Twins Times Two!. Lisa Bingham

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СКАЧАТЬ was it any of her business that the absolute perfection of the scene gave Cara the willies—as if she were surveying a movie set and everything she saw was an illusion.

      The sound of a throat being cleared caused her to jump and she turned.

      He did have Quasimodo working for him.

      No. Not Quasimodo, she quickly amended. The man who stood in front of her was far too tall, too rigid, too stiff and formal to be the bell-ringing hero of the twins’ favorite cartoon. His dark suit, crisp starched tie and gleaming black shoes bespoke a man who paid attention to details.

      “Good evening, Miss Wells.”

      The British accent immediately revealed that he wasn’t the same man who’d asked to see her identification.

      “I’m from the Mom Squad.”

      “Yes. We know.”

      Cara wasn’t sure if the gentleman—a butler?—was using a royal we or if he included Ross in his statement.

      She flushed when the butler looked at her car, and his gaze flicked to the undercarriage as if he sensed the oil that even now threatened to mar the pristine surface of the drive.

      “That will be all, Stibbs. I can handle things from here. You’d best get to your opera before the curtain rises.”

      The voice came from the shadowy interior of the foyer. From her vantage point in the sun, Cara’s eyes couldn’t adjust enough to give her a good glimpse of the man. She had the vague impression of height, the flash of a white shirt, but little more.

      The butler nodded. “Very good, Mr. Gifford. I do have a fondness for La Bohème and I would hate to miss the overture.”

      With that, Stibbs disappeared into the shadows of the house, casting one last suspicious glance at Cara’s car.

      Cara saw Ross’s arm move as he glanced at his watch. “You’ve got good timing.”

      Cara fought the urge to curtsy like some housemaid being complimented by the lord of the manor.

      At that moment Ross stepped forward, and the sun slid over his body. The light caressed dark hair still wet from a shower, craggy angular features and a lean athletic body.

      Wow.

      Cara wasn’t usually a person who was bowled over by mere looks, but she had to admit that Ross Gifford was pleasing to the eye—even a jaundiced eye like her own. His hair was short, dark and swept back from his forehead. His features were sharp and elegant—the sort of face that graced the covers of men’s magazines and fitness reports. And his eyes…

      They were dark brown, piercing and infinitely bleak.

      All too soon Cara was reminded that Ross Gifford was a widower with a pair of twins on his hands. His children were about the same age as hers from what she could remember Polly telling her when she’d dropped the twins off.

      “I’ve got twins,” Ross stated bluntly.

      Cara noted that his hand remained on the door-jamb as if he fully expected her to turn and run.

      “Yes, I know that.”

      Even if she’d wanted to change her mind, she couldn’t have moved. His eyes held her pinned to the spot like a rabbit caught in the beam of a car’s headlights. She didn’t need the elegance of her surroundings to convey to her that this was a powerful man. Everything about him radiated strength and control.

      “They’re three.”

      She resisted the urge to smile. “I have twins myself, so I’m sure I’m up to the challenge.”

      He stared at her, and she grew infinitely self-conscious of her attire. She should have taken the time to—

      To what? She had come to spend the evening tending a pair of twins. She hadn’t come here to impress Ross Gifford with anything other than her mothering skills.

      “Can you give me an overview of your credentials?”

      Credentials? Was she going to be interviewed for a few hours’ worth of work?

      “What kind of education do you have?”

      Cara fought the urge to offer a pithy reply. “I have a master’s degree in philosophy and economics.”

      “I didn’t think a person could actually get a job with a master’s in philosophy.”

      Of all the nerve.

      Her nerves stretched tight. “I find it immensely helpful when spending the evening with toddlers. You’d be amazed how many of them are well-versed in Descartes.”

      Although she’d tried to keep her tone light, there was enough of a bite to it that Ross must have realized she didn’t appreciate being grilled.

      His lips twitched in a self-deprecating grimace. “I hope you’ll bear with me. My children can be a…challenge. I merely wanted to make sure they would be in good hands.”

      His shoulders shifted as if his jacket had grown too tight, and Cara wondered how many sitters had refused to help him before he’d come to the Mom Squad.

      “I should have known your agency would send someone equal to the task,” he said, ushering her in with a wave of his hand. “Melba is a jewel. I was sorry to hear she was rushed to the hospital. How is she?”

      “In surgery now, but I’ll be getting calls updating her progress throughout the evening.”

      Ross nodded, absorbing the information with the intensity of a man being given stock-market quotes. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me posted. The twins and I are very fond of Melba.”

      “I’ll do that.”

      Without another word Ross turned, making his way toward a wide, sweeping staircase. “Sorry for the rush, but I’ve got less than an hour to get to a benefit dinner.”

      “No problem.”

      She followed him up the lushly carpeted staircase, trying her best not to look as if she were gawking. The staircase was a sweeping expanse of rich wood carved with wild animals, flowers and vines. The pale carpet underfoot looked too rich to be anything but wool.

      Ross Gifford’s house was immense, with high-pitched ceilings, stark white walls and pale ice-white carpets. Except for occasional splashes of color from jewel-toned pillows and the rich woodwork, everything seemed pale and colorless….

      And sterile.

      Again she was reminded of the fact that this man was a widower. There had been no feminine touches added to the house, no knickknacks, no family photographs, no scattered toys. If not for her job assignment, there would have been no clues that children lived here. No clues that anyone lived here at all.

      Again she was filled with the sensation of having entered a showplace for the Parade of Homes design competition and the thought filled her with sadness. The house had so much promise. So much effort had been expended СКАЧАТЬ