Page 19 of Temptation at His Door

Joa sensed how difficult it was for Ronan to leave his sons with her. Sure, Keely had vouched for her and she had nannying experience but she was still a stranger and he wasn’t just leaving the city, he was going halfway across the world. If anything went wrong, he’d be nearly seven thousand miles away.

She saw him hesitate and knew he was second-guessing himself. Knowing that he was on the point of calling off his trip—she could see it on his face—she stepped over to him and placed her hand on his strong forearm, feeling his heat despite his shirt and jacket.

“They’ll be fine, Ronan, I promise.”

Ronan handed her a look that was long on disbelief and short on confidence. “You can’t promise that,” he muttered.

Okay, he was splitting hairs, but she got it. “True. Okay, how about this? I will do everything in my power to keep your boys safe. Everything I possibly can.”

Ronan stared at her for a long time and Joa knew that she couldn’t break the eye contact. If she did, he’d call off his trip. After what seemed like a millennium passing, his shoulders dropped and his face relaxed. He managed a small smile. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Oh, that self-deprecating smile was too charming and too sexy for words. It made him seem years younger and very approachable. Joa smiled. “A little. But you’re their dad. It’s allowed.”

“Sometimes I think I’ve made it into an art form. But I am so damn scared that something will—” He stopped abruptly, his words drying out. Joa waited, hoping he’d finish his sentence but he just shook his head, as if irritated with himself. “Ignore me, I’m rambling. Let’s go.”

Ronan took her hand and linked her fingers in his, his other hand reaching for his suitcase. As he pulled her and the suitcase toward the front door, Joa was conscious of his strength, the way his big hand enveloped hers, his palm and fingers dwarfing hers. In his hand, hers felt small and feminine and, yeah, safe.

And were those tingles she felt skittering up her arm? Yep, she thought they just might be.

In the hallway, Ronan stopped at the front door and looked down at their linked hands. He pulled his hand from hers and smiled wryly. “Sorry, force of habit. I’m constantly grabbing a child’s hand.”

Joa felt a vicious stab of disappointment, mortified that while she was thinking of him in terms of being a sexy man, he equated her with being a child.

Joa folded her arms and waited for him to open his front door. “I’m not a child, Murphy.” She couldn’t help the comment, knew that she was poking a bear with a stick, but she needed him to see her as a woman.

Stepping into the cold wind of a late January day, Ronan pulled the door shut behind him and sent her an inscrutable look. “Trust me, I noticed.”

And what, Joa wondered as he led her over to his white Land Rover sitting in the driveway, did that mean?

On her second night of babysitting duty, Joa made herself a plate of nachos and poured herself a glass of red wine. She was just about to sit down in the media room to watch reruns ofDownton Abbeywhen she heard the doorbell ring.

Taking a slug of wine—and hoping that the strident doorbell didn’t wake Aron who’d refused to go to sleep without three stories, a cuddle and a monster-under-the-bed check—she placed her nachos on the coffee table and headed to the hall.

In yoga pants, a slouchy sweatshirt and comfy socks, she wasn’t dressed for receiving visitors. Then again, she wasn’t expecting company and anyone who made house calls so late without advance notice was just plain rude.

Joa looked at Ronan’s iPad, clicked on the screen showing the view of the front door and saw Keely standing on the steps, accompanied by a tall man built like a lumberjack, his back to the camera. What was Keely doing here at this time of night?

Joa hurried to the hallway, yanked open the door and gasped at the frigid air. Looking past her guests onto the dark driveway, she saw that it was snowing.

Again.

Joa reached out and grabbed Keely’s arm, tugging her into the hallway. The Armani-wearing lumberjack followed her inside. In the brightly lit hall, Joa immediately recognized that masculine face: Dare Seymour, the man she had yet to invite over to Mounton House for a casual meal.

“Hi, Dare, Keely. What are you guys doing here?” Joa asked, shutting the door behind him.

Keely unwound the scarf from around her neck and shrugged out of her coat. Dare took her coat, hat and scarf and hung her garments next to his on the coat rack by the door. Without asking, he plucked her gloves from her hands and tucked them into the outside pocket of her coat. His movements were economical and easy, as was the kiss he dropped on Joa’s cheek. “Hi, Joa. It’s been a long time.”

“Hi back,” Joa said, her eyes darting from his implacable face to Keely’s stormy expression. Oh, God, what were these two arguing about now?

“Sorry to disturb you.” Dare said, pushing back his jacket to slide his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “I did tell Killer that this could wait until tomorrow but she insisted on getting the issue settled now.”

What issue? And Dare called Keely Killer? Did he have a death wish?

“Do not call me by that ridiculous name,” Keely said, obviously irritated.

“Why do you call her that?” Joa asked him, as she led them through to the great room and gestured for them to take a seat.

Dare waited for Keely to sit down before taking the seat next to her on the big sofa, stretching out long, muscled legs. The guy had to be six foot five plus and he sucked up space. With his dark blond hair and masculine features, he looked like Thor.

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