Nanny (2 page)

It was a trait Gabe Morgan had always admired, whether in men or women.

But something about Summer Mulvaney bothered him. She didn't come across as your average, garden-variety nanny or nurturer. Then again, maybe he was crazy. There was no denying that this job was starting to get to him.

Frowning, Gabe shoved away thoughts of the new nanny as he rustled through his bureau, tugged on clothes, and located three fresh surgical bandages. He'd tackle fifty sit-ups and twenty squats, then see if he could push himself any further.

After that, he'd wrap his knee and take a short break, then start all over again.

He was so used to seeing the scars on his body that they might as well have been invisible. Even the memories had begun to blur, their grim details fading into a gray-green blur of jungle sky and blue-green water.

Followed by screaming pain.

But Gabe Morgan was an expert at pain. If a day went by without it, he worried that he was losing his edge. If a week went by, he started to feel bored.

Which was probably why he was so good at his current job.

But as he looked outside, he found himself remembering the nanny's eyes when he'd turned in the shower. They were more gray than blue, more angry than afraid. Strange mix.

Strange woman.

He shook his head, irritated. Summer Mulvaney had great legs—or she would have without that bland blue skirt covering them down to the knees. Not that he would get a chance to see her legs or any other interesting parts of her body up close.

A damned shame.

But Gabe didn't have time to waste on irrelevant things like his emotions or the new hired help.

It was time to get back to work, he thought grimly.

chapter
2

T
here she is.” Laughter rippled over the yard, and a small figure raced over the grass. “I told you she was here. She's taking me to ballet class today.”

Pull yourself together,
Summer told herself.
How bad can two kids, math classes, and an illegal ferret be?

But had the little girl said something about a ballet class?

Forcing a smile, Summer crossed the grassy slope, glad she had taken time to straighten her dark suit and smooth her hair, as two pairs of eyes devoured her. But where the younger girl stared with infectious enthusiasm, her older sister responded with defiance.

“You must be Sophy.” Summer held out one hand as the slender nine-year-old stopped in a restless tangle of arms and legs. “I'm Summer Mulvaney.” The false name was close to her own and sounded natural enough, reinforced by several weeks of careful rehearsing. “Your nanny told me all about you.”

“Will she be in the hospital long?” Sophy O'Connor shifted from side to side, her pink sneakers covered with dust. “She's not going to—to die, is she?”

“People don't
die
from appendicitis, Sophy. I told you that already.” Stiff and hostile, Sophy's sister watched Summer, arms crossed over her stomach. “Stop acting so
completely
stupid.”

“It's
not
stupid.” Sophy's face clouded as she jammed her small fists into the pockets of her pink jumper. “You can die from a bee sting, and Mom said things can happen to people—things you never expect.” She stared at her dusty feet. “I just want to know, Audra. From an adult, not you.”

Innocent as it was, this barb cut deep. “I
am
an adult. Almost. I'll be fifteen next week.” Audra made a flat, angry sound. “Why do I even bother? You're
such
a geek.”

Summer decided the bickering had gone on long enough. She would have to interrogate them about their prank with her shower, but first, introductions were due.

She held out one hand, mustering a smile. “You must be Audra. Your old nanny told me all about you, too.”

Dark, wary eyes glared back at her. “So?”

“She said you like to ride.”

A shrug. “I used to, but not anymore. Riding is kid stuff.”

Summer kept her smile in place. “So you don't ride now?”

Another shrug. “I've got more important things to do.” Audra straightened the belt that hugged an impossibly small waist.

“Like what?” her sister asked curiously.

“God, Sophy. Don't be such a baby.”

Sophy blew out an angry breath. To Summer's surprise, she tucked an arm through Summer's, dismissing her sister. “Are you ready? Ballet class starts in half an hour, and Patrick has a snack ready for us.”

Patrick?

Right. Cara O'Connor's chef was thin, expressive, and a dead ringer for Colin Farrell, if she remembered correctly.

Sophy was staring at her expectantly. “Imelda told you about ballet class, didn't she?”

Sophy's ballet class at four.

Summer-school homework at five-thirty.

Dinner at six-fifteen.

Cara O'Connor's precise schedule was currently overseen by Imelda, the efficient housekeeper with clever eyes and a laugh that filled the whole house. “Imelda gave me directions for driving you to ballet class in town. On the way we'll drop your sister off at the aquarium so she can volunteer.”

“It's public service, not volunteering.” Audra stuck out her chin. “I need one hundred hours every year for my college résumé. Kaylin Howell had five hundred hours and she
still
didn't get into Stanford.”

