THE NANNY'S SECRET

by Monica McLean

  Brooks stood at the sink, a navy towel slung low around his waist, a razor in hand. Shaving cream lathered half his face. Golden skin stretched taut over sleek, hard muscles. He looked big and strong and sexy beyond belief. The way blood rushed in her veins, she couldn't imagine being more attracted to a man. Any man. As though her body had been expressly created with a homing device to recognize his, to respond to and fit his, and only his.

  This is it. This is where you belong. Home, at last.

  At the surge of cool air, Brooks turned his head. Seeing her, he smiled, sending her insides to quivering and clenching as had become the norm around him.

  "Gonna stand there and let out all the steam or come in so I can get a decent shave?" he asked, clearly indicating his preference with a welcoming flick of his wrist.

  For once, she didn't apologize but stepped inside and closed the door, greedily drinking in the sight of him.

  "Damn." He growled, raking his own gaze over her. "On second thought, I'm liable to slit my throat with you here."

  She smiled and took a step closer. "Can't have that."

  "Hell, no." He turned on the faucet, rinsed his razor and reached for a washcloth. "Who needs a complete shave?"

  She caught his arm, her smile widening. "Kiss me."

  "Now?" His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Like this?" At her nod, he warned, "You asked for it." He lowered his head, and she laughed when shaving cream transferred to her face. But when he fused his mouth to hers, all humor fled, replaced by an urgent need that made her tremble with its intensity. His tongue traced along the seam of her lips, and she opened eagerly, gripping his shoulders.

  "I've been waiting all day," she murmured.

  "Me, too." He slipped his hands to her nape and angled her head. "It's damn uncomfortable trying to work when I've got you on my mind."

  "Did you…?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Tell me."

  "I can't get enough of you."

  "Good."

  As he kissed her senseless, she wound her arms around him, pulling him even closer, shifting to cradle the hard length of him. Restless hands kneaded his shoulder blades, traced his spine to the small of his back, before settling on his perfect, tight butt.

  "Brooks?"

  "Yeah, honey?"

  "We're in the bathroom."

  "Yeah, I know."

  She broke away to gaze up at him, her breathing ragged. "I'm in the bathroom with you, and the door's shut."

  Understanding dawned on him. Abruptly he let her go, shoving a hand through his hair. "Sorry. I got carried—"

  "No, it's okay." She reached for him. "I'm okay."

  "You're…?" His brilliant, blue eyes searched hers, sparkling like polished gemstones. "Really?"

  "Really." She let her fingers drift over his cheek, the strong column of his throat and the rock-hard planes of his chest. Gently she took the razor from his hand, wiped off her face and neck with the washcloth and slid her fanny onto the counter. "May I … finish?" She held up the razor.

  At the glint of the shiny blade, apprehension flickered in his eyes. "This is trust, you know."

  "I know." She was in the bathroom. Alone with a man. The door closed. And she was okay. Because it was Brooks. And she knew—in her head and in her heart—it was the way nature had intended.

  She had nothing to fear.

  She laid her hand against the side of his shaven face, her fingers caressing his cheekbone. "Has anyone ever told you just how handsome you are?"

  He drew an unsteady breath and eased it out with a colorful oath. "This is an exercise in restraint, right?"

  She trailed her hand over his lips, his jaw and down his throat. "You are unbelievably handsome, Brooks Hart."

  "Damn, woman. I get hard at the sight of you in that god-awful flannel nightgown. You're killing me here. You might as well put me out of my misery with that razor."

  "Brooks, I…" I, what? It's more than skin-deep? I'm falling for you? I never thought it was possible to feel this way? I was so scared before, but now I'm not? For the first time, I'm not. She swallowed and lifted the blade. "Hold still."

  His nostrils flared. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

  "No, but I'll be careful." She said each word slowly, "I would never deliberately hurt you. Please, know that."

  His eyes darkened. He reached up and grazed her cheek with his knuckles. "I do."

  "Good." She turned into his touch and rubbed her face against him, then straightened. "Feel free to give me some direction."

