Marine for Hire (3 page)

Sam laughed and turned back to Sheri. He folded his arms over his chest, and she resisted the urge to gawk at the most impressive set of biceps she’d ever seen. His eyes were icy blue, and his rumpled hair curled warm and golden brown at the nape of his neck—a little too long, which shouldn’t have been a turn-on, but after so many years of men with military buzz cuts, she ached to run her fingers through it. He wore a faded surfer T-shirt and a pair of wrinkled khaki shorts that looked soft from too many washings. She had the absurd urge to rub her cheek on them.

“I’m sorry to show up unexpectedly like this,” Sam said. “I’ll beat up MacArthur if you want.”

She smiled and smoothed her hands down the front of her T-shirt, feeling oddly self-conscious. “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “Kelli will handle him.”

“My pleasure,” Kelli agreed, shooting a look of lust at Mac.

He didn’t appear to notice.

“It
was
a bit of a shock expecting Mary Poppins and seeing Arnold Schwarzenegger,” Sheri admitted. “If you don’t mind, I need a little time to think things over.”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Go run your errands, and I’ll hold down the fort with Mac. We’ll have dinner ready when you get back. How do you feel about chicken cordon bleu?”

“For—uh, dinner?” she stammered, too dumbfounded to even remember what chicken cordon bleu was, let alone whether she liked it.

“No, for breakfast, dork,” Mac said, giving his sister a squeeze as he took the baby out of her arms and a gentle push toward the door. “Of course for dinner. Sam’s a great cook. One of many reasons I
wisely
hired him as your nanny. I guarantee after one mouthful, you’ll be begging for more.”

She swallowed and nodded, darting another glance at Sam.

“I don’t doubt it,” she said, and hurried out the door.

Chapter Three

Sheri wasn’t sure which felt more amazing—shopping with a girlfriend sans screaming infants and a heavy diaper bag, or returning to a house that smelled like a five-star restaurant exploded in a glorious cloud of yum.

“That was so good,” Kelli gasped as she set down her fork after a final bite of chicken. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Mac beat him to it.

“Sam’s very modest about his culinary training,” he said. “He’s clearly quite skilled though. More wine?”

Sheri hesitated, then held out her glass. “Just a tiny bit. It’s very good. I haven’t had wine in ages.”

“Sam picked it out,” Mac said, nearly filling her glass to the brim. She gazed longingly at it, knowing she should probably protest, but enjoying the idea of an adult meal so much she nearly swooned.

“At least let me give you money for the wine,” Sheri said as Sam stood and began gathering plates. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

“No need,” he said as he picked up her empty salad bowl. A fork clattered against a knife, and Sam stole a quick glance at the baby monitor before picking up Kelli’s empty plate. “Besides, Mac paid for everything. I just picked it out.”

“It’s part of the deal, Sheri,” Mac said before she could argue. “You put me in charge of hiring your nanny, so I pay for everything. Food included. Sam works for me now, so he’s got an expense account to cover anything he might require to care for you and the twins.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Sheri protested. “I only asked you for help
looking
for a nanny. Not to hire me a goddamn linebacker and fund the whole thing.”

“I’m an overachiever,” Mac said. He took a final sip of wine and stood up. “Speaking of which, duty calls. I have to take care of some business, and I might be out pretty late. You’ll see that Sam either gets back to the hotel or settled into that room you set up for a nanny?”

Sheri frowned. “Mac, we need to talk about—”

“Bye, Sher,” he said, cutting her off with a hasty kiss on the cheek before he marched out the door.

She looked at Sam, who was scraping a plate over the garbage disposal. He looked huge and imposing in her tiny kitchen, but it was clear he felt comfortable there, and he obviously knew what he was doing.

Beside Sheri, Kelli stood up.

“I have to run, too, but call me if you need someone to watch the boys sleep while you run Sam to the hotel.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or you could just have him stay here. You’ve got the nanny room all set up, or there’s plenty of space in your bed—”

“Good night, Kel,” Sheri said a little too loudly.

Kelli giggled, leaning closer to whisper again. “He looks like the sort of guy who’d be very attentive to your orgasm.”

Sheri felt her cheeks flame, and she pinched Kelli on the thigh before stealing a look at him.
He was intent on scrubbing the corners of her sink with a Brillo pad, and didn’t seem to have heard Kelli’s pronouncement.