“You told me Kaylin Howell made all C's,” Sophy said innocently. “You said even if she had ten thousand hours, it wouldn't help her.”

“Shut up, Sophy.”

“I doubt your mother would like you two to argue this way.” Summer was completely out of her element, but she wasn't about to let her new charges know that. “And don't think you're off the hook about that little prank with Gabe Morgan, because you're not.”

Sophy swallowed hard. “G-Gabe? Did he tell you—”

Audra cut her off sharply. “Whatever he told you, it was a lie.”

Summer chose her next words carefully. “He told me that you had assured him I wouldn't be here until later tonight.”

“So what? That's what we thought.” Audra shrugged carelessly. “Imelda must have told us that. Or maybe it was someone else.”

“But, Audra, Imelda didn't—”

Audra whirled around. “Shut
up,
Sophy.”

Sophy's lip started to tremble. She bumped Audra hard with her hip. “No. And stop bossing me around.”

“I'll boss you however I want, dork.”

Fighting an urge to scream, Summer moved closer, separating the two girls. “Sophy, why don't you grab your ballet shoes? I hear that your teacher is strict, so you don't want to be late.”

“But what about your clothes? It's mother-and-daughter day.”

“I'm driving you.”

Sophy stared back, wide-eyed. “But I need a partner for class, too. Didn't Mom tell you?”

Summer cleared her throat. “Not that I would be dancing.” Awful images burned into her head. Mother-and-daughter day? God help her, she was going to put on tights and a tutu?

“There must be a mistake. I don't . . . dance.” Summer could barely say the words. She hadn't danced, not in public or in private, for more years than she could count. Maybe never.

“But you have to. Everyone else will have a partner.” Sophy's big eyes filled with tears. “Tiffany Hammersmith has her aunt
and
her mother coming.”

Tough it out, Mulcahey,
Summer thought grimly. “So are there some kind of shoes I have to wear?”

Sophy shook her head gravely. “Not just shoes. Leotard and tights and everything. Our teacher is
very
strict. You can't come to class in street clothes.”

Pink leotards? Pink slippers?

Summer suppressed a gag reflex at this vision. But the job came first. If this was the job, she could handle it—even if it meant suppressing an urge to vomit.

“Fine.” Summer forced a deathly smile. “Let's get to it.”

“I'll show you where everything is. Mom said you could wear her clothes, except . . .” Sophy hesitated. “Except you're a lot taller than she is.”

“They stretch, Sophy.” Audra had seen Summer's uneasiness and focused in on it immediately. “They'll fit. Have you done a lot of dancing, Ms. Mulvaney?”

“Enough,” Summer lied calmly.

“For your sake, I hope so. Sophy's teacher is really rotten with beginners. Especially when they're
adults,
” she added nastily. She stared at Summer, then shrugged. “I have to go get Liberace.”

The pet ferret, Summer recalled. “Why do you need to take him?”

“We always take Liberace. He stays in the car in his cage. And we take him for a walk when we get home,” Sophy said patiently. “We park in a garage next to the school.”

“I'll get his cage and help Sophy get ready,” Audra said. “But first I need my bag from the potting shed.” She pointed to a weathered cedar building at the far side of a free-form swimming pool. “Could you get it for me? Otherwise we'll be late, and then Sophy will get in trouble.”

She seemed surprisingly concerned for her sister, Summer thought. Maybe Audra wasn't the grouch she'd first appeared to be. “What does the bag look like?”

“Red nylon with a big black zipper. It's got my nametag on the handle, so you can't miss it. I left it on the back wall near the potting soil.”

Summer started to ask what Audra was doing with her bag out in the potting shed, but Sophy distracted her, tugging at her arm and pleading with her to hurry so her ballet teacher wouldn't rip her into tiny pieces in front of all her friends.

“You can get your ballet stuff from my mom's room,” Sophy called out. “I'll get everything else ready.”

With a mental eye roll, Summer sprinted across the lawn. She was pretty sure she'd rather face a felony homicide investigation than a class of smug, collagen-enhanced, size-four California mothers and their bossy daughters.

She was starting to have a whole new respect for nannies.

 

The potting shed was clean but tiny, its walls filled floor to ceiling with pots and soil mixes and pruning tools. As Summer stepped inside, dust motes spun in the sunlight, carried by a breeze from a single narrow window.

Up the hill she heard Imelda call to Sophy from the house.

Aware that the clock was ticking, she headed straight for the back wall, searching the cedar worktable. No nylon bag. No potting soil, either.

