Praise for Kandy Shepherd’s novels
“Strong, passionate characters that have plenty of chemistry between them.”
Fallen Angels Reviews
“Sexy, funny and heroes to die for.”
RT Book Reviews forum
“Delightful characters, witty dialogue, and an entertaining storyline.”
Fresh Fiction
“Completely charming contemporary romance.”
Chicago Tribune
“Fabulous on so many levels.”
Night Owl Romance Reviews
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SOMETHING ABOUT JOE
By Kandy Shepherd
Copyright 2012 Kandy Shepherd
Smashwords Edition
Cover design by Hot Damn Designs
First published as Mitchell’s Nanny by Power of Love Publishing
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This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead, locales, businesses, or events is entirely coincidental.
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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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CHAPTER ONE
When Allison opened her front door to the tall, powerfully built man wearing faded denim jeans, a leather biker’s jacket, and carrying a helmet in one hand, she assumed he was a courier delivering a parcel from her office.
But he wasn’t.
“Mrs. Bradley?” he said, his voice as husky as the sound of a Harley skidding in gravel, “I’m Joe Martin, your new nanny.”
Allison stared at the man with his big, booted feet planted on her front veranda. At his thick, dark hair tied back roughly from his face with a leather string, at the gold stud piercing his left earlobe, at the worn jeans that molded long, muscular legs.
Was this some kind of joke?
He looked big and tough and as handsome as hell. A tradesman, perhaps. A footballer, maybe. But not a nanny.
Joe Martin wasn’t fazed at her stare. In fact he stared right back with bold, confident eyes of a blue so deep they seemed navy, until Allison found herself dropping her gaze and clutching the fine, almost translucent, fabric of her robe across her breasts, suddenly aware of what she must look like to him.
Her heartbeat stepped up a gear in awareness that he was a very good-looking guy and she was only a silken step away from nakedness.
She normally wouldn’t dream of answering the door dressed in a silky robe but the alarm had failed to go off, and she was running late for work. Very late. She’d only just stepped out of the shower and her wet, blond hair was dripping down her back.
She clenched her fists so tight her nails dug into her palms. One thing went wrong and then everything snowballed. Lia, the nanny she’d had for the last two months, had walked out without notice yesterday. Now she was facing a biker babysitter on her front doorstep, on a morning when she desperately needed things to flow smoothly.
The seven o’clock bus roared by and in the distance she could hear the hoot of the departing ferry. She was getting later for work by the second.
Joe Martin scowled. “I guess the agency didn’t tell you that I’m a man.”
Allison almost choked on a splutter of nervous laughter. As if he needed to state the obvious. She didn’t think she’d ever met anyone so aggressively male.
“No, they didn’t,” she finally managed to get out, annoyed at herself for letting the man’s appearance floor her. “I had no idea.”
How had the message on her voice mail gone? “We’re in luck. I’ve found you an awesome nanny,” Sandy, the girl from the Help From Above agency, had enthused. “I’m sending Jo around first thing in the morning.”
Naturally Allison had assumed Joanne or Jody or Joelene. Anything but Joseph.
Annoyance at the agency began to percolate through her shock. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling at a disadvantage in her near-transparent nightwear. Her sensible cotton dressing gown was soaking in a bucket, a victim of baby puke, hence the inappropriately sexy robe. Thank heaven she’d at least pulled on some panties before she’d answered the door.
“There’s been a mistake. I can’t have a man looking after my child. I’ll call the agency right now.”
Her words sounded firm to her own ears, but inwardly she felt like sobbing with panic. She had to go to work. There was no choice. The deal she and her boss, Clive, had been working on for months would be made or broken by the meeting scheduled for 8.00am. Another day she might have been able to dial in to a conference call. Not today. It was the most important deal of her career—she desperately needed the commission it would earn her if she pulled it off. As well, after all the mentoring and support Clive had given her, she didn’t want to let him down.
She needed to hand Mitchell over to a caring, competent nanny—a female nanny. Help From Above were usually so reliable. She couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong. Please let them have someone else available on short notice. She reached for the door to close it.
“I want to talk to the agency too,” Joe Martin said. “They should have briefed you about me.” He pulled out a cell phone from the pocket of his leather jacket. “Let me call them now.”
“No. Please. I’d rather you left.” Hadn’t she wasted enough precious time already on this mix-up?
His black leather biker boots remained planted on her veranda. “I am who I say I am. I’ve been booked as your nanny. I’ve got my ‘Introducing Your Heavenly Helper’ ID to prove it.”
Allison had seen a few of those blue ID cards in recent times as she’d sought the ideal nanny for eighteen-month-old Mitchell.
Joe Martin continued. “Don’t think I’m not as angry about this as you are. I’d be a fool if I didn’t realize there are parents who are hung up about male carers. I expect the agency to realize that, too.”
Allison gritted her teeth at the way he said “hung up”.
“Hung up” and “uptight”—they were adjectives she, as a topflight corporate banker, had often had hurled at her. She was used to insults—any banker in this time and age had better get used to being among the least popular people in the world. But there was nothing “hung up” about ensuring the safety of her child.
Then there was her own safety to consider. Everything she’d ever been told about letting strange men into her house warned her to keep this big, powerful biker firmly on the other side of the threshold.
But he pulled out a battered wallet from his hip pocket and held out his identification card. For a long moment it stayed there between them before she reached for it. Her fingers brushed his as she took it from him. She snatched her hand back as if she had been singed. The inadvertent touch made her suddenly, uncomfortably aware of this biker nanny as a very attractive man.
Avoiding his eyes, and hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction to his touch, she peered at the picture on Joe Martin’s card.
He took a great photo. In the color image, small as it was, he looked as impressive as any movie star; eyes the darkest blue she had ever seen; slightly crooked nose and strong jaw saving him from looking too handsome. He was hot. Her cheeks burned as she looked at the photo, then up at the man. What on earth was he doing working as a nanny?
But the card left no doubt as to his credentials. To earn that blue card, the Help From Above employees underwent character and background checking second to none.
