Shotgun Nanny (7 page)

“What have I done?” she asked the moon that taunted her from its position of utter freedom outside the gates.

She was going to go bananas if she stayed cooped up in this room all night. He’d mentioned old movies. Maybe she could go out and rent one, or better still, maybe he had a movie station or satellite dish.

If she was very quiet and kept the sound down, he need never know she was there. With that in mind, she crept down the stairs. As she made her way to the family room, she passed the kitchen and caught Mark in the act of building himself a very large sandwich.

Mayonnaise and mustard jars, a package of what looked like luncheon meat, a block of cheese, a pickle jar and a decimated loaf of bread were lined up neatly in front of him. As she watched, he cut the triple-decker sandwich with the precision of a surgeon and chomped into it.

She let him chew unobserved for a moment, frankly enjoying the sight of his enjoyment. A little daub of mayonnaise spotted his upper lip, and she watched, mesmerized, as it rode up and down with his rhythmic chewing.

Did she move? She didn’t think so, but suddenly the chewing stopped and he turned his gaze her way.

She had to laugh. His expression was exactly that of a little boy caught redhanded in some mischief. “My cooking’s not enough for you?”

“No. I mean…” He replied thickly, then swallowed and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. Without the mayonnaise on his lip he appeared all grown up again. “I, uh, get hungry sometimes in the evenings.” Sheepishly, he gestured to the sandwich fixings.

“Want one? I do a terrific club sandwich.”

Affecting an air of virtue, she shook her head. “I never snack.”

“Most important meal of the day.” He stood there, too polite to take another bite, and she stood there, watching him.

A

moment

passed.

“Did you want to make some tea or something?”

She started. “No. I, uh, just came down to watch a movie. If you have anything good.”

“I’ve got the best DVD collection in town. Schwarzenegger or Van Damme, take your pick.”

She smiled politely. “Do you have anything else?”

“I’ve probably got some Stallone somewhere.”

If she hadn’t witnessed him make a joke earlier, she might have fallen for it. But his expression was too innocent.

“I’ll just look under that pile of
Sports Illustrated
and
Muscle Car
magazines and see what I find,” she replied.

He chuckled. “The movies are in the bookcase. If you need help give me a shout.”

“Thanks.”

When she got to the family room she discovered he hadn’t lied. He did have a good representation of the three actors he’d cited. But he also had a wide range of titles from sappy romantic comedies to intellectual European cinematic statements.

Gleefully, she pored through the romantic comedies, pulling out several of her favorites. She loved everything about old movies, especially those with cover pictures of the stars. Clark Gable, William Holden, Cary Grant all grinned at her, vying for her attention. What bliss.

“Find anything you like?” a much more contemporary but equally sexy man asked from the doorway.

“So many men, so little time,” she replied dreamily.

“Well, you’ve got all night.”

Was there a hidden message? Was he suggesting she could move on from celluloid men to the real flesh-and-blood thing if she wanted? Was the ex-Mountie coming on to her?

Hard to say. When she turned to see, he was gone.

She curled up on the couch and prepared to escape. While the black-and-white images flitted across the screen, she was in the best of all possible worlds, where women always looked elegant, always thought of something appropriate to say, and in less than two hours had the impeccably dressed hunky hero eating out of their hands.

Sure it was corny. And she enjoyed every single minute of it. When the music reached a crescendo and the couple kissed, she sighed aloud with pleasure.

Then heard a very unromantic snort from behind her.

Startled, she turned to find Mark staring at the screen with an expression of disgust on his face. “Real men don’t kiss like that,” he informed her.

“Too bad they don’t.”

“He’s so scared he’ll muss her hair he’s hardly even touching her. What kind of kiss is that?”

She leaped to her feet. How dare he make fun of her favorite movies? “Tough talk, mister. I’d like to see you do any better.”

“Oh, yeah?” He was teasing her, but there was a disturbing glint in his eye.

Her heart took to hammering away at her ribs as she tried to think up the kind of comeback Jean Harlow or Katharine Hepburn would have lobbed his way. But, naturally, her mind was blank.

