Marrying the Northbridge Nanny

by Victoria Pade

  “I don’t know,” she said with a sigh, “that all seems a little tame…”

  Logan laughed. “Maybe you were thinking something more along the lines of this…” he suggested, kissing the upper arch of her breast where it swelled slightly above her tank top.

  That surprised her and sent a giddy ripple along the surface of her skin.

  “Yep, that’s exactly what I was thinking,” she lied, concealing her reaction to the fact that he’d gone further than she’d expected him to so quickly.

  Not that she was having any more second thoughts because she wasn’t.

  His mouth met hers again, this time in a kiss that was much sexier than anything that had preceded it. He ended that kiss, too, and said, “Is that all you were thinking?”

  “No,” Meg said frankly, taking hold of his T-shirt to pull it up and—with Logan’s cooperation—over his head.

  She could tell that that had surprised him because when his handsome face was free of the shirt one eyebrow was arched at her and he was smiling again.

  “Well now…” he said as if the game was on.

  But that just made Meg laugh as she tossed his T-shirt onto the couch.

  The game was definitely on, though, because Logan pulled her up against him and kissed her with a new vigor, maneuvering her out of the doorway in the process and pushing the door closed with a resounding slam.

  His arms were around her, holding her close so she could feel his bare flesh against the little bit of hers that rose above the U of the tank top as his mouth opened wider and his tongue instigated a sexy tango with hers.

  Meg had thought his back, shoulders and chest were impressive in the T-shirts he wore, but regardless of how good he’d looked in any of the body-hugging knits, the real splendor of it all had been muted. But now it was there for her to investigate and revel in.

  His shoulders seemed even more expansive outside the confines of clothing, broad and strong and rippled with muscles encased in sleek skin. His biceps were no less massive or powerful, and the wall of chest and honed abs she was up against were like steel.

  Nearly tearing off his shirt had set a tone that didn’t call for inhibitions and Logan was clearly not observing any as one hand snaked under her tank top and went from her back to her side and then forward to cup her breast.

  Eager and intent, his grasp was masterful as he kneaded that soft sphere, molding it to fit his hand, her nipple turning into a tight pebble of pleasure as Meg fought not to writhe.

  She was not alone in her arousal. Logan’s mouth was wide open over hers by then, his tongue was insistent and forceful, and she could feel him rising where his hips met hers.

  The man really did have a magic touch, and every clasp and release of her breast, every caress, every gentle roll of her nipple between his fingers only increased the demands her body was making for more.

  His other hand dropped to the small of her back and then to her rear end, pressing her against him. A full, hard ridge behind his jeans continued to let her know it wasn’t only her body making demands.

  Meg trailed her hands down the V of his back to the waistband of his jeans, following it around front to unfasten the button, to slide the zipper down.

  A low moan rumbled from him then, even though she’d yet to reach for him, and that ended his ravaging of her mouth. For a split-second he broke off all contact to reach for her hand and lead her across the room to climb the two steps to the bedroom platform and the bed.

  Off came his shoes and socks in a hurry then, but just when Meg was sure he was going to tackle her onto the bed, he instead kissed her very sweetly and said, “Surgery just a few months ago—I’m thinking some caution is in order and I better know your weak spot so I don’t hurt you.”

  He was her weak spot. She’d completely forgotten about the other.

  “It’s my left side but you don’t have to worry—it’s healed.”

  Whether or not he believed her, things still changed from there as Logan kissed her again—a slow, sexy kiss that hinted of things to come as he found her pajamas’ drawstring at her navel and pulled it free.

  The pants fluttered to the floor and she was left in nothing but bikini panties and the tank top. Logan lifted her to sit on the bed.

  But she was sitting—not lying—on it so Meg was able to reach for the open ends of his jeans and divest him of those and the boxers beneath them, leaving him gloriously, grandly, naked.

  He didn’t seem to mind that she looked. At every amazing inch of his naked body and the long, hard shaft that proved he wanted her.

  Then he pulled off her tank top, recaptured her mouth with his, and still managed to rid her of those pesky panties before he eased her to lie back while he stretched out alongside her.

  That was when the warm, wet wonders of his mouth went to her breast. And while tongue and teeth and lips delighted first one and then the other, his hand went traveling.

  He seemed to want to know the tone and texture of every inch of her and along the way he managed to locate her most sensitive spots. Spots she hadn’t even known were as sensitive as they were until he touched them, coaxing the best from her.

  Then his hand ran from her knee, up her thigh, to the secrets between her legs…He explored that portion of her while his mouth worked more wonders at her breasts.

  It was Meg’s turn to moan.

  She reached for that part of him that elicited the same response, curving her hand around him and doing what she could to inspire a little frenzy in him. A frenzy that grew in her, too, at the feel of that iron shaft in her grip, at the ever-increasing need he was causing in her.

  Just when she wasn’t sure she could contain herself a moment more, his hand deserted her, his mouth abandoned her breasts, and he reached to the floor, returning with protection that he’d taken from his pants pocket.

