The Nanny Bombshell

“If I tried to kiss you right now, you wouldn’t stop me.”

The thought of Coop leaning over the console and pressing his lips to hers made her heart flutter and her stomach bottom out. But she squared her shoulders and said, “If you tried to kiss me, I’d deck you.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

“You don’t think I would do it?”

“No, you probably would, just to prove how tough you are. Then you would give in and let me kiss you anyway.”

“The depth of your arrogance is truly remarkable.”

“It’s one of my most charming qualities,” he said, but his grin said that he was definitely teasing her this time.

Maybe the confidence was a smoke screen, or this was his way of testing the waters. Maybe he really liked her, but being so used to women throwing themselves at him, the possibility of being rejected scared him.

Weirdly enough, the idea that under the tough-guy exterior there could be a vulnerable man made him that much more appealing.

Dear Reader,

I have a confession to make. I don’t like sports.

Yes, you read that right. I don’t like them. Baseball, football, hockey, soccer … they all bore me to tears. I don’t even watch the Olympics. Which is why it makes no sense that I love romance novels with sports-playing heroes, and why I decided, after twenty-eight books, to finally write one myself. And frankly, if Cooper Landon could climb off the page and actually play hockey, I’d probably learn to love the game. Because let’s face it, what could be sexier or more heartwarming than a big, tough—and let’s not forget clueless—guy falling for a pair of adorable infant twin girls?

That’s probably why Sierra Evans, who’s not so crazy about sports herself, or men like Coop, can’t resist him. Especially when the twins are her own daughters—a fact that she left out when she took the position as their nanny. But the closer she and Coop become, she knows that eventually the truth will have to come out. Still there are some secrets, devastating ones, that must stay hidden away forever or it could mean never seeing her daughters again.

Until next time,

Michelle

Bestselling author MICHELLE CELMER lives in southeastern Michigan with her husband, their three children, two dogs and two cats. When she’s not writing or busy being a mom, you can find her in the garden or curled up with a romance novel. And if you twist her arm really hard, you can usually persuade her into a day of power shopping.

Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, or write to her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.

The Nanny Bombshell

Michelle Celmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my granddaughter,

Aubrey Helen Ann

One

This was not good.

As a former defensive center, MVP and team captain for the New York Scorpions, Cooper Landon was one of the city’s most beloved sports heroes. His hockey career had never been anything but an asset.

Until today.

He looked out the conference room window in the Manhattan office of his attorney, where he had been parked for the past ninety minutes, hands wedged in the pockets of his jeans, watching the late afternoon traffic crawl along Park Avenue. The early June sun reflected with a blinding intensity off the windows of the building across the street and the sidewalks were clogged with people going about their daily routine. Businessmen catching cabs, mothers pushing strollers. Three weeks ago he’d been one of them, walking through life oblivious to how quickly his world could be turned completely upside down.

One senseless accident had robbed him of the only family he had. Now his brother, Ash, and sister-in-law, Susan, were dead, and his twin infant nieces were orphans.

He clenched his fists, fighting back the anger and injustice of it, when what he wanted to do was slam them through the tinted glass.

He still had his nieces, he reminded himself. Though they had been adopted, Ash and Susan couldn’t have loved them more if they were their own flesh and blood. Now they were Coop’s responsibility, and he was determined to do right by them, give them the sort of life his brother wanted them to have. He owed Ash.

“So, what did you think of that last one?” Ben Hearst, his attorney, asked him. He sat at the conference table sorting through the applications and taking notes on the nanny candidates they had seen that afternoon.

Coop turned to him, unable to mask his frustration. “I wouldn’t trust her to watch a hamster.”

Like the three other women they had interviewed that day, the latest applicant had been more interested in his hockey career than talking about the twins. He’d met her type a million times before. In her short skirt and low-cut blouse, she was looking to land herself a famous husband. Though in the past he would have enjoyed the attention and, yeah, he probably would have taken advantage of it, now he found it annoying. He wasn’t seen as the guardian of two precious girls who lost their parents, but as a piece of meat. He’d lost his brother two weeks ago and not a single nanny candidate had thought to offer their condolences.

After two days and a dozen equally unproductive interviews, he was beginning to think he would never find the right nanny.

His housekeeper, who had been grudgingly helping him with the twins and was about twenty years past her child-rearing prime, had threatened to quit if he didn’t find someone else to care for them.

“I’m really sorry,” Ben said. “I guess we should have anticipated this happening.”

Maybe Coop should have taken Ben’s advice and used a service. He just didn’t feel that a bunch of strangers would be qualified to choose the person who would be best to care for the twins.

“I think you’re going to like this next one,” Ben told him.

“Is she qualified?”

“Overqualified, actually.” He handed Coop the file. “You could say that I was saving the best for last.”