Frowning, Summer checked the floor, but there was no red bag wedged between the clay pots and the vermiculite mix. She heard Imelda's voice again as she rummaged behind the worktable. Where had Audra left the wretched bag?

Something blocked the sunlight.

She spun around, still in a crouch.

“Looking for something?”

He was a wall of shadow against the late afternoon sun, and he looked tough as gunmetal in faded jeans and a black tee shirt that hugged tanned, muscular arms.

Summer stood up awkwardly. “Audra's bag. She said that she left it out here near the potting soil. Red nylon with a black zipper.”

“No potting soil here.” Gabe moved past her, frowning. “I don't remember Audra bringing her bag inside. The girls know this shed is off-limits because I keep pesticides and some pretty deadly stuff in here.”

Summer scanned the room again. “Audra said it was here.” She frowned at Gabe. “If you've got poisons out here, why don't you keep the door locked?”

“Never had a problem before. The girls are old enough—and smart enough—to follow directions when their mother lays down the law.” The gardener dug under a burlap bag and cursed when he pulled out a pair of old sneakers. “I wondered where these were hiding.”

Summer tried to control her impatience. “Sophy has a ballet class in forty minutes, and I need to find that bag before we leave. Do you have any idea where it could be, Mr. Morgan?”

He rubbed his jaw. “I told you, I haven't seen it. Maybe Audra was confused. Or maybe she—”

The door banged hard behind them. Gravel skittered outside the window.

In one swift movement, Gabe grabbed the door handle and shoved, but nothing happened. “Probably the wind.” He gave another push. “It gets pretty rough here near the coast.”

“Let me try.” Summer leaned around him and gave the door a shove.

Nothing moved.

She frowned at Gabe. “What's going on?”

“I think we just got nailed.” He jerked the door handle impatiently. “Again.”

chapter
3

S
ummer glared at the door. “Then help me
un
-nail things,” she said tightly. “I've got to get Sophy to class on time. She's terrified of her ballet teacher.”

Gabe put his shoulder to the door and rammed hard. The whole shed shook, wall to wall, but the door didn't budge. “No good. If I push again, this roof may come down on our heads.” Striding around Summer, he searched the single window. His strong hands traced the sill, then worked slowly along the bottom frame, but that didn't budge, either.

“Locked. Looks like someone jammed a piece of wood to hold it that way, too.” He pulled a gardening stool in front of the window and climbed up to examine the top of the frame. “This one has a screw added up here. I could break it free, but it might take a while.”

“I don't want to leave the girls alone, so this has to be fast.” Summer found another stool and climbed up beside him. “Why don't we break the window?”

Gabe shook his head. “Not with all those mullions.”

A mullion was some kind of fish, wasn't it? Summer frowned, trying to make sense of what he'd said.

“These little pieces of wood can get pretty messy,” Gabe muttered. “It could take an hour or two.” Their hips bumped as he reached up to the fiberglass roof.

Summer ignored a sharp
ping
of awareness. Good God, the man was built. “No other windows.” She looked up. “One small skylight.”

“But I doubt either of us could fit through.”

“There has to be some other way.” Summer pulled out her cell phone and dialed tensely.

“Good thought. Imelda or Patrick can come out and check the door.”

But no one picked up at the house. The line was busy—once, twice, six times. “Off the hook,” Summer muttered.

“Either that or Audra is yakking with one of her friends. If those girls set this up, I'm going to burn their backsides myself,” Gabe said grimly. “It's definitely a war out there, kids against the grown-ups. Too bad no one warned the grown-ups.” Gabe studied Summer. “You sure you're a nanny? No offense, but you don't exactly look like the type.”

“And what type is that, Mr. Morgan?”

“Gabe, damn it. And the type is small, fluttery. Lots of chatter and big hair. Black reading glasses on a gold neck chain. You know.”

Summer tried the house again on her cell phone, then gave up in disgust. “What century are
you
living in? There are male and female nannies now, and they aren't white-haired ladies with knitting needles, either. For your information, being a nanny today requires high qualifications and serious educational credentials, along with security training.”

“No need to bite my head off. I was just making a comment, not maligning the gravity of your profession.”

“Weren't you?” Summer jammed her cell phone into her pocket and stared at the locked door in disgust. “Speaking of professions, you're a landscaper. Why don't you call one of your ground crew to come open the door?”

“Only me working today.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in unruly spikes. “The rest of my people are setting trees in a new home up north of Monterey.”

“Just great.” There were other people to call, but Summer refused to start day one of her new assignment with a rescue plea to 911. There had to be some other answer.

