The Billionaire's Nanny. Melissa McClone
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“It’s time we acted like a real couple.”
Crackling with electricity, she averted her gaze. Afraid of … she didn’t know what, but AJ made her uncomfortable. His confidence, his strength, his wealth intimidated her. Two people couldn’t be more different. “But there’s no one around to see us.”
“If you can’t be comfortable with me close to you, touching you, we’ll never be able to pull this off with an audience.” He stroked her skin, sending her pulse rate climbing. “Is this so bad?”
“No.” Her hand snuggled against his, their fingers laced together in a natural way. Though she’d die before admitting that.
“If we’re going to sell being a couple, there’s something else we need to practice. Kissing in public.”
Her heart slammed against her chest. “You want to kiss me now?”
“Holding hands worked. Kissing seems the next logical step.”
AJ’s lips touched hers. Soft. Warm. Yummy.
Remember, he’s not your boyfriend.
But the truth was so easy to forget when the kiss felt this good.
The Billionaire’s
Nanny
Melissa McClone
With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing MELISSA McCLONE ever thought she would be doing was writing romance novels. But analyzing engines for a major US airline just couldn’t compete with her happily-ever-afters. When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life-hero husband, two daughters, a son, two lovable but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty that has decided to call the garage home.
Melissa loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, USA, or contact her via her website, www.melissamcclone.com.
To the authors, readers and friends who helped me save Miss Mousie, a foster cat, who now has a forever home with us.
Special thanks to Sarah for sparking an idea about a nanny heroine, and Lisa Hayden, Terri Reed and Teresa Morgan.
Contents
“Mmmeorrrrrooooowwwrrrrreeee.”
The cat’s mournful they-left-me-here-to-die wail grated on Emma Markwell’s frazzled nerves. She wiped her sticky palms on her serviceable knee-length gray skirt. Her gaze dropped to the cat carrier on the floor of the small airport catering to corporate and private planes in Hillsboro, Oregon. “I know you don’t want to be here. Me, either. But we’ll be on our way to Haley’s Bay soon.”
Blossom hissed. The sound echoed across the waiting area.
Emma’s shoulders were hunched, as if she could hide from the people looking at her. But with the slasher movie sounds spewing from the she devil in the cat carrier, no one would ignore them now.
Perspiration dampened the back of Emma’s neck. The brown plait of French braid felt heavy and sticky. If she wasn’t careful, anxiety might create a perspiration crisis before she set foot on the private jet. Not good. She wanted to meet her new boss, Atticus Jackson “AJ” Cole, looking professional—a perfect temporary personal assistant—not show up on his plane smelly and wet.
So what if she hadn’t flown in five years, two months and seventeen days? The flight to AJ’s hometown in Washington, where the Columbia River met the Pacific Ocean, would be short. Time to pull herself together. Blossom, too. Emma peered into the crate.
The eight-year-old orange tabby’s backside greeted her. The cat’s tail trembled.
Poor kitty. Last night, Blossom’s first at Emma’s studio apartment in southeast Portland, hadn’t gone well. The foster cat had shredded two rolls of toilet paper. Now the cat stared at the crate wall as if she were in a time-out. Adjusting to a new environment was difficult when you were alone in the world. Emma had been old enough to understand what being a foster kid meant and learned to adapt, unlike this frightened feline.
She reached toward the carrier’s door. Sixteen years without any family to rely on and six years being a nanny made her an expert caretaker, no matter what the age or species of her charge. “Hey, no worries. I won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”
The cat responded with a banshee yowl. Three men in business suits glared. A woman pressed her lips together and narrowed her gaze.
Emma rubbed her fingertips along the strand of fake pearls hanging over the neckline of her pink short-sleeved sweater set. She leaned closer to the crate’s door. “You might not agree, but traveling with me is your best option. Otherwise, you’d be stuck in a metal cage