  It crossed Meg’s mind to tease him about coming prepared, but she wanted him so badly by then that all she did was will him to hurry.

  Which he did, rolling back to her to kiss her once again as he brought his big body over hers.

  Meg’s legs opened to him and he had no problem finding his home, sliding into her in one smooth motion as if he were made specially for her, kissing her still as he pressed into her and then pulled partially out again.

  For a while his tongue kept the same rhythm until passion and desire gained too much ground for anything but bodies to meet and part and meet again.

  With her hands clutching his massive shoulders, Meg matched his tempo, rising and falling with him, racing with him until she couldn’t any more, until what he was building within her was too great, too overwhelming, and all she could do was hold herself tight around him and let him bring her to that pinnacle. That pinnacle that exploded with more force, more light, more thunder than anything in the storm outside, elevating her to a mindless ecstasy that stole her breath and held her poised in the most incredible bliss…

  And just as she reached it, so did Logan, plunging even more deeply into her, freezing there, his entire body turning to stone as that same pleasure seemed to take him out of himself, too.

  Then, little by little, they both began to breathe again. Tensed bodies eased, and Logan rested his weight on Meg.

  “So much for caution,” he said after a moment, his voice gravelly. “Are you okay?”

  “Everything is good.”

  Much, much better than good…

  Logan slipped from her then and rolled to his back, bringing her to lie at his side this time, wrapping her in both of his arms and holding her nearly melded against him, her head cradled in his shoulder.

  Neither of them said anything for a while, basking in a sublime afterglow until the sound of the storm penetrated, and then Logan said, “I’m thinking I might have to wait out this weather all night…”

  “You made the bed, I guess it’s okay if you lie in it,” Meg joked.

  Logan laughed. “What if I hadn’t made it? Could I still lie in it the rest of tonight
?”

  “I think that might be a really fine idea,” she said on a replete sigh.

  He turned just slightly to his side to almost face her and pulled her even more closely to him so he could rest his chin on the top of her head and drape a heavy thigh over her hip.

  Meg knew that he was falling asleep, but that seemed like the best idea for her, too, and she closed her own eyes.

  Once she did, she was lost in the warmth of Logan’s body all around her, in the sound of his steady heartbeat beneath her ear while the storm raged in the distance.

  She couldn’t recall ever feeling the way she did at that moment. Ever feeling as safe, as secure, as happy.

  Ever feeling the kind of peace and tranquility that was filling her. A peace and tranquility that was so much better than she’d thought it was possible for her to achieve, even back home.

  And despite the fact that she knew it was only whimsy, as she drifted off to sleep, she had the thought that she could easily spend the rest of her life right where she was…

  Chapter Eleven

  When it came to furniture-making, one of Logan’s favorite tasks was the sanding of the wood pieces. He and Chase both did it the old-fashioned way—by hand—and there was something about the process that was calming, that opened up his mind to do what he considered his best thinking.

  And as he worked on a tabletop for a formal dining table Monday morning, his best thinking was about Meg. And the night together that had left him feeling lazy today.

  Last night had been different for him.

  And not because sleep had only come in naps between the three times they’d made love before he’d left at dawn in order to be home when Tia woke this morning.

  He’d had more than his fair share of nights like that to compare last night to—he and Chase had never been angels and that was particularly true of their traveling days. But not once—not even with Helene—had there been a night exactly like last night.

  And that was because last night had been with Meg.

  The table he was working on was made of oak. The top was composed of two wide planks that, while their grains were unique, blended to form a pattern of lines that were interesting and beautiful together from each and every angle.

  The wood had come from separate shipments, from separate mills, from separate trees, and yet the moment Logan had laid eyes on them he’d known that they were the absolute perfect match.

  That was how he’d felt last night with Meg.

  He couldn’t explain it. He’d never experienced it with any woman. But lying in bed with Meg after they’d made love for the first time, he’d felt as if he’d met his match. And that feeling had been with him ever since.

  But this good feeling warred a little with his thoughts now, in the light of day.

  Thoughts about the fact that being a nanny was not Meg’s life’s work. That she was every bit as well educated as Helene. That she obviously had to have been career-driven to achieve what she’d achieved. Thoughts about the fact that her time here was a break from her work, the way being with him had been a break from the norm for Helene when they’d first met.

  Back and forth, back and forth—he went on sanding. Sanding and thinking…

  In some ways comparing Meg and Helene seemed like a joke. Yeah, Meg had started out a little like Helene was now—stiff, somewhat formal. But once Meg had gotten comfortable, she’d proven to be warm and kind and loving. And while it might be her nature to be slightly on the shy, reserved side, they’d gotten past that, too. Well past that last night…

  So he didn’t think Meg’s basic nature was anything like Helene’s, and that was a good thing. But the other things—the education and career focus—those had ultimately been his downfall with Helene and he could see where they could be his downfall with Meg eventually, too. He’d bored one big-brain, there was no reason to think he wouldn’t bore another one.