  "Smooth, upward strokes." His gaze fixed on her mouth. She swallowed, remembering smooth, upward strokes of an entirely different nature. "Direction. Not distraction."

  He grinned but didn't say anything more. She'd made it halfway through the task without incident when his voice came low and intimate. "Would it distract you very much if I told you I wanted to be inside you right this second?"

  She slipped.

  He winced.

  "Sorry."

  "My fault."

  She executed one last stroke, then wiped his face with the warm washcloth. They stared at each other for the space of a heartbeat—one short, erratic heartbeat—then reached out at the same time.

  "Ah, lollipop." Brooks caught her face in his hands and kissed her long and deep. "I keep telling myself you can't possibly taste this good, that it's all in my head, but it's not. It just gets better…" His hands drifted down her neck, along her collarbone to cup her shoulders. His open mouth roved over her face, coaxing a broken sigh.

  "Yes. Oh, yes…"

  He groaned and pressed closer. His heat against hers. No mistaking their desire. Her head fell back, a soft moan escaping her lips. She hooked her ankles around his waist. Holding back nothing, she kissed him with all her pent-up longing, and he matched her with devastating thoroughness.

  And then his towel was tumbling to the floor, her clothes following one by one. Soon, they were naked, two overheated bodies renewing their acquaintance, grasping for each other, delighting in remembered tastes and textures.

  She inched down, reveling in the earthy sounds he made as her breasts glided over his swollen flesh, and her hair brushed his chest, his belly and lower. When she reached for him, touching him as intimately as he had touched her, his hips lurched, and he swore, gritting his teeth.

  She jerked away. "I—I did something wrong—"

  "Yeah," he choked out. "You stopped. Please don't."

  She didn't. She let instinct guide her, all her senses focused on him, attune to his every sound, every movement—signs that told her she was pleasing him. His eyes closed. His breaths slowed, thickened. His fingers plunged into her hair, low growls rumbling in his throat. But when his body started to quake, he tugged her away, breathing hard again.

  "Okay. Enough."

  "But—"

  He shook his head and hooked his hands under her arms, lifting her up to him. "I'm taking you with me." His mouth found hers, strong arms like a security blanket around her.

  A muffled whimper escaped her. He felt so good—so very good—against her, and her body moved instinctively, seeking completion.

  "Not yet." A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, his biceps flexing with his restraint. "Essentials in the bedroom."

  "Then why are we still in here?" In one fluid motion, she bent and snatched up her clothes and his towel, thrust it into his stomach and whispered, "Hurry."

  They fumbled with the barest necessities of clothing before making a run for his room, where everything hit the floor at warp speed. Bathed in silvery moonlight, Brooks peeled back the quilt and followed her down onto the bed. She wrapped her limbs around him, cradling his head to her breast, threading her fingers into the silk of his hair as his tongue and teeth streaked white heat through her body, slowly driving her mad.

  "Brooks…" She twisted on the sheets as he blazed a fiery trail of kisses down her belly, parted her legs and showed her without words how very much she meant to him.
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  "Okay. Enough." She gasped, every nerve ending aglow. She tugged him up, scrambled for a foil packet from the bedside drawer and tore it open. "I'm taking you with me."

  Brooks held his breath as she readied him, then eased her onto the pillows and smoothed the hair back from her face, so he could see her eyes. His gaze locked with hers, he slid into her, filling her completely. Tasting heaven. They made love with a fierce tenderness that brought tears to her eyes and an ache to his heart.

  Her once-shy hands freely explored his body, learning exactly how to touch him, exactly what he liked. And he matched her in a rhythm as old as time, yet as unique as only their combination of mind, body and spirit could be.

  As the tremors of her release started, he stared into her eyes, watching the fog roll in, thinking: I did that. I brought her this pleasure. For this moment, she's mine.

  All mine.

  "Brooks…" She lifted her trembling hands to his face, a sleepy smile of satisfaction on her face. "Feel this. Join me."

  He didn't want it to end. Wanted to keep her his for as long as he could. Mine, he thought. Mine, mine, mine. But when she touched him, a mounting roar filled his ears. His vision grayed, and he was lost. Lost in her.

