The Nanny's Secret

His meaning was clear. A long-term relationship with this man would be a dream come true. But once Wyatt learned the truth, he’d want nothing more to do with her.

“Leigh? Have I misread some signals?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. She remembered those eyes blazing down at her in the lamplight of her bedroom as he filled her with his heat.

She shook her head, willing herself to be as honest as she dared. “You haven’t misread anything, Wyatt. I’d welcome more time together if we could find it. But things are a bit … overwhelming right now.”

“Fine. For now … but not for long, Leigh. As you know, I’m not a patient man.” Tilting her chin with a finger, he brushed a feathery kiss across her lips.

She ached with wanting him—his arms around her, his skin naked against hers. But was she willing to risk the consequences?

* * *

The Nanny’s Secret is part of the No.1 bestselling series from Mills & Boon^>® Desire™— Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men … wrapped around their babies’ little fingers.

The Nanny’s

Secret

Elizabeth Lane

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ELIZABETH LANE has lived and traveled in many parts of the world, including Europe, Latin America and the Far East, but her heart remains in the American West, where she was born and raised. Her idea of heaven is hiking a mountain trail on a clear autumn day. She also enjoys music, animals and dancing. You can learn more about Elizabeth by visiting her website, www.elizabethlaneauthor.com.

For Tiffany

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

One

Dutchman’s Creek, Colorado

HELP WANTED

Live-in nanny for newborn. Wolf Ridge area. Mature. Discreet. Experience preferred.

Start immediately. Email résumé and references to

[email protected]

Wyatt Richardson glared at the stack of résumés on the borrowed desk. So far he’d interviewed three teenagers, a Guatemalan woman who barely spoke English, a harried mom with her own two-year-old and a grandmotherly type who confessed she got heart palpitations at high altitudes. His need for a qualified nanny bordered on desperation. But so far not one of the applicants was right for the job.

At least none of them had seemed to recognize him in his faded baseball cap. But that didn’t solve his problem.

Maybe he should have gone through an agency instead of placing that blind ad through The Dutchman’s Creek Sentinel. But agencies asked questions, and this was a personal matter, demanding privacy. Not even his staff at the resort knew that his sixteen-year-old daughter, Chloe, had shown up on his doorstep almost nine months pregnant—or that she’d just given birth to a baby boy at the local hospital.

With a weary sigh he scanned the final résumé. Leigh Foster, 26. At least her age was in the ballpark he’d wanted to see. But the journalism degree from the University of Colorado wouldn’t be much help. And her experience handling children was limited to some babysitting in high school. Glancing down the page he noticed she’d edited a defunct travel magazine and was currently working part-time for the local paper. He’d bet she was scrambling for money. Why else would an educated woman apply for this job?

Never mind. Just get it over with. He buzzed the receptionist, a signal to send in the next applicant.

High heels clicked down the tiled hallway, their cadence brisk and confident. An instant later the door of the small interview room opened. Wyatt’s gaze took her in at a glance—willowy figure, simple navy blue suit, dark chestnut hair worn in a sleek pageboy. An Anne Hathaway type. He liked what he saw—liked it a lot. Unfortunately he was looking for a nanny, not a date.

“Mr. Richardson.” Her long legs flashed as she strode toward the desk, hand extended. Her use of his name put Wyatt on instant alert. She worked for the Sentinel and would have known who placed the ad, he reminded himself. But the woman was a journalist. Did she really need a job or was she scoping out some juicy gossip for a story?

Either way, his first priority had to be protecting Chloe.

Rising, he accepted her proffered handshake. Her fingers felt the way she looked—slim and strong but surprisingly warm. Her tailored jacket had fallen open to reveal a coppery silk blouse. The fabric clung to her figure enticingly.

Yanking his gaze back to her face, Wyatt nodded toward the straight-backed chair opposite the desk. She settled onto the edge, one shapely knee crossed over the other in her narrow little skirt.

Sitting again, he perused her résumé, giving him a reason to take his eyes off her. “Tell me, Miss Foster. You appear well qualified for work in your own field. Why would you want a job as a nanny?”

Her lush mouth twitched in a sardonic smile. “I may be qualified, but times are tough. Right now I’m working twenty hours a week and camping out in my mother’s guest room. She sells real estate, so she’s struggling, too—and she has my younger brother to support. I’d like to contribute instead of feeling like a burden.”