My Lucky Groom (Summer Grooms Series) (7 page)

“I’m sure it was a freak thing,” she told him. “Surely,
every day won’t be that bad.”

Richard pursed his lips and tried not to recall the string
of disasters that had befallen the other nannies. Clearly, none of that would
happen to Ventura. She was better than that. Primed for the challenge. Just
look at her sitting there with whipped cream behind her ear, oblivious to how
ridiculously cute she looked. Richard swallowed hard, stopping himself. He was
not supposed to be thinking about “cute” and “nanny” together. If he wanted
Ventura to stay on, theirs would need to be a professional relationship.
Richard was sure that wouldn’t be hard at all. There’d never been any lines
crossed with any of the other girls. He hadn’t even entertained the thought.
Come to think of it, Richard hadn’t really entertained the thought of becoming
involved with any woman in quite some time. And that was just how he would keep
things. “I’m sure you’re right,” he told her with growing confidence.
“Tomorrow’s bound to be