The Playboy and the Nanny Read online

  The Playboy and the Nanny

  Anne McAllister

  "Welcome to your new job, Ms. Lewis-.."

  Nikos continued, "Apparently my father has hired you to baby-sit me!"

  He was obviously a madman. But he was the most stunningly handsome madman Mari had ever seen. A lesser woman— many lesser women—would have fallen panting at his feet.

  Mari Lewis was made of sterner stuff. She had a job to fulfill, a reputation to uphold.

  "Look, Mr. Costanides, I don't know why you're doing this, but—"

  "You'd do better wondering why my father is doing it.... He hired you."

  "To take care of his little boy."

  "To take care of Nikos," her fully-grown, very masculine nemesis agreed. He poked his chest. "Me."

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nikos Costanides needed a woman.

  Not just any woman, either. He needed a babe. Luxuriously blonde. Definitely sultry. Naturally brash. And the blowsier the better.

  It wouldn't hurt if she wore a skintight leopard-spotted dress, either, he thought with a ghost of a smile. But he wasn't going to hold out for that, he decided as he tucked the telephone under his chin and punched in the number. A close approximation would do just fine.

  "Debbie's Dollies Escort Service," a voice purred moments later on the other end of the line.

  Nikos grinned. If the woman who came was as promising as the voice on the phone, he'd be out of here by sundown. "I'd like the services of one of your escorts this afternoon."

  "Certainly, sir," the voice purred. "Whatever your heart desires."

  What his heart desired was to be five thousand miles away from his father's Long Island mansion, but he knew that wasn't what the woman on the phone had in mind. Still, she would be helping him get there, so he gave the receptionist an idea of the sort of escort he wanted.

  "A flagrant sort of woman?" she said doubtfully when he'd finished.

  "In your face," Nikos agreed cheerfully. "Over the top. Definitely not subtle. You know what I mean?"

  "Er, well," the receptionist said, though she still sounded a little doubtful. Then her business sense won out. "I'm sure we have just the woman. I'll send her right out."

  Nikos gave the receptionist the address. "I'm in the caretaker's cottage behind the main house. There's a party going on by the pool, but it's perfectly all right if she comes straight up the main drive and walks right past them."

  Nikos looked out at the group of party-goers on the patio behind the main house—particularly at his stubborn, strait-laced father, who was carrying a footstool for Julietta, his very pregnant young wife—and flexed his shoulders in anticipation. The weight of his confinement eased slightly. It wouldn't be long now and the shackles would be completely gone.

  "Yes, sir. I'll tell her. And I'm sure she'll do just what you want her to, Mr. Costanides," the receptionist assured him.

  "Yes," Nikos agreed with a purr of satisfaction in his own voice. "I'm sure she will."

  It was actually closer to forty-five minutes before he heard the knock on the cottage door. It was a short rap. Brisk and no-nonsense. Not especially sultry. But then it was probably hard to sound sultry in a knock.

  No matter. Maybe the gardener had stopped her when she came up the drive, suspecting she was lost. She would hardly look like one of the guests coming to his stepmother's baby shower! Nikos grinned again and finished stuffing the last of his gear into a duffel bag, the better to be ready when his father threw him out.

  If he'd been able to drive, he'd have been gone long before this. But a car accident following a shouting match with his father a month ago had left him with a cast on his leg that limited his mobility. It had given his father the chance he wanted—to nail Nikos down until he could badger him into working for Costanides International.

  Not on your life, Nikos thought now, as he thought every time the subject came up. There would be six feet of snow in hell first.

  He hauled himself out of his chair to go answer the door, thinking that if, in fact, old Thomas the gardener had stopped the floozie, it would be that much better. He would be one more person shocked by Nikos's disrespectful behavior, one more voice telling Stavros that his elder son was irredeemable, one more reason to throw the blackguard out.

  To be honest, though, Nikos doubted it. After thirty years in the employment of the Costanides family, Thomas was unlikely to be shocked by anything any of them did.