  The climax shuddered through him, not the lightning quick thrusts of the night before but one endless riptide after another. He plunged long and deep, as if pouring his very soul into her, and she sighed and wrapped her legs around him, hugging him tightly.

  "Don't go anywhere. Stay right there."

  "I'm too heavy—"

  "No, you're perfect. Perfect for me."

  His throat closed as he gathered her close, kissing her nose, her cheek, her temple. He didn't know what to say. I didn't know I could want so much, need so much? I can't let you go… Not now. Not ever.

  Spent, they clung to each other, a tangle of boneless limbs and slick, sweat-dampened skin.

  After a time, Amelia reached up and traced his brow. "It's never been like this before. My body knows it. I feel it." She lowered her fingers to her heart. "In here."

  The softly spoken words and open, honest gesture were his undoing. It hit him then, like the ground rising up and smacking him in the face, knocking the wind from his lungs.

  He had known. The moment he'd seen her in the kitchen window, Brooks had known this woman was dangerous to him in a way unlike any other. She was the one. The only one who could cut through the barbed wire fenced around his heart. Make camp in his soul. And knowing that, it was no real surprise he'd ended up exactly where he'd always feared.

  Addicted.

  To her.

  Brooks Hart was in love with the amnesiac nanny.

  * * *

  Amelia smiled at Timmy banging away on the overturned bottom of a pan with a wooden spoon. "I know—your uncles are going to kill me for teaching you this." She finished outlining the necessities of her plan for converting the Triple H into a dude/guest ranch when the doorbell rang.

  "Hmm." She glanced at the clock over the door. Four-thirty. "Now who could that be? Maybe Aunt Jo?" Leaving her plan on the table, she picked Timmy up and took him with her to peek out the front window. "Nope. Not Aunt Jo…"

  But at the sight of a red pickup in the driveway, her pulse gave a sudden leap and started drumming in her ears. She eyed the company name and logo painted in black on the side: J&B Towing. She knew that name and logo. She knew…

  Dear God. Could it be? She threw open the front door, already anticipating…

  Yes! Sweet heaven, yes!

  A short, stocky man with a potbelly stood with his hat tucked under his arm. He had kind brown eyes and a salt-and-pepper mustache that matched what was left of his hair.

  "I remember you!" She shifted Timmy to her hip and nearly bounced up and down in delight. "I remember you!"

  He blinked in surprise at her warm welcome and glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure she was talking to him. Though he shifted awkwardly, his smile was genuine. "Howdy, ma'am. Uh, good to see you, too."

  "You brought me here. In that truck. It was cold and damp … freezing rain! And you … you gave me … coffee!"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Oh my God. I remember all that. This is wonderful!" She covered her mouth with her hand. "You see, I lost my memory, and I haven't been able to remember a thing. Until now. Until you. I have you to thank!" She hooked an arm around him in a quick hug, practically smushing Timmy, who looked around as if trying to figure out the reason for all the excitement. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

  "Well, shucks." The man's round, pudgy cheeks colored. "Ain't every day customers thank me quite like that. You're certainly welcome, though I didn't do much. Just gave you a ride and towed your car to my shop."

  "My car…?"

  His expression turned apologetic, as if to prepare her to receive some bad news.

  She braced herself. "Go ahead. Lay it on me."

  "You banged it up pretty good," he said. "Roads were icy that day."

  "It wasn't a dream…" she whispered.

  "Don't know how you walked away without a scratch."

  "I … I bumped my head." Dazed, she raised a hand to her forehead. "Please, won't you come in? Have a cup of coffee and something to eat." She stepped back.

  But he shook his head. "You're mighty nice to offer, and I'd take you up, except I gotta get back to the diner on account of we're shorthanded today. It's a diner/service station," he said. "You walked there. A mile in the freezing rain. You were soaked to the bone. We thought you'd catch the death of pneumonia if you didn't get into some dry clothes, so my wife lent you some of her things."

