Something About Joe (8 page)

Such energetic dancing made her feel flushed
and warm and uncomfortable in her suit. She started to unbutton the
tight-fitting jacket and slid it off her shoulders. She noticed Joe
watching her.

Recklessly,
she turned the removal of the jacket into something akin to a
striptease, lingering as she pulled it off her body, aware of how
her breasts thrust against the fine knit she wore underneath. Joe’s
eyes narrowed and smoldered.
Yes!
She twirled the jacket
around and then tossed it on to the sofa.

Joe looked
at the jacket and back to her. He put down the guitar and jumped up
to join her and Mitchell. “Sing,” he urged. “We’ll make the
music.”

This song was a kids’ song but it had an
adult, rock-and-roll rhythm, and Joe wasn’t dancing like a kid. His
hips in faded blue denim swung in perfect time to the rhythm, his
body sensuous and sinuous.

A thought
flashed through her head, a leftover from her college party days
when she and her friends would check out potential guys. “Dud at
dancing—dud in bed.” Joe was good at dancing. Very good.

She was conscious of his eyes on her breasts
and hips as she danced. Lucky Mitchell was between them, otherwise
she might have boogied up closer to Joe, thrust her hips to his as
they danced and wound her arms around his neck. That was not a wise
thing to do with the nanny.

Instead she picked Mitchell up and whirled
him around her. “More, momma, more,” he cried in delight. Then Joe
took him and danced him around, singing to him all the while.

“No more,” Allison finally begged. For the
final “Teddy turns around and Teddy falls down”, she tumbled over
in a heap with Mitchell, breathless and laughing.

Joe was
laughing too; his face flushed beneath his tan, his T-shirt molded
to his powerful muscles. Her heart flipped over at how appealing he
looked. But he wasn’t for her. He was her child’s nanny. And they
had absolutely nothing in common except physical attraction. Why
did she keep forgetting that?

“That’s such a cute song.” Allison hummed a
few bars. “I haven’t heard it before. It’s going to be a big
favorite with Mitchell and me.”

She propped Mitchell up on her knees and
started to bounce him up and down. Joe picked up his guitar again.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said.

Something
proprietorial in his tone made her look up sharply. “You...you
wrote it? You wrote that song?”

He nodded.

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

He was
talented to write something like that. Talented and smart. And he
had a real gift for communicating with kids.

He nodded
again. “Yeah. I
wrote it at first for my
nieces and nephews. They liked it and it went from
there.”

“
Mitchell
adores it.” Allison bounced Mitchell on her knees and then dropped
them so he tumbled to the floor.

“And Teddy falls down...” she sang as he
squealed and giggled. She planted a row of kisses on his neck,
delighting in the baby softness of his skin.

Mitchell excitedly struggled free. “More,
Joe, more!”

Forget the muscles, the darkly handsome
face. Joe’s smile was the most devastating thing about him. And it
was directed right at her.

How must she look sprawled on the carpet,
her hair a mess, her skirt crushed? She had gotten totally carried
away by the fun and warmth of the situation; the magic of Joe’s
music.

She managed to stand up, tug her skirt down
and slide with as much dignity as she could onto the sofa.

Joe took up more than his share of it. She
was a fraction of an inch away from his hard, denim-clad thighs.
Move a muscle and they’d be touching.

Mitchell nestled against her knees and she
shifted forward, unintentionally sliding closer to Joe. Their legs
touched, she could feel the warmth of his body through his jeans
and the scant cover of her pantyhose. She felt his muscles tense.
He didn’t move away. She breathed in his scent—an intoxicating
blend of leather, spicy aftershave and fresh, male sweat.

Joe picked up his guitar again to oblige his
charge with a rock-flavored version of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little
Star.” His distinctive, husky voice gave a unique twist to the old
nursery rhyme.

Allison
joined in, providing the requisite twinkling finger movements for
Mitchell.

As Joe
strummed the last chord, he murmured, “I think for my next number
we’ll launch into ‘Hush a Bye Baby’ and calm him down for his
bath.”

