She planted stiff fingers on her hips, her narrowed brown eyes pinning him to the door frame. “Meaning I don’t look very feminine now?”
“Hold on there, I didn’t say you didn’t look feminine.” He strode over to her. She was definitely tall, coming well past his shoulders. Still, she had to tilt her head to look at him, giving him a full view of her long, slender neck. “You look feminine, all right. No doubt about that.”
“And feminine is not ladylike?”
“Not in your case.”
“And why is that? Because I don’t look like the type of girl you’d take home to Mother?”
“You,” he said, trailing a finger down the tempting slope of her neck, “look like the type of gal I’d take home to bed.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than he regretted them. Great, Tyler. Real businesslike. Why don’t you just rip her clothes off, do it on the floor and get it over with?
Shock swept her features, then anger, and Tyler knew he was in for it. But when she opened her mouth, the only thing in her voice was undisguised curiosity.
“Really? Why?”
He had to laugh at that one. “Are you kidding?”
“No. So what is it about the way I look now as opposed to thirty minutes ago that made you say that?”
Okay, so she was serious. “You look...” His gaze started at her ankles, and moved upward. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. All of the women in his past had had plenty of self-confidence when it came to looks. Too much. But this woman... She’s got it, too, buddy. She’s just good at hiding it. At punching your buttons. It’s an act, Sherlock . A well-played act. Still, when she stared at him so...expectantly, he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut.
“Curvy,” he finally said. “Very curvy. The skirt shows off your legs, your hips.” His attention slid higher. “And the blouse... It shows off everything above the waist. Yes, lots of curves. Subtle curves. Just right for a man’s hands.”
“Curves? Where?”
For an irrational instant, he wanted to eat up the few inches of distance left between them and touch his lips to all the “wheres.” But she was his employee for the next twelve hours. His daughter’s nanny all of fifteen minutes. And completely off-limits. Great. Now comes the attack of the straitlaced businessman. Damn.
“Well?” Impatience edged the word.
“There,” he managed to say, his voice gruff as he pointed to the slope of her calves. “All along there.” He indicated her legs, long shapely legs. His attention slid higher. “And, of course, there.” His jabbed a space in the air to indicate where his attention had finally landed, and a pleased smile lit her face.
“Really? These clothes really make you want to touch me here?” Her hands went to the objects of discussion and he swallowed hard. Damn. Damn.
“Geez, and all because of a little blouse,” she said. “Forget the push-up bra.” Her incredulous voice drew his gaze.
Sexual energy. Potent Stronger than anything Tyler had ever felt before passed between them. Damn. Damn. Damn.
He shook his head as if he could shake away the strange feeling. The strange truth—that he was reacting like a hormone-enraged teenager in the back seat of his daddy’s car, and all because of a woman named Lucky, who wore baseball caps, chewed gum and spied on unsuspecting men.
The notion was ridiculous. He was out of his mind, not only to have hired her in the first place, but to actually be lusting after her as though he’d never seen a woman in a tight skirt before.
He’d never seen this woman in a tight skirt before, or a silk blouse, for that matter. And she was good, he told himself. It was positively ingenious how she thought to play the innocent virgin. What man could resist such a challenge?
He could. It wasn’t as if she had anything that other women didn’t, and he didn’t have time for games. Lucky was his nanny and Helen was coming.
“We’d better go. We’ve got a lot to do.”
“Yeah,” she said, glancing at the mirror one last time before slanting an irresistible grin at him. “You know, I could get used to this.”
So could I, his rebellious libido whispered as he left her to go in search of Mabel. So could I.
And that was the damned trouble of it all.
4
“WE’RE ALMOST DONE with your hair, sugar. Just hold your head up straight.”
Lucky’s head bobbed and something bumped her forehead.
“Sorry ’bout that, sugar.”
Lucky glanced up as Earline, the owner of Ulysses’s only beauty salon, parted bright pink lips and smiled. “They’re a work hazard.” They referred to a pair of double D’s squashed beneath a pink knit top. “There,” Earline declared, plopping her comb and scissors down to reach for a bottle of styling spritz.