  She nodded, remembering these things. "She was tall, and she wore a pink uniform. Kind eyes. Blue eye shadow."

  "That's her."

  "Please, thank her for me and let her know I'll return everything. You're sure you can't stay?"

  He nodded. "Thanks anyway. Had to run an errand up here and thought I'd save you a trip to get these."

  It was then she noticed the handle of a medium-size suitcase in his hand and a brown-and-cream leather purse slung over his shoulder.

  Her luggage! She remembered each piece!

  Tears stung her eyes. "This must be my lucky day."

  "Got one more out in the truck." As he put down the suitcase and held out the purse, she felt the wonder and excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

  "A green duffel bag?" At his nod, she took the purse with reverence, unable to stop the wild fluttering of her heart. Finally a break. It was all coming back! "I've been waiting, all this time… I can't even begin to tell you…" She shook her head. "Thank you. So much."

  The corners of his mouth twitched as he put on his hat. "Makes me feel kinda guilty charging you for repairs."

  "No, no. Don't feel guilty. We've all got to make a living, and you've already been more than generous, coming out here twice now. I really appreciate it."

  "Pleasure, ma'am." He went back to the truck to get her duffel, then pulled a slip of paper from his breast pocket. "This here's the estimate. Didn't want to do nothin' without your okay."

  "Thanks."

  "Number's on there, so give us a ring and let us know what all you want done."

  "I'll do that." She glanced at the invoice. And did a double-take. Not at the dollar figure but at the customer name. Written in big, block letters. Her heart lurched, jamming in her throat. Sweat broke across her upper lip.

  "There must be some mistake. This isn't… I'm not…" She swallowed, unable to finish the protest. "Wh-where did you get this name?"

  "Sorry to paw through your wallet, but I was hoping to find a phone number. Got your name from your license." His voice seemed to come from a great distance. "I'd better get going. A speedy recover to you." He tipped the brim of his hat and turned for the truck.

  Outside, the wind kicked up, its anguished moan filling her ears. The world started to spin, faster and faster, a top out of control. She put Timmy down before she dropped him, closed the door
and leaned against it, fighting to pull oxygen into her lungs, to keep her vision from tunneling.

  Hands trembling, she unzipped the purse, found a wallet and unsnapped it. There it was, plain as day. In paralyzed bewilderment, she gaped at the Nevada driver's license. Her face, her vitals and her real name: Laura Hart.

  "Oh God!" She cried out in shock and horror, clamping a hand over her mouth, as it all came back to her in a rush.

  She was the Blond Widow.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Her stomach swam. Spots danced before her eyes. The wallet slipped from her hands. With a clatter, it bounced on the hardwood and landed open to a plastic-covered photo of a baby. A very familiar baby.

  Hers.

  "Timmy." She fell to her knees, gasping for breath.

  At the sound of his name, Timmy looked up and gave a huge grin, crawling toward her. "Mamamamama."

  "Yes…" Air rushed from her lungs. "Yes, I am your mama." She caught Timmy in her arms. "Oh, my sweet baby. How could I forget you? How could I?" Her fingers stroked the downy thatch of fine, blond hair she knew so well. Hot, salty tears gushed down her face as she rocked him back and forth. "I was so worried about you. I didn't know where he took you. I looked everywhere. And then they told me…"

  The police had found Luke—dead—with no sign of Timmy, and she had lost it. She'd spent two weeks in a psych ward before the news of Timmy's location penetrated her brain.

  "Amelia?" Mitch called to her. "You out there?" Hastily she wiped the moisture from her face. "Yes," she said, hoping he wasn't headed their way but bracing all the same.

  He couldn't know yet. No one could. They all hated her. They'd think she deliberately deceived them. Faked her amnesia. Pretended to be the nanny when all along…

  Laura hung Luke out to dry before she headed for the hills…

  No, that wasn't what happened! They had to believe her. She had to make them believe. It wasn't her fault!

  Man … if she ever shows her face around here…

  She shuddered. They blamed her for their brother's suicide. And why not? She had blamed herself, too.

  She's probably moved on to her next victim…