* * *
Wyatt boosted Leigh into the Hummer, struggling against the awareness of his hands sliding over her warm curves. Her fragrance was clean and subtle, teasing his senses to the point of arousal. Her long legs, clad in silky hose, flashed past his eyes as she climbed onto the seat. What would she do if she knew he was imagining those legs wrapping his hips?
She’d probably kick him halfway across the parking lot.
What had gotten into him? Didn’t he have enough trouble on his hands with Chloe and the baby? Did he really need to complicate things with an attraction toward the woman he’d hired to be the nanny?
He’d never had trouble getting bed partners. All he needed to do was stroll through the resort lodge and make eye contact with an attractive female. If she was available, the rest would be easy.
So why was he suddenly craving a woman who came with a hands-off sign?
Maybe that was the problem. With Chloe and the baby sharing his house, an affair with the nanny would be a dicey proposition. For that matter, with Chloe in residence, bringing any woman to his bedroom would be a bad idea—just one of the ways his life was about to change.
But right now, that was the least of his worries.
Closing the door, he walked around the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat. Leigh had fastened her safety belt and was attempting to tug her little skirt over her lovely knees. Wyatt willed himself to avert his eyes.
“Just for the record,” he said, starting the engine, “we don’t hold with formal dress at the house. Pack things you’ll be comfortable in, like jeans and sneakers.”
Or maybe you should dress like a nun, to remind me to keep my hands off you.
“Jeans and sneakers will be fine.” Her laugh sounded strained. “I don’t suppose your grandson will care what I’m wearing.”
“My grandson. Lord, don’t remind me. I’m still getting used to that idea.”
“This isn’t about you. It’s about an innocent baby who’ll need a world of love—and a young girl learning to be a mother. You’ll need to be there for both of them.”
Isn’t that where you come in? Wyatt knew better than to voice that thought. Leigh had expressed some strong notions about family responsibility. But wasn’t he doing enough, taking Chloe and her baby under his roof, buying everything they needed and hiring a nanny to help out?
Back when he was married, Tina had complained that he was never home—but blast it, he’d been busy working to support his wife and daughter. He’d been determined to give them a better life than he’d had growing up.
Even after the divorce he’d taken good care of them. He’d given Tina a million-dollar house, paid generous alimony and child support and always remembered Chloe’s birthday and Christmas with expensive gifts—gifts he’d never have been able to afford if he hadn’t poured so much time and energy into the resort.
Hadn’t he done enough? Was it fair that he was expected to finish raising a spoiled teenager with a baby so Tina could run off with her twenty-seven-year-old husband?
“There’s my car.” Leigh pointed to a rusting station wagon parked outside the office he’d used for the interviews. One look was enough to tell him that the car would never make it up the canyon on winter roads. He would need to get her something safe to drive before the first snowfall.
Wyatt pulled the Hummer into a nearby parking place. Steeling himself against her nearness, he climbed out and opened the door on the passenger side. Leigh was waiting for him to boost her to the ground. She leaned outward, her hands stretching toward his shoulders. Wyatt was reaching for her waist when her high heel caught on the edge of the floor mat. Yanked off balance, she tumbled forward on top of him.
He managed to break her fall—barely. For a frantic instant she clung to him, her arms clasping his neck, her skirt hiked high enough for one leg to hook his waist. But his grip wasn’t secure enough to hold her in place. Pulled by her own weight, she slid down his body. Wyatt stifled a groan as his sex responded to the delicious pressure of her curves pressed against him so intimately.
Her sudden gasp told him she’d felt his response. He glimpsed wide eyes and flaming cheeks as she slipped downward. Then her feet touched the ground and she stumbled back, breaking contact. They stood facing each other, both of them half-breathless. Her hair was mussed and one of her shoes was missing. She tugged her skirt down over her thighs.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Wyatt tried his best to laugh it off. “No, I’m fine. But that maneuver could’ve gotten us both arrested.”
Her narrowing gaze told him she didn’t appreciate his humor. It appeared that, despite her naughty little skirt, Miss Leigh Foster was a prim and proper lady. All to the good. He’d be wise to keep that in mind.
“Excuse me, but I need my shoe.” She teetered on one high-heeled pump. Wyatt retrieved the mate from the floor of the SUV, along with her brown leather purse. She took them from him, wiggling her foot into the shoe.
“You’ll be all right?” he asked her.
“Fine. I’ll be going straight to Baby Mart from here, then home. I should be knocking on your door by nightfall.”
“Plan on dinner at the house, with me. And remember you’re to say nothing about Chloe and her baby. All the people at Baby Mart need to know is who’s paying for the order and where it’s to be delivered.” He fished a business card out of his wallet and scribbled his private cell number on the back. “Any questions or problems, give me a call.”
“Got it.” She tucked the card in her purse, pulled out her keys and walked away without a backward glance. He watched her go, her deliberate strides punctuating the sway of her hips. Her clicking heels tapped out a subtle code of annoyance. Could she be upset with him?
Wyatt watched the station wagon shudder to a start, spitting gravel as it pulled into the street. No, he hadn’t read her wrong. The woman was in a snit about something.
Maybe she thought he’d pushed her too hard, giving her orders right out of the starting gate. But since he was paying her salary, it made sense to let her know what he expected. After all, he was her employer, not her lover.
And that, he mused, was too damned bad.
Returning to his vehicle, he pulled into traffic and headed toward the road that would take him out of town. He’d gone less than two blocks when he saw something ahead that hadn’t been there earlier. City workers were digging up the asphalt to fix what looked like a broken water main. Neon orange barricades blocked the roadway. A flashing detour sign pointed drivers to the right, down a narrow side street.
He’d made the right turn and was following a blue Pontiac toward the next intersection before he realized where he was. A vague nausea congealed in the pit of his stomach. He never drove this street if he could help it. There were too many memories here—most of them bad.
Most of those memories centered around the house partway down the block, on the left. With its peeling paint and weed-choked yard, it looked much the same as when he’d lived there growing up. Wyatt willed himself to look away as he passed it, but he’d seen enough to trigger a memory—one of the worst.
He’d been twelve at the time, coming home one summer night after his first real job—sweeping up at the corner grocery. The owner, Mr. Papanikolas, had paid him two dollars and given him some expired milk and a loaf of bread to take home to his mother. It wasn’t much, but every little bit helped.
His mouth had gone dry when he’d spotted his father’s old Ranchero parked at the curb. Pops had come by, most likely wanting money for the cheap whiskey he drank. He didn’t spend much time at home, but he knew when his wife got paid at the motel. If she gave him the cash, there’d be nothing to live on for the