The Nanny Bombshell. Michelle Celmer

weren’t particularly long, or slender, so the impulse to touch her, to slide his palm up the inside of one creamy thigh and under the hem of her gown—and the resulting pull of lust it created—caught him completely off guard. He had to make an effort to keep his gaze above her neck and on her eyes, which were dark and inquisitive, with that exotic tilt. Her hair, which he’d only ever seen up in a ponytail, hung in a long, silky black sheet over her shoulders, and he itched to run his fingers through it. Instead he shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

      You can look, but you can’t touch, he reminded himself, and not for the first time since she’d come by to meet the girls. She was absolutely nothing like the sort of woman he would typically be attracted to. Maybe that alone was what he found so appealing. She was different. A novelty. But her position as the twins’ nanny was just too crucial to put in jeopardy.

      Maybe hiring such an attractive woman had been a bad idea, even if she was the most qualified. Maybe he should have held out and interviewed a few more people, made an effort to find someone older or, better yet, a guy.

      “Did you want something?” she asked, and he realized that he was just standing there staring at her.

      Way to make yourself look like an idiot, Coop. He was usually pretty smooth when it came to women. He had no idea why he was acting like such a dope.

      “I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said.

      “No, I was still up.”

      “I just wanted to check in, see how it went today.”

      “It went really well. It’ll take some time to get into a routine, but I’m following their lead.”

      “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help out.”

      She looked confused. “I didn’t expect you to help.”

      He felt his eyes drifting lower, to the cleavage at the neckline of her gown. She wasn’t large-busted, but she wasn’t what he would consider small, either. She was … average. So why couldn’t he seem to look away?

      She noticed him noticing but made no move to cover herself. And why should she? It was her room. He was the intruder.

      And he was making a complete ass of himself.

      “Was there anything else?” she asked.

      He forced his gaze back to her face. “I thought we could just talk for a while. We haven’t had a chance to go over the girls’ schedules. I thought you might have questions.”

      She looked hesitant, and he thought her answer was going to be no. And could he blame her? He was behaving like a first-rate pervert. But after several seconds, she said, “Okay, I’ll be out in just a minute.”

      She snapped the door closed and he walked to the kitchen, mentally knocking himself in the head. What the hell was wrong with him? He was acting as if he’d never seen an attractive woman before. One of his dining companions that evening had worn a form-fitting dress that was shorter and lower cut than Sierra’s nightgown and he hadn’t felt even a twinge of interest. He needed to quit eyeballing her, or she was going to think he was some sort of deviant. The last thing he wanted was for her to be uncomfortable in his home.

      Coop opened the wine refrigerator and fished out an open bottle of pinot grigio. Unlike his teammates, he preferred a quality wine to beer or liquor. He’d never been one to enjoy getting drunk. Not since his wild days anyway, when he’d taken pretty much anything that gave him a buzz because at the time it meant taking his pain away.

      He took two glasses from the cupboard and set them on the island countertop. Sierra walked in as he was pouring. She had changed into a pair of black leggings and an oversize, faded yellow T-shirt. He found his gaze drawn to her legs again. He typically dated women who were supermodel skinny—and a few of those women had actually been supermodels—but not necessarily because that was what he preferred. That just seemed to be the type of woman who gravitated toward him. He liked that Sierra had some meat on her bones. She was not heavy by any stretch of the imagination. She just looked … healthy. Although he was sure that most women would take that as an insult.

      He quickly reminded himself that it didn’t matter what she looked like because she was off-limits.

      “Have a seat,” he said, and she slid onto one of the bar stools across the island from him. He corked the wine and slid one of the glasses toward her. “I hope you like white.”

      “Oh … um …” She hesitated, a frown causing an adorable little wrinkle between her brows. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

      He put the bottle back in the fridge. Maybe she thought he was trying to get her drunk so he could take advantage of her. “One glass,” he said. “Unless you don’t drink.”

      “No, I do. I’m just not sure if it’s a good idea.”

      “Are you underage?”

      She flashed him a cute smile. “You know I’m not. I’m just worried that one of the girls might wake up. In fact, I’d say it’s a strong possibility, so I need to stay sharp.”

      “You think one little glass of wine will impair you?” He folded his arms. “You must be quite the lightweight.”

      Her chin lifted a notch. “I can hold my own. I just don’t want to make a bad impression.”

      “If you drank an entire bottle, that might worry me, but one glass? Do you think I would offer if I thought it was a bad idea?”

      “I guess not.”

      “Let’s put it this way: If the twins were your daughters, and you wanted to wind down after a busy day, would you feel comfortable allowing yourself a glass of wine?”

      “Yes.”

      He slid the wine closer. “So, stop worrying about what I think, and enjoy.” She took it.

      “A toast, to your first day,” he said, clinking his glass against hers.

      She sipped, nodded and said, “Nice. I wouldn’t have imagined you as the wine-drinking type.”

      “I’m sure there are a lot of things about me that would surprise you.” He rested his hip against the edge of the countertop. “But tell me about you.”

      “I thought we were going to talk about the girls.”

      “We will, but I’d like to know a little bit about you first.”

      She sipped again, then set her glass down. “You read my file.”

      “Yeah, but that was just the basics. I’d like to know more about you as a person. Like, what made you get into nursing?”

      “My mom, actually.”

      “She was a nurse?

      “No, she was a homemaker. She got breast cancer when I was a kid. The nurses were so wonderful to her and to me and my dad and sister. Especially when she was in hospice. I decided then, that’s what I wanted to do.”

      “She passed away?”

      Sierra nodded. “When I was fourteen.”

      “That’s a tough age for a girl to lose her mother.”

      “It was harder for my sister, I think. She was only ten.”

      He circled the counter and sat on the stool beside hers. “Is there a good age to lose a parent? I was twelve when my mom and dad died. It was really rough.”

      “My sister used to be this sweet, happy-go-lucky kid, but after she got really moody and brooding.”

      “I was angry,” he said. “I went from being a pretty decent kid to the class bully.”

      “It’s not uncommon, in that situation, for a boy to pick on someone smaller and weaker. It probably gave you a feeling of power in an otherwise powerless situation.”

      “Except