  It didn't matter in any case. It was his father he wanted to shock, his father he wanted to anger, not the long-suffering Thomas. It was even too bad he would horrify all those women fawning and fluttering around his gorgeous young stepmother, but that was just tough. And anyway, they'd probably love tittering and gossiping about it.

  Nikos was used to being the subject of titters and gossip. He'd cultivated it once he found out how it infuriated his old man. And if people didn't have anything better to do than fret about other's supposed peccadillos, it wasn't his problem.

  Still, occasional glances out the window while he'd waited for his buxom lady had proved that his audience was going to be considerably larger than he'd expected when he made the call. At least fifty of the Hamptons' best-dressed, wealthiest women were laughing and chattering on the deck around the pool as Julietta opened a pile of gaily wrapped baby gifts. Julietta's friend, Deanne, who was giving his stepmother the baby shower, must have invited the whole damn county!

  Pink and blue balloons, tethered to the light poles for the occasion, bobbed in the soft summer breeze. Streamers of pink and blue ribbon fluttered from the roof of the new gazebo. He'd seen them preparing for it all morning. He'd gritted his teeth then.

  Now he gritted them again as he crutched his way slowly to the door. But this time it wasn't precisely a grimace, more like a feral grin. Then, dressed only in a towel and the cast on his leg, Nikos opened the door.

  She wasn't a babe.

  She wasn't even blonde—or not very. Her hair was brown, but not dark, a sort of deep honey color, long and pulled back into a plait at the nape of her neck, not blowsy at all. She didn't look very sultry, either, though she had the biggest blue-green eyes he'd ever seen. Even with her big wide eyes, though, she looked prim, proper and barely more than a schoolgirl in her plain navy blue skirt and a scoop-necked shirt. It wasn't a very deeply scooped neck either, he noted with considerable irritation.

  She had a good bosom on her, though, he'd give her that.

  Still, if this was what Debbie's Dollies thought qualified as "in your face," he didn't think they'd be in business very long. His audience was going to have to use a lot of imagination.

  Nikos glanced toward the group on the deck to see if they'd even noticed her arrival, since it hadn't been nearly as spectacular as he'd hoped. Almost none of the women was paying attention.

  But—Nikos smiled to himself—his father was.

  The old man looked definitely curious. He stood just a little apart from the women, his body turned toward the group sitting around the table where his wife was still opening gifts. But his gaze—and his attention— were focused toward the cottage.

  Good.

  It would have been better, of course, if she'd been blowsy and brash, but at least she was a woman—and as such she would suffice.

  Maybe her schtick was the prim schoolmarm facade that became all the more sexy by contrast once she let her hair down. Looking her over, Nikos could see where that act might have possibilities.

  Too bad he wasn't going to get to test it out.

  He pasted his best macho shark grin on his face. "It's about time," he reproved her, though his face spoke only eager anticipation. "But at least you got here."

  She opened her mouth, but he
didn't give her a chance to speak. "Come and show me what's under that prissy look, sweetheart" And, so saying, he reached out, hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

  Past her ear he saw his father's jaw drop. The old man's eyes bugged. If he'd been closer, Nikos would have bet he could've seen his father's mustache quiver.

  He wanted to cheer. Instead he pressed his advantage, wrapping his arms around the woman and, because upon touch she turned out to be far more tempting than he'd expected, he thrust his tongue past her parted lips as he molded her body to his.

  For just a moment it was a stiff, resisting body. A body that exactly mirrored the starchy persona she was playing.

  And then, almost imperceptibly, she changed. The starch went out of her. The ice melted. She drew a sweet, astonished breath—as astonished as the one Nikos himself was drawing because, by God, yes, there was fire here!

  And then she bit him!

  Nikos yelped. He jerked back and swiped the side of his hand across his mouth. There was blood on it. She'd bitten him!

  "What the hell—?" He glared at her. "You won't get very many jobs if you behave that way, lady!"