“Satisfied?”
She nodded. “I’ll still confirm your identity with the agency, of course,” she added, glancing anxiously at her watch. This man was the most unlikely nanny she had ever seen.
There was a sudden, awkward pause as she debated whether or not she should invite him inside while she called the agency. She was rescued from the uncomfortable silence by a high-pitched childish wail from the kitchen.
“Ohmigod! Mitchell!” She’d thought she’d only be at the door for a second to let the nanny in and had left him in his highchair.
She turned and rushed through the living room. Joe Martin followed her into the house. But she couldn’t worry about that now.
She kicked toys out of her path, convulsing with fear at the thought of what might have happened to her baby. It was just what the childcare books warned against. Never leave your baby by himself with food in case of choking. Why had she been so careless? What if—?
As she reached the kitchen door, she stopped so fast she could sense Joe Martin nearly bump into her.
Mitchell was still safely in his highchair where she’d left him eating his breakfast. But both cereal bowl and spoon were on the floor. The cereal they’d contained was now dripping through her son’s shock of ginger hair, streaking down his face and onto his clothes.
Not that it bothered the baby. He just wanted his spoon back and was making his demand heard in no uncertain terms. “Poon,” he ordered, once he saw the adults, “want poon.” He hiccupped and started wailing again.
Behind her, Joe Martin laughed—a big, generous laugh that rang with genuine amusement. “I don’t think I’ll need to call on my first aid training,” he said.
Looking at the mess all over the baby and the floor, Allison couldn’t see the humor. She couldn’t stop her voice from breaking into a half sob. “Mitchell, no! Not this morning. Please.” Would she ever learn not to dress him before she fed him?
Without invitation, Joe Martin strode past her and hunkered down so his face was level with Mitchell’s. “Hey, little guy,” he said. That deep, husky voice was surprisingly gentle. “You’re meant to eat your breakfast, not wear it.”
The baby immediately stopped screaming, looked searchingly in Joe’s face, and then grinned at him, displaying his motley collection of baby teeth.
Allison stared, amazed. Mitchell’s usual reaction to an unknown male was a shy turning away.
“Now where’s that spoon?” Joe asked Mitchell. He reached down, retrieved it, took it to the sink, washed it and returned it to Mitchell. The baby waved the spoon around in the air like a wayward conductor, chuckling at Joe the whole time. “Now keep it up there, okay?” said Joe, grinning back at Mitchell.
Allison’s annoyance at her son turned to a fierce defense. “He’s usually pretty good.” She kissed Mitchell on his soft little cheek. “Aren’t you, sweetie?” she said, as she wiped away a smear of cereal with her sleeve. She could never stay cranky with her son for longer than a second.
“Of course he is,” said Joe. “What is he? Eighteen months? He’s doing great.”
Joe reached for the paper towel roll. “You call the agency, I’ll wipe him off. He’ll need a clean T-shirt, but his pants are okay. Once I’ve done that, I’ll deal with the mess on the floor.”
“Uh...okay. I’ll call,” she said.
But she found herself reluctant to turn away from the sight of the hunky male tenderly wiping the cereal from her son’s face—and her son’s unhesitating acceptance of his administrations. Joe was so big, his hands almost spanned Mitchell’s head, and yet he was so gentle. She wasn’t used to seeing a man playing such a nurturing role with her child. It unsettled her how appealing she found it.
Never, not once, had she seen Mitchell’s father, her ex-husband, Peter, care for his son. Peter had walked out on her before Mitchell was born. He hadn’t wanted their baby and had only seen him once since his birth.
Not for the first time, Allison felt wrenched by an angry sadness at the thought of what Mitchell had been denied. And, though she always fought against self-pity, she couldn’t help but recognize that as a lone parent she had suffered too. How different it would be to raise a child with a partner to share both the joys and the tribulations of parenting. A partner as caring with kids as this man.
She still had half an eye on Joe as she called the nanny agency and asked for Sandy. “Sandy, it’s about Joe Martin, I—”
Before she could say another word, Sandy giggled conspiratorially over the phone.
“The awesome Joe? Isn’t he the hottest hunk you’ve ever seen?”
Allison looked over at Joe Martin as he deftly wiped cereal off her son’s bedraggled hair.
Hot hunk? Oh, yes. Joe’s muscular legs strained against the tight denim; where the leather jacket fell open, the white T-shirt molded a powerful chest. He laughed at Mitchell, and the flash of strong white teeth in his tanned face made her heart miss a beat.
Joe Martin had the kind of untamed good looks that would make people stop and stare at him in the street—he could be a model, an actor, any job where looks were a career currency.
She was taken by surprise at the sudden, uncontrollable flush that warmed her cheeks. She took a deep, steadying breath. Of course he was good looking. No red-blooded woman could deny that. But not her type.
She’d always gone for a more intellectual, less physical type of man, not trusting animal attraction as the basis for a relationship. She liked to retain control over her emotions—and you couldn’t do that with a man who made your knees turn to Jell-O just by looking at him.
And why was Sandy going on about Joe Martin’s looks? Help From Above was supposed to have found her an efficient, trained and thoroughly reliable nanny. Not a man-of-the-month straight out of a calendar shoot.
Allison turned away from Joe and cradled the phone close to her mouth. “Hmm,” she murmured, as non-commitally as she could, in response to Sandy’s enthusiastic description of Joe Martin’s undoubted physical assets. “I had no idea you were sending me a man. When you said ‘Jo’ on your message I assumed you meant a woman.”
She could hear the smile in Sandy’s voice. “I thought I’d give you a surprise. Cheer you up. You’ve had it so tough.”
It took an effort, but Allison managed to suppress a sigh of exasperation. Sandy had been so good to her, helped her beyond the call of agency duty, always sympathetic to the problems faced by a mom on her own.
But she was very young. At Sandy’s stage of life she still thought a woman’s problems could be solved by meeting a good-looking man. Not caused by one.
Allison lowered her voice to a whisper. “Sandy, you must know I wouldn’t want a man. Not many women would. You hear stories about...about...” It was difficult to elaborate on a mother’s fears within Joe Martin’s earshot.
