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“Do you want coffee?” Morgan asked, looking at Blake, his voice as deep and sexy as she would expect from a guy that looked like him.
“Yes, please,” Blake said, not sure why she was acting so formal, but something told her to keep her guard up.
Harper put cream and sugar on the table as Morgan carried over three mugs of coffee and sat across from her.
A loud meow announced the entrance of Big Boy, the aging tabby that Harper had rescued from a fire. Blake reached her fingers down and pet his head.
“He always knows when food is being served,” Harper said, “but none of this is for you, Big Boy.” He dished out cat food into Big Boy’s plate, then sat to Blake’s left.
She spooned out a small serving from each of the salad bowls and began to eat, somehow feeling these two huge men hovering on the other side of the table were going to ask her to do something she did not want to do. But she distinctly remembered Harper telling her this morning that he “had it all solved” for her. What did that mean?
When the awkward silence became obvious, Harper started in. “Morgan is a New York City kid too,” he said.
Blake and Harper and their two sisters had grown up in Brooklyn. “What part?” she asked him.
“Queens,” Morgan said, and when their eyes met she got a strange feeling that made her look quickly back to her plate. Was it because her ex-husband’s rejection had left her believing she was unwanted goods? Or just the fact that she was dressed in slob clothes and no doubt looked like she’d been up all night eating junk food—which was true—and here was this sexy as sin man sitting close and obviously studying her.
Harper gestured with his fork. “His dad was also a New York City firefighter and died at the Twin Towers like ours did. We kind of bonded over that.”
“Are you a firefighter too?” she asked Morgan, risking another eye exchange with him. This time she managed to hold her own.
“No,” was all he said. The type of guy who gave one-word answers.
Harper stepped in. “Not yet, but I’m going to convince him to join our volunteers out here on the Fork. We need men like him. Morgan was an Army ranger and he’s been a protection specialist for a decade out in the LA-Hollywood scene.”
“Pardon my ignorance, but what is a protection specialist?” Blake asked.
When Mr. Talkative hesitated, Harper said, “At the basic level, it is a bodyguard, but Morgan now owns a bi-coastal company that hires and places bodyguards around the world as well as providing training programs and certification. It’s different from a security firm because the focus is on in-person on-site protection.”
Wondering where this was going, Blake just nodded and went back to the food on her plate. So did Mr. Talkative.
After a gulp of coffee, Harper said, “Anyway, Morgan is a single dad and last week he mentioned to me that he was looking for a nanny to live in his house and help him with his nine-year-old daughter.”
Her stomach tightened. No way.
Harper went on. “And I figured since you are out of work and hate where you are living—”
“I do not hate where I am living.”
“Last night you said you did. Those were your very words. And you were scared off your butt.”
“If I had a dog I wouldn’t be,” Blake said, glaring at her brother. And pissed off that Mr. Handsome across the table was witnessing this.
Harper shook his head. “A dog will bark at every raccoon that crosses the porch and you will never get through the night. Look at you now all pie-eyed. I bet you didn’t sleep a wink.”
Her lips curled in a snarl. “I know how awful I look, thank you very much. And thank you for your vote of confidence in my ability to take care of myself. I know I have failed at every damn thing I—”
“Stop it, Blake. You are the farthest thing from a failure. Nobody is judging you. Be reasonable. This would be the perfect solution for you. Besides, I don’t like you staying out there in the woods alone. So, please just consider it, will you? For me? Can we at least discuss it?”
Blake sat there stewing, arms folded across her chest, not able to eat. She wanted to excuse herself to the bathroom to regroup, or maybe even leave and go home, but the thought of the sexy hunk watching her as she waddled away in her slob clothes with her pasty face just made her want to shrink under the table instead.
No, she did not want to take care of someone else’s child. But, to be fair, Harper had no way of knowing that. She had never told anyone in her family her secret about wanting children she could never have. Never told them the real reason her marriage had fallen apart. Never told them that she had been trying over and over to get pregnant.
Three years ago she’d had a great job as a lecturer and research fellow at the University of Chicago. She’d lived in a great neighborhood near friends and colleagues. She’d had a good-looking husband who also taught at the university and she’d thought by now they would be raising a family together.
When the college downsized the program she was in, she and Kendall had decided they would use the break to start a family. He was making enough money, so she would wait and look for another job once the child was old enough for daycare.
At first, having sex without birth control was fun, but when they’d gone month after month after month and no pregnancy happened, the relationship began showing its cracks. They both got checked and came out normal, but then the doctor suggested some women have psychological issues that prevented pregnancy.