“I don’t usually put anything in my hair,” Lucky said.
Earline gave her a serious look. “We need height, sugar. To frame your face and bring out those beautiful eyes of yours.”
Beautiful eyes. Lucky gave the idea some thought, then smiled. “I’ve never had height before.”
Or breadth, for that matter, she added silently when one of Earline’s work hazards bopped her upside the head again.
Ah, breasts... Pointy pyramids to liven up her flat-as-an-Arizona-desert landscape. Breast men would come from all over the world to view in hushed awe. They’d snap pictures to display alongside photos of all the great wonders of the world—the Eiffel Tower, the Taj Mahal... She’d be a universal sex symbol. Yeah, right.
Earline leaned in, her chest bumping the back of Lucky’s head again. “Oops, there I go again. Like I said, job hazard.”
“Yeah, when it’s really cold,” came a slightly amused southern drawl, “Earline can put out an eye with one of those.” Doris, Earline’s assistant, stood squeezing perm solution on a fifty-something-year-old customer.
Earline glared at the younger woman then turned back to Lucky. “Are you married, sugar?”
“No, but I intend to work on that when I get back to Houston.”
“Well, remember one thing when you start hunting for a man. The eyes are everything. My Roger wasn’t the best-looking boy back in high school, but he sure knew how to look at a woman. Why, I nearly passed out the first time he looked at me.”
“The whole town nearly passed out the first time you looked back,” Doris offered. “You were Miss Hickory Honey, for heaven’s sake, and he was the class geek.”
“Hickory Honey?” Lucky asked.
“The town’s yearly beauty pageant. It’s the kickoff for the pecan festival that starts in two weeks.” Doris pointed to a neon pink flier taped on the wall. “Despite all the ranch land around here, we’ve got acres and acres of pecan trees. We’re the hickory capital of Texas.”
Earline sighed. “Being Miss Hickory Honey was the second biggest thrill of my life.”
“What was the first?” Lucky asked.
“The first time Roger and I... Well, you know, sugar.”
No, she didn’t know. That was the trouble.
After Earline had blown and spritzed and brushed until Lucky felt dizzy, the woman reached for what looked like a tackle box.
“Now on to the makeup,” she declared. “We’ll just widen your eyes a little.” She leaned in, wielding a mascara brush the way a Samurai did his sword.
“I think my eyes are wide enough,” Lucky said, blinking frantically as the brush came at her.
“Nonsense. Wide eyes are sexy, sugar. Now hold ’em open.”
After five unsuccessful attempts, Lucky finally managed not to blink. The mascara went on, then a light dusting of powder and blush. Earline finished with a little lipstick, then stood back to survey her work.
“Ready, sugar?”
For all Lucky’s excitement, she couldn’t squash the sudden apprehension. She’d never been in a full-service beauty salon before. Most of her haircuts had been at Jake’s Barbershop back in Chicago. No spray spritz or blow-dryers. And forget the makeup.
Of course, that alone probably accounted for her nonexistent love life.
The chair swung around and Lucky found herself staring at a complete stranger. Soft layers of short brown hair framed the stranger’s face. Mascara accented obscenely long eyelashes and gave deep cocoa brown eyes an exotic look.
Exotic. The word echoed through her head and Lucky reached up, her fingers trailing over the soft curls accenting her cheekbones. Her cheekbones. Not some stranger’s. This was really her face. Her hair. Her exotic eyes.
“You like it, sugar?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her throat closing around the word. “You’re a genius, Earline.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Oh, hell, maybe I would.” The bell on the front door tinkled. “But now comes the real test.”
Lucky turned to see Tyler walk through the door. He stopped dead in his tracks, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Well?” she asked. She sat up straighter, her chest pushing up and out a fraction, as if he would notice. But a girl had to try. “What do you think, um, er...Mr. Grant?”
Her words seemed to penetrate his frozen exterior. He blinked and a serious expression passed over his features. He glanced at his watch. “I think we’d better hurry. We’ve got forty-five minutes and you still have to meet Bennie.”
