Page 4 of Temptation at His Door

Okay, wow. This was news. “As in Winslow Homer?”

“Mmm. Finn Murphy took one look at them and said we need to establish provenance, which is a pain in the butt. Anyway, the meeting is with Carrick Murphy and Sadie Slade, an art detective. Isn’t that a fun career?Hi, I’m an art detective...”

Keely continued to talk. “I did some research on Sadie and she’s super smart and, unfairly, as beautiful as she is brainy. She’s very much Carrick’s type.”

Joa rolled her eyes at the speculation in Keely’s eyes. Her sister was both lovely and an impossible know-it-all.

Annoyingly, she was often right.

But Keely also had a grasshopper mind and tended to veer off subject. “We were talking about the paintings, Keels.”

“Right, we need Sadie to tell us that all three paintings are by Homer. First, because they could raise a lot of money for the foundation but also because I do not want to eat crow.”

Joa knew she was exhausted but she kept losing track of this conversation. “Why?”

Keely pouted. “Because snotty Seymour gave me a twenty-minute lecture about managing my expectations. He’s the biggest pain in the ass. He’s a lawyer’s lawyer, a real dot-your-t’s-and-cross-your-i’s type.”

Seymour? Seymour... Right, the lawyer handling Isabel’s estate. Joa had met him at the funeral, then at the reading of the will. Grief-stricken, she hadn’t paid much attention, and didn’t remember much from either occasion.

“Isn’t that a good thing in a lawyer?” Joa asked, bemused.

“I suppose,” Keely admitted, “but he just annoys the hell out of me.”

Joa was curious to find out how he’d managed to elicit such an extreme reaction from her I-bother-men, they-don’t-bother-me sister. “What’s he ever done to you?”

“He has a stuffy name and it suits him. Seven feet tall, six feet wide, blue eyes, dark blond hair, a long scar on his jawline. His friends call him Dare, an equally stupid name.”

Okay, as their lawyer, his looks and a nickname shouldn’t be a factor. Keely had obviously spent a lot of time looking at the face of someone who annoyed her. Interesting.

Keely stopped by a door with a discreet plate stating it was the conference room—thank God!—and Joa prayed that someone behind the expensive door would offer her coffee. And lots of it.

Joa pushed her shoulders back. She was here so she’d attend this meeting but then she’d retreat, leaving Keely to operate in this rarified world of high-priced estate lawyers and world-renowned auctioneers. Her job, her priority, was to redesign her life...

And if that was her plan, and it was a good one, then why did Ronan Murphy’s masculine face keep popping onto the big screen of her mind?

Two

Down the passage from the conference room, Ronan Murphy heard the beep of an incoming group message and picked up his cell phone. Seeing the name of the parents’ group for his sons’ school in West Roxbury, he opened the message and saw it was a reminder about a dance the fund-raising committee was hosting at the end of the month. God knew why they needed to raise funds—the school fees he paid should cover everything from buying plutonium for science experiments to European white truffles for staff lunches.

His phone lit up as message after message came in and Ronan recognized some of the profiles as he’d met many of the mothers while doing the school run. He’d also made the mistake of engaging a few of them in conversation. A few casual greetings and some exchanges about the weather morphed into suggestions of playdates for their kids and a heartbeat or two later, blatant offers to buy him coffee, wine or dinner. He’d even had a few offers for some bed-based fun.

They all received his “I appreciate the thought but I’m not currently dating” line and a few told him to call them if he changed his mind. He wouldn’t.

His wife was gone but she was still his wife...

Ronan ran his hand over his jaw, ignoring his cramping heart. He couldn’t think of Thandi now, he had work to do, a list as long as his arm to get through. And top of his list was finding a new nanny for his boys.

If he cared what anyone thought, he’d be embarrassed by his inability to hold on to a nanny but since he didn’t, he wasn’t. As Keely recently reminded him, he’d been through six nannies since Lizbeth retired eighteen months ago, with none of them sticking. Mostly because they paid him more attention than they did his kids.

He didn’t need their attention and affection, his boys did.

All he wanted was a nanny who didn’t hear the Murphy name and immediately think “ding, ding, ka-ching, rich Boston bachelor.” Four of the six nannies had flirted like crazy, with two being honest and upfront, telling him that sex was also included in the list of services they provided. Three years had passed since Thandi’s death, but he still felt married. He didn’t cheat: never had, never would.

He’d thought he was safe from further machinations when he hired Anna—she told him she was gay and in a relationship—but her unauthorized usage of his credit card was theft and couldn’t be overlooked.

He wanted someone who didn’t steal from him, who didn’t see him as a potential husband or lover. He just wanted someone dedicated and honest, someone who’d walk into his house and do what he’d asked them to: look after his kids and leave him alone.

Really, was that so much to ask?

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