“I tried to call you last night on your cell without any luck. All I got was your voice mail. That’s when I left the message Joe could start with you in the morning. Believe me, Mrs. Bradley, you won’t get better than Joe Martin. He’s got qualifications coming out of his ears and references so glowing they shine in the dark. I gave you all that in the email.”
“What email?” asked Allison.
“I sent you an email when I couldn’t reach you by phone. To back up the voice mail message.”
Last night. Her laptop. She’d taken Mitchell out to the supermarket—it was a treat he loved though it kept him up well past his bedtime. When they’d got back, she’d snuggled with him in the rocking chair in his room and read him stories. Lulled by cuddles and kisses, Mitchell had soon fallen asleep. With his warm little body against hers, and exhausted from a grueling day at work, she’d dozed off in the chair.
When she’d woken up sometime during the night she’d settled her sleeping little boy in his cot, then staggered half-asleep into her own bed without even brushing her teeth. Checking her emails was the furthest thing from her mind. As was setting the alarm—hence the panic this morning.
“Can you hold a moment, Sandy?”
Allison dashed into the alcove off of the kitchen that housed her desk and a filing cabinet. It was essential for her job to have a home office, small as it was, for the copious amount of after-hours work expected of her. She opened her laptop.
Sure enough, there was an unread email from the Help From Above agency. She quickly scanned it: “Dear Mrs. Bradley, this is to introduce Joseph Martin, one of the best nannies on our books.”
Damn. The one night she didn’t check emails before she went to bed. If she’d read this in time, she could have called Sandy first thing and told her she wouldn’t accept a male.
As it was, she’d been so relieved at the voicemail message she’d thought no more about it, knowing she was okay for the morning. Sandy had said “Jo” was excellent and Allison had had no cause to disbelieve her. Just delighted such a gem was available at short notice.
Now she was facing the impossible situation of harboring in her kitchen a totally unsuitable biker babysitter. She cursed under her breath and went back to the phone. Please God, perform a miracle and let Sandy find someone else in the next ten minutes.
“Joe really is first rate,” said Sandy. “His references are impeccable. He’s gone through every checking process. Our other clients have been over the moon about him. It’s only because another client decided to go on vacation that he’s available. Believe me, you can trust Joe Martin with Mitchell.”
Allison wasn’t convinced. She had never considered the thought of having a male look after Mitchell. A nanny was a female role, a mother-substitute role. She glanced over at Joe. Tall. Powerful. Testosterone charged. So not a mommy figure.
“I haven’t got anyone else,” said Sandy.
Allison glanced up at the clock. She’d have to try another agency. “Okay I—”
Her cell phone rang from her briefcase. “Could you please hold again, Sandy?”
She burrowed through the case, hunting for the cell phone amid a tangle of chocolate bar wrappers. She knew it would be Clive.
He didn’t even wait for her to say “hello”.
“Are you on your way?” Her boss’s tone was terse. “You know how much is riding on this meeting.”
“Of course,” she lied, thinking of her robe and bare feet, her blond hair still dripping uncomfortably down the back of her neck. “Just getting in the car.”
She didn’t dare admit otherwise. Clive didn’t deserve the extra worry of fearing she’d be late. He’d probably been up all night agonizing about the meeting as it was. She didn’t want to contribute to his ulcer.
She realized she had a phone at each ear. Clive relieved her of her dilemma by hanging up, with a brusque reminder to meet him in his office before going to the boardroom.
She put down the cell. “Damn. Damn. I mean darn.” She met her son’s inquiring little face. “You didn’t hear that, Mitchell. Mommy doesn’t use naughty words.” Mitchell chortled in delight.
Joe Martin’s dark eyebrows arched in amusement, a smile played around his mouth. She knew she had looked ridiculous standing in her nightwear with a phone at each ear. But with the clock ticking away, and still no nearer to a child-minding solution, she was in no mood to be laughed at.
“There’s nothing funny about it.” She pulled her robe tighter across her breasts again, hoping it hadn’t gaped open while she was on the phone. How had this morning gotten so out of control?
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Was I laughing?”
She opened her mouth to reply but then the faint, disembodied voice of Sandy from the agency came through the other phone. “Mrs. Bradley? Mrs. Bradley? Are you there?”
Joe Martin took the receiver from Allison’s hand. “Yes, she is,” he said. “She wants to ask you to get her another nanny.”
Allison snatched it back. “No, I don’t.” She glared at the man who seemed to take up so much room in her tiny kitchen. Joe glared right back, no longer smiling.
Mitchell started to whimper. Joe reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, little fella,” he murmured. Mitchell quietened immediately.
Allison swallowed hard. It seemed she was upsetting every male in the room. She hadn’t meant to seem aggressive; she was just starting to succumb to heart-thumping panic. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Then looked at Mitchell smiling up at Joe in delight. She weighed up the balance sheet of the situation. “Sandy, I don’t have a choice. I’ll keep Joe Martin for today. But please get me a female nanny for tomorrow.”
She slammed the receiver down so hard in its cradle it jarred her arm. Then bit hard on her lower lip. But she didn’t dare show her pain in front of Joe Martin. She needed to seem completely in command.
Joe Martin held her gaze for a long, thoughtful moment. “You do have a choice. If you’re so concerned about me, you could stay at home and look after Mitchell yourself.”
“Excuse me?” Did she hear right? It seemed the nanny was challenging her. Couldn’t he see how desperate she was to get to work? How could anyone think she’d put herself through this kind of torture if she didn’t have to?
He couldn’t be expected to know the details of her personal life; why she had to work full-time in a demanding job whether she liked it or not. But what right did he, a stranger, have to question her?
It had been like leaving part of her heart behind the first day she’d left three-month old Mitchell with a nanny to go back to work. She’d wept all the way to the office, nauseous with terror that Katie—the first and best nanny she’d had—might not look after him as well as she should.