“I'm going up there.” She studied the narrow ledge next to the skylight in the fiberglass roof. “I'll need a ladder.”

“All I have is a four-footer.” The gardener shook his head. “But it isn't safe. I'm not sure how much weight this roof will hold. I can guarantee that it won't hold me.”

“There's no other choice. I'm supposed to be taking care of the girls.”

Gabe pulled a ladder across the room and rested it against one wall, looking unconvinced. “Are you sure you want to do this, ma'am?”

“I'll be fine. Just make sure that this ladder doesn't tilt and dump me.”

The roof was higher than it looked, Summer discovered. After climbing to the top rung, she had to stretch onto her toes to find a footing near the skylight. Carefully resting one elbow on the ledge, she prodded the heavy top panel.

“You need any help?”

“I've got it.” With a dry creaking and a sprinkling of dead leaves, the skylight panel opened. Now Summer had to get outside without bringing the whole shed down on top of them. It was hot with the sun beating down and no breeze, so she stripped off her dark suit jacket, dropping it on the potting bench beneath her. Then she unbuttoned the top buttons of her shirt and rolled up her sleeves.

When she looked down, she swallowed hard. Gabe was pulling off his sweat-dotted tee shirt, revealing a tanned torso dusted with dark hair. Summer saw a scar she hadn't seen before, just at the center of his chest. “Landscape work must be dangerous.”

“I don't follow you.”

“Your chest and your shoulder.” Summer pointed down. “Scars.”

Gabe wiped his damp shirt across his face. “Any job can be dangerous. It depends on how you do it.”

Summer felt the ladder move. “Hey, hold on, will you?”

Gabe moved closer, one hand on the ladder. The other closed around Summer's hip.

He saw her glare and shrugged. “Just making sure you're safe, Ms. Mulvaney. Give it a shot before we sweat to death in here.”

Ignoring the hard fit of his fingers across her rear, Summer probed the ledge. When nothing felt shaky, she lifted herself up, balancing on one leg.

A big gull landed on the roof inches from her head, shrieking loudly, and Summer recoiled without thinking.

“Easy there.” Gabe's fingers dug into her hips.

“Damned bloody bird.” Summer waved a hand. “Shoo. Get away.”

The big white mass didn't move.

“Get going already!”

After a little squawk, the bird flapped its long wings and sailed back into the air, headed toward the beach. “Crisis averted.” Summer caught a breath and looked down.

Gabe was behind her, on the ladder now, his body pressed against her. Summer felt the damp brush of his chest on her arm and the flex of his thighs. She'd had some X-rated daydreams before, but this was better than any of them. “All clear. I'm going out.”

“Be careful. Ms. O'Connor will murder me if anything happens to you.”

Ignoring the beads of sweat skimming down his gorgeous abs, Summer swung around on the ladder and carefully braced one elbow in the skylight's ledge. When nothing shook or caved in, she slowly put her whole weight on the roof beam.

Nothing toppled, always a good sign.

“That's the way. Nice and easy.”

When she pulled herself up and wedged her arms inside the skylight, Summer could see all the way to the house. No one was in sight. “I'm going,” she said tensely.

“Go. I've got you.”

Summer took a breath and wriggled through the ledge. The process was slow since she had mere inches to spare, and her breasts rubbed against the metal lip of the skylight with every movement.

“Take it slow,” Gabe muttered.

Summer was aware of his warm breath somewhere near her stomach. Her shirt had pulled free and when she looked down Gabe's face was inches from her navel, his eyes hard as he looked up at her.

Something warm shot down through her body, but she refused to pay any attention. “I've got to turn sideways,” she said hoarsely. “There's a metal ledge outside that I need to reach.”

The strong fingers tightened at her waist. “Bon voyage.”

Summer wriggled back and forth, wincing as her breasts caught, wedging her in the tight opening. “Damn.”

“What's wrong? Did you see something?”

“No one's out there. It's—I'm caught.”

“Your shirt? Take it off. I won't tell.”

“Not my shirt.” Summer grimaced in pain. “My—chest. This opening is a lot smaller than I thought.”

“I see.” Gabe cleared his throat. “In that case, it's your call. If you can't fit through, we'll just wait. Imelda's bound to wonder when you don't turn up for Sophy's class.”

But Summer didn't take failure kindly. Life had taught her there was always a solution when you looked long and hard enough—and were willing to put up with a little pain.

“I'm trying again.”

“Ready down here.”

Grimly, Summer shoved her shoulder through the narrow opening and turned awkwardly. Her head and neck were through, and then her other shoulder angled up. Next came the hard part as her breasts scraped the metal lip of the panel. Gritting her teeth, she reached over her head, flattened every inch she could, then pulled up until she was halfway out on the roof.

