49 Shades of Nanny

Chapter 1

Oh. Oh my. If Hope Eternal—her real name—never smelled another thing, if her olfactory senses left her for greener pastures, the memory of the scent of Billy Chapel's cologne would sustain her until her dying days.

Billy, her boss and the father of seven-year-old Mariah, stood on the opposite side of the breakfast bar in his three bedroom two and a half bath cottage style house. He had one hand braced on the counter and the fingers of the other drumming a rhythm against the granite. "Can I ask you something?"

There wasn't much she'd deny him or not answer with a fair amount of enthusiasm, but since she'd spent the morning washing his laundry, changing his sheets, and sewing a costume for his darling daughter, she tamped down her enthusiasm, reminding herself this was probably a favor. Not that he asked many, but they usually involved crawling into small spider infested spaces or climbing up on the roof to hang lights or repair shingles or adjust the chimney pipe cap. Home maintenance wasn't exactly his forte.

She put down the costume and smiled. "Sure."

"Uh..." He shuffled from one foot to the other. Not a run of the mill favor then. He asked those without preamble or any sort of squirming. "Did Mariah get her homework finished last night?"

Of course she had. Just like she did every night of the week ever since Hope had become the live-in nanny. Since her car broke down on the way to answer his ad. Since she'd fallen in love with the little blonde haired, blue-eyed girl some ten months ago. "Yep."

"Good." He nodded while investigating either his shoes or the tile floor. "Good." Again. He blew out a breath then shook his head. "That's not what I wanted to ask."

Not like her recently developing crush needed more enticement to find him adorable. Not with his honey blonde hair which refused to lay flat in the back or the eyes, such a deep blue the skies wept with envy. At least in her romantic heart they did. But his shy nervousness added a whole other level to the attraction. She locked a dreamy sigh behind a pair of clamped lips. "Mm-hmm."

"Do you think, that is...this might be awkward. I mean...it's probably inappropriate for me to even ask." He rubbed his stubbled chin the moved his hands to his face, scrubbing up and down a couple times. "God. I have no idea what I'm doing."

As far as she'd ever seen, he'd never been what one would call vocal. Or unsure. Or anything less than perfect. "You can't leave me hanging now. You have to ask something." Oh Lord, please let it be if I want to have his children.

He grinned for an almost second then nodded. "Okay. Here it is." His tongue traced a line along his lower lip and he could have asked her anything and she would have agreed. Rob a bank? Hand me a mask. Hold the satellite dish during a lightning storm? Should I face east or west? Kick a puppy? Okay. She would draw the line at hurting any of God's creatures.

She waited another couple seconds. "Billy?"

"You work for me. It's too weird." He turned away and poured another cup of coffee.

He'd left the number of possibilities wide open to her overactive imagination. Her hopes kicked into high gear along with her pulse. "Come on. Just ask. What can it hurt?" And whatever the question, the answer is yes.

After a moment, he looked up from his mug at her. "Okay, but for this minute we need to sever the employer"—he pointed to his chest—"employee"—he nodded to her—"relationship."

"Just two friends having a chat." Yeah. She could chat with a friend. Even one who looked like him. A chat, after all, was just a chat.

He nodded. "Do you think—uh, do I—oh hell. Am I datable?"

She'd popped a pretzel in her mouth as he asked and when she swallowed, it went down in a giant lump. Actually, she might not have managed to chew at all, and she coughed, hacked, fighting for breath. Billy's eyes widened, and he rushed around the counter, hit her hard enough to dislodge the pretzel, and her chest heaved as she pulled in lung full after lung full of oxygen.

"Careful. You don't want to hyperventilate."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one struggling because her hands were on him. After a few more hard intakes of air, she nodded and straightened her back. "Sorry. Swallowed wrong." She held up a hand and he moved back to his side of the bar. "Um, yeah. You're datable...if you want to date...which obviously you do." Oh, God, Hope. Shut up. "I mean, look at you. Definitely datable." And yet the babbling continued. "If that's what you want."

He shrugged. "It's been three years since Rachel left but I haven't been on an actual date since I was twenty."

The only thing stopping her from jumping up right then and volunteering as tribute were the lines of absolute misery bracketing his mouth—his perfectly kissable mouth. She pulled her gaze and shook off her lust. "Couple of changes in the last decade you should probably know about then."

"Yeah?" Oh, what a grin. It made Hope's stomach and everything below her waistline clench.

Yet, she continued. "Oh yeah." Don't do it, Hope. Just keep your mouth shut. But mouth and brain had disengaged leaving Hope to dole out dating advice like she had any experience on the subject. She walked to the bookshelf for what must have been one of Rachel's favorites, judging by the worn spine and marked pages. "Here. If you want to know what makes today's woman turn to mush. I mean the dating part, not the red room." Hope imagined a collective groan from her fellow females around the world. Feminism died a shady little death in the living room as soon as she handed it over.

Billy took the book and opened it to a random page. He read for a couple seconds then looked back at her. "Really?"

"Best-selling book. Blockbuster movie. You do the math."

His eyes lit up. "There's a movie?" He blew out a huff of breath. "Thank God. I'll pick it up tonight and we can watch it."

"Uh..." That movie? With him? She'd be lucky to survive the opening credits. "It's really not good, um, you know...uh...for..." She couldn't think of the little girl's name. She couldn't think past the image of herself sitting on the couch by Billy and exploding little lustful bits of herself on his upholstery.

"Mariah? Don't worry. I'll send her over to Angelina's. She likes playing with Casey." Angelina Jacobi had seven or eight kids and she never minded an extra over to play. With so many already running around, she probably wouldn't even quiet little Mariah.

"Um, okay." And right there defined the scope and measure of karma's humor.