Chapter One
Erik’s eyes narrowed as a young woman hopped out of the cab that had just pulled into his driveway. His brows furrowed when she hauled a suitcase out behind her, raised her hand to shade her eyes against the noonday sun, and gazed speculatively up at his house.
“They’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. He’d distinctly requested an older woman—no younger than fifty, who had experience taking care of young children.
Someone from the agency had called to say that the scheduled candidate had canceled due to a family emergency, and that a Michelle Carter would be coming instead. Was it okay if she brought her credentials with her?
Although the agencies conducted investigations, Erik ran his own background checks before interviewing potential employees.
He could never be too careful when it came to the welfare of his only child.
Today, he’d trusted Ready Nanny Agency because there was no time to check, and look what they sent him—a girl barely out of her teens.
Her hair was cut too short for a woman. She was too skinny and too tall. Her jeans were too tight, and the seductive sway of her hips was unequivocally too provocative. Despite his objections, Erik felt a poignant stir in his groin.
After ten years as a gynecologist, unlike some of his colleagues, he’d never been even the slightest bit interested in a patient.
It was all professional. The woman walking up his driveway wasn’t his patient, and the images running through his head were anything but professional.
They involved tangled sheets, soft sighs, harsh moans, and musky odor rising from damp smooth skin. ..
Shaking the racy thoughts from his head, Erik tightened his jaws and moved away from the window. He’d been without a woman for too long—two years since his wife’s death. Yes, that was definitely his problem.
At the chime of the doorbell, Erik stepped into the hallway and caught up with his housekeeper. “Mrs. Hayes, tell the young lady that I was called to the hospital, and—um—that I will contact the agency with a new date for an interview.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Mrs. Hayes threw him a speculative stare at the blatant lie.
Erik marched down the hall to his study. He closed the door, dropped into the chair behind his desk, and stared at the painting of his wife hanging above the fireplace.
As usual, he tried to shift his sexual interest in other women to memories of lovemaking with her, but as hard as he tried, there was no shifting for him today. As he stared into his wife’s brown eyes, the only images Erik saw were those of the young girl sashaying up his driveway.
“Come in,” he responded to the knock on the door. “Is she gone?” he asked, when it opened behind him.
“No. She isn’t gone. She’s still here.”
Erik swiveled around at the sultry voice. His heart did a triple take, and lust like he’d never experienced crawled through his belly and settled into his groin. At a loss for words, he took a hard, close-up look at the vibrant embodiment of temptation heading his way.
Her facial bones were delicately carved under her brown velvety skin.
Her short crop of raven hair glittered like strands of black silk in the slivers of afternoon sun streaming through the glass door.
Long lashes accentuated a pair of fiery, obsidian eyes, and her lips, full and provocative under a thin layer of gloss, looked as if they’d just been thoroughly kissed.
She was the most enchanting woman Erik had ever seen.
Unwittingly, his gaze fell to the ripe swell of her breasts pushing against the stretchy material of her blouse. Was she even wearing a bra? His gut wrenched at the thought.
“You must be Dr. LaCrosse,” she said, breaking the silence and offering him a tantalizing smile.
Her unfamiliar, yet highly stimulating perfume wrapped around him. He grew harder. Restless.
She was probably about five feet, ten inches tall, he thought, suddenly feeling uncomfortable sitting in her presence. But if he dared stand up, she would have a full view of his unsolicited arousal. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m Dr. LaCrosse, and you are—”
“Michelle. Michelle Carter.” She held out her hand.
Her wrist was delicate, her fingers long and slender, the nails red. Channel. Channel your thoughts. Erik’s hands curled around the arms of his chair. “Apparently my housekeeper neglected to relay my message to you, Ms. Carter.”
She dropped her hand. “Actually, she did relay your message, but I’d already seen you through the window when my cab pulled up.”
He held her gaze, not knowing whether to smile or scowl at her pursed lips.
It obviously gave her great satisfaction to have caught him in a lie.
“Ms. Carter,” he began in an attempt to repair the self-inflicted damage to his character, “the minute I saw you step out of the cab, I knew you were wrong for the job. For one thing, you’re too young.
