Nanny Read Free

world-class naked body.
    A little voice whispered a warning.
    Punchy with fury, she ignored it. Squaring her shoulders, she sat down in a velvet chair at the entrance to the bathroom, where she had a full view of the sunny shower enclosure.
    He was singing an old Beatles song—low and very off-key—when the water hissed off.
    The shower door slid open.
    Definitely
a world-class body. The man had the sculpted shoulders of an athlete in superb condition and abs to bounce a dime off. As he ran his hands over his face, drops of warm water clung to the dark hair on his chest, then slowly traveled lower.
    An odd tingle shot through Summer’s stomach. She hadn’t planned to look, but she found herself looking anyway. There was no avoiding the fact that the man had
excellent
muscles.
    Especially when he turned and saw her, his body locking hard.
    â€œDon’t tell me you’re the maid.” He had the hint of an accent, something smoky and rough that Summer couldn’t trace.
    â€œGuest,” she countered flatly. “And unless you talk fast, you’re spending the night as a guest of the local police, pal.”
    A smile played across his mouth. “Now you’re terrifying me.” The roughness was there again, but there wasn’t a hint of anxiety in his cool smile or the slow way he scooped up his towel and tossed it over his shoulder, where it concealed nothing.
    Obviously, modesty was a foreign concept to the man.
    Summer prayed to six patron saints for the ability to stay cool under his unrelenting stare, but the prayers weren’t working. Heat rose in her face and fingers of awareness nudged a dozen sensitive nerve centers. Probably the result of the industrial-strength Dramamine she’d taken on the plane, dulling her normal edge.
    Or maybe it was the man’s cocky smile as he draped the towel low around his waist.
    She was an expert in the Weaver stance and shotgun recoil. She knew about bomb dogs, wire fraud, and chain of custody for criminal evidence. But no one at Quantico had taught her the proper procedure for a naked smart-ass when said naked smart-ass was standing in your shower whistling “Penny Lane.”
    â€œGet out,” she said tightly. “Otherwise you’re going to be kissing the floor, and trust me I won’t make it nice.”
    His brow rose. “You know judo?”
    â€œAikido.”
    Suddenly his eyes were dark and focused. “You’re the new nanny?”
    â€œThat’s right. And you are?”
    â€œGabe Morgan—landscape and general contracting. The girls told me you weren’t coming until later tonight. My shower’s been acting up, so I thought I’d sneak over and clean up before you arrived.”
    As an apology, it stunk. As an explanation, it was passable—assuming that Summer believed him.
    Which she didn’t.
    â€œâ€˜The girls’?”
    â€œThe two O’Connor kids. Audra and Sophy. They told me when you were to arrive.”
    Summer smiled tightly. “As you can see, they were wrong.”
    â€œIn that case, sorry for the intrusion. No reason for things to get off on the wrong foot because of it.”
    â€œI’d say it’s a perfect reason.”
    He crossed his arms, and Summer worked hard not to stare at the fine display. There was a small scar near the top of his shoulder that curved down in a tight hook. From a gardening tool?
    â€œThe old nanny let the girls run wild. Clearly, you’re going to be a lot stricter.”
    â€œI’m not getting paid to let them run wild, Mr. Morgan.”
    â€œCall me Gabe.”
    Why was he standing there holding a conversation in his towel, for heaven’s sake? Why didn’t the man just
go
? “I doubt I’ll call you anything until you get some clothes on.”
    â€œToo bad.” Once again the grin teased his lips. “Clothes can be damned overrated, ma’am.”
    â€œNot by