The Nanny's Secret. Elizabeth Lane
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kept you? I was about to send out a search party. Why didn’t you call?” He sounded like the parent of a teen who’d missed curfew.
“Sorry. My phone died. And everything took longer than I’d expected. I didn’t even take time to change.” She glanced down at her rumpled suit, then down further to where her feet had swollen to the shape of her pumps. Opening the back of the station wagon, she reached for her suitcase, but Wyatt was there ahead of her. He snatched up the heavy bag and carried it into the front hall.
“Did the order from Baby Mart get here?” she asked.
“It arrived a couple of hours ago. I had the delivery man put the crib together, but everything else is still in boxes. You’ll have your work cut out for you.”
“There’s no one here to help?” She’d expected to see a servant or two but there wasn’t another soul in sight.
His eyebrow quirked upward. “Just you—and me. Dinner’s warming in the oven if you’re hungry.”
“I’m starved.” And she was, even though she hadn’t given food a thought until now. “Don’t tell me you cook,” she said.
“Lord, no. I keep snacks and breakfast food in the kitchen, but when I want a real meal, I have it delivered from the restaurant at the lodge. Tonight it’s lasagna.” He lowered the suitcase to the floor. “You can leave your things here till we’ve eaten.”
He ushered her into the great room, its cathedral roof shored by massive, rough-hewn beams. The north wall, overlooking the resort, was floor-to-ceiling glass. No blinds were needed. Seeing inside from below would be next to impossible.
The logs in the huge stone fireplace had burned down to coals, leaving the space pleasantly warm. After kicking her shoes off her swollen feet, Leigh slipped off her jacket, tossed it back over her suitcase and followed Wyatt. Off to her right she glimpsed a formal dining area, but it appeared they’d be eating in the brightly lit kitchen, where the steel-topped table had been set for two.
Wyatt seated her and used a padded glove to lift the foil-wrapped pan out of the oven. There was a fresh salad on the table, along with a baguette, a bottle of vintage claret and two glasses.
“I’ll pour and you dish.” He handed her a spatula. “It might be overcooked.”
“My fault for being late. Sorry.” Leigh scooped two squares of lasagna onto the plates. It didn’t look overcooked, and it smelled heavenly.
“Eat hearty. We’ve got plenty work ahead of us, getting that nursery set up.”
“You said we. Does that mean you’re planning to help?”
“With the heavy lifting, at least. But you’ll be the one organizing things. I hope you plan to change into something more comfortable.”
“Of course.” Leigh’s face warmed as his cobalt eyes lingered on her. The silk blouse she’d worn with the suit had always been a little snug. She’d forgotten that problem when she’d taken off her jacket. She scrambled to change the subject. “I still find it hard to believe you don’t have help in this big house—in addition to me, of course.”
“You mean like a butler and a chauffeur and a cook?” His eyes twinkled, an unexpected surprise. “You’ve been watching too many episodes of Masterpiece Theatre. A gaggle of servants hanging around would drive me crazy. I can load the dishwasher, answer my own doorbell and drive my own car. And I have a cleaning crew up from the lodge every Wednesday to keep the place looking shipshape. Believe me, I like my peace and quiet.”
She took a sip of wine and speared a sliced mushroom from her salad. It would be a waste of words, reminding him now, but Wyatt’s precious peace and quiet was about to be shattered.
* * *
Leigh’s room was on the second floor. Like the rest of the house, its decor was rustic and masculine with an eye to comfort. The queen-sized bed featured a decadent European-style featherbed and duvet. A hand-woven Tibetan rug covered much of the hardwood floor. Wooden shutters masked the tall windows.
One wall was decorated with framed black-and-white photos of the Himalayas. Among them was an image of a grinning, bearded Wyatt between two Sherpa porters. As Leigh stripped off her blouse, skirt and pantyhose, it was as if his mocking eyes watched her every move.
She would have to do something about that picture.
A side door opened into the nursery, which was piled with bags and boxes from Baby Mart. Zipping her jeans and tugging her sweatshirt over her head, she prepared to do battle with the mess. It was going to be a long night. And her tortured feet would feel every step she took.
Wyatt had just unpacked a solid oak rocker and was situating a cushion on the seat. He glanced up as she padded barefoot into the nursery.
“That’s more like it,” he said, taking in her outfit. “But where are your shoes?”
Leigh wiggled her swollen toes. “Too many hours in stilettos. I’m so footsore I can’t even wear my sneakers.”
“That’s no good.” He rose, gesturing toward the chair. “Maybe I can help. Sit down.”
She hesitated. “We really need to get started here.”
“Sit. That’s an order.”
Leigh sank onto the padded seat. Being bossed rankled her, but she was on his clock, and if he could do something for her feet, who was she to argue?
Dropping to a crouch, he cradled her left foot between his hands. “Trust me. I’ve dealt with enough sports injuries to pick up a few tricks.”
His strong hands began kneading her foot, fingers pressing the arch as his thumbs massaged the bones and tendons between her toes. Leigh could feel herself relaxing as the pain eased. Delicious sensations trickled up her leg. She closed her eyes. A moan escaped her lips.
He chuckled. “Feels good, does it?”
“Mmm-hmm. You could do this for a living.” Her mind began to wander forbidden paths, imagining how those skilled hands would feel in other places. She hadn’t been in a physical relationship since breaking her engagement, eleven months ago. Now she felt her body awakening to Wyatt’s masculine touch. And she couldn’t help remembering that they were alone here, with a bed in the next room....
But what was she thinking? Sleeping with Wyatt was a crazy idea. Any intimacy between them would just make it that much harder for her to hold on to her secrets.
With a mental slap, Leigh shocked herself back to reality. When she opened her eyes, Wyatt was looking up at her as if he’d detected something in her face. Her cheeks warmed. Had he guessed what she’d been thinking?
“How’s your room?” He broke the awkward silence. “Will it be all right?”
“It’s lovely—although I may not be able to roll myself out of that bed in the morning.”
“Chloe chose that room for you. She wanted you next to the nursery, where you could hear the baby at night.”
“And where will Chloe be?”
“Her room’s downstairs. She says she doesn’t want his crying to wake her up.”
So, what’s wrong with this picture? Leigh bit back an acerbic comment. She’d known she was getting into a prickly situation. That was why she’d taken the job in the first place. But this was no time to climb on her soapbox—especially since the issue would need to be addressed with Chloe, not the girl’s father.
“I can guess what you’re thinking.” He switched to her other foot, skilled fingers kneading away the soreness. “But for now I want you to cut the girl some slack—give her time to get back on her feet, physically and emotionally. When her mother had to choose between her husband and her pregnant daughter, Chloe found herself on her way to the airport with her bags. As if she hadn’t been through enough already,