Page 2 of Falling for the Single Daddy

After a quick workout in the home gym, it’s time for the nanny interviews. I make a jug of iced tea, carry it onto the porch, then watch the gate. Our inner courtyard verges on jungle-like,but a weekly visit from the gardener keeps it manageable and respectable.

I take out my phone and check the files the agency sent me. The first interviewee is a woman named Callie Monroe. She’s twenty-three, so a little younger than the others, but she’s worked as a nanny since she was sixteen. Her most recent stint was with a stockbroker in the city, where she worked for three years before the mother quit her job and became a stay-at-home mom. She has stellar references and a clean background, plus she’s trained in CPR and first aid.

Sometimes, I wish Sloane was here, but only as a mother. Not as my woman. Not as my wife. Maybe that’s what drove her away.

A notification appears on my phone. Somebody’s at the gate. I look over but don’t see a car.

Approaching the gate, I spot a woman standing near the intercom button. My breath catches when I get a good look at her.

A summer dress clings to her curvy figure, yet she wears it respectably and professionally. Her light brown hair is tied up in a bun at the top of her head, and a pair of stylish glasses perch on her nose. She’s not showing too much leg or cleavage, but her shape is enough to trigger something in me. I don’t let any of this show. But the temptation is there. She looks presentable andprofessional,considering the weather and her role. But damn, there’s something hot about her.

“Mr. Aldridge?” she says.

“Please, call me Gray,” I tell her. “I’ll open the gate now. You didn’t drive?”

“My car decided to break down last night,” she mutters.

“Your address is listed in the city.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“So how did you get here?”

“Two trains, three buses, and I walked the rest of the way.”

That shows serious dedication. As I use the app on my phone to open the gate, I say, “That must’ve taken all morning.”

“I don’t mind,” she says, touching her hair self-consciously. It’s been a long time since I’ve appraised anything other than buildings, but this woman is something else. Drawing my eye like a moth to a flame.

She steps onto the property, standing mere feet from me. She’s shorter than me, but that’s not saying much. I’m six-three, accustomed to looking down at people. When she looks up at me, I feel something new, an ache deep inside. Again, none of this shows. I can’t, won’t let it but it’s there all the same.

She offers her hand. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you… Gray.”

I take her hand. It’s soft, warm. Warmth sparks up my arm. I wonder if she can feel it, too. Or I wonder if I’m a cliché, a forty-three-year-old man crushing on his nanny. Maybe this is how it always happens. The people inside the cliché don’t realize they’re working a playbook that’s been used countless times before.

“Please, join me on the porch,” I gesture.

She walks slightly ahead of me when I don’t move. Did I do that intentionally so I could look at her wide hips? The swell of her ass is hypnotic as the light fabric of her dress settles over it as herhips sway. But she’s not doing it on purpose. She’s not trying to ignite my lust or turn me into a savage, dirty old man. She’s just walking.

I motion for her to sit. She brushes her dress down, and again, I watch each subtle movement, her warm, soft hand gliding down the fabric of her dress, imagining her hand gliding—No, I refuse. I won’t do that. I can’t. I’m the architect of my own mind. I won’t go there. Ever. I make that promise to myself now.

Hell, maybe she’ll do terribly in the interview. Perhaps I’ll have a reason to send her away and never think about her again.

Chapter Two

Callie

Gray Aldridge is tall and muscular. His thick arms fill out his pale blue short sleeve shirt. The undone top two buttons tempt me to know how muscular the rest of him is. His dark brown eyes seem serious even as the edge of his lip twitches like he’s trying to hold back a smile. I wonder what he’s thinking, what’s making him smile—no,considersmiling. Or maybe that’s just his natural expression.

At least, this time, I don’t detect anything ‘off’ like with that stockbroker jerk. My instincts at the time were screaming at me. I should’ve listened, but I needed the cash, and the darkness started slowly. Gray doesn’t seem like a perv and there’s nothing inappropriate in his demeanor.

Heck, though, if he was… No, I won’t think about that. I won’t imagine touching his thick arm, feeling my fingernails bend against his unyielding muscles. I won’t imagine throwing my arms around his broad shoulders or dragging my hands through his silver hair, glinting in the sunlight. I’m achingly aware of the beads of sweat dripping down my neck toward my chest. But his eyes don’t follow them.

“The agency has given me your answers to all the standard questions,” he says in a deep, sophisticated voice. “You’re clearly capable of keeping a child on track. Your previous client has twins, I believe.”

“Yes, Mr…” I clear my throat. “Gray.” This is going to take some getting used to. The stockbroker jerk wanted me to call himsir—heactually got off on it. But beggars can’t be choosers. “Theywere very rambunctious, bouncing off the walls. It was quite the challenge to think of ways to keep them occupied.”

“How did you do that?”

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