The Ceo's Nanny Affair. Joss Wood
Ellie in the stroller. He picked her up and placed her on his hip, his arm around her little butt. God, it felt weird, but almost right, to have a baby in his arms again. He’d always wanted a big family, tons of kids. But, since babies usually came with a mother and that species came with complications and drama, he was resigned to being a one-child dad. And that child was pretty damn cool...
“Follow me.” Linc led Tate through the second floor of the brownstone and hit the stairs leading to the garden level. Stepping into the large open-plan room, he walked into his, and Shaw’s, favorite area of the brownstone—the living room that flowed out from the kitchen and informal eating area. It held long, comfortable couches, a large-screen TV, books and Shaw’s toys. Massive French doors led to the enclosed garden with pots of herbs and garden furniture. The rest of The Den held priceless art and rare antiques, but this room was functional, lived-in and cozy.
Linc, still holding the baby, headed to the coffee machine and hit the button to power up the appliance. It was nearly 4:00 p.m., was it too early for something strong and alcoholic? After making coffee, Linc walked back into the sitting area and placed their mugs onto the coffee table.
Tate looked as white as a sheet, shell-shocked and more than a little panicked. She needed to calm the hell down.
“Take your coat off, sit down and breathe,” Linc instructed her, relieved when Tate nodded her agreement. In real life, she wouldn’t be so quick to acquiesce, Linc mused. It might have been her snarky comment earlier about him spitting in her coffee, but he just knew that Tate wasn’t a pushover. It added a layer of intrigue to the sexy.
He watched as she removed her coat, revealing more of that almost perfect body and her glorious blondish-brown hair. “I’ve lost my hat.”
“I think you have bigger things to worry about than a hat,” Linc stated, leaning forward to pick up his coffee cup.
Questions that had nothing to do with his ex and her baby jumped into his mind. Would her eyes deepen or lighten with passion? Was she a moaner or a screamer? Would she be...
Linc closed his eyes and forcefully shook his head, reminding himself to start using his brain.
He needed to hear her story so that he could hustle her out of the door and get back to his predictable, safe, sensible world. She was pure temptation, and being attracted to his crazy ex’s sister was a complication he most definitely did not need.
“So, start at the beginning and tell me how Kari managed to sucker you into looking after her child.”
Tate sank back into the cushions of the super comfortable couch, wishing she could just close her eyes. When she woke up, this would all be a horrible dream, and she’d have a vacation to start, a career to obsess over.
She wouldn’t have a baby to think about or to care for, and she certainly would not be in Linc Ballantyne’s fabulous mansion on the Upper East Side, looking at Manhattan’s hottest and most elusive bachelor.
The photographs of him online and in print publications didn’t do this man justice. They simply told the world that he was incredibly good-looking. And by good-looking, she meant fantastically hot. It was toasty warm inside his house, but she was still shivering, partly from shock but mostly from a punch of “throw me to the floor and take me now.”
Under Linc’s button-down shirt and tie was a wide chest and, she was sure, a hard, ridged stomach. His shoulders were broad, his legs long and muscular and his short, thick dark hair was just this side of messy. And those eyes, God, his eyes. They were a deep and mysterious gray, a color somewhere between summer thunderclouds and pewter. Short, thick black lashes, a slightly crooked nose and dark, rakish eyebrows added character to his too-sexy face.
But the photographs didn’t capture the power sizzling under his skin, the intelligence radiating from those eyes, the don’t-BS-me vibe emanating from him. They certainly didn’t capture the sheer and unrelenting masculinity of the man.
The man she was fiercely, ridiculously attracted to. Of course she was, Tate sighed, because she was a Harper woman and Harper women never made life easy for themselves.
Her eyes moved from his face to the baby tucked into the crook of his elbow, and she swallowed hard. She remembered his earlier question about what she wanted from him, and, not for the first time since stepping into the brownstone, she wondered what she was doing here. She wasn’t the type to fall apart in a crisis, who needed a man to sort her life out and she’d learned, at a very early age, not to depend on anyone else to help her muddle through life. People, she’d found, and especially those who were supposed to love her, were generally unreliable.
Ellie was her responsibility, not Linc’s. So, really, there was no point in extending this very uncomfortable visit. And the zing of sexual awareness dancing along her skin, making her heart bounce around her chest, added a level of awkward to their encounter.
Tate got to her feet, walked over to him and reached for Ellie, pulling the little girl into her arms. Eleven months old and abandoned, Tate thought. How could Kari do this? Again?
“I’m sorry, Linc, we shouldn’t have come here.” Tate heard her words running together and tried to slow down. “We’ll get out of your hair now.”
Linc leaned forward and placed his muscular forearms on his thighs, his eyes penetrating. “Take a breath, Tate. Sit down, drink your coffee and let’s talk this through.”
“I should let you go back to work.”
“My day is already shot,” he admitted. “Tell me what happened.”
Tate gave him a quick rundown of her day, and when she was finished, Linc asked, “Where’s the note she left you?”
Too tired to argue, she told him where to find it and sat down with Ellie propped on her lap. Tate took her little hand in hers and thought that Ellie was amazingly docile for a child that had been dumped with a stranger.
“So, though this note is short on details it seems to imply that you now get to call the shots with regard to Ellie,” Linc said.
“Imply being the operative word,” Tate bitterly replied. “And what am I supposed to do with her? Look after her? Place her in foster care? Give her up for adoption?”
“I don’t think you have the legal right to do the last two,” Linc said, and she saw the anger burning in his eyes. “But why couldn’t she just do any of this herself? Why involve you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t even know about Ellie until I got to the diner. I haven’t seen Kari for two years.” Tate rubbed her thumb gently over the back of Ellie’s hand. “And that meeting was tense.”
“Why?”
She started to tell him that they’d had a huge fight because Kari abandoned her son. Tate had been so incensed at her cousin’s blasé attitude toward Shaw that she’d stopped communicating with her. Tate noticed Linc’s hard eyes and knew that he wouldn’t appreciate, and didn’t need, her defending his son. Linc Ballantyne was obviously very capable at fighting his own battles.
“Family stuff.” Tate eventually pushed the short explanation out.
Linc linked his hands together and leaned back, placing his ankle on his knee and tapping the sheaf of papers balanced on his thigh. “So, what are you going to do?”
Tate forced herself to think. “Right now, I suppose I need to find us a place to stay—”
“Whoa! You’re homeless, too?”
Tate glared at him and held up her hand in an indignant gesture. “Hold on, hotshot, don’t jump to conclusions. I’m a travel presenter, out of the country for most of the year, so I live out of hotel rooms. Once a year, I get a long vacation, and I came back to New York to meet with my producers. I was planning to find a hotel for a night or