Mitchell broke into a big, uninhibited yawn.
Allison met Joe’s eyes and they smiled at the little boy’s timing.
She planted another kiss on her son’s chubby little cheek and stood
up, tucking Mitchell under one arm as she did.

“
That was
fun, Joe. Thank you.”

“I enjoyed it too,” Joe said easily,
standing up.

He towered over her and Allison was
conscious of the breadth of his shoulders.

He was a man who could make a tall woman
like herself feel petite. It made her feel protected,
sheltered.

“
I’ll give
Mitchell his bath,” she said, suddenly very keen to run away from
Joe and give herself time alone to think about the sensual feelings
he was arousing in her. Feelings she hadn’t experienced in a long
time. “I hardly ever get home early enough to bath him during the
week and it’s something I really enjoy.”

“Sure. I’ll clear up in here. We’ve got toys
all over the place.”

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s my job. I’m the nanny, remember?”

Yes, he was. Just the nanny. Although
Allison had reminded herself of the fact several times that
evening, hearing him state it made her feel as though he was
putting her in her place. Right in her place. The boss lady. His
employer. Nothing else.

A
s Allison left the room to bath
Mitchell, Joe packed his guitar into its case and snapped the
catches into place with more force than necessary.

Why did Allison have to be so gorgeous? He’d
never seen a woman as sexy. Did she have any idea of how her skirt
had ridden up while she was playing on the floor with her son?

It wasn’t
just the long, shapely legs that seemed to go on forever he’d found
so disturbing. Or the glimpse of black lace panties that had led
him to speculate on some definitely no-go areas of his gorgeous
employer.

He’d gone further. Her cheeks flushed from
exertion had made him wonder how she’d look flushed with arousal
and sprawled, not on a carpet playing with her son, but naked on a
bed and writhing with passion under him.

Allison Bradley was beautiful. But he’d
known other women as beautiful. What intrigued him was the special
mix of sugar and steel that made her the woman she was.

The five-year age gap that had so dismayed
him now seemed a positive advantage. Allison had set goals and
achieved them. She wasn’t wondering what she’d do with her life.
She’d gone out there and done it.

Each time he saw her, she revealed some
appealing new facet. He’d seen the haughty boss lady. He’d seen the
distraught parent ready to kill for her child. Tonight, he’d seen
Allison Bradley relaxed and enjoying herself. And that was the most
intriguing Allison Bradley of them all—warm, vibrant, loving.

He wanted to know her better—he wanted her
in his bed—but he didn’t want to get involved in a relationship.
That made taking anything further with her impossible. Allison was
the right woman at the wrong time.

Joe picked up the toys and put them away.
What a cute kid Mitchell was. This evening Allison had drawn him
into a magic little circle. But it was a circle he’d resist like
hell joining—no matter how she attracted him. He wasn’t part of her
family. Somewhere Mitchell had his own dad.

And here he was, cold-eyed Peter, in the
photos Allison had placed around the room. Joe itched to turn them
around. Particularly the wedding photos, where Allison looked so
young and sweet.

He wasn’t ready for marriage himself. Not by
a long way. He was only twenty-seven. So what was it about Allison
Bradley that made him even think about the “m” word?

Taking on
another man’s child was not for him. He wasn’t interested in dating
other men’s ex-wives either. Deborah had taught him that
lesson.

He had nothing to offer Allison in the way
of a future. And he didn’t want to disappoint and hurt her, when
she might be looking for something more permanent and
committed.

That’s what had stopped him from kissing her
senseless yesterday. This was not a lady to wound with a no-strings
affair. He didn’t want to add to the sadness he could glimpse in
Allison Bradley’s green eyes.

He had to stop himself from being so damn
aware of her whenever she was in the room. Stop counting the
minutes until she came home from work. Stop wondering what had gone
wrong with her marriage and whether she was dating anyone.

Particularly
whether she was dating anyone.

A
llison brought a clean,
pajama-clad Mitchell back downstairs to say goodnight to Joe. “I
guess you can go early if you like,” she offered.