“You can’t tell that sort of thing at a glance,” Sheri whispered.

“Sure I can. I had one just looking at him.” She stood up and dodged out of the way before Sheri could swat her.

Turning back to Sam, Kelli eyed him up and down one more time. “Good to meet you, Big Guy.”

He nodded. “Ma’am. Very nice meeting you.”

“Christ, you make me sound like a schoolteacher or a drill sergeant or something. Please, just call me Kelli.”

“Nice to meet you, Kelli,” Sam repeated, frowning a little as he turned back to his dishes.

“Thank you for dragging me out shopping,” Sheri said as Kelli grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “Seriously, if it weren’t for you, I’d go to my first day of work wearing yoga pants.”

“We’ll have to do it again sometime. Have a great night, guys!”

And with that, Sheri found herself alone with her new manny.

Well, technically, she still hadn’t made up her mind about that. She watched Sam for a moment, his massive shoulders bent over the kitchen sink as he scrubbed a baking sheet with a fierceness that made his forearms ripple. A splash of soapy dishwater hit the front of his shirt, and she admired the outline of his perfect washboard abs through the damp cotton. His fingers flexed around the sudsy sponge as he slid it over the slick pan.

Sheri cleared her throat. “Thank you for dinner. It was incredible. The salad was delicious.”

He nodded and looked up from the sink. “There was a good farmers’ market just up the road. Great fresh produce.”

“Right,” she said, thinking
normal mothers
probably knew the location of every farmers’ market on the island so they never ran out of nutritious, organic vegetables to steam and puree for their little angels. She stood up as he returned to the table to grab the empty wineglasses.

“Please,” she said. “At least let me finish the dishes. You’ve done so much already.”

“No way,” he said, planting a firm hand on her shoulder and pushing her back into her chair. His hand lingered there for a few beats and Sheri shivered from the heat of his fingers and the delicious pressure of his palm cupping her shoulder.

God, how long had it been since a man touched her? Maybe Kelli was right about this mojo thing.

He hesitated, then drew his hand back and smiled, making Sheri thankful he couldn’t read her thoughts.

“Really, I’ve got it,” he insisted. “Just let me help you. Can I get you another glass of wine?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Look, I think we should talk.”

“Okay.”

She cleared her throat again, not sure why she felt so nervous. “I won’t pretend I wasn’t shocked to have you just show up here with Mac informing me you’re the new nanny. But you do seem to know your way around a changing table and a kitchen, and right now I’m not in a position to be picky.”

He raised one eyebrow. “That’s your idea of a vote of confidence?”

“Sorry. I’m new at this.”

He grinned, and she felt bad for antagonizing him. Hell, he’d just cooked her dinner. She’d given a blow job to the last guy who’d done that, and she hadn’t even liked him much. Okay, so he’d been her husband, but really—

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” she asked, eager to shift her brain from that train of thought. “I know Mac already interviewed you, but I’d feel better if I got to know a little more about you and your qualifications before we commit to anything.”

“Fire away.”

She thought about it for a moment, wondering what sort of questions
normal moms
would ask their potential nannies. Something about feeding times and care plans and childrearing philosophies?

“So, um, how’d you get started as a—as a
manny
?”

He dried the baking sheet with a turquoise towel, then bent down to tuck the pan in the drawer beneath the oven. Sheri was so distracted staring at his ass that she forgot she’d asked a question.

“I have six older sisters,” he said as he stood up and set the dish towel on the counter, anchoring his hands on either side of it. “Five of them are married with kids, which means I have a whopping total of six nieces, eight nephews, and two more on the way.”

“Wow,” she said, taken aback. “You must have a close family?”

“You could say that. My mom died when I was five, and my dad didn’t marry my stepmom for another fifteen years. My sisters sort of took over mothering me, while my dad did his best to make sure I didn’t go to school wearing their doll clothes and an apron.”

She laughed, trying to picture a smaller, less-buff version of Sam in a pink frilly apron. Her brain took another detour from there, conjuring up images of current-day Sam wearing nothing but a smile and a barbecue apron, the strings cinched loosely above that tight, curved backside and—

“Wh—where did you do your culinary training?” she asked, tripping over her tongue.

He wiped his hands on the dish towel and hung it neatly on a hook before leaning against the counter and looking at her with those piercing blue eyes. “I spent a lot of time training overseas,” he said. “Gonsalves in Japan, Sigonella in Italy.”