Sierra Evans, twenty-six. She had graduated from college with a degree in nursing, and it listed her current occupation as a pediatric nurse. Coop blinked, then looked at Ben. “Is this right?”

He smiled and nodded. “I was surprised, too.”

She was single and childless with a clean record. She didn’t have so much as a parking ticket. On paper she looked perfect. Although in his experience, if something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. “What’s the catch?”

Ben shrugged. “Maybe there isn’t one. She’s waiting in the lobby. You ready to meet her?”

“Let’s do it,” he said, feeling hopeful for the first time since this whole mess started. Maybe this one would be as good as she sounded.

Using the intercom, Ben asked the receptionist, “Would you send Miss Evans in please?”

A minute later the door opened and a woman walked in. Immediately Coop could see that she was different from the others. She was dressed in scrubs—dark-blue pants and a white top with Sesame Street characters all over it—and comfortable-looking shoes. Not typical attire for a job interview but a decided improvement over the clingy, revealing choices of her predecessors. She was average height, average build … very unremarkable. But her face, that was anything but average.

Her eyes were so dark brown they looked black and a slight tilt in the corners gave her an Asian appearance. Her mouth was wide, lips full and sensual, and though she didn’t wear a stitch of makeup, she didn’t need any. Her black hair was long and glossy and pulled back in a slightly lopsided ponytail.

One thing was clear. This woman was no groupie.

“Miss Evans,” Ben said, rising to shake her hand. “I’m Ben Hearst, and this is Cooper Landon.”

Coop gave her a nod but stayed put in his place by the window.

“I apologize for the scrubs,” she said in a voice that was on the husky side. “I came straight from work.”

“It’s not a problem,” Ben assured her, gesturing to a chair. “Please, have a seat.”

She sat, placing her purse—a nondesigner bag that had seen better days—on the table beside her and folded her hands in her lap. Coop stood silently observing as Ben launched into the litany of questions he’d asked every candidate. She dutifully answered every one of them, darting glances Coop’s way every so often but keeping her attention on Ben. The others had asked Coop questions, tried to engage him in conversation. But from Miss Evans there was no starry-eyed gazing, no flirting or innuendo. No smoldering smiles and suggestions that she would do anything for the job. In fact, she avoided his gaze, as if his presence made her nervous.

“You understand that this is a live-in position. You will be responsible for the twins 24/7. 11:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. on Sundays, and every fourth weekend from Saturday at 8:00 a.m. to Sunday at 8:00 p.m., is yours to spend as you wish,” Ben said.

She nodded. “I understand.”

Ben turned to Coop. “Do you have anything to add?”

“Yeah, I do.” He addressed Miss Evans directly. “Why would you give up a job as a pediatric nurse to be a nanny?”

“I love working with kids … obviously,” she said with a shy smile—a pretty smile. “But working in the neonatal intensive care unit is a very high-stress job. It’s emotionally draining. I need a change of pace. And I can’t deny that the live-in situation is alluring.”

A red flag began to wave furiously. “Why is that?”

“My dad is ill and unable to care for himself. The salary you’re offering, along with not having to pay rent, would make it possible for me to put him in a top-notch facility. In fact, there’s a place in Jersey that has a spot opening up this week, so the timing would be perfect.”

That was the last thing he had expected her to say, and for a second he was speechless. He didn’t know of many people, especially someone in her tax bracket, who would sacrifice such a large chunk of their salary for the care of a parent. Even Ben looked a little surprised.

He shot Coop a look that asked, What do you think? As things stood, Coop couldn’t come up with a single reason not to hire her on the spot, but he didn’t want to act rashly. This was about the girls, not his personal convenience.

“I’d like you to come by and meet my nieces tomorrow,” he told her.

She regarded him hopefully. “Does that mean I have the job?”

“I’d like to see you interact with them before I make the final decision, but I’ll be honest, you’re by far the most qualified candidate we’ve seen so far.”

“Tomorrow is my day off so I can come anytime.”

“Why don’t we say 1:00 p.m., after the girls’ lunch. I’m a novice at this parenting thing, so it usually takes me until then to get them bathed, dressed and fed.”

She smiled. “One is fine.”

“I’m on the Upper East Side. Ben will give you the address.”

Ben jotted down Coop’s address and handed it to her. She took the slip of paper and tucked it into her purse.

Ben stood, and Miss Evans rose to her feet. She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder.

“One more thing, Miss Evans,” Coop said. “Are you a hockey fan?”

She hesitated. “Um … is it a prerequisite for the job?”

He felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Of course not.”

“Then, no, not really. I’ve never much been into sports. Although I was in a bowling league in college. Until recently my dad was a pretty big hockey fan, though.”

“So you know who I am?”

“Is there anyone in New York who doesn’t?”

Probably not, and only recently had that fact become a liability. “That isn’t going to be an issue?”