I specifically requested someone older who has experience taking care of young children. ”
Feeling the tension in his groin loosen a bit, Erik stood up and stepped from behind the desk. He stared down at her, still appalled that she’d come to an interview dressed so unprofessionally. “You,” he continued, “do not fit that description.”
With considerable effort, Michelle suppressed the sensual jitters the deep sexy voice of the extremely tall man was causing inside her.
Dressed in no smaller than size fifteen loafers, tan slacks, and a white Polo shirt, his olive-toned body was lean, hard, and athletic.
He was classically handsome, with a nice straight nose and a rich crop of curly dark-brown hair.
His smoky gray eyes, speckled with an array of golden hues, were as sharp as they were eccentric.
McDreamy and McSteamy rolled up into one. Move over boys. This doctor was so fine, he made her leak.
Michelle licked her lips as an inexplicable sense of fear washed over her.
She’d had to deal with a few arrogant men in her past, but this one made her feel quite susceptible.
If she were smart, she would walk out of this room, out of this cold, luxurious country mansion and whistle her cab back to Manchester.
But she wasn’t smart. She was desperate. She needed this job. She needed a roof over her head and a fresh start.
“Well, have you nothing to say, Ms. Carter? You barged into my study after you were asked to leave. I’ve explained why you don’t qualify for this job, and all you can do is stand there gawking at me?”
From the way he assessed her with his eyes, Michelle knew he disapproved of her attire as much as her age.
Ready Nanny Agency had warned her that the fastidious widower had requested someone much older.
Since they were fresh out of antiquated nannies and would probably lose him as a client anyway, they wanted to know if she was up to trying her luck.
Heck, yes. She had nothing to lose.
Michelle took a deep breath. When the agency had called her as a backup, she was in a laundromat in downtown Manchester.
With a ninety-minute window of time, she barely had enough to finish the last wash, pull the half-dried load from the dryer, catch the city bus back to her apartment, throw her clothes and a few other personal items into a suitcase—since she was determined to land this job and move in tonight—and catch a cab to 204 Jefferson Drive in the upscale town of Amherst, New Hampshire.
If she told him all that, he would know she was desperate.
That wasn’t happening. Not today, and definitely not after the way he was looking down his nose at her.
She clutched the folder with her credentials to her chest. “Dr. LaCrosse, if I were you and saw me walking up my driveway dressed like this to interview for a nanny position for my seven-year-old daughter, I would have the same reaction.”
“Is that so, Ms. Carter? Then perhaps you can explain your attire?” His eyes lingered on her chest then wandered down to her waistline before he looked away.
Michelle didn’t miss the faint twitch of his jaws or the quick sparkle of interest in his eyes.
Beneath that grim exterior, when all was said and done, he was after all, just a man.
He found her attractive, maybe even sexy, but Dr. Rich Boy would shoot himself in the groin before admitting he wanted her, a girl from the wrong side of the river.
The moment she walked into the room, Michelle had figured out his type from the painting of the curvy, longhaired redhead over the marble fireplace.
Truth is, she intended to wear her white cotton jacket over her blouse, but in her haste to get here, she’d forgotten it hanging on her bedroom door. Everything else in her suitcase was wrinkled or damp. This was the best she could do.
She had twelve dollars and a penny in her pocket, and she could really use a home-cooked meal tonight. From the aromas coming from the kitchen when she walked through the elaborate foyer, she predicted it would be delicious.
But as desperate as she was, his arrogance was ticking her off. Since he’d blatantly lied about being at home for the interview, Michelle didn’t think he deserved the truth.
“Ms. Carter.” The impatient edge in his voice pulled her back on track.
“Dr. LaCrosse, I’ll assume you were expecting a model of Mrs. Doubtfire or Nanny McPhee, but quite seriously, sir, those kinds of nannies don’t exist anymore.
They are long defunct. Like… gone,” she said with a flourishing swipe of her wrist. “I could have arrived, dressed like a matron from the middle ages just to appease your visual palate, but tomorrow morning, I would have rolled out of bed, pulled on my jeans and tank top, then we’d be right back to square one. ”
He grimaced. “Just as I predicted, Ms. Carter. You’re young, inexperienced, and unmistakably uncouth.”