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
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
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