It had gotten easier. Mitchell had thrived, happy with his carer. Allison loved her job—welcoming its stimulation as well as the pay, though she would have preferred to work fewer hours. But always the guilt simmered away under the surface. Guilt that she wasn’t giving enough of herself to her child.
It was only this guilt, and her habit of justifying herself to people critical of women in her situation, which made her even attempt to answer Joe Martin’s question.
“Surely you realise I’d be at home more with Mitchell if I could? Who else would pay the bills if I didn’t work?”
His eyes narrowed. “Mitchell’s father?”
“Huh. That’s a joke and a half.”
“You’re American, right? So Mitchell’s dad is back home?”
“No. He’s Australian and right here in Sydney.”
Allison couldn’t suppress the bitterness in her voice. Apart from living expenses, she was saddled with her ex-husband Peter’s gambling debts. She’d had no idea of the extent of his addiction until after he’d left her—or how cleverly he’d ensured her shared liability for his debts. He’d been as cunning as he’d been dishonest. And now she was legally as well as honor-bound to pay off their creditors.
Peter paid only minuscule child support. Although he had a good job as a financial consultant, he and his wily lawyer had made him look practically a pauper on paper for the family law court. As a result, Mitchell’s future education and welfare rested entirely with her. And she wanted him to have every opportunity. “Look, Mr. Martin—”
“Joe,” he said.
“Joe,” she said, uncomfortable at the intimacy using his name implied. It seemed too close, too friendly, when she wanted to keep her distance—though she never called her female nannies anything other than their first names.
“I’m not going to justify my job to you. If I’m not at work in twenty minutes I might not have a job.”
“I get that,” he said, spooning fresh cereal into Mitchell’s mouth. Unbelievably, Mitchell was swallowing it without complaint. Whatever she might feel about Joe Martin’s suitability, her son had taken to him immediately.
“I guess I’ve started off on the wrong foot with you. But I agreed to employ you and I’m grateful you’re here to help me out.”
Joe turned to face her. “It’s what I do.”
She swallowed hard against a sudden rush of anguish. Leaving her precious child for the first time with a stranger never got any easier. “That said, if...if you do anything to harm my son, I...I’ll kill you. I swear I will.”
She had no idea how ferociously her green eyes gleamed or how her face had tightened like a mother cat snarling in defense of her kitten.
It was over the top. She knew it as soon as the words left her mouth.
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t apologize. If I had a child I would expect his mother to be as passionate as you are about his safety. I promise I will look after Mitchell.” As Joe spoke, he moved behind her child’s highchair in a protective stance. “I’m the oldest of six children and have looked after young kids for most of my life.” He then added, almost as an aside, “I’m also a schoolteacher trained in early childhood education.”
She couldn’t mask her surprise. “You’re a schoolteacher?”
Schoolteachers hadn’t come packaged like this in her day—six foot two hunks clad in denim and leather. She doubted there would have been any truancy problems at her school if they had.
Joe Martin shrugged off his leather jacket and flung it over a kitchen chair. Allison caught her breath. His tanned arms were defined by hard muscle, his pecs buff under the white T-shirt. Oh my. If a teacher at her school had looked like this, the girls would have been lining up for detention. Fabricating any opportunity to be in hottie Mr. Martin’s classroom.
He turned and caught her staring. “I don’t seem like a schoolteacher?”
She hadn’t been thinking about his teaching qualifications at all. Too lost in admiration of his well-proportioned body with its wide shoulders and narrow hips. So different from her thin, wiry ex.
“Uh, I haven’t been in a classroom for quite some time,” she said. Joe’s clothes, his hair, his earring, his motorbike—who would blame her for not taking him for a schoolteacher? “You...uh...you just...I...”
“You judge people by appearances?”
“Of course I don’t. It’s just you—”
He laughed aside her attempt at justifying herself, and she realized he was aware of her discomfiture. Had he caught her ogling him? Lord knows it wasn’t something she made a habit of. It had been a long time since she’d been aware of any man’s sexual appeal. Too long, maybe.
Deftly, Joe wiped Mitchell’s mouth clean of cereal with paper towel and Allison followed the movement of his lean brown fingers. From nowhere flashed the thought of how they might feel on her body, stroking, caressing...
Her flush deepened. Dear heaven she hoped he couldn’t read minds.
Thankfully, he didn’t look up from his task.
“If it would make you happier, I could take Mitchell somewhere else for the day,” he said. “A relative’s house, maybe?”
“I don’t have relatives in Sydney.”
Her mother was long dead. Her father had remarried and lived in Boston. Not that he would help her. She hadn’t seen him for years, had given up trying to keep in touch when he made it obvious he wasn’t interested.
She’d met Peter when they’d worked for the same bank in New York City. When he wanted to go home to Australia she’d gone with him, in love and excited about making a new start in a new country. She liked Sydney but all the old, special friends she could call on for help lived back in the States. She was Mitchell’s sole support. Paid babysitters and nannies like Joe were her only help.
“Mitchell usually goes to playgroup today.”
“So I’ll take him. Just write down the details for me.”
Allison scribbled the time and address of the playgroup on the notepad by the phone. She glanced again at the clock. If she didn’t get a move on she’d still be at home when playgroup started.
She pulled a big, blue folder from the shelf. “This is the Mitchell manual. All the stuff about his food and routine are in here. Doctor’s details, my contact numbers, everything you might need.”
Joe unstrapped Mitchell from his highchair. “Then maybe you should be getting dressed,” he said in that distinctive, husky Aussie drawl. “Remember, you told your boss you were just about to leave. Time’s running out.”
As if she needed reminding. “You look after Mitchell. I can look after myself.”
She fled the room rather too quickly for dignity, glad to escape those blue eyes that, she felt sure, could see right through her robe.
Joe found it hard to keep his eyes from Allison’s shapely, retreating rear end. But at least those magnificent breasts weren’t tantalizing him through that almost transparent robe. Every time she’d moved he’d expected a nipple to pop into view. He’d had to look down at her feet—but even they were pretty with delicate, pink-edged toenails.
This woman was hot. She had just the kind of lush, curvy body that turned him on.
