His Potential Wife. Grace Green

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СКАЧАТЬ butter. “You’ll have the choice of skinny-dipping or going into the water with your clothes on. It’s up to you.” She focused her gaze on the buns as she sliced them into neat quarters.

      “We’ve got swimsuits.” Lizzie’s tone was dour.

      “Good!” Willow packed the sandwiches in a plastic bag.

      “But,” Lizzie sneered, “we won’t be using them today because we’re not allowed to go in public swimming pools! Our last nanny said that’s where people pick up all sorts of things like athlete’s foot and…other dangerous bugs!”

      “So there!” Amy was triumphant. “We’re not allowed.”

      “Not!” echoed Mikey.

      “We won’t be going to a public pool.” Willow arranged the bag of sandwiches in her backpack.

      “Then where are we going?” Lizzie’s chin had a belligerent jut.

      “It’s a surprise.” Willow regarded her charges with a pleasant smile. “But I think you’re going to enjoy it.”

      Scott got home around two and as soon as he walked into the kitchen, he spotted the note propped against the fruit basket on the harvest table.

      Dr. Galbraith,

      I’ve taken the children to the creek, to play in the shallower water down below the swimming hole.

      How was his new nanny coping? he wondered. He could just imagine the protestations she’d been subjected to when she’d suggested a swim. No matter what she’d suggested, the arguments would have been the same. And if the kids hadn’t objected in so many words, they’d have expressed their hostility in attitude. He’d seen them in action untold times, with the previous five nannies.

      It might be interesting, he reflected, to take a stroll through the forest, and sneak a peek at the situation.

      The swimming hole was on the Galbraith estate, and because of the craggy cliff that rose from the far bank, the area was inaccessible to the public and could be reached only via a private trail through the woods from Summerhill.

      He hadn’t been near the old swimming hole in years; and he wondered, idly, how Ms. Tyler even knew of its existence.

      Willow packed away the picnic things and stood for a moment watching the children frolic in the shallow waves that washed over the smooth sun-warmed sandy beach.

      It had been difficult for her to come here. She’d found it distressing to walk past the deep secluded pool where she and Chad had spent so many secret hours swimming together as teenagers—but she’d known her charges would love playing in the water and on the sandy beach so she’d made the effort. And now she was glad. They’d had fun.

      They made a colorful picture, she mused as she watched them splash around in their expensive designer togs, Lizzie in her yellow bikini, Amy in a blue one-piece, Mikey in his neon-orange shorts.

      She should have brought her camera. She would, when they came back another day.

      But it was time now to be heading home, so she should be calling to them to come and get dried off and dressed.

      First, though, she should put her own clothes on.

      She slipped behind a leafy bush high enough to give her some privacy from the children but not too high that she couldn’t see over it to check on them.

      She slipped off her bikini…and then, on an impulse, stretched up her arms to the sky, relishing the unfamiliar and primitive sensation of being naked in the golden sun—

      A twig crackled nearby.

      Her pulse gave an erratic jump, and when she slewed her gaze to where the sound had come from, she felt her heart stop. Scott Galbraith was standing as if frozen to the spot, just three yards away on the fringe of the forest, his blue eyes staring at her with as much shock as she knew must be glittering in her own.

      Suppressing a horrified gasp, she swept up her towel and screened herself from the neck down. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire; her heartbeats scrambled out of control. She clamped her jaw to keep from yelping “What are you doing here?” and waited tensely for him to make a move.

      He grimaced.

      And then muttering something under his breath, he took a step backward.

      “I’m sorry.” His voice was thick, his tone filled with abject apology. “I didn’t mean…I only walked over to…I just thought I’d—oh, dammit, Ms. Tyler,” he sputtered. “I hadn’t a clue that you’d be…I hadn’t a clue I’d find you…”

      “Naked?” Willow’s voice came out as coolly as she’d ordered it to—and with just the right touch of wry amusement. “Dr. Galbraith, this is surely not the first time you’ve seen a nude woman. And I’m sure it won’t be the last. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed and attend to your children.”

      He looked as if he was going to say something more.

      Again she waited. And willed him to leave.

      In the end, he scratched a hand clumsily through his hair, twisted his face in an expression of excruciating embarrassment, before turning away with one last muttered “Sorry,” and disappearing into the forest.

      Willow’s breath quivered out in a whimper of relief.

      He was gone.

      Thank heaven.

      But…oh Lord…what a disaster!

      How on earth was she going to face the man now? Now that he’d seen her with nothing on but her watch!

      Scott crashed through the woods, wondering if he’d ever felt so stupid. What a blundering idiot. Served him right, for snooping. He’d got more than he bargained for. Far more.

      How was he going to face her now?

      And would he ever again be able to look at her without picturing her naked? He groaned. If only he’d turned up five minutes later. If only he hadn’t walked out of the trees just as she’d stretched her arms up to the skies, gilded in sunshine like a wood nymph, without a stitch of clothing and her smooth skin tanned to a deliciously dusky brown except for the stark white areas where her bikini—

      Oh damn, damn, damn!

      He punched one hand into the palm of the other. Willow Tyler had told him that morning that he was in a pickle. He snorted. A pickle was mild compared to the situation he was in now.

      He’d asked Ida Trent to send him a plain-Jane nanny. A plain-Jane nanny she was not. It wasn’t that she was a looker; in fact, hadn’t he already decided her face was eminently forgettable? The problem was…her figure. It was exquisite. The most exquisite he’d ever seen and—she was right about one thing!—he’d seen more than a few naked ladies in his day! But he just couldn’t have this girl prancing around the house in skimpy T-shirts and shorts now that he knew what she looked like underneath.

      He needed to suit her up in armor—some kind of armor that would obliterate the sexy image from his mind.

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