Before she could think up a suitably annihilating retort, it was too late. He was in front of her, his hand cupping the back of her head while she gaped at him.

“First you muss the hair,” he told her in a voice that sent shivers racing through her as his fingers slid through her curls.

“Then you get in real close.” He fit his body against hers, and she forgot about the urge to tell him off. Ooh, he was warm. And rock solid. Everywhere their bodies touched, she tingled.

“Then you smudge her lipstick.” His tone dropped to a sexy growl. She opened her lips to tell him she wasn’t wearing lipstick, but before she could form a single word, it was too late.

He was kissing her.

His other arm came around her back, pulling her closer.

It had started as sort of a joke, but the minute their lips touched the joking was over. This was serious, high-voltage necking. And he was right, she admitted dimly, a designer dress and thick lipstick would definitely get mussed. In fact, everything from her hair to her heart rate was getting seriously mussed.

His tongue teased her, just tracing the edges of her lips before plunging deeper with gentle control.

Her arms went around his broad back and clung, pulling her body further into his embrace. Desire roared to life until she ached with it, wanting him here and now, right on the floor in front of the flickering TV screen.

Their tongues teased and played while the pressure built until she couldn’t stand still. Her pelvis started wiggling against his, where she could feel his own pressure building. She hadn’t felt this excited in a very long time. Somewhere in her foggy brain, she reminded herself that this was a bad idea, but she was having too much fun to care. She’d worry about that in the morning.

Just as she thought about using her one effective judo move to get him on his back on the floor, he began to pull away.

A little panting moan left her lips as he stepped back.

Even as she put her hands around his neck and tugged, trying to get back to that warm and infinitely exciting clinch, he was gently loosening them and putting them at her sides.

“That’s my idea of a real kiss.” He tried to sound casual, as if he’d just been demonstrating what he meant. She wasn’t fooled for a second. She heard the sexual need in his tone as clearly as she felt its echo inside herself.

“Keep working at it. You might have something there.” She affected the same casual air, but her voice was a dead giveaway.

He kept walking backward until he’d left the room. As she heard him return to his office, she flopped to the couch on rubber legs. Yep, she’d been right. Kissing Mark Saunders had been a very bad idea.

OF COURSE she couldn’t sleep. She’d known she wouldn’t. When she wasn’t worrying that she’d sleep through the alarm, she was thinking about Mark. Recalling the strength of his arms around her, the amazing passion of his kissing. He’d stuffed that shirt with a whole lot of raw sexual energy.

Intellectually, she understood why he’d broken off the kiss just when things were getting exciting. It was very controlled of him. Very sensible. Naturally, it would be awkward for them to start an affair while she was his employee and Emily was asleep upstairs.

If he hadn’t called a halt, she would have. Another minute and she absolutely would have pulled away.

About as easily as she could eat just one truffle and put the box away. Munch a single potato chip. Watch only half a good movie. She stuck the pillow over her head and groaned softly. Truth was, she’d been his for the taking. And they both knew it.

Who knew why? He wasn’t her type. But, in flashback images, she saw him when they’d been throwing each other to the ground in the self-defense class, remembered the sight of his soapy forearms, slick and wet and muscular. But mostly it was the expression in his eyes that fascinated her. They could be colder than steel, and harder, or they could be so hot they got her blood simmering.

A quick fling with him could be fabulous. But she didn’t need a degree in psychology to see he wasn’t casual. About anything. It was a very good thing he’d pulled back after no more than a little necking. Let a man like that in her life, and it would be nothing but trouble.

He was a hunk of major proportions. But he was resistible, as long as he didn’t do anything stupid like put on his RCMP dress uniform.

6

“WHAT?” Annie dreamed she was in the middle of a war. Sirens screeched, guns boomed, voices commanded. She wanted to run and hide, but she couldn’t get away. She dove for cover in some kind of cave, and it was better for a while.

“Annie!” She was shaken by the shoulder.

“No! Don’t shoot!” she mumbled, opening her eyes to blackness, her heart pounding.

Where was she?

“Annie, wake up.” It was a command. Mark. She’d recognize that deep, sexy voice anywhere.