“Wow, that sounds exotic.” She wasn’t sure if those were cities or restaurants or cooking schools, but figured it didn’t matter. The guy obviously knew which side of a pan to grease.

“So tell me a little bit about the last family you worked with,” she continued. “What was that experience like?”

He scratched his jaw, drawing her eyes to the faint dusting of stubble and the tiny scar running just below his left ear. She wondered what it would feel like to trace her finger over it, to touch the tip of her tongue—

“It was noisy,” he said. “Chaotic. Messy. Sometimes heartwarming and sometimes heartbreaking. There were times I thought I wouldn’t survive the night, and other times I kinda wished I wouldn’t, but I’m very proud of the work I did. Of my time there.”

She smiled. “Sounds like you’ve got a pretty good handle on living with small children.”

She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “You could say that.”

“So why did you leave your last position?”

He hesitated—so infinitesimally, Sheri thought she might have imagined it. Or maybe he just remembered he needed to put soap in the dishwasher, since that’s what he turned to do. “It was time to move on,” he said at last, clicking the door shut and flipping the switch to set the appliance humming. “Look, I know Mac did a thorough background check, and I’m sure he’d be happy to give you copies of my references and—”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” she said, feeling a little foolish. “I just wanted to know a little more about you, that’s all. My brother might be a domineering jerk sometimes, but if he says he’s known you for years and he vouches for your qualifications, that’s good enough for me. He’d do anything to make sure the twins and I are well cared for.”

“Very true,” Sam said, nodding. He pressed his palms against the counter again, then moved out from behind it to stand in front, less than two feet from where Sheri sat. She could feel the heat from the bare skin of his legs, and she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers up those thick, muscular calves.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” he asked.

“By all means,” she said, drawing her eyes from his legs to his face. “I guess if you might be living here, it’s only fair that you know more about us.”

“The twins’ father—is he in the picture?”

Sheri gripped the edge of the table, surprised he hadn’t started with a softball question about nap schedules or immunization records.

“Jonathan is…well, I’m not entirely certain. He’s PCSing—um, that’s military-speak for permanent change of station—but I’m not sure where his new command will be. He hasn’t told me, and I haven’t asked.”

“So he’s in limbo?”

“Something like that. Usually he has a few weeks between an old command and a new one, so he’s probably in Hawaii somewhere. Things are still pretty new with the divorce and everything, so we’re not really communicating that well.” She wished she’d agreed to that glass of wine after all.

“Does he contact you?”

“Sometimes.” Sheri glanced down at her hands, not sure she wanted to reveal how often Jonathan had been calling. She wasn’t afraid of him—not really—but she didn’t like talking to him. Especially when he started making noise about getting back together, about being a family again.

She shuddered at the thought.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” he said. “I only wondered how involved he is and whether he’ll be okay with the boys having a nanny. Some guys might be uncomfortable with the idea of another man watching his children. Looking after his wife.”

“Ex-wife,” she snapped a little too gruffly. “That lying, cheating asshole lost the privilege of calling me his wife the second he stuck his dick in another woman.”

“Right. Sorry.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just hate lying. Lying is the absolute worst thing. Worse than riptides and parking tickets and pubic lice combined.”

“Of course.” There was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement? Embarrassment? It was gone in an instant, whatever it was.

“Anyway,” she said, hoping to steer the conversation back on track, “the divorce has only been final a month, but the marriage ended the second he walked out the door.”

Sam nodded, his eyes locked on hers. She looked away, glancing down at the French manicure Kelli had insisted would make her look sophisticated and stylish. When she looked up, he was still watching her.

“He’s an idiot,” Sam said, his blue eyes fiery in the dim light of the kitchen. “Your ex-husband.”

“Yes,” she agreed, shivering a little under the heat of his gaze.

“He didn’t deserve you.”

“I know. He also gave up the right to have any say in who watches the children or who lives in my house when he left us for a tramp with neon hot pants and gravity-defying fake boobs,” she said.

He snorted. “Trust me, sweetheart. Fake tits have nothing on your incredible, natural—” He froze, then cleared his throat. “More wine?”

“You already asked me that.” She fought the urge to smile as he tore his eyes from her chest and began scrubbing the counter with a vengeance. She should probably be offended, but she was too damn flattered to muster any real indignation.

“Sorry,” he said. “That was inappropriate.”