“You pay me until seven, I can stay until
seven.”

She felt a ridiculous little leap of
gladness—he didn’t want to rush away. And then she chastised
herself for reading into a situation something that simply wasn’t
there. Joe was conscientious, just doing his job.

Mitchell put his little arms out to Joe.
“Nye, nye Joe.”

“Night, night, Tiger.” Joe leaned over to
affectionately ruffle the little boy’s thatch of ginger hair.

“Joe, would you like to come up with us for
story time?” Allison asked on an impulse.

“Sure,” he said immediately, which pleased
her.

Joe followed her up the stairs. He was just
one step behind and Allison was conscious every second of his
closeness. She could sense the heat of his body.

What if Mitchell was already in bed asleep
and Joe was following her up, not to Mitchell’s room but to her own
bedroom? Not to read Mitchell a story but to take her in his arms
and kiss her again. Her heart rate trebled as she thought about his
mouth on hers. How good it had felt.

She reached
Mitchell’s bedroom. Mitchell struggled down from her arms and
toddled across to his bookshelf. He found his favorite
Where’s Spot?
book and waved it imperiously at Joe. “Joe
read.”

Again Allison felt a searing pang of
jealousy she fought to suppress. She was glad Mitchell had bonded
so well with Joe—though what would happen at the end of Joe’s
probationary week, she didn’t know. Would Joe want to stay on
longer?

She hadn’t looked for another nanny, had
told Help From Above she was pleased with Joe. Laughing, she’d
refused to be drawn by Sandy into a discussion of Joe’s hunk
rating. But secretly she wanted to gossip with Sandy and find out
more about Joe’s personal life. For example, how important was that
girl on his motorbike?

Joe settled into the armchair, and Allison
perched on its arm. Through every word of the story of Spot the
dog’s adventures she was intensely aware of how close they were.
When Joe turned a page, his arm brushed against her thigh and it
felt like an electric current was jolting her. Was he aware of it
too? Could he be touching her on purpose? She trembled at the
thought.

She wanted
the story to go on forever. But within seconds of the story’s end,
Mitchell’s eyes were closed. Joe lifted him into his cot. Allison
tucked him in, switched on the monitor so she could hear him in the
kitchen if he awoke, and then she and Joe tiptoed out of the
room.

Allison
followed Joe down the stairs. She found herself checking out his
back view. Broad shoulders and the best butt she’d ever seen fill a
pair of jeans made Joe’s back view just as sexy as the front. His
hunk rating soared higher. To at least 200 percent. She wished she
could share this observation with Sandy and her assistant at the
bank, Rebecca. But she didn’t want to admit to anyone how attracted
she was to Mitchell’s nanny.

All the
same, she couldn’t stop a smile at the sight of this hunk of
masculine perfection marching into her kitchen. There was something
very heart-warming about such a big, strongly-built man so
completely taking over.

Some men would be afraid it would make them
look wimpy. But Joe Martin exuded the utter confidence of a man so
sure of his masculinity that he would never, ever, be called a
wimp.

Even as he tied one of her checked
dishtowels around his waist as a makeshift apron.

He reached
for a saucepan simmering on the stove. “I’m checking on the sauce
I’ve made for your dinner. Tomato with basil. You can boil some
pasta when you’re ready to eat.”

“Joe,” she protested, “you don’t have to
cook for me, you know. I really don’t expect it.”

“All part of the job.”

His eyes were warm with some kind of emotion
but she wasn’t sure what she saw there. She looked away,
confused.

She wasn’t used to this kind of
consideration from a man. Peter had expected her to cook for him
every evening they spent at home—no matter how late she’d finished
work.

But she hadn’t seen Peter’s attitude as
unusual. It had been the same when she was growing up. Even when
her mother had been ill, she’d dragged herself around the kitchen
and taken care of the household. Her father had demanded it.

“I appreciate you cooking,” she said. “I
usually just heat something in the microwave and eat it in front of
the TV.”