Batting him away dislodged the pillow that had somehow got on top of her head, and she discovered daylight streaming in her window. She was in bed, and Mark was switching off the screeching alarm.

Never at her best in the morning, she struggled to her elbow to try to figure out what was going on. Then remembered belatedly that she’d been asleep in bed. Sleeping as she always slept—naked.

Trying to work up a good glare was tough on so little sleep. She settled for a peevish tone as she yanked the covers to her neck. “What are you doing in here?”

“I just about banged the door down trying to wake you. I have to leave, it’s seventhirty.”

“Seven-thirty?” She rubbed her eyes. “But I put the alarm on for six forty-five.”

“I know. It’s been ringing for forty-five minutes.” Pointedly he faced away from her.

“I’m not a morning person,” she admitted on a yawn. Like he hadn’t noticed.

“Directions to Emily’s school are on the kitchen counter,” he told the open doorway. “Make sure you check in with me by three-thirty. I’ll want to be certain Emily’s home from school.”

“Yes, sir,” she said to his back, sorry he couldn’t see her salute.

“HEY, E M!” Annie called, waving madly to the slight figure ambling up the school path alone.

The serious little face broke into a smile when Emily saw Annie, and her slow steps quickened to a run. “Hi.”

“It’s such a great day, I thought we’d head to the beach. I’ve packed us some snacks and a Frisbee. You could invite some friends if you want.”

The smile widened. “The beach? But aren’t you going to make me practice my violin?”

“Sure. When the sun goes down. This city gets enough rain, you have to get out when the sun shines.”

Small white teeth worried a small pink lip. “But I have some reading to do, and I didn’t finish all my math in school.”

“We’ll get your homework finished first, then we’ll play. Come on, we’ll have fun.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to invite some friends?”

The little girl glanced at clusters of noisy kids streaming out of the school, then shook her head. “No. Could it be just us?”

“Sure.”

In minutes they were off. Being a responsible nanny, Annie slathered sunscreen all over her charge and stuck a baseball cap on her head. The afternoon passed swiftly while they read, practiced times tables, played some Frisbee, even braved the cool Pacific waves all the way up to their ankles. When they got hungry they munched apples and cheese and drank the bottled lemonade Annie had brought.

By the time they returned home, sandy and giggling, it was almost six o’clock.

“Do you like tofu?” Annie asked as she approached the gate.

Her companion glanced doubtfully at her. “I don’t think so.”

Annie was still trying to convince her young charge of the benefits of soybean products when she realized she didn’t have a clue what the code was to get into Fort Knox.

“I don’t suppose you know the code?” she asked.

“No. I’m not allowed to come home alone.”

She was about to start guessing when the gates opened. Slowly, like the jaws of death. And there, standing in the drive like the angel of vengeance, was Mark Saunders.

If Emily hadn’t been sitting in the car, Annie might have bolted, so angry did he look. His feet were planted wide, his arms crossed in a way that reminded her he’d been a cop. Waves of fury emanated from him.

She zipped through the gate and parked next to his vehicle, wondering how he’d known she’d forgotten the code.

“Hi, Uncle Mark,” Emily said. “We had the best time. Annie took me to the beach.”

His eyes had been boring into Annie’s with retribution. He turned to his niece, his expression immediately softening. “That’s great, Emily. I need to talk to Annie now. Can you go inside?”

The child looked uncertain. “Sure.”

“It’s okay, Em,” Annie reassured her. “You’ll get that tofu before you know it.”

Mark waited until the child was inside then turned to Annie, his face blazing with anger. “How could you do this?”

“I’m no good with numbers.”

His teeth ground audibly. “You didn’t need a number to report in. You push a button. It’s
almost
idiot-proof.”

Her hand stole to her mouth. She’d forgotten to phone him at three-thirty. That’s why he was so bent out of shape. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“I might be able to forgive you if you’d answered the cell phone.”

“It never rang.” Really, who did he think he was? “Maybe instead of piling insults on me, you should check your equipment.”

He pulled the phone from somewhere and waved it in front of her face. “It rang.”