While Lucky stifled her disappointment and climbed from the chair, Tyler paid the bill. He gave Earline a sizable tip and Doris a smile that would have melted every snowflake during Chicago’s worst blizzard.
Not that it bothered Lucky. She knew Tyler Grant was one of those men, the experienced kind who flirted with every woman, otherwise he would never have turned all that charm on her.
Experienced. Exactly the sort of man to teach her a thing or two. She focused on that possibility and ignored the strange tightening in her stomach. Experienced was good. Just what she wanted. She only wished he wasn’t beefing up his résumé right in front of her.
“HERE’S YOUR MONEY.” Tyler handed her an envelope once they’d climbed into Jed’s battered Ford pickup that had a giant R emblazoned on the side. He keyed the ignition. The engine grumbled and knocked and he cursed.
“I told Jed to replace the battery in this thing.”
“If it was the battery, it would be more like a grinding noise.” She demonstrated. “See? That’s nothing like the knocking. It’s probably just being a little temperamental. These ’79 Fords sometimes do that.” When he raised questioning eyebrows to her, she rushed on, “I’m sort of into cars and trucks—anything on four wheels. Trust me on this. Count to five, give it just a little gas and turn the key nice and slow.”
He did as she said. The engine purred to life and Lucky shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”
“Thanks.” He pulled out onto the main strip through town.
“Thank you.” She counted the bills, then shot a glance in the side mirror at her reflection. “So what do you think?”
“You look...different.”
“Different?” She stared into the side mirror again. “Different in a bad way, or different in a good way?”
“Different in an...appropriate way.”
“Oh,” Lucky murmured, stifling another pang of disappointment
Appropriate. It wasn’t a “Gee, Lucky, you’re drop-dead gorgeous,” but it would have to do. At least he hadn’t said inappropriate.
One thousand dollars, she told herself when her stomach did the all-too-familiar churning thing again. She could do this. She would do this. She would dance naked on top of the Empire State Building for a thousand dollars.
Okay, maybe not naked, but scantily clad. Bra and panties, max. Maybe she’d even throw modesty aside and use a pair of those skimpy bikini panties—
“Let’s review.” He braked for a stop sign. “Who are you?”
“Lucky Myers, nanny extraordinaire.” When he shot her a frown, she amended, “My name is Lucretia Myers. I’ve been with the Dalton Agency for five years. My most recent assignment was with a low-profile but filthy-rich oilman from Houston, separated from his wife with temporary custody of two teenage girls. He and the girls spent most of their time at a vacation home in Scotland.” She frowned. “A Texas oilman in Scotland? Did you make this up?”
“Yes. And?”
“Sounds a little far-fetched, if you ask me, but you’re the boss.” She took a deep breath and recited the spiel she’d memorized during the thirty-minute trip to town. “I’ve been in Scotland for the past five years—”
“Which is why you seem slightly out of touch.”
“That gets me off the hook on any Texas questions, but what about Scotland? The closest I’ve been to Scotland is sitting front row through Braveheart. It was pretty informational, but I only saw it seven times and—”
“Seven? That’s all?”
“I was going for eight, but then my dad died and I moved down here. I’ve been pulling extra shifts at the cab company to hold my own. That doesn’t leave much time for movies.”
“You could always buy the video.”
“And miss seeing Mel up close and personal?” She shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. “That would definitely kill the fantasy. Maybe if I had one of those big-screen TVs, but it would have to be really big to give the same theater effect.”
“So size is important to you?”
Her heart hit a speed bump that turned out to be a major pothole when she looked over at him. He was just so beautiful sitting there, gripping the steering wheel, staring straight ahead as if he’d asked her about something as mundane as the weather. Size, girl. Definitely a flirty comment if she’d ever heard one.
She chose her words carefully. “If you’re talking TV screens.”
“And if we’re not?”
“Then it depends on what we’re talking about.” She swallowed. “So what are we talking about?”
He grinned. “What do you think we’re talking about?”