She cocked her head slightly. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Her confusion made him feel like an idiot for even asking. Was he so used to women fawning over him that he’d come to expect it? Maybe he wasn’t her type, or maybe she had a boyfriend. “Never mind.”

She turned to leave, then paused and turned back to him.

“I wanted to say, I was so sorry to hear about your brother and his wife. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love.”

The sympathy in her dark eyes made him want to squirm, and that familiar knot lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his Adam’s apple. It annoyed him when the others hadn’t mentioned it, but when she did, it made him uncomfortable. Maybe because she seemed as though she really meant it.

“Thank you,” he said. He’d certainly had his share of loss. First his parents when he was twelve, and now Ash and Susan. Maybe that was the price he had to pay for fame and success.

He would give it all up, sell his soul if that was what it took to get his brother back.

After she left Ben asked him, “So, you really think she’s the one?”

“She’s definitely qualified, and it sounds as though she needs the job. As long as the girls like her, I’ll offer her the position.”

“Easy on the eyes, too.”

He shot Ben a look. “If I manage to find a nanny worth hiring, do you honestly think I would risk screwing it up by getting physically involved?”

Ben smirked. “Honestly?”

Okay, a month ago … maybe. But everything had changed since then.

“I prefer blondes,” he told Ben. “The kind with no expectations and questionable morals.”

Besides, taking care of the girls, seeing that they were raised in the manner Ash and Susan would want, was his top priority. Coop owed his brother that much. When their parents died, Ash had only been eighteen, but he’d put his own life on hold to raise Coop. And Coop hadn’t made it easy at first. He’d been hurt and confused and had lashed out. He was out of control and fast on his way to becoming a full-fledged juvenile delinquent when the school psychologist told Ash that Coop needed a constructive outlet for his anger. She suggested a physical sport, so Ash had signed him up for hockey.

Coop had never been very athletic or interested in sports, but he took to the game instantly, and though he was on a team with kids who had been playing since they were old enough to balance on skates, he rapidly surpassed their skills. Within two years he was playing in a travel league and became the star player. At nineteen he was picked up by the New York Scorpions.

A knee injury two years ago had cut his career short, but smart investments—again thanks to the urging of his brother—had left him wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Without Ash, and the sacrifices he made, it never would have been possible. Now Coop had the chance to repay him. But he couldn’t do it alone. He was ill-equipped. He knew nothing about caring for an infant, much less two at once. Hell, until two weeks ago he’d never so much as changed a diaper. Without his housekeeper to help, he would be lost.

If Miss Evans turned out to be the right person for the job—and he had the feeling she was—he would never risk screwing it up by sleeping with her.

She was off-limits.

Sierra Evans rode the elevator down to the lobby of the attorney’s office building, sagging with relief against the paneled wall. That had gone much better than she could have hoped and she was almost positive that the job was as good as hers. It was a good thing, too, because the situation was far worse than she could have imagined.

Clearly Cooper Landon had better things to do than care for his twin nieces. He was probably too busy traipsing around like the playboy of the Western world. She wasn’t one to listen to gossip, but in his case, his actions and reputation as a womanizing partier painted a disturbing picture. That was not the kind of atmosphere in which she wanted her daughters raised.

Her daughters. Only recently had she begun thinking of them as hers again.

With Ash and Susan gone, it seemed wrong that the twins would be so carelessly pawned off on someone like Cooper. But she would save them. She would take care of them and love them. It was all that mattered now.

The doors slid open and she stepped out. She crossed the swanky lobby and pushed out the door into the sunshine, heading down Park Avenue in the direction of the subway, feeling hopeful for the first time in two weeks.

Giving the twins up had been the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life, but she knew it was for the best. Between her student loans and exorbitant rent, not to mention her dad’s failing health and mounting medical bills, she was in no position financially or emotionally to care for infant twins. She knew that Ash and Susan, the girls’ adoptive parents, would give her babies everything that she couldn’t.

But in the blink of an eye they were gone. She had been standing in front of the television, flipping through the channels when she paused on the news report about the plane crash. When she realized it was Ash and Susan they were talking about, her knees had buckled and she’d dropped to the nubby, threadbare shag carpet. In a panic she had flipped through the channels, desperate for more details, terrified to the depths of her soul that the girls had been on the flight with them. She’d sat up all night, alternating between the television and her laptop, gripped by a fear and a soul-wrenching grief that had been all-consuming.

At 7:00 a.m. the following morning the early news confirmed that the girls had in fact been left with Susan’s family and were not in the crash. Sierra had been so relieved she wept. But then the reality of the situation hit hard. Who would take the girls? Would they go to Susan’s family permanently or, God forbid, be dropped into the foster-care system?

She had contacted her lawyer immediately, and after a few calls he had learned what to her was unthinkable. Cooper would be their guardian. What the hell had Ash been thinking, choosing him? What possible interest could a womanizing, life of the party, ex-hockey player have in two infant babies?

