The sight had been just as enticing as a juicy piece of fruit, too, and he’d ended up feeling like a man who’d been starved for that particular food group.
His frowned deepened. He pushed himself from the chair and stalked to the window. What had gotten into him?
The reason he’d been so discombobulated by the woman, he guessed, was that he’d been expecting a plain Jane…but what had arrived was a stunning Stella. However, there had been more to it than merely her looks.
From his sister’s accounting, Pierce had imagined Amy would be an average, regular, normal young woman—a barely grown kid, really, from the way Cynthia had described her. But the woman he’d seen when he’d gone down to the water’s edge was polished and professional. Even standing up to her waist in the bay, she’d exuded a calm, no-nonsense air. When he’d questioned her methods of rescuing his nephews, she’d been quick to fire back a logical explanation that had exonerated her of any unsound decisions.
Although Pierce wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone, he’d been a tad intimidated by the magnitude of her poise. He couldn’t be sure, but at one point he suspected she’d actually chuckled at his handling of the whole situation. Of course, she’d explained away her sudden humor by expressing how cute the boys were, so his suspicion that she’d been laughing at his expense could be all in his head…
The knock on his study door made him turn. Amy stood at the threshold wearing a gold blouse that set off her rich brown eyes. Her skirt was short enough to show off her perfect knees. Her feet were clad in high heels that accentuated her narrow ankles and shapely calves. His gaze rose to her face, and when he noticed that her light brown hair was still swept up off her shoulders, he couldn’t help but wonder how long it was and what it might look like in a tumble.
His mind was suddenly besieged with the image of him pulling the pins free himself, combing his fingers through those dark tresses. His gut tightened.
“Come in,” he said, doing his damnedest to shove the alluring picture from his head.
“Is this a good time?” She entered the room, her shoulders square, her head high.
“Yes,” he told her. “Have a seat. Would you like a glass of wine?”
Amy smiled. “That would be nice, thanks.”
He went to the bar cabinet to pour their drinks. “I played a board game with the boys after dinner, gave them their baths and then tucked them into bed. They’re settled for the night.”
When he handed her the glass of merlot, he said, “They’re in the room next door to you, by the way.”
She took a sip, swallowed and then gazed off for a second. When she looked at him again her expression glowed with pleasure. “Delicious,” she said, then her tongue smoothed over her lips.
Something happened down low in his belly. An odd fiery sensation sprouted to life.
“I’m ready to take over responsibility of the boys tomorrow morning.”
She shifted in the seat, and Pierce was aware of the swish of her skirt fabric against the leather couch cushion. When she crossed her legs, the whisper of flesh against flesh had his breath stilling in his throat.
It was silly, really, this sudden fascination he found with that sound.
He took a drink—and a deep breath—desperate to clear this strange fog from his head.
“I’d like to gently recommend,” he began, his gaze traveling down the length of her, “a change in your wardrobe.”
A tiny crease appeared between her deep-set eyes.
“What I mean is,” he rushed to explain, “Benjamin and Jeremiah are rambunctious boys. They run and jump and dig in the dirt and heaven only knows what else they’ll have you doing.”
“I see.” Her smile was easy as she evidently realized he was only offering some friendly advice. “So I guess I’d be better off in pants.”
“Exactly.”
The tension in the room seemed to slacken then and the two of them spent some time talking about their situation—his work schedule and hers, and what each expected of the other.
As he refilled her glass, she commented, “This is a wonderful thing you’re doing, letting the boys stay here. When Mrs. Winthrop and I met in Lebo, she was so excited about this trip to Africa.”
Pierce topped off his own glass and then set the bottle on the marble-topped side table. His mouth screwed up in a grimace as he admitted, “I turned down her request at first.”
“Oh?”
He eased himself back into the chair. “Yes. Cynthia came to me to explain that John had been offered the opportunity of his career. Six weeks as a missionary in Africa. Having the chance to do missionary work has always been my brother-in-law’s dream, she said. She asked if I’d keep the boys for eight weeks, as the position required two weeks of studying the language and customs. I gently but firmly refused.”
Pierce chuckled, remembering his well-reasoned denial.
“I reminded her,” he continued, “that I wasn’t the one who’d pined for hearth and home. That had been her. That I wasn’t the one who’d been certain that parenthood would be the experience of a lifetime. That, too, had been her. And besides that, as she explained to you, I was just about to land a huge contract with one of the largest perfumeries in France. I couldn’t afford to be away from the lab, away from my work…not for a single week, let alone two months.
“Cynthia seemed to understand.” His smile widened. “But my sister is pretty stubborn. And it wasn’t long before she returned with a whole new plan. A plan that involved you. She made it all sound so…workable. In the end, I agreed to take my nephews for the summer. As long as you were here to look after them during my working hours.”
Amy set her empty glass on the table. “A reluctant hero is still a hero in my book.”
Pierce had never thought of himself as a hero, reluctant or otherwise. The very idea unsettled him. He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. The atmosphere stiffened up.
A few moments passed, and she stood. “I think I should head off to bed. If those boys are as rambunctious as you say, then I’m going to need a good night’s sleep.”
Her tapered fingers shot out and she tipped up her chin, and it took him a second to realize that she wanted to shake his hand. He stood and slid his palm into hers.
Her skin was warm against his. Smooth. And soft.
It was as if his every thought gurgled right out of his head.
“I want to assure you that I plan to do a good job,” she proclaimed, giving his hand several good pumps. “We won’t interrupt your work. In fact, when I’m with the boys you won’t even know we’re here.”
Even though his gaze was riveted on the gentle sway of her bottom as she left his study, he did have enough of his wits about him to doubt her promise.
You won’t even know we’re here.
Her