“That’s not fair. You can’t answer my question with a question. I asked first. Are we talking screens or...?”
“Or what?” He shot her a smoldering glance, his lips hinting at a grin.
“Men.” There, she’d said it.
He nodded. “Actors.”
“Actors?” She tried not to sound depressed.
“What else?”
“Actors,” she said firmly. “Yeah, actors.” She stared through the windshield and searched for a vision of her favorite actor. Instead of seeing a wily Scotsman, she kept picturing a cowboy. A very naked cowboy, with water streaming down his skin and the sunlight playing off his muscles and his... “Definitely a big-screen man,” she murmured. “Really big.”
“Who?”
“Uh, Mel.” She stiffened in her seat. “Yeah, big-screen all the way. Definitely.”
“Yeah,” he grumbled, and Lucky had the strangest sensation that she’d just disappointed him somehow.
“So back to your mother-in-law. What should I talk about?”
“You don’t talk. I’ll do all the talking.”
“What if she asks me questions about Scotland?”
“She won’t. Helen was there once and spent the entire two weeks sick in her hotel room. Allergies, though she’d die before she ever admitted it. Scotland is the one place she doesn’t like, so I doubt she’ll drill you on the subject.”
“I don’t know about this.” She shook her head, doubts creeping through her, her mouth watering for a piece of gum.
His hand reached across the seat to close over hers. “You can do it, Lucky. Just relax and remember everything I told you.”
“Yeah, relax.” She took a deep breath and suppressed the disappointment when he returned his hand to the wheel. “I can do this,” she said more for herself than him. “It’s not as if I’m totally clueless when it comes to educating a child.”
“It’s just one night,” he reminded her. “You won’t be educating anyone.”
“I do have some college under my belt,” she went on as if he
’d never said a word. “Liberal arts with a minor in education.”
“You’re not going to be a real nanny.”
“I’ve had child psychology and all the basics. That’s something.” She glanced at him. “Isn’t it?”
He nodded and smiled. “Let me guess, underneath that rough exterior lurks the heart of a kindergarten teacher.”
“More like an auto-shop teacher. I’ve always liked cars and kids.”
“So why are you driving a cab in Houston instead of teaching mechanics to some rowdy kids back in Chicago?”
She shrugged. “My granny. She was originally from Texas, and when she got sick with Alzheimer’s, Dad moved her here from Chicago. He wanted to come himself, but I was going to college and working part-time as a mechanic, and he didn’t want to leave me. Then he died, the nursing-home payments fell to me, and so did his cab.” She blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes. “Granny is my number-one priority right now. I’ll finish school eventually.”
“What about a student loan?”
“Do you know how much shop teachers make? I make more driving my cab. I couldn’t swing a new career, nursing-home payments and loan payments. It’s better to pay as I go, even if it takes a while.” She turned on him then. “Would you stop looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you feel sorry for me.”
“I do feel sorry for you.”
She stiffened. “Don’t. I don’t need your pity.”
He grinned. “Oh yes you do. You, sweetheart, are about to meet my mother-in-law. I guarantee, fifteen minutes into it, and you’ll be begging for my pity.”
“Gee, you’re doing wonders for my confidence.”
His grin disappeared. “Tell me the story again.”
She banged her head against the window. “Ugh. Not again.”
“Again.”
She took a deep breath and tried to focus her thoughts. “Okay, I’ve been in Scotland. The oilman got a divorce, his wife got the kids, which ended my assignment. Then the agency sent me here.”
“Exactly. And remember, whatever you do, don’t encourage any questions. Just give the barest answers, and I’ll pick up any slack in the conversation. Dinner will fill up some of the time, then you can pretend a headache and escape to your room. After that, we’ll have tomorrow morning to get through, which shouldn’t be too difficult. Merle, that’s my father-in-law, is expected at a nine o’clock meeting in San Antonio, which means they’ll be in a hurry. Thirty minutes for breakfast, then I’m off the hook and you’re on your way back to Houston.”
Gettin' Lucky (Love and Laughter) Page 5