Or would have, if she wasn’t a client.
When he’d started working for Help From Above, he’d made it a strict rule to keep his hands off the women who employed him. Not that any of the others had given him the instant jolt of attraction he’d felt for Allison Bradley.
He picked up a beaker and poured some juice for Mitchell, guiding it carefully so juice didn’t follow cereal onto the baby’s T-shirt. “Good boy,” he murmured as Mitchell drained the beaker.
What a cute little kid he was, with his merry, nutmeg-brown eyes and the ginger hair standing straight up from his head like a miniature mohawk. He must get his coloring from his father, not his green-eyed, platinum-haired mother.
Joe glanced over at the wedding photo displayed prominently on the dresser. Yep, except for the eye colour, the man standing next to a smiling, younger Allison was definitely an older version of Mitchell.
Where was Daddy now? Joe’s mouth tightened in a grim line. Since he’d been nannying he’d seen more fatherless kids than he ever wanted to see. And, shocking to him, too many mothers more interested in their careers and social life than their children.
It was a slice of a particular strata of middle-class life revealed that he didn’t particularly care for. And it made him resolve that when he eventually settled down—some day far, far in the future—he’d be damn sure to be there for his kids as a father should. Marriage and children, for Joe Martin, were lifetime commitments.
For now, he hoped he brought something positive into the lives of those children living in a dad-free zone, and nannying gave him the flexibility and income he needed to chase his dream.
Allison Bradley’s marital situation was none of his concern. And it had been out of order of him to say anything about her caring for Mitchell herself. He was just there to look after her kid to the best of his ability for the hours he was paid for.
He went to lift Mitchell out of his highchair. The scent greeting his nose made him recoil. Where in heck was the change table? This part was definitely the downside of the job.
Allison’s cell phone rang as she whirled through the kitchen to pick up her briefcase. “I’m stuck in traffic,” she fibbed to Clive. She didn’t dare admit she was still at home, even though she was finally dressed and ready to go. She hung up and turned to Joe. “Please, if the office calls, tell them I left ages ago.”
Joe turned away from the highchair. Allison stopped, aware of his slow, thorough appraisal of her appearance. His gaze travelled up from her mid-heeled court shoes, to the trim, tight skirt of her navy suit, to her hair now brushed away from her face into a business-like pleat.
She realized she was being thoroughly checked out in a sexual, man-woman way—and not being found at all wanting. She was surprised and, despite herself, flattered. She willed herself not to blush.
“So,” he drawled, “a boss lady.”
“You judge by appearances, too?” she couldn’t resist retorting.
“Doesn’t everyone?” he replied. “Your appearance says executive—and you work somewhere where they’d rather you were a man.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
“I just guessed the second bit.” Then he shrugged. “The agency told me you were a bigwig at a bank.”
Allison smiled. “Bigwig” or not—and she was really more of a not-so-bigwig—this would be the last big deal she’d ever have the opportunity to work on if she didn’t get to the office pronto. They’d never take her seriously again.
Her heart twisted painfully as it did every morning she had to say good-bye to Mitchell. She turned to where he sat in his highchair. The first thing Joe Martin needed to do was change that cereal-encrusted T-shirt. She wrinkled her nose as she got within kissing distance of her son. No, the second thing.
“I know,” said Joe Martin. “I need to ask you where—”
“Diaper changing station. His bedroom. First on the right at the top of the stairs,” she replied. “Sorry I haven’t got time to do it myself.”
In spite of her tension, she found herself suppressing a giggle. This was one of the advantages of having a nanny—someone to share diaper-changing duties.
Allison ruffled Mitchell’s hair and kissed one smooth cheek and then the other. “Be a good boy for Joe.” She risked a big cuddle; the cereal must surely be dried by now. “Goodbye, my precious.”
“Bye bye, momma,” her son replied, waving his plump little hand. “See ya.”
Allison looked over her son’s head and up at Joe, struggling to be the boss lady but knowing only the imploring mother was showing in her eyes. “Please, look after him,” she said, unable to prevent the slight break in her voice.
“I will,” he replied. “I promise you.” She relaxed at the depth of understanding in his voice.
His obvious sincerity went a long way to reassuring her about Mitchell’s safety. But that didn’t stop her from vowing as she ran out of the door, wiping the cereal from her jacket, that she would somehow find another nanny today and sack Joe Martin the second she got home this evening.
CHAPTER TWO
Allison was appalled to realise it was nearly lunchtime and she still hadn’t had a chance to phone any childcare agencies to arrange Joe Martin’s replacement. The early morning meeting had gone on and on and on. Eventually it broke for lunch and she made a feeble excuse to the others and dashed into her office.
First she wanted to check Joe had taken Mitchell to the playgroup. She called the church hall where the group of mothers and nannies and their charges met for playgroup twice a week. She’d forged links with them while she’d been on maternity leave and had tried to keep up the friendships for Mitchell’s sake.
Her neighbor Diane answered. “Allison, where did you find Joe? We were all petrified when he first walked in. We thought we were being raided by a biker gang. But he put us all at ease at once.” Uncharacteristically, Diane giggled. “Joe is wonderful, isn’t he? And what a hunk.”
“Is he? Wonderful, I mean,” said Allison, taken aback by her conservative neighbor’s reaction. Diane was married to a balding, bespectacled attorney and judged a man’s desirability by his bank balance not his biceps.
Diane giggled again. “I can’t really call Joe a nanny, can I? He’s much too macho for that. You know, I think I’ve seen him somewhere before. How long have you had him?”
Allison kept her voice low out of habit. She was expected to shuck her role as mother the second she walked through the revolving door into the bank’s plush offices, and become a one hundred percent corporate being, utterly devoted to her job—just like her male colleagues with stay-at-home wives.
“It’s his first day. Lia left me yesterday without any notice. Just packed her bags and walked out to live with her boyfriend.”
“You haven’t had a good nanny since Katie left to go backpacking.”
“It seems that way doesn’t it? But Katie was exceptional. She’s a hard act to follow. Lia was okay until she met that deadbeat boyfriend.”
