Page 7 of The Biker Needs A Nanny

I drop my duffel to the floor. “It’s perfect. Thanks.”

“Is that all the stuff you have?” he asks, indicating my one bag.

“I travel light.”

“Seems so.” He glances at his wristwatch.

I seldom see men wearing them anymore, now that cell phones exist. But it looks good on him. Masculine. Powerful.

“The girls get out of school soon. I’ve got to pick them up. You can ride with, and I’ll show you how it's done. I’ll need to call the school tomorrow and add you to the list of people allowed to pick them up.”

“There’s a list?”

“Every student has a list.”

“Oh.”

I follow him downstairs and outside to a big black pickup truck with a crew cab. He beeps the lock and opens the passenger door for me. I have to step up on a running board because he’s got it on a lift kit. I can only imagine the little ones trying to climb inside this thing. Once I’m buckling my seatbelt, he shuts my door and walks around the hood. I take in the lush leather seats and glance at the car seat and booster in the back.

The truck shifts with his weight as he slides behind the wheel, and suddenly I’m hyper-aware of his presence. I smell the soap he wears, and it's intoxicating. That, combined with being so close to him in the enclosed space, has my pulse beating faster. Everything about him is masculine and draws me in. I watch him spin the steering wheel in a circle with one hand, while his right rests on the gearshift. His hands are even masculine—big with long fingers and callused palms. I wonderwhat it would be like if he moved that hand from the gearshift and settled it on my thigh like any boyfriend would do.

Stop! I can’t allow myself to have thoughts like those.

I look over at him and notice his strong jaw and beautiful mouth. I wonder if his beard is soft to the touch. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.

Get a grip, Grace. You can’t have him. You can’t want him. You shouldn’t even let yourself imagine.

I turn to the road flashing past and try to think of anything but the man beside me. Lucky Hartwell. Badass biker. My new boss.

CHAPTER THREE

Lucky—

I haven’t had a woman riding shotgun in this truck since Melanie last sat there. Grace is young, in her early twenties, if I had to guess. Hell, I’ve probably got a good ten years on her. She’s also beautiful, and not in the bleached-blonde, mini-skirt-wearing, slutty way the last applicant was. Grace has natural beauty and a body no man can gaze upon and not get hard just thinking about.

My eyes shift toward her for a brief second. Her scooped-neck shirt gives just a tease of the top of her cleavage, but goddamn, she’s got the softest looking skin, and I long to touch it.

My gaze is on the road, but in my mind, all I’m imagining is the back of my finger trailing over that cleavage.

My traitorous body has my dick growing hard just at the thought. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and adjust in my seat, which draws her attention.

Great. Last thing I want is her thinking I want to jump her bones. Even if it is the truth.

I don’t know why this girl is affecting me so much. It’s not like I’m a monk. It’s not like there haven’t been women sinceMelanie. Albeit all of them are just quick fucks, none of them meaning a damn thing to me. Some of the club girls have tried to take Melanie’s place, dying to become an Evil Dead ol’ lady, but none of them appeal to me that way.

To tell the truth, I can’t imagine a woman ever wearing my property patch again.

“Is the school far?” Grace asks, and I turn to see her big chocolate brown eyes.

“No,” I reply shortly. She’s sexy as hell, but I can’t go there. I can’t risk my heart again.

I would love to fuck her, but there’s no way we could bring sex into this. It would screw up the nanny situation, and I’ve got to think of my girls. They need someone sweet and kind, and when Grace turned that mega-watt smile on me, I knew she was both those things. I can’t fuck that up. Besides, I’m not ready or looking for a relationship.

Why couldn’t she be a gray-haired old lady?

The last thing I need is a nanny who’s hot as hell living in my house, but I need Grace too much, and I’ve already run off every candidate. Even the ones who took the job didn’t last long. Every damn one of them blamed me, calling me an asshole or an overbearing jerk.

I can’t afford to blow it this time.

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