The Nanny and Me

by Teresa Southwick

  “That’s a defense mechanism. A facade. Clearly she’s trying to change because she loves her family.”

  He watched his mother, who was talking and laughing with Mia and the group of young people. Maybe she was sincerely trying not to make the same mistakes. Or just being in grandmother mode. Her only responsibility was to love Mia and keep her safe. Either way it was a side to his mother that he’d never seen before.

  And that made him remember what she’d said to Casey when he joined them—that she was only thinking of Casey. What was that about?

  “You’ve certainly won over my mother. She obviously cares about you.”

  “I suppose.” Casey smiled, but it was tense.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me nothing,” he warned, on some level knowing she would.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” He set his flute of champagne on the table beside them.

  Casey stared at him for several moments, then blew out a breath. “She cautioned me not to be getting monogrammed towels with your initials on them.”

  “What?”

  “She called it the Jane Eyre syndrome,” Casey explained. Fortunately she added more, because that made no sense. “Nanny falls for boss.”

  “She had no right to meddle—”

  “I don’t believe she was. In the most discreet way, she warned me that your marriage didn’t go well. I knew what she meant and told her you’d already mentioned the infidelity to me.”

  “Infidelity? What a delicate way of saying disaster,” he commented.

  “That’s the same term your mother used.” Casey met his gaze. “For what it’s worth, Patricia would like to do bodily harm to the witch—although that’s not her exact word. However, it rhymes.”

  “Go, Mom. I wonder how she’d do in prison.”

  “Never happen. A jury of her peers, mothers whose sons have been cheated on by their wives, would never convict her.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe she talked to you about that.”

  Casey gripped her glass until her knuckles turned white. “For some reason she thought I should know that you really don’t like to fail and wouldn’t ever put yourself in a position to do it again.”

  Blake didn’t know what to say to that. Patricia had never before interfered in his love life. That stopped him. Is that what this was with Casey? Two hot kisses and even hotter thoughts that were nowhere near in control? Had his mother seen something in the way he looked at Casey? Or the way she looked at him?

  That sent the blood surging to points south of his belt. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “No.” Casey touched his arm and their gazes locked. Sparks seemed to fill the air and breathing was a challenge. When she pulled her hand away, it was shaking. “She means well.”

  “That’s what you told her about my father. Apparently it’s ‘defend Lincoln and Patricia Decker’ night.”

  “You might want to cut your parents some slack. It’s their anniversary. A commemoration of a long relationship.”

  “And your point would be?” He knew she had one.

  “Your mother was trying to explain what I already know. You’re anti-relationship.”

  “She said that?”

  “My words,” she admitted. “I assured her I’d already noticed that your career is about extricating people from bad relationships. She was relieved to know that there’s no danger of me expecting anything you’re unable to give.”

  “I’m glad the two of you bonded over my disaster,” he said sarcastically. “I get that I didn’t put enough effort into the marriage. How did you put it? Oh, yes. I spent more time with my secretary than my wife.”

  “Blake, I didn’t mean to—””

  “Yes, you did. For the record, it takes two to make or break a marriage.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Oh? You’ve been married?”

  “Engaged,” she said, shadows in her eyes. “But I found out it takes two and we weren’t the right two.” She set her glass on the table, beside his. “I’d hate if your mother’s anniversary was spoiled. I’m asking you not to tell her that you know what she said.”

  Blake watched her walk away and suddenly wondered why Casey had related the conversation with his mother. Maybe to put up a barrier? Her own defense mechanism? To push him away? Did she feel she needed to do that after kissing him?

  He couldn’t blame her. A second or two longer both times and he’d have taken her and damned the consequences. He still wanted her; denying that would be a lie. In fact, he was more curious about her than ever, and all the warnings in the world couldn’t make that stop.

  He’d finally come to the conclusion that finding out everything about Casey was the only way to put his interest to rest.

  Chapter Eleven

  The last time Casey had so badly wanted a night to end, she’d been in a military hospital, her body battered, bleeding and burned. Tonight she was burning, but no one could see. Hopefully. She glanced at Blake, beside her in the elevator as they rode to the top floor of his building. Dark hair fell across his forehead, and stubble shadowed his cheeks and jaw, because his last shave had been hours ago. The effect seemed to make his already potently intoxicating eyes even bluer and so much more intense.

  They said there was something about a man in uniform, and though Casey had worn one, too, she knew from frequent exposure that it was true. But Blake Decker in a tuxedo fell into a category all his own.

  Sometime earlier the black tie had disappeared and the first button on his crisp white shirt had become undone, revealing just a glimpse of the masculine chest hair. It was enough to make her wish the shirt and jacket were gone. He could easily play movie hero James Bond. She was no martini, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t shaken and stirred. She was also incredibly grateful when the elevator doors opened and they were back in the penthouse.

  She longed for the cool sanctuary of her room, because he was hot. Jalapeño pepper with habañero sauce hot. If she didn’t get away from him soon, there was going to be an explosion of heat—and the collateral damage wouldn’t be pretty.