“You okay up there?”

“I'm fine.” Except for her shoulder, which was aching, and her breasts, which would probably have a few bruises tomorrow.

“Don't press it. I want to be sure that roof will hold you, so give it a few seconds before you go any higher.”

Summer took a deep breath of the sea air racing across the lawn. The man was pretty smart—for a landscaper. And like it or not, there was something soothing about his low, calm instructions.

Not that she needed any instructions.

She felt the ladder move slightly and looked down. “What's wrong?”

“Not a thing.” His face was cast in shadow below her. “I was just thinking.”

“If you found a better way to get us out of here, Morgan, I might have to do something slow and painful to you.”

His smile was a slash of white in the gloom. “I was just thinking about all the things a man could do to a woman from this position.” Gabe's hands tightened suddenly. Her skirt was now riding low on her hips, and Summer realized just how close his mouth was when his breath touched her naked stomach where the bottom of her shirt had slid open.

“I don't know what you mean,” she said breathlessly.

“Oh, I think you do.” His breath moved over her skin, hot and moist like the steam from his shower, caressing the sensitive skin below her navel. “You've got a great stomach.”

“Forget about my stomach,” Summer said hoarsely.

“I'm trying, believe me. But it's not working.”

Closing her eyes, Summer was assaulted by a hot vision of his strong shoulders and naked thighs as he'd emerged from her shower. Something fluttered deep in her stomach, just inches away from his clenched mouth.

The things a man could do to a woman from this position.

The thought was dangerous, erotic.

And Summer absolutely, positively refused to think about it. “Too bad, Mr. Morgan. Because I'll be interested in sex with you just about the time the Chinese give up tea for Gatorade.”

 

The problem was, he hadn't had a woman in almost eight months, Gabe Morgan thought grimly. The second problem was that the woman was too damned close for sanity.

He was covered with sweat and he had a knot in his left thigh, but he couldn't let go of Summer Mulvaney's strong, slender body or she'd fall.

Hell, maybe he'd fall, too. And over the last year he'd had more than enough problems.

First he'd double-timed it out for a nasty mission in the Philippines. After that had come the offshore surveillance op in the middle of a godforsaken sea-lane near Borneo. During his second month at sea, a shipboard explosion had tossed him and three others into Pacific currents for two days before a Navy ship had scooped them up. Then had come a HALO accident, when a jump had gone bad. In the hospital, the doctors told him he held some kind of a record for broken bones, and Gabe believed it when he woke up in a big white bed with tubes in four places and his body burning like someone had rammed him through a giant garlic press.

Six months in rehab had brought him back to seventy percent of his fighting strength, and Gabe was battling for more every day. He only wished he could track down the idiot who'd designed the shipboard ignition wiring that had exploded. It would have been a pleasure to teach him the value of quality control the old-fashioned way.

With Gabe's fists shoved down his throat and any other available body parts.

He touched his knee by reflex and scowled. But he'd get by. That's what SEALs did.

His first order of business was to yank his mind out of the pleasant gutter where it was currently wallowing, thanks to the sight of Summer Mulvaney's flat, naked stomach inches away from his mouth.

Oh, the things a man could do against an amazing stomach like that.

Like making that stomach clench hard in sweaty, groaning sex that went on all night.

Sweat trickled down Gabe's brow. “It could happen. They've got McDonald's in Peking. Gatorade can't be far behind.”

“Back off.”

“Some of those things could be pretty damned memorable, honey.”

“Like getting your nose broken by my knee?” Summer muttered. The words were rough, as if she were having trouble breathing.

Gabe knew the feeling. “That's one possibility. Of course, with the right woman, a broken nose would be worth it.”

“Trust me, I'm not the right woman.” Her voice was low and tight.

Just like her lace panties, only inches away from Gabe's face.

“And stop pulling down my skirt.”

Gabe bit back a sigh of regret at what could have been a major spiritual experience and looked up toward the roof.
Mind out of the gutter, sailor.
“Don't blame the skirt on me. And do us both a favor, okay? Get up on the damned roof.”

“With pleasure.” Summer kicked one leg, smacking Gabe hard in the head. “Sorry. It's—pretty cramped up here, but I'm almost through.” As she spoke, her ankle flashed down, striking his shoulder. The one that still gave him occasional painful moments.

Gabe bit down an oath, climbing higher on the ladder. Something about the woman was nagging at him. She seemed efficient, calm. Too calm?