  "Getting kissed like that isn't part of any job I want!"

  "Kissing's extra, then?" Nikos asked, annoyed. "You'll have sex with me, but you won't kiss me?"

  Her face flamed. "I'll do no such thing! What do you think—?"

  "I think you're carrying the prissy librarian act too damn far!" She was going to spoil the whole thing. Nobody—least of all his father!—was going to believe he was flaunting a high-priced prostitute, if his high-priced prostitute kept on behaving like a nun.

  And she didn't need to think she was going to get paid if she kept her prissiness up, either!

  "Librarian act?" the woman sputtered.

  "Some men might find it sexy, sweetheart. I don't." He shot a quick glance in the direction of the pool. There were several onlookers now, including his old man who was actually looking poleaxed. Maybe all was not lost.

  Nikos reached out a hand and snagged hers. "Come on."

  She tried to jerk away from him, twisting sideways. But clutching both crutches under one arm, he slid the other around her, making them look even cozier as he wrestled her inside.

  With one leg in a cast and his arm still healing from the sprain, he was barely strong enough to hold her. And, once the door was shut and he was leaning against it, he let her go at once and shut his eyes.

  Damn it! The toll of even limited exertion was still more than he could handle. He still wasn't used to it. He'd barely done more than eat, sleep and argue with his father in the two weeks he'd been out of the hospital. Damn. He hated this weakness. His head was beginning to throb again, too. It did almost every time he tried to focus on anything too long.

  "What do you think you're doing?" his sexy librarian raged at him now. "Open this door. I want to leave. Now!"

  "No."

  Her blue-green eyes widened. "What do you mean, no?"

  "Just what I said." Nikos sucked in a harsh breath. "You were hired. You're here, and by God you're going to stay. Sit down."

  She didn't She backed up. Damn it! If his father came down to see what was going on, he'd know it wasn't what Nikos wanted him to think. She was fully clothed and perfectly visible through the window.

  "Damn it all. I said, sit down!" Nikos barked.

  She shook her head. "I can't. I have to leave. I must have got the wrong place."

  "No. It's the right place. Relax, damn it. How the hell did you get into this line of work?" he muttered.

  She straightened up and glared at him. "I'm very good at my job."

  She sure didn't look like it. But maybe she was—once she got out of her no-nonsense clothes.

  There had sure been heat in that kiss they'd shared. It was a shame he wasn't going to be able to enjoy this encounter the way it was meant to be enjoyed.

  "Well, you'll have to show me another time," he drawled.

  She wrapped her arms across her breasts. "I don't intend to show you anything. I don't even know who you are! But you have to let me go!"

  You have to shut up! Before his head exploded. "Sit down!" Nikos bellowed.

  The force of his voice seemed to plop her right into the chair. She glared up at him.

  "Not there." Nikos sighed wearily. "He can see you there. Sit on the couch."

  She didn't move. "He who? What are you talking about?"

  Nikos didn't answer. He just stood, teeth gritted, and looked from her to the couch expectantly. He didn't move away from the door either. Couldn't if he wanted to remain upright. God, his head hurt!

  "I don't know why you're doing this," she muttered ungraciously. But at last she got up and moved to the couch.

  "Thank you," Nikos said tightly. He waited until she was settled, then lowered himself gingerly into the armchair across from her. He adjusted the towel. She looked at it, the color rising in her cheeks. Quickly she glanced away, her gaze going toward the door again.

  "Don't even think about it."

  She looked at him, startled, but she didn't try it.

  And thank God for that, because the truth was, he didn't think he had the strength to stop her.

  Fortunately she didn't move. She sat right where she was, hands folded in her lap like some proper Sunday school teacher, looking at him with a combination of wariness and expectancy. There was nothing sultry or seductive about her—except the way she'd kissed him.

  "You haven't been doing this long, have you?"

  "Four years."

  "Four years?" He couldn't imagine.

  "I started while I was working on my master's degree. I have excellent qualifications. I'm very good at what I do," she told him firmly. "I have references."