She’d asked her lawyer to contact him on her behalf using no names, assuming that he would be more than happy to give the girls back to their natural mother. She would find a way to make it work. But Cooper had refused to give them up.

Her lawyer said she could try to fight him for custody, but the odds weren’t in her favor. She had severed her parental rights, and getting them back would take a lengthy and expensive legal battle. But knowing Cooper would undoubtedly need help, and would probably be thrilled with someone of her qualifications, she’d managed to get herself an interview for the nanny position.

Sierra boarded the subway at Lexington and took the F Train to Queens. Normally she visited her dad on Wednesdays, but she had the appointment at Cooper’s apartment tomorrow so she had to rearrange her schedule. With any luck he would offer her the job on the spot, and she could go home and start packing immediately.

She took a cab from the station to the dumpy, third-rate nursing home where her dad had spent the past fourteen months. As she passed the nursing station she said hi to the nurse seated there and received a grunt of annoyance in return. She would think that being in the same profession there would be some semblance of professional courtesy, but the opposite was true. The nurses seemed to resent her presence.

She hated that her dad had to stay in this horrible place where the employees were apathetic and the care was borderline criminal, but this was all that Medicare would cover and home care at this late stage of the disease was just too expensive. His body had lost the ability to perform anything but the most basic functions. He couldn’t speak, barely reacted to stimuli and had to be fed through a tube. His heart was still beating, his lungs still pulling in air, but eventually his body would forget how to do that, too. It could be weeks, or months. He might even linger on for a year or more. There was just no way to know. If she could get him into the place in Jersey it would be harder to visit, but at least he would be well cared for.

“Hi, Lenny.” She greeted her dad’s roommate, a ninety-one-year-old war vet who had lost his right foot and his left arm in the battle at Normandy.

“Hey there, Sierra,” he said cheerfully from his wheelchair. He was dressed in dark brown pants and a Kelly-green cardigan sweater that were as old and tattered as their wearer.

“How is Dad today?” she asked, dropping her purse in the chair and walking to his bedside. It broke her heart to see him so shriveled and lifeless. Nothing more than a shell of the man he used to be—the loving dad who single-handedly raised Sierra and her little sister Joy. Now he was wasting away.

“It’s been a good day,” Lenny said.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, pressing a kiss to his papery cheek. He was awake, but he didn’t acknowledge her. On a good day he lay quietly, either sleeping or staring at the dappled sunshine through the dusty vertical blinds. On a bad day, he moaned. A low, tortured, unearthly sound. They didn’t know if he was in pain, or if it was just some random involuntary function. But on those days he was sedated.

“How is that little boy of yours?” Lenny asked. “Must be reaching about school age by now.”

She sighed softly to herself. Lenny’s memory wasn’t the best. He somehow managed to remember that she’d been pregnant, but he forgot the dozen or so times when she had explained that she’d given the girls up for adoption. And clearly he was confusing her with other people in his life because sometimes he thought she had an older boy and other times it was a baby girl. And rather than explain yet again, she just went with it.

“Growing like a weed,” she told him, and before he could ask more questions they announced over the intercom that it was time for bingo in the community room.

“Gotta go!” Lenny said, wheeling himself toward the door. “Can I bring you back a cookie?”

“No thanks, Lenny.”

When he was gone she sat on the edge of her dad’s bed and took his hand. It was cold and contracted into a stiff fist. “I had my job interview today,” she told him, even though she doubted his brain could process the sounds he was hearing as anything but gibberish. “It went really well, and I get to see the girls tomorrow. If the other applicants looked anything like the bimbo who interviewed right before me, I’m a shoo-in.”

She brushed a few silvery strands of hair back from his forehead. “I know you’re probably thinking that I should stay out of this and trust Ash and Susan’s judgment, but I just can’t. The man is a train wreck just waiting to happen. I have to make sure the girls are okay. If I can’t do that as their mother, I can at least do it as their nanny.”

And if that meant sacrificing her freedom and working for Cooper Landon until the girls no longer needed her, that was what she was prepared to do.

Two

The next afternoon at six minutes after one, Sierra knocked on the door of Cooper’s penthouse apartment, brimming with nervous excitement, her heart in her throat. She had barely slept last night in anticipation of this very moment. Though she had known that when she signed away her parental rights she might never see the girls again, she had still hoped. She just hadn’t expected it to happen until they were teenagers and old enough to make the decision to meet their birth mother. But here she was, barely five months later, just seconds away from the big moment.

The door was opened by a woman. Sierra assumed it was the housekeeper, judging by the maid’s uniform. She was tall and lanky with a pinched face and steel-gray hair that was pulled back severely and twisted into a bun. Sierra placed her in her mid to late sixties.