She said goodbye to Diane, smiling to herself as she did so. Joe Martin’s arrival at playgroup would be a matter for discussion and speculation for weeks. A male nanny was a novelty—especially when he looked like he belonged in a jeans commercial.
But Diane hadn’t questioned his ability to look after Mitchell. That was reassuring. Very reassuring. But not reassuring enough for her to change her mind about Joe Martin. She wanted a female looking after her son.
There was a quick knock on her office door followed by Allison’s personal assistant, Rebecca, bearing coffee. “You look like you need this,” Rebecca said as she placed the coffee on Allison’s desk.
Allison shot her a grateful glance. “Thank you,” she said, then downed the hot liquid so quickly she nearly choked.
“Can I help?” asked Rebecca, as Allison got her breath back.
“Nanny problems. They’ve sent me a guy. I’ve got to get someone else.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows lifted inquiringly. “What’s he like?”
Allison pulled a wry face, Rebecca was as bad as Sandy. “Not you, too. Yes, he’s a hottie. No, I don’t want a man looking after Mitchell. Now get on the computer will you, please, and start Googling. I’ve got to try some other nanny agencies.”
“How much of a hottie?” asked Rebecca, as she sat down at the keyboard.
Allison looked up at her PA, amused in spite of her exasperation. “A ten-out-of-ten. But that doesn’t mean I want him for a nanny.”
Rebecca quickly found her three agency numbers. Allison picked up the phone then put it down as her boss, Clive, barged in.
“What’s keeping you? The guys are getting hungry.”
Allison gritted her teeth, despairing at the lost opportunity to call the agencies. She stood up. “Give me a few more minutes. I’ve got some personal stuff to sort out that can’t wait.”
Clive glared at her. “What’s with you today? First you’re late this morning, and now you’re holding up lunch.”
“Can’t you take them to the bar and get them a drink and I’ll be there in twenty minutes?”
“No, I cannot. This is your deal, Allison, your clients want you with them.”
“For heaven’s sake, Clive, they won’t miss me for a few minutes. I’ve got to sort out a problem with—”
Clive cut across her. “You knew the score when you took this job on. There were some who thought you were too inexperienced to handle this deal. You are expected to be there. Now.”
What Clive said was true. Allison knew, as the only woman on the senior management team, others were resentful of her position. They’d go for her throat without any hesitation.
Clive continued. “Don’t blow it, Allison. Not after all the work we’ve put into this.”
Allison took a deep breath. Clive was her mentor in this company. He believed in her. “Just one call, Clive—”
Rebecca interrupted. “Let me make the calls for you, Allison.” Her eyes signaled her full understanding of the situation.
“Let her,” said Clive. He took Allison by the arm and led her away from her desk. “Come on.”
Clive marched beside her with long, purposeful strides as they headed back toward the boardroom. Allison had the feeling of a prisoner being frog-marched by a warder back to her cell. Then the adrenalin kicked in and she felt a surge of excitement about what she intended to achieve.
Inside the boardroom waited four bankers from Hong Kong, here in Sydney at her invitation. She was negotiating with them, on behalf of one of her bank’s major corporate clients, for a huge syndication lending deal. The dollars involved went into the billions. The prestige for her as the newly-promoted Head of Corporate Banking for her bank, if it all went well, was immense. The backlash if she lost the business was as awesome.
“Gentlemen,” she said as she swallowed the knot of nervous tension in her throat and went back into the boardroom. “Are we ready for lunch?”
At 6pm she was alone in her office, elbows resting on her desk, head held despairingly in her hands. The bank operated a culture of long hours that suited men and single women, not mothers. She knew it would be a point against her that she hadn’t gone on to drinks and dinner with the other bankers but how could she? Mitchell’s welfare had to come first. Always. She’d left Mitchell with a new nanny. She had to get home.
All afternoon, the back-to-back presentations and discussions had been so intense she’d never again found a chance to look for an alternate nanny. And Rebecca hadn’t had any luck with the agencies she’d called.
What kind of a mother was she to have failed to find Mitchell a more suitable carer than Joe Martin? But what support systems did she have? The women she knew in Sydney were either without children or also worked full-time. Diane had made it quite clear she had enough on her plate with her own three and wasn’t available—even in emergencies.
As for Mitchell’s father—Peter had never taken a moment’s responsibility for his son, and his grandparents on that side had never even laid eyes on her baby. She would never be able to understand how Peter could reject Mitchell. But she never gave up hoping he would change his mind.
At this moment, in a lifetime where loneliness had never been a stranger, Allison felt more alone than ever. Never had she felt so distressed about the demands her job placed on her. Joe Martin had berated her for not staying at home to look after her child herself. But that wasn’t an option.
Peter’s gambling and dishonesty, and her own short-sightedness in not realizing what he was up to, meant she either worked in an executive job where she earned good money or declared bankruptcy.
That was something her background and beliefs made it impossible for her to do. And if she were bankrupt she would never get another job in banking. She knew she had to pay back every cent of those debts to ensure her future—and Mitchell’s. This deal with the Hong Kong bankers might help her do that.
She dragged on her jacket, heaved her briefcase—jam-packed with papers she had to review this evening for tomorrow’s meeting—into her hand and closed the office door behind her.
The last thing she felt like doing was taking work home, but if this deal went through she’d be in line for a substantial commission. She could pay off most of the debts Peter had burdened her with, and start making changes to her life. Maybe step down to a less stressful role or work as a consultant. A changed life, where she could spend more time with Mitchell. She had to get that commission.
As she steered her car through the heavy traffic, for the hundredth time she thanked heaven she had managed to find, for a manageable rent, the little terrace house in McMahons Point, a small harbor-side enclave nestled at the northern foot of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. She had very little use for its trendy cafes and restaurants; its proximity to the city was its attraction. Traffic permitting, she would be home to Mitchell ten minutes after leaving the office.
She gritted her teeth as she imagined just what she might find when she got home. Joe Martin certainly hadn’t looked the house-proud type.
