Undercover Nanny. Wendy Warren

his eyes.

      “You’re very thoughtful, Anabel,” D.J. commended. And way more grown-up than you should be. Anabel too easily assumed a parental role, which made D.J. wonder if she should amend her estimation of Terry. D.J. had been like that, too, as a kid. She’d figured out early on that she’d have to rely on herself. Did Anabel feel the same? D.J. made a mental note to get more concrete information about Max’s cousin as soon as she could.

      Max interrupted her thoughts. “Now that Livie’s got a new swimsuit, when we come out, we can get one for you.”

      It took D.J. a moment to realize he was addressing her and not Anabel. “Oh, you know, about that—”

      James squealed as Max dipped him toward the ground. This time D.J. was sure it was James. She’d realized she could distinguish between the twins if she remembered that James’s hair was curlier.

      Max swung the little boy like a pendulum, making him chortle. D.J. grinned. For a flash, she wondered what might have happened if she and Max had really truly met in a bar, no hidden agenda involved, with her in a red dress and him seeing her from twenty feet away and sending her a drink. On the house.

      “So, you’ll watch the girls while the fellas and I are taking care of business?”

      D.J. nodded. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

      Max gave her a lingering look that sent about a thousand butterflies swirling through her stomach. “I’m counting on it.”

      Chapter Five

      “I don’t have money for a swimsuit.” And if I did, it would be a tankini from Land’s End, not the kind of one-piece people buy when they actually intend to swim.

      Daisy, the nanny, stood with her arms crossed, red Dansko sandal tapping the smooth floor. Three feet away, Max held up two hangers with the kind of solid, utilitarian swimsuits worn by Olympic athletes and members of the Polar Bear Club. Yech!

      “I don’t really need a suit, anyway,” D.J. pointed out. “You’re going to be at the pool. I can sit on the sidelines in case one of the kids decides not to swim. We could…color.”

      Max frowned heavily. “All the kids will swim. They love it. Livie’s going to start lessons at the Y. You may be at the pool a lot.”

      He let the comment hang in the air. You may be at the pool a lot…as if she’d already agreed to his year contract. D.J. glanced at Anabel and Livie, trying to hide in a rack of clothing. The boys were a few feet away, scooting matchbox cars across the floor. All were within earshot, so she decided not to say anything now, but tonight she was definitely going to have to disabuse him of the idea that she was a permanent hire.

      “I’m sure the pool has a lifeguard, right? And the kids can wear those floaty devices. So I’m good with shorts. I brought shorts.”

      “Daisy, if it’s about money, I’ll pay for the swimsuit,” Max told her. “Think of it as an employer-supplied uniform. Look, as far as I know there’s no lifeguard at the pool we’re going to today,” he told her when she looked as if she was going to protest again. “I’d feel better if I knew you were there.”

      Daisy cringed. She had to divulge her secret now: the only emergencies she felt capable of handling around a pool were refilling a margarita pitcher and applying sunscreen.

      “I can’t swim,” she said, her voice low, the words deliberately mumbled.

      Max craned his head toward her. “Say again.”

      D.J. made a face. He’d heard just fine; the disbelief in his expression told her so. Raising her chin, she announced more clearly, “I cannot swim.”

      The entire Wal-Mart got quiet. That’s how it seemed to D.J., anyway.

      She was ashamed about very little in her life, but somehow her inability to execute a decent freestyle, or even to dogpaddle, felt embarrassing down to her core. The whole world knew how to swim. Every parent taught his kid how to float in a pool or at least sent the poor shlub for swim lessons. In her case, neither event had happened. Her birth family had spent too much time fighting or drying out in detox centers to recall they even had a kid. And her early foster families had neither the time or patience to show her how to swim when they had more pressing concerns, like teaching her not to mouth off at the slightest provocation or steal from her foster siblings. By the time she’d moved in with the Thompsons she’d been twelve and adept at avoiding issues that bothered her.

      “I’m just not crazy about water,” she told Max, willing him to drop the subject.

      He didn’t. “Are you afraid of the water?”

      “No, I’m not ’afraid.’” For some reason she hated that word. “I don’t like to get wet.”

      Slowly, he lowered the swimsuits he’d been holding for her approval.

      D.J. felt a prickly heat fill her face. She just wanted to get out of here. Was that too much to ask for? “It’s not a priority. I live in the Pacific Northwest. I don’t need to swim.”

      “What do you do when you go to the coast?”

      D.J. shrugged. She’d been working since high school. She’d only been to the coast a couple of times.

      “What if you go sailing or take a cruise?” Max persisted. “You ought to be able to tread water, at least.”

      “Why? Because I’m going to fall in? How many people really do that? I don’t think that’s an issue.”

      Crossing his arms, Max wagged his head, a papa lion setting the standard for his pride. “Knowing how to swim is a safety precaution, if nothing else. You may want to go river rafting or kayaking some day. You have to know how to handle yourself.”

      “If I have that much time off and that much money, I’ll go to Nordstrom, thanks. I handle myself great there.”

      Max shot a quick look at the kids to make sure they were still close and still occupied. Then he focused again on Daisy. He felt his own stubbornness rise to meet hers. He got a kick out of this enigmatic woman. Her odd mix of toughness and vulnerability captured him. One minute she was all confidence and wry independence. You could see it by the way she swaggered in her jeans, the way she’d put her hands on her hips and cocked a brow in warning at the boys when they’d teased Anabel about having to wear glasses.

      On the other hand, Daisy could seem utterly out of her element and uncertain. Max wanted to know what made her tick. He wanted to know what kind of woman dressed in designer jeans, a red tank top and a dozen skinny bracelets to go on a family bike ride, but seemed utterly absorbed in the activity and unaware of the looks every boy, man and old fart sent her as she pedaled past.

      If he had hired her for the restaurant, they’d probably have a full house every night.

      The fact that he’d seen other men ogle her was probably what had led him to pick out two of the more modest bathing suits on the rack. The long-legged beauty before him had never swum in the ocean, Max realized. She’d never been skinny-dipping. Right or wrong—and, okay, it was definitely wrong—he wanted to be the first one to introduce her to those pleasures.

      The hours he’d spent with Daisy Holden had all of Max’s senses stirred and shaken.

      Returning the blue suit to the rack, he grimaced. It shouldn’t even occur to him to touch the nanny; he sure as hell hadn’t thought about touching Mrs. Carmichael.

      Nothing regarding this situation with Daisy was normal. He wanted her signature on a year contract—though he’d settle for six months—because he knew the kids needed some continuity. So did he. Also, he needed to show the social worker that he had child care lined up, that the kids’ welfare was his top priority and that everything was finally under control. That part made sense. But if he thought about it a little, how persuasive would Daisy be?

      Max tried to picture Nadelle Arnold, the social worker with a bite like