him. For some odd reason, this information caused small explosions of joy to burst in his head, in his gut.
Her lips were hot and moist on his, and he felt passion well in him, filling every nook and cranny, every crevice and fissure of his being, until he thought he’d surely drown in his need of her. But he must contain the overwhelming emotions, the garga
ntuan hunger. He wanted Jane to be in charge of the moment. He must let her be the one to take this—to take him—wherever it was she wanted to go.
His whole body literally quaked when she pressed the first kiss against his throat. His heart thumped against his rib cage like a jackhammer pummeling cement pavement. With her heavenly scent wafting all around him, the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her skin under his fingertips, Greg was certain his senses could want for nothing more.
Then a tiny groan escaped from her throat…and he trembled at the sound of it.
Never before had he responded to a woman the way he was responding to Jane. Desire for her filled every cell of his being, and he didn’t know how long he could control himself.
“Jane,” he whispered, his voice jagged as broken glass. “Oh, heaven help me.”
Like some tiny miracle, the wineglass was no longer in his right hand, and he reached out, sliding his fingers up her back, driving them deep into her thick, silken hair. He wanted desperately to press her mouth against his neck, but he didn’t. He wanted to guide her lips back to meet his once again. But he didn’t. It was very important to him that Jane be in complete control. And she seemed to revel in the dominating.
That was quite all right…because he was thoroughly enjoying this new experience of being dominated.
She gave his earlobe a playful nip, and he stifled a groan. But when she took that same lobe into her mouth, brushed it with her hot tongue, his breath left him in a rush and he half murmured, half growled her name. Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once: sliding up the length of his chest, kneading his shoulder, pressing against his jaw, teasing his thigh.
These were not the caresses of an expert, but rather the eager touch of a kid in a candy store who wanted to see, to feel, to taste everything. And he loved the idea of being Jane’s sweet.
She drew her feet beneath her on the couch and slid her firm, rounded fanny onto his lap, her mouth never losing contact with his skin. Greg’s eyes went wide with surprise, and he feared she would surely feel the evidence of his desire.
The Nanny Proposal Page 8