That was another reason she wanted a female nanny. Her father and Peter—the only men she’d lived with—had been far from competent housekeepers. She knew it was a prejudice, even as she thought it, but would this male nanny be any better?
The place would no doubt be a pigsty and she’d have to spend the evening cleaning up after him. She just hoped he’d given Mitchell his dinner and a bath.
Her hand was shaking with exhaustion as she fitted her key into the lock of her front door. She pushed it open and braced herself for the scene she felt certain awaited her.
The first thing she noticed was the toys she’d left scattered around the living room floor had been neatly packed away. The second was the delicious aroma of cooking wafting from the kitchen. Mitchell had eaten, and eaten well by the smell of it.
The heating was on to guard against the cool spring evening and the house seemed somehow more welcoming than it had in a long time.
She heard the sound of delighted laughter and splashing coming from the floor above. So Mitchell was being bathed right on schedule.
She walked up the stairs. “Hello-o,” she called, as she headed for the bathroom.
“Momma,” cried Mitchell as she pushed open the door.
Mitchell crowed contentedly in his bath, obviously as well cared for as he could be. She smiled at the sight of his chubby little body and his spiky hair slicked down with damp. Having Mitchell in her life made every difficulty she faced worthwhile. “Hello, my angel,” she said.
Joe Martin was crouched next to the bathtub, a toy boat in his hand. He dropped the boat and stood up as Allison came into the room.
His powerful, muscled body took up half the bathroom and instinctively Allison stepped back. The front of Joe’s white T-shirt was wet, Mitchell must have splashed him, and the fabric clung to his strongly defined pecs. The water made the fabric almost transparent and she could see his dark chest hair through it.
Joe was barefoot and she glanced down at his large, well-formed feet, with long, even toes. She’d read somewhere you could judge the size of a man’s equipment by the size of his feet. In Joe Martin’s case...
Quickly she shifted her gaze to his face, fighting the flush that warmed her cheeks. His jaw was shadowed with a day’s growth; he must be a twice-a-day shave man. Virile. Loads of testosterone.
She swallowed hard at the nervous lump that rose in her throat. Please let him think her blush was caused by the steaminess of the bathroom. Not by her growing awareness of him as a male.
She kneeled down by the side of the bath and reached over to Mitchell to hug him as best she could, not caring if her jacket got wet.
She found Joe Martin more attractive by the minute. She could fight those feelings but she couldn’t deny them. He was the most physically exciting man she’d ever been this close to. But she had to keep her thoughts on track. Was he really up to the responsibility of looking after her child?
Joe shifted so he could see Allison’s face. He was struck by how tired she looked. Her face was pale and there were shadows beneath her green eyes. Wisps of light blond hair had straggled free from their clips and fell around her face. She had a smear of ink at the side of her chin.
He resisted the urge to pick up Mitchell’s wet washcloth and wipe the ink away. Imagine what the boss lady’s reaction would be if he tried.
Allison pulled away from Mitchell, who went on happily submerging his boat and then letting it shoot back up to the surface. Joe hadn’t realized Allison was so tall. When she stood up, she almost reached his eye level. The steamy atmosphere of the bathroom had brought a flush to her cheeks.
“Everything go okay today?” she asked.
“Fine,” he replied. “Mitchell enjoyed getting together with his little buddies at playgroup. He had lunch when he got home and then a nap. Just like on your schedule.”
“I wondered if you’d followed it.”
“It’s my job to follow parents’ instructions.”
What did she think he was? Not a “proper” nanny, that was for sure. He could understand why people were wary of male carers. You heard terrible things about some men left in charge of children. It made him sick to even think about it. He would personally strangle anyone he caught interfering with the innocence of a child.
But why did some women find it so hard to admit that a responsible man like himself could look after young children? No one had ever questioned his ability to care for the twenty-plus seven-year-olds in his classroom.
“Thanks for following the schedule,” Allison said, a little stiffly. “Mitchell’s had a few changes of carer lately, and I think it helps if he sticks to a routine.”
She looked so hot in that suit. Tailored as it was, it couldn’t disguise the lush curves of her body. Especially to someone who’d seen them covered by so little. That see-through robe she’d answered the door in lingered in his memory. He could feel a tightening of his jeans. He looked away. Eyes off the boss lady.
“If you want to get changed, Mrs. Bradley, I’ll dry Mitchell off and get him into his PJs.”
“Please call me Allison. Mrs. Bradley makes me seem so...so old.”
“Hardly.”
Allison looked down at Mitchell, a doting smile warming her face. She could pose for one of those Madonna-and-Child-type paintings—but with that ripe body and sensual mouth she didn’t look in the slightest bit virginal.
Suddenly it was important for him to know her age. “So how old were you when you had Mitchell?”
She looked surprised by the question. “Thirty,” she said. “Which makes me thirty-two now.” She pulled a wry face. “And feeling every second of it.”
Thirty-two. She didn’t look it. But why should he feel so dismayed she was older than he was?
He was twenty-seven. Five years shouldn’t make any difference but somehow it did. He’d only ever dated younger women; had never thought beyond the traditional man-older-than-the-woman thing. Of course she didn’t seem bothered admitting her age to him. Why should she?
Allison Bradley was gorgeous—if he’d met her anywhere else he would have asked her on a date by now. But she was older, had a kid, and was a client. That put her strictly off limits.
“I’ll get out of my work clothes,” she said. “Then I’ll take over and you can go home.” She moved toward the doorway and he had to turn side-on to let her through. Her breasts brushed him as she pushed pass; his muscles tensed at her touch.
“Fine,” he said and averted his eyes from the sight of her enticing backside as she left the bathroom. Do not think about how she would look stripping out of her suit. “Come on, Mitchell, let’s get cracking.”
Allison peeled off her “boss lady” suit with relief, and slid gratefully into gym pants and a sweatshirt. She thought unenthusiastically about the frozen diet meals stacked in the freezer, and decided to pass on them. After all, she’d had a three-course business lunch. She’d just nibble on a choc-chip cookie for dinner. Stress always made her reach for chocolate.
