excellent references from all of her past positions. In fact, she’s only leaving her current role because the family is moving to the UK and Laurie doesn’t want to go. They could rotate from week to week between the office and the house. One week, day shifts. The next, nights.”
“Do I really need two nannies? I plan to be on hand in the evenings and if Casey needs me during the night.”
“I know you plan to minimize travel, but what about when you do site visits and you’re away for several days, or if you’re called to troubleshoot a problem at short notice and can’t get home at night? Not to mention business dinners and other events that you can’t skip that could take you away for hours at a time. Getting a sitter for him every time would be a hassle, and it would be rough for Casey, too. He needs continuity—to feel familiar with the person caring for him. Babies respond better to routine.”
Piers fell silent and angled his body to face her, one arm resting along the back of the sofa.
“I asked you this before but this time I want an answer. How come you know so much about babies? I know you act like you want nothing to do with them but your advice is always spot-on. You talk about child care like you really understand it.”
Faye felt the all too familiar lump solidify in her throat. She swallowed to try to clear it but it barely made any difference.
“I’ve seen kids in the care system. Some of them abandoned, some of them taken from their families through hardship or abuse. It gave me an insight, that’s all.”
The half lie made her heart begin to race in her chest. An insight? That was far too mild a description for what it had been like in her foster home when a baby was brought to the house for care—and in her years there, there had been several. She vividly remembered the first one who’d come into the home after her placement. Remembered hurrying home from high school each day so she could help her foster mom with the little boy’s care. She didn’t understand then, but now she knew that she’d poured all of her love for her dead baby brother into that child. When he was eventually returned to his parents, she’d felt the aching loss of his departure as if it was a physical pain.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t get so involved the next time, but she’d been unable to help herself. Each child had called to her on one level or another—each one a substitute; a vessel open to receive all the love she had inside her. Her foster mom had seen it all, had talked with Faye’s caseworker about it, but the woman had told her it was a good thing. That it was allowing Faye to work through her grief for her family. But it hadn’t. In the end, when she’d aged out of the system at eighteen and gone to college, she was just as broken as she’d been when she’d arrived.
A touch on her cheek made her realize she’d fallen deep into her reveries—forgotten where she was, and why. To her horror she realized she was crying. She bolted up from the sofa and dashed her hands across her face, wiping all trace of tears from her cheeks.
“Faye? It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Piers probed gently. “How did you see those kids in the system? Was it when you were placed in foster care yourself?”
She stopped at the French doors. Maybe this would be easier if she couldn’t see him. Couldn’t feel his strong reassuring presence so close beside her.
“Yes.”
A shudder shook her. Warm hands settled on her shoulders but he made no move to turn her around.
“It must have been hell for you.”
She didn’t want to go into details, so she did the only thing she knew would distract him. She spun and slipped her hands around the back of his neck and gently coaxed his face to hers.
He didn’t pull away; he didn’t protest. He simply closed his arms around her waist, let her take his mouth and coax his lips open.
The second she did, she felt a jolt of need course through her. A need that demanded he fill all the dark, empty spaces inside. The spaces she barely even wanted to acknowledge existed. She wanted him so badly her entire body shook with it, and when his hands began to move, one cupping her buttocks and pulling her more firmly into the cradle of his hips, she let herself give over to sensation.
She couldn’t get enough of him. His taste, his scent, the strong, hard feeling of his body against hers. Her mind blazed with heat and longing, remembering the intense gratification he’d wrung from her. The feeling of him reaching his own peak and knowing he’d found that delight in her.
“Dinner is served in the conservatory, Mr. Luckman. Oh!”
Faye ripped her lips from his and tried to pull away, but Piers wouldn’t let her go. Instead he firmly rubbed her back, as one would when trying to settle a skittish animal.
“Thank you, Meredith. We’ll be along in a moment.”
Faye ducked her head, unable to meet the housekeeper’s eyes. Ashamed of what she’d done.
Piers tipped her chin so she’d looked up at him again.
“As a distraction tactic, I have to say, I admire your strategy. Shall we go through to dinner?”
Faye pulled away again and Piers let her go this time.
“No. Look, I’d better go. Meredith—”
“No more running away. Meredith won’t say a word. You should know as well as anyone that she’s the soul of discretion. Besides, she likes you.”
Like her or not, Faye felt horribly uncomfortable as she let Piers tug her down the hall to the family room and through to an informal dining area in the conservatory, where Meredith had arranged their meal. A succulent-looking tri-tip roast nestled in its juices on a carving plate and a roasted vegetable salad was piled in a serving dish beside it. The scents of balsamic and garlic made Faye’s mouth water hungrily.
Meredith looked up from tweaking a napkin at one of the place settings. “I’ve left the roast for you to carve, Mr. Luckman. The baby is down for the night, so I’ll be off now. The monitor is on the sideboard over there. Bon appétit!” And, with a warm and knowing smile in Faye’s direction, she bustled her way back to the kitchen.
Faye felt herself begin to relax. Okay, so Meredith didn’t judge her for what she’d seen back there in the living room. And why should she? a little voice asked. She’s probably seen Piers kissing women every day.
Across the table, Piers picked up the carving knife and fork. “What’s your pleasure?” he asked with a hooded look.
Her insides clenched on a wave of heat at his simple question. “I...I beg your pardon?”
“Do you prefer the crispy end or something from the middle?”
“Oh, the end bit, please.”
“Your wish is my command.”
Faye watched, mesmerized, as Piers deftly carved the tri-tip into slices and then served her. The evening sun caught the hairs on his arm and instantly she was thrown back to Wyoming. Remembering how his body hair had felt under her fingertips. More, how the silky heat of his skin had felt against hers. She pressed her thighs together as another surge of need billowed through her.
What on earth had she been thinking, kissing him before? It had awakened
