His Potential Wife. Grace Green
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to get dressed and attend to your children.”
He looked as if he was going to say something more.
Again she waited. And willed him to leave.
In the end, he scratched a hand clumsily through his hair, twisted his face in an expression of excruciating embarrassment, before turning away with one last muttered “Sorry,” and disappearing into the forest.
Willow’s breath quivered out in a whimper of relief.
He was gone.
Thank heaven.
But…oh Lord…what a disaster!
How on earth was she going to face the man now? Now that he’d seen her with nothing on but her watch!
Scott crashed through the woods, wondering if he’d ever felt so stupid. What a blundering idiot. Served him right, for snooping. He’d got more than he bargained for. Far more.
How was he going to face her now?
And would he ever again be able to look at her without picturing her naked? He groaned. If only he’d turned up five minutes later. If only he hadn’t walked out of the trees just as she’d stretched her arms up to the skies, gilded in sunshine like a wood nymph, without a stitch of clothing and her smooth skin tanned to a deliciously dusky brown except for the stark white areas where her bikini—
Oh damn, damn, damn!
He punched one hand into the palm of the other. Willow Tyler had told him that morning that he was in a pickle. He snorted. A pickle was mild compared to the situation he was in now.
He’d asked Ida Trent to send him a plain-Jane nanny. A plain-Jane nanny she was not. It wasn’t that she was a looker; in fact, hadn’t he already decided her face was eminently forgettable? The problem was…her figure. It was exquisite. The most exquisite he’d ever seen and—she was right about one thing!—he’d seen more than a few naked ladies in his day! But he just couldn’t have this girl prancing around the house in skimpy T-shirts and shorts now that he knew what she looked like underneath.
He needed to suit her up in armor—some kind of armor that would obliterate the sexy image from his mind.
He pondered the problem as he emerged from the trees and started walking up the path to the house. And then, just as he reached the back door, the solution came to him.
The nannies who’d worked for him in the city had worn uniforms ordered from the smartnannies.com catalog—each outfit consisting of a crisp blue dress, with white collar and cuffs; white stockings; white lace-up shoes.
And that, of course, was the answer. He would put Ms. Tyler in a uniform. Then she’d blend in with the woodwork. And far from being stimulated to fantasize about her, he wouldn’t even see her!
It would work.
He groaned again and rolled his eyes heavenward.
It had to work!
“Ms. Tyler, could you come into my study for a moment?”
Willow paused at the foot of the stairs, her stomach sinking. Dr. Galbraith had kept scrupulously out of her way for the rest of the day after the creek incident and she’d hoped she could escape to her room for the night without having encountered him. Her hopes were not to be realized.
Indicating the pile of clothing and towels clutched in her arms, she said, “Okay if I put these in the washer first?”
“Sure, go ahead.” He withdrew into his study again, but left the door open.
Willow hurried along to the laundry room, wondering what he was going to say. Was he going to fire her? Did he think her behavior that afternoon had been…unbecoming? Well, she’d find out soon enough!
After setting the washer going, she brushed a nervous hand over her hair, making sure her ponytail was tidy, before making her way reluctantly through to the study.
She gave a light rat-tat on the door and walked in.
Her employer was pacing restlessly, his head down, his hands jammed into his trouser pockets.
As she entered, he halted and jerked his head up.
“Ah, there you are.” He looked as ill at ease as she felt. And that gave her confidence a slight boost. She said, quietly,
“You wanted to see me.”
“I wanted to tell you that the cook/housekeeper I’ve hired—a Mrs. Caird—will be starting tomorrow. She’ll do all the cooking plus all the housework, except for your laundry and the children’s, and the cleaning of your room. Will that be satisfactory?”
Willow nodded, feeling dizzy with relief that she still had her job. “Of course. But…I’ll have the run of the kitchen, for making snacks for the children and so on?”
“That’s something you can arrange with Mrs. Caird. I’m sure she’ll have no objections as long as you clean up after yourself.”
“Thank you.” Willow turned away and started toward the door.
“Er…before you disappear again…there’s something I…need to know.”
Willow turned around, questioningly. But when she saw the evasive expression in his eyes, she felt a quiver of apprehension. Was he going to chastise her, now, for her immodest behavior that afternoon?
“Ye…es,” she said. “And what is that?”
“I need to…know…er…your measurements.”
“I don’t understand. What measurements?”
A vein throbbed at his right temple. “Do I need to spell it out?” He scowled at her. And dark color seeped into his cheeks. “The usual measurements, for heaven’s sake!”
“The…usual measurements?”
“The size, Ms. Tyler, of your waist, and your hips. And—” he looked as if he was going to choke on the words but finally he got them out “—the size of your breasts.”
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