  Or was there? he asked himself when he realized he couldn’t imagine Meg giving him the kind of you-are-so-dim looks that Helene had tossed at him frequently at the end of their marriage.

  On the surface it had seemed like Helene’s advanced education and her life in academia were what had done them in. But behind that there was also the fact that he had never been the person Helene had confided in or aired her problems or concerns or dilemmas to.

  Early on she’d said she didn’t want to bother him, that he was busy getting his business going and she didn’t want to interfere with that.

  But later, when Mackey and McKendrick Designs was out of the red and sailing along pretty smoothly, Helene still hadn’t been interested in his opinions, his help, even in venting to him. By the time all the facade was down, she’d outright said that she didn’t want to waste her time talking through things with someone who wouldn’t understand and couldn’t offer her anything of value as a solution.

  Which meant that the truth was that from day one she’d written him off as someone who was incapable of operating on an intellectual playing field that was worthy of her, and while she might have pretended something different early on, that had still been the case even then.

  But he hadn’t run into that with Meg. She’d confided in him about the stabbing, she’d been open with him about her family, about the effects of growing up under the rule of the Reverend. And even the times when she’d slipped into psychologist-mode talking about Tia, Meg hadn’t been talking down to him, she’d been hiding insecurities of her own with it—something else she’d told him because she’d trusted him to grasp it, to understand.

  So no, he realized as he blew away some of the sawdust to move on to another section of the table, he didn’t actually think that Meg did have the same low opinion of him and his intelligence that Helene had had.

  Besides, it wasn’t Meg’s style to look down on anyone. He knew that about her now. Meg was a fully-formed adult, and while the strict morals she’d been raised with might shadow some of her thinking, she was aware of the parts of her grandfather that could come out in her, and she took action to make sure she didn’t end up anything like the Reverend.

  Meg wasn’t in some sort of stage that she would eventually evolve out of to become her true self. She was already her true self. And even now, after suffering something traumatic, when she felt as if more of her grandfather might be emerging in her, Meg wasn’t merely letting that happen. She was dealing with it, doing everything she could to stop it.

  So maybe, even in the light of day, there wasn’t as much to put a damper on his feelings for her as he’d thought before.

  But if that was true, then what?

  What did he see for them? For himself and this woman who felt like the person he was meant to be with as surely as these two pieces of oak were meant to become this tabletop? This person who he felt more strongly about than he’d even felt about Helene?

  Logan blew away most of the sawdust and ran his hand along the section of tabletop he’d been working on.

  It was satin smooth. And that was all it took to remind him of Meg’s skin, to make him want her so much he could hardly keep himself under control.

  On his walk across the yard from the apartment at dawn this morning he’d counted how many hours would have to pass before Tia would be asleep again tonight, before Hadley would go to bed, and he could slip out to the garage apartment to see Meg again in private—the plan they’d devised before he’d left her.

  But was that how the whole summer would be? Would they go on acting as if there was nothing between them during the day, just waiting for the moment when he could slip out like a thief in the night and go to her, to spend the hours of darkness with her, before he slinked back home again at dawn every morning?

  The whole thing seemed a little cheap and sleazy.

  And not the way he wanted things to be. Not with Meg.

  He hated the idea of hiding, of sneaking, of slinking around. He wanted things to be out in the open.

  But if they were, then Tia had to be factored in, too.<
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  And if Tia was factored in, there was no way this could be a casual thing. There had to be some commitment. He had to know that there was a future to it.

  Here he was thinking about a future together, about commitment.

  About making Meg Tia’s stepmother…

  That stopped his work completely.

  He straightened up, stepped away from the table, and as he refocused his eyes, he thought, The future. Commitment. Marriage?

  And somehow it didn’t seem strange at all….

  It was ten o’clock before Logan had been able to get to her apartment Monday night. After helping put Tia to bed and leaving Logan in the midst of a business phone call from his partner, Meg had had time to shower and wash her hair, to change into a pair of shorts and a bust-boosting camisole.

  But when he’d finally arrived he hadn’t done what she’d been assuming he would—what she’d been hoping he would—he hadn’t whisked her back to the bed they’d both so reluctantly left behind this morning.

  “You don’t want to defile me?” Meg repeated with a laugh.

  Instead, after a promising kiss that he’d cut short, he’d said he wanted to talk and had launched into something Meg wasn’t sure she was following.

  “That’s what your grandfather would say I was doing, isn’t it—defiling you?” Logan said.

  They were standing not far into the apartment. Logan’s arms were low around her waist, hooked at the hollow of her back. His jean-encased legs were brushing her bare ones, and she had her hands splayed against his T-shirted chest. And while she’d thought he’d been joking when he’d begun this conversation, she wasn’t so sure now…

  “Defiling does sound like a word my grandfather would use, yes,” she answered. “But that’s not how I feel.”

  “Maybe not yet. But what about months from now when this is all we’ve had—hiding up here every night, the rest of the time pretending that there isn’t anything going on between us? Isn’t that what you were afraid I wanted from you when I interviewed you—being Tia’s nanny during the day and sleeping with me after-hours?”