  Frankie padded into the entry to greet them, her paws clicking on the tile. Casey bent and gave the dog a hug, then laughed when she looked for Mia.

  “Sorry, girlfriend, your buddy is doing some serious family bonding tonight.”

  “I thought she’d back out,” Blake admitted, leaning a broad shoulder against the door.

  Was he hoping she would? So he wouldn’t be alone with Casey? And temptation? She was glad his mother had reminded her that Blake was anti-commitment. And she’d repeated it to him to make sure he knew that she knew that even Patricia was aware that he wouldn’t do another relationship. Blake offered no future, and that should have put a stop to temptation, but it didn’t even come close.

  “I’m glad she went with your folks. This will be good for the three of them.” And it would be best if she said good-night to Blake right now.

  She scratched Frankie’s head and the animal closed her eyes in doggy ecstasy. “Pete said he walked you, little girl, so we’re in for the night.”

  “Would you like a nightcap?”

  There was a seductive quality to his voice, making it deeper than usual. The timbre brushed over her nerve endings and thrummed them into vibration mode. A person didn’t always know when she was at a crossroads, but Casey knew it now. She desperately wanted to accept his offer, but if she did, there was a very good chance the road would lead to his bed.

  “Thanks, but…” She stood and met his gaze. “It’s late. I’m tired.”

  “You’re not the only one.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “But I’m keyed up. If that makes any sense.”

  It did, because she felt the same way and was pretty sure she knew the reason. “Then a drink would probably relax you. I’ll say good-night—”

  “I hate to drink alone.” The look in his eyes was one part teasing and tw
o parts pleading, but completely irresistible.

  It was hell when you came to a crossroads and took the wrong path, but her reserves of willpower were all used up. “Okay.”

  Blake shrugged out of his jacket and carelessly tossed it on the sofa in the family room on his way to the wet bar in the corner. He took two small snifters from a shelf, then poured an ounce of brandy into each.

  After handing one over, he touched his glass to hers and said, “To sharing.”

  “You mean, to letting your folks get to know Mia.”

  Studying her over the rim of his glass, he took a sip. “No, I mean you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I hardly know anything about you, Casey.”

  “How long have I worked for you?” Her chest felt tight. “Do you have a problem with my job performance?”

  “This isn’t about the execution of your responsibilities. No one is questioning how well you’ve done your job. I want to know more about you.”

  “Like what?” As soon as the words popped out of her mouth, she wanted them back. She knew what he was going to ask.

  “How did you get those scars?”

  She set her untouched drink on the edge of the wet bar. “That has no impact on my ability to interact with Mia.”

  “This isn’t about my niece and you know it.” He tossed back the rest of the liquor in his glass and set it beside hers.

  “If it’s not about Mia, then I’ve got nothing to say.”

  “This is one friend to another, because I think we’ve gone way beyond employer and employee. I’ve talked about my past. You made me face the fact that I didn’t put as much effort into my marriage as I should have. Those were painful things I’d rather forget. And if anyone asks, I’ll deny saying this, but it helped to talk about stuff. And I’ve liked spending time with you.” Intensity burned in his eyes, a clue that he was remembering kissing her as much as referring to his own personal revelations. “I let you in, but you haven’t returned the favor. I intend to change that.”

  “Or what?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not going to fire you, if that’s what you’re implying. And I’m not letting you quit. Something happened to you and I think it would be good for you to talk about it. Let me be your friend, Casey.”

  It was his special brand of caring, which was half bullying and half kindness, that broke down her defenses. “It happened in Iraq….”

  “I figured as much.” When she didn’t say more, he said with extraordinary gentleness, “Go on.”

  “There was this Iraqi kid. About fifteen years old. He started coming around when I was on patrol in Baghdad. My friend Paula—”

  “A soldier?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Corporal Paula Desiato. She wasn’t in favor of interacting with the people. She was skeptical because the good guys and bad guys have no uniforms to tell them apart.”

  “I see.”

  There was no way he could understand fear that never went away. Wondering if death was around the next corner, but having to round that corner, anyway, because it was part of the job. “This kid seemed sincerely sweet and every day we’d wave as the patrol went through town. Eventually I stopped to talk. He told me about his family and asked about mine. His father was a shopkeeper, and his mother a schoolteacher. There were seven brothers and sisters. He wanted to know all about life in America. I showed him pictures and he shared his dream to someday visit New York. I was the one who let him get close. I didn’t see the signs—”

  He rubbed a hand over his face before asking, “What happened?”

  “One day, when we stopped to talk, he blew himself up.”

  “Oh, God…Casey—”

  She backed away when he reached for her. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d paid the ultimate price for being stupid and gullible.”

  “You paid a price. I saw the scars.”

