Page 3 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

Mallory put a hand to her hair, even more of a wreck now after the boat ride. “Can I freshen up first?”

“He has a conference call in ten minutes, and he’d like to see you before you meet Oliver.”

“Doesn’t he want to introduce me to his son?”

“Mr. Dalton is a busy man. Mrs. Flannigan will take care of the introductions.”

Too busy for his own son?This guy was sinking lower in Mallory’s esteem, any kinship she might have felt fading like a summer tan in October. Okay, he’d lost his wife. Truly tragic. But that meant his son needed him more than ever.

With an increased sense of impending doom, she followed Collins up the massive stone steps to the equally massive wood-and-glass front door. She tried her best to smother her warring emotions, ping-ponging between wanting to make a good first impression on her new boss and wanting to smack him upside the head for putting work before his motherless child.

“After you,” Collins said, holding yet another door open for her. “The study is the first door on the left.”

Her stomach flip-flopped. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

“No, miss.” He gestured for her to enter. “Mr. Dalton is expecting you. I have to check the lines on the launch and make sure your room is ready.”

Great. She was going into the lion’s den alone, with nothing but good intentions and a wardrobe that made her look like a reject from one of thoseSurvivor-style reality TV shows. She stalled on the top step. “You’re sure I won’t be disturbing him.”

“Just knock first and announce yourself.” Collins ushered her into the cavernous marble-tiled foyer. “Mrs. Flannigan will come get you when you’re done.”

“Thanks.” She swallowed hard and willed her reluctant feet to move. Nothing. She could see the study door across the foyer. Those few feet might as well have been a thousand miles for all the good it did her.

“Don’t worry,” Collins said, lowering his voice. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

Was it that obvious she needed a pep talk? She did a quick mental tally. Flushed cheeks. Dry mouth. Sweaty palms. Knocking knees. Yep, it was official. She was a basket case, and it showed.

“Thanks,” she repeated, trying to sound braver than she looked.

With a nod, he left. Mallory finally got her feet moving, squeaking across the foyer in her sneakers. When she reached the study door, she hitched her pocketbook up on her shoulder, took a shaky breath, and knocked.

“Enter.”

She had to stop herself from backing away. Collins wasn’t kidding about the barking. She hoped he was right about the bite, too.

She took another deep, unsteady breath in a futile attempt to calm her jangling nerves and cracked the door open. The room was in semidarkness, shades drawn, lit only by a lamp on the impressive mahogany desk that dominated the space. A man stood behind it with his back to her, one hand holding a cell phone to his ear, the other jammed in the pocket of his butt-hugging khakis.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said, lowering the phone. Good thing, or she would have had no way of knowing whether he was talking to her or the person on the other end of the line. It wasn’t like he bothered to do something crazy like actually look at her when he spoke.

She took the opportunity to study him unobserved while he finished his conversation. He was tall—around six feet, she guessed, dwarfing her tiny frame. Inky black curls dusted the collar of his shirt, a shirt that molded his broad shoulders and back as well as his pants showcased his butt. He’d rolled the sleeves to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms with a smattering of fine dark hair.

Holy hotness. If he looked as good from the front as he did from the back…

Stop. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Do not think lustful thoughts about your workaholic, criminally-attractive-from-behind new boss.

“I need that report by five,” the object of her lust practically spat into the phone. “And tell Mark I want to talk to him as soon as he’s back in the office.”

He ended the call without so much as a goodbye and tossed the phone onto his desk, turning to face her as he did. Any hope the full-frontal view would quash the dirty daydreams inspired by his backside was immediately dashed. The grainy picture in the file Collins had shared with her didn’t come close to doing him justice. Whiskey-brown eyes, framed by almost obscenely long lashes. Patrician nose. Strong jawline. It all added up to a mouthwatering package of male physical perfection.

Why hadn’t she bothered to Google him? Then she would have been prepared for the onslaught of his sheer masculine beauty. If you could ever prepare for something as powerful as that. Or run the other way as fast as her short-girl legs would carry her.

“Miss Worthington?” His eyes, dark and appraising, skated over her less-than-impressive curves, leaving her wondering if the final verdict was desire or derision. Not that it mattered, because she was there to take care of his son’s needs, not his own. Or hers.

“Mallory,” she corrected, her shaky voice betraying the potent cocktail of nervousness and attraction coursing through her system.

“There’s been a misunderstanding. I thought you were”—his gaze traveled the length of her body again, the journey ending this time in a scowl—“older.”

His words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head, effectively dousing any flickers of awareness. Probably—no, definitely—a good thing considering their circumstances. It was practically a cliché, the world-wise billionaire and the innocent, virginal nanny.

“Is that a problem?” she asked sharply. She was twenty-seven, not seventeen. More than mature enough to handle a preschooler. Heck, she’d run a commercial kitchen, managed almost a hundred employees from sixteen to sixty, some of them no better behaved than your average four-year-old. Hadn’t he read her résumé?

“I’m afraid so.” He jabbed a button on the intercom on his desk. “Mrs. Flannigan, we’re ready for you now.”

Mallory shook her head, plastering several damp strands against her cheek and no doubt making her look even younger. Not helping her cause one bit. She pushed the sticky strands off her face and straightened, maximizing every inch of her five-foot frame. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry you’ve come all this way for nothing.” He crossed to the door, his powerful strides eating up the short distance, and opened it. “I’ll see you get the earliest possible flight home, and you’ll be compensated for your time and trouble.”