As she hung up her suit in the closet, she wondered why Joe Martin had asked about her age. She knew from his résumé that he was twenty-seven. Why would it matter to him how old she was?
She’d been tempted to tell him to mind his own business but it was no big deal. Being thirty-two didn’t bother her; she was proud of what she’d achieved at her age—and her crowning achievement was Mitchell.
As she turned in the direction of the bathroom, Joe Martin came out of Mitchell’s bedroom, holding her son dressed in his dinosaur-print pajamas.
Mitchell’s eyes were already heavy with sleep. Allison chastised herself for her disappointment. She liked it when Mitchell was wide-awake and she could justify keeping him up beyond his bedtime. She knew it wasn’t going strictly by the book—but some evenings she only saw Mitchell for half an hour and she longed for more.
“I’ll take over,” she said, as she reached for her son.
But Mitchell resisted. “Want Joe,” he said, clinging to his nanny.
Allison felt a stab of fierce jealousy, but she schooled her face into a nonchalant smile. “You have been a hit,” she forced herself to say.
The part of her not shriveling with angst was telling her it was great Mitchell liked Joe so much.
“But no one can replace Mommy,” Joe said. He gently disengaged the child’s arms. This time Mitchell went willingly to her and Allison held him to her too tightly, breathing in the warm, soapy smell of him like a drug.
“Thank you,” she whispered to Joe as their eyes met above Mitchell’s head. Joe’s eyes were warm with understanding and Allison’s heart gave a little lurch in response.
Joe Martin was kind, and kindness was an attribute she admired in a man, but had very rarely encountered. “Thank you,” she said again and her voice regained its strength, “for looking after Mitchell today.”
“He’s a great kid,” Joe said, and Allison felt he truly meant it. He reached forward and ruffled Mitchell’s hair. His face was too close. Allison stepped backward, in automatic defense of her personal space. She wasn’t used to letting people, especially men, get so close.
“There’s a message from Help From Above for you,” said Joe. “They’ve managed to find a nanny for Mitchell for tomorrow. A female. But I guess you’ve probably organized someone else yourself.”
“No, I wasn’t able to.”
Joe shrugged his powerful shoulders. His face didn’t give away anything. “I know you don’t want a man. No worries. The agency can easily get me something else. There are some single mothers who value a man’s presence in their child’s life.”
Allison gasped at his bluntness. She hated the term “single mother”; she wasn’t that way by choice.
Now it was his turn to apologize. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you were a single mother. I mean—”
Her mouth twisted. “Don’t worry. I am a single mother. All the way.”
She’d been on her own from the second she’d joyfully told her husband she was pregnant—and he’d told her to get a termination. And as her decree absolute had come through a few months ago, there was no doubt as to her status.
Joe Martin’s voice seemed even huskier. “I’ll check on your dinner before I go.” He started down the stairs.
“You’ll check my dinner?” Allison couldn’t stop her voice from rising in disbelief.
“Sure,” he said. “I found some chicken and some veggies in the fridge and threw them together for you.”
So that was the delicious aroma emanating from the kitchen, not Mitchell’s simple meal. “I...I can’t believe you cooked my dinner.”
“Don’t the other nannies?”
“They don’t see it as part of their job.”
Joe shrugged. “I like cooking.”
He bounded down the remaining stairs and headed for the kitchen. Slowly, burdened by the weight of her sleeping son, Allison went back to Mitchell’s room to put him down for the night.
She tucked him into bed, popped his favorite Elmo toy next to him, and kissed him.
She loved how utterly innocent he looked in sleep, his ginger eyelashes fanned on his cheek, his mouth slightly open, his body twitching sometimes, obviously dreaming. What would a child his age dream about?
Through the open door she could hear the faint sound of pans clattering in the kitchen below. Was she dreaming? She’d be able to eat a decent meal and relax in a tidy house before she tackled that briefcase of work. With luck, she’d be in bed before midnight. Thanks to Joe Martin.
She could also relax knowing her child had been well looked after, even meeting Diane’s exacting standards.
She switched on Mitchell’s night-light and prayed that he would sleep through the night. There was another round of meetings in the morning; if she had to get up to him she knew she’d be operating below par.
She went downstairs, where Joe Martin was on her sofa pulling on his boots. Then he stood up, shrugged on his leather jacket and picked up his helmet.
Dressed in his biker gear he looked somehow less approachable than in his damp T-shirt and bare feet. Tough. Unconventional. As far away from the picture of a nanny as it was possible to be.
“I’m off,” he said.
They were standing close enough for her to see into the depths of his navy blue eyes, to note his firm, sensual mouth and strong jaw.
She wished she hadn’t met Joe Martin like this—he her nanny, she his employer. She wished they’d met in a club, a bar, even the supermarket. She took a deep breath.
“Joe, I’d like you to come back tomorrow to look after Mitchell. And for the remainder of your trial week as booked. I’ll call Sandy and cancel your replacement.”
If she’d expected gratitude, amazed surprise, she was disappointed. “That’s cool. I’ll see you same time tomorrow,” was all he said.
He closed the door behind him. She could hear the heavy beat of his boots sound down the short pathway, then the squeak of her metal gate opening and the clunk of it shutting.
She heard the powerful throb of a motorcycle draw up in front of her house. She hadn’t given a thought to where Joe had parked his bike during the day. A permit was needed to park outside the house. But he hadn’t left it here; someone was picking him up. She walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside, just enough for her to see out but not enough for Joe to be able to see her.
In the light from the street lamp, she saw a small, slender figure spring off the bike and take off her helmet, shaking out long, auburn hair to fall around her shoulders. Joe Martin pulled her to him in a hug. The girl’s arms reached up around his neck.
Allison let the curtain fall, and stood there until she heard the motorcycle roar away. She replayed the hug over and over in her head. Would the hug be followed by a kiss when Joe and his friend got home? How would it feel to be kissed by Joe, to have his sexy mouth possess hers, to be pulled against his hard body and feel his hands caressing her?