  “Other soldiers besides me were hurt in the blast.” She met his gaze as misery trickled through her. “I’m alive. Paula isn’t. Her little boy and little girl don’t have a mother, and I’m responsible. I went to see them and her husband after I got out of the hospital. He said they were doing okay. Couldn’t have been more gracious. He tried to make me feel better, but nothing—”

  Sobs she couldn’t control choked off her words, and tears blurred her vision. If she’d been able to see, she’d have evaded Blake’s arms, because she didn’t deserve sympathy or comfort. But suddenly she was pressed against his solid, warm chest as he murmured soothing words she didn’t really comprehend.

  “I get it now,” he said when she quieted.

  “W-what?”

  “Why you refused to take assignments with kids over ten.”

  “I can’t ever bring Paula back, but I vowed to make a difference in kids’ lives. I regret—”

  “What was it you said to my mother tonight about regrets?” He thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah. They only make you feel bad and are just a waste of energy. There was something else about channeling that energy. The thing is, Case, those aren’t just words. You live that philosophy every day. You make a difference in kids’ lives, too.”

  “In my opinion that’s only possible before they’re lost to outside influences. We have to get to them when they’re young.”

  “And yet you’ve done wonders for Mia.”

  “Just lucky.”

  “Just you.” He wrapped his arms more securely around her, his hands warm on her bare back.

  Awareness seeped through her despair. The strong, steady beat of his heart seemed to pump life into her and suddenly just being in his arms wasn’t enough. She lifted her head and met his gaze as something hot and hungry slid into his eyes. It would never be clear who moved first or whether by silent agreement they shifted at the same time, but in a heartbeat their lips touched.

  In spite of their dammed-up feelings, the first contact was soft, sweet, seeking. He slid his fingers into her hair, cupped the back of her head to make the connection more complete. He took her top lip and sucked, sending a tingling heat exploding through her. The nibbling kisses he trailed over her nose, cheeks, jaw and neck were soft as fog, thrilling as lightning. When his hand moved to gently and tenderly cover her breast, the touch stole the air from her lungs, partly because she wasn’t wearing a bra. He brushed his thumb over the silky material and her nipple hardened with the erotic attention. A muffled moan was clearly audible, but it was several moments before she realized that she’d made the sound.

  When he lifted his head and looked into her eyes, Casey realized that his breathing was as erratic as her own. That only turned her on more. She lifted her hands with every intention of unbuttoning his shirt, the urge to touch his naked chest almost unbearable. But she realized there was something in her way.

  She traced one of the fasteners and smiled. “I’ve never been accused of being the fashion police, but aren’t these called studs?”

  “They are.”

  His grin took the starch right out of her knees and she was grateful that his arm was still around her. “Oh, my.”

  “You probably shouldn’t make any connection between this and—”

  “You?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  The single word chased the teasing from his expression, replacing it with need. He kissed her again, his tongue sliding into her mouth, taking and giving as heat built inside her and turned liquid. It coursed through her and made her thighs quiver as need pooled inside her.

  “Blake, please—”

  “Not here. I want you in my bed.” The words were spoken against her lips, but when he lifted his head, his gaze challenged her, warned her that now was the time to say no if she wanted.

  She wanted him. The “saying no” train had left the station when she’d agreed to a drink. When he held out his hand, she settled her fingers into his big palm. He led her down the hall, and it was probably the first time she’d ever thought this place was too bi
g. It seemed forever until they entered his bedroom and she looked around.

  The king-size bed butted up against a curved, carved headboard in heavy oak. Two matching nightstands stood on either side. A matching dresser and armoire took up space on the walls, with sliding glass doors in between that led onto the terrace. The curtains were open and lights from Las Vegas illuminated the room, including the tan comforter with black trim. Very masculine. Very Blake, she realized, looking up.

  Standing beside the bed, he dropped her hand, then took off his shirt in a single fluid movement that didn’t include removing the studs. He reached out and slid the top of her dress down, his eyes going dark and dangerous when he couldn’t miss the fact that she was now naked from the waist up, too.

  He cupped her breasts in his palms, brushing the puckered scars with his thumbs. “You’re beautiful, Casey.”

  “No, I—”

  “Trust me. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You’re brave and beautiful. Take it from me.”

  “The beholder?” She wouldn’t have believed it possible, but she smiled.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He bent to take first one, then the other nipple in his mouth, and electricity shot through her, straight to that most feminine place between her legs. She pressed her hands to his face and savored the rasp of his beard against her palms. When he straightened, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

  “I want you, Blake. Now.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “Does it have to be?”

  “No.”

  Without answering, he reached over and threw the comforter and blanket down, revealing beige sheets beneath. In seconds he’d slid her dress and panties off and lifted her into his arms, settling her in the center of the bed. Before her mind had time to register the fact that the sheets were cold, he was beside her, naked and warm and strong. She felt his hardness pressing into her thigh as he pulled her into his arms, kissing her as if he were starving and she were an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  He slid his hand over her belly and between her legs, slipping a finger into her waiting warmth. Brushing his thumb over the nub of nerve endings there, he rubbed and gently scraped until pleasure peaked and exploded through her. She came apart in his hands—but his arms held her together.