  Nikos bit back a grin. "I'd like to see them."

  Her eyes flashed green fire at him. "I don't have to show them to the likes of you! I don't understand why you're keeping me here," she said fretfully. "I must have made a mistake and got the wrong cottage. Please! I need to talk to Mr. Costanides."

  Nikos stuck his casted leg out in front of him and settled back into the chair. "You're talking to him."

  "You're not Mr. Costanides! I've met Mr. Costanides! He's much older. He has a mustache. He's—"

  Nikos sat bolt upright. She'd met his father? Bloody hell!

  He couldn't believe it. The old man might have had his profligate tendencies over the years, but Nikos had never thought they'd ever extended to bringing home women of the evening! Stavros had always had too much respect for family. That was, in fact, precisely why Nikos was throwing this woman in the old man's face now.

  "Who are you?" he demanded.

  "My name is Mari Lewis," she said stiffly.

  Which meant precisely nothing. "The dolly?" he prompted.

  "Dolly?" Her brow furrowed. "No. What dolly? I'm the nanny."

  The nanny?

  Nikos gaped. And then, replaying the whole scene in his mind, he began to understand what had happened. And with understanding came not consternation, but an even greater satisfaction. An unbelievable satisfaction. The grin spread all over his face.

  He'd kissed the new nanny? He'd swaggered out dressed in only a towel and, before his father's eyes, had swept his half-brother, Alex's, brand-new nanny off her feet?

  No wonder the old man was looking apoplectic.

  It was even better than he'd dared hope!

  No matter how badly he wanted to strong-arm Nikos into the company, Stavros would never let him stay here after he'd sullied darling Alexander's new nanny.

  Let him stay, hell! Rigid, strait-laced Stavros would throw his philandering firstborn out on his ear!

  He might even go so far as to make his second born his heir. And why not?

  As far as Nikos could see, Alexander, the four-year-old result of his father's second marriage, was the center of the old man's universe, anyway. Alexander was the sun around which Stavros Costanides spun, the darling doted-upon child that his elde
r son had never been— which didn't bother Nikos a bit.

  In fact it made him feel a little sorry for the kid.

  Not that he'd ever had much to do with the boy. He barely even knew his half-brother. Stavros did his best to keep his younger son away from his disreputable older one.

  He'd never exactly told Nikos to stay away, had never come right out and said Nikos was a bad influence on die boy, but Nikos didn't have to be told.

  Nothing he did had ever pleased the old man.

  He'd long ago stopped trying to. It was a hell of a lot more interesting—and rewarding—to be the thorn in Stavros Costanides's side. As long as he could leave when things got unbearable.

  Since the accident Nikos hadn't been able to leave. As if the cast wasn't impediment enough, the head injury he'd received in the car accident required him to be on medication. He couldn't drive until he was through with it. And Stavros wasn't allowing anyone else to drive him.

  "You're keeping me prisoner!" Nikos had accused him.

  "I am looking out for your well-being," his father had replied. "Besides," he'd added scornfully, "it's not as if you have any pressing demands on your time. Work, for example?" A bitter smile had touched Stavros's features. "God forbid."

  Nikos hadn't replied. There was no point. Stavros had long ago decided that he was a good-for-nothing. It was Nikos's greatest joy to do his best to confirm his father's estimation.

  "It's time you settled down," his father had gone on implacably. "Until you are able to drive away under your own power, you will stay here."

  And there was no arguing with him. No going around him. No convincing anybody to spirit him away. He was stuck until he could drive—with his father and his father's notion of how things ought to be done.

  It was exactly what his father had been angling for. It had been the subject of their quarrel right before Nikos's accident. It had been the subject of the quarrel they'd had last week.

  Stavros had come to the cottage to try to badger Nikos into studying the company prospectus. "Learn about your inheritance," he'd demanded.

  "I know all about my inheritance," Nikos had retorted bitterly, and he'd tossed the prospectus aside.