The Nanny's Plan. Donna Clayton

slid open the French door through which the boys had already disappeared and motioned for her to enter before him.

      “But I’m wet,” she said, eyeing the carpet. “I’ll ruin—”

      “It’s okay. Go on in.”

      The cream-colored rug felt luxuriously thick as she stepped inside on tiptoes.

      “And don’t worry if you don’t make it down to eat with us,” he told her, closing the door behind them. “Take your time freshening up. I’ll keep a plate warm for you.”

      Just then they heard what sounded like a chair being dragged across the kitchen floor, then a loud thump, then the murmur of children’s voices.

      “Why don’t you let me find my room by myself,” she suggested. “It sounds like the boys might be getting…hungry.”

      “It does, doesn’t it? They are a handful. Go up the back stairs there—” he pointed the way “—and your room is the yellow one just to the right. You can’t miss it. Oh, and maybe later, after things quiet down, the two of us can meet in my study and discuss our schedules over a glass of wine. You’ll need some time off. We can figure out which days you’ll have free.”

      “That sounds good,” she told him.

      He started off toward the kitchen.

      “Excuse me,” she called.

      He turned to face her.

      “Um, I will need my suitcase.”

      “Oh, of course.” He brought her the case with a murmured apology. “Sorry about that.”

      A grin that sexy should be deemed illegal, and his absentmindedness made him less formidable. It made him quite appealing, in fact.

      She was smiling when he started off again. She couldn’t help but call out his name a final time. From the expression on his face when he looked at her, it was clear he was baffled by what else could have slipped his mind.

      “I just wanted to tell you that I like ruffled sprouts.”

      There was absolutely no logical reason for the odd feelings pulsing through Pierce. No logical reason whatsoever. He sat at his desk worrying his chin between his index finger and thumb.

      He’d taken great care planning this room when he’d had the house built. With its floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the long oak conference table, the reading nook and the wall of wide windows, his study doubled as a library. A place he could feel comfortable reading, deciphering the data of his research and writing up his scientific findings. This richly paneled room was his oasis.

      However, tonight he was finding no solace here.

      “Amy Edwards is a great girl,” his sister had told him. “She’s unassuming and, well…very sweet. She’ll be great with the boys, and you’ll like her, I’m sure.”

      Cynthia had explained that for years Amy’s father had owned a small motel just off the intrastate in Kansas. Amy had helped run the business. Cynthia and John had gotten to know the family while John had been the pastor of a small church in Lebo earlier in his career.

      “She’s honest and trustworthy,” Cynthia had said, “and she’s got a great work ethic.”

      His brother-in-law had added, “From what I remember, she was a mousy little thing.”

      Unassuming. Mousy. For some odd reason, those were the two adjectives that had stuck with him when he’d agreed to have the nanny in his home.

      Pierce had always thought unassuming meant ordinary. And there was nothing ordinary about Amy Edwards. There was nothing mousy about her, either. She was the epitome of aplomb from the top of her coiffed head to the scarlet-painted tips of her toes…and they were very dainty toes, at that.

      A scowl had his facial muscles tensing. He shouldn’t be noticing Amy’s bare toes. Or any of her other physical attributes, either. Like those shapely calves and thighs, and that nicely curved fanny.

      But the wet silk had clung to her like the skin on a ripe plum. The sight had been just as enticing as a juicy piece of fruit, too, and he’d ended up feeling like a man who’d been starved for that particular food group.

      His frowned deepened. He pushed himself from the chair and stalked to the window. What had gotten into him?

      The reason he’d been so discombobulated by the woman, he guessed, was that he’d been expecting a plain Jane…but what had arrived was a stunning Stella. However, there had been more to it than merely her looks.

      From his sister’s accounting, Pierce had imagined Amy would be an average, regular, normal young woman—a barely grown kid, really, from the way Cynthia had described her. But the woman he’d seen when he’d gone down to the water’s edge was polished and professional. Even standing up to her waist in the bay, she’d exuded a calm, no-nonsense air. When he’d questioned her methods of rescuing his nephews, she’d been quick to fire back a logical explanation that had exonerated her of any unsound decisions.

      Although Pierce wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone, he’d been a tad intimidated by the magnitude of her poise. He couldn’t be sure, but at one point he suspected she’d actually chuckled at his handling of the whole situation. Of course, she’d explained away her sudden humor by expressing how cute the boys were, so his suspicion that she’d been laughing at his expense could be all in his head…

      The knock on his study door made him turn. Amy stood at the threshold wearing a gold blouse that set off her rich brown eyes. Her skirt was short enough to show off her perfect knees. Her feet were clad in high heels that accentuated her narrow ankles and shapely calves. His gaze rose to her face, and when he noticed that her light brown hair was still swept up off her shoulders, he couldn’t help but wonder how long it was and what it might look like in a tumble.

      His mind was suddenly besieged with the image of him pulling the pins free himself, combing his fingers through those dark tresses. His gut tightened.

      “Come in,” he said, doing his damnedest to shove the alluring picture from his head.

      “Is this a good time?” She entered the room, her shoulders square, her head high.

      “Yes,” he told her. “Have a seat. Would you like a glass of wine?”

      Amy smiled. “That would be nice, thanks.”

      He went to the bar cabinet to pour their drinks. “I played a board game with the boys after dinner, gave them their baths and then tucked them into bed. They’re settled for the night.”

      When he handed her the glass of merlot, he said, “They’re in the room next door to you, by the way.”

      She took a sip, swallowed and then gazed off for a second. When she looked at him again her expression glowed with pleasure. “Delicious,” she said, then her tongue smoothed over her lips.

      Something happened down low in his belly. An odd fiery sensation sprouted to life.

      “I’m ready to take over responsibility of the boys tomorrow morning.”

      She shifted in the seat, and Pierce was aware of the swish of her skirt fabric against the leather couch cushion. When she crossed her legs, the whisper of flesh against flesh had his breath stilling in his throat.

      It was silly, really, this sudden fascination he found with that sound.

      He took a drink—and a deep breath—desperate to clear this strange fog from his head.

      “I’d like to gently recommend,” he began, his gaze traveling down the length of her, “a change in your wardrobe.”

      A tiny crease appeared between her deep-set eyes.

      “What I mean is,” he rushed to explain, “Benjamin and Jeremiah are rambunctious boys. They run and jump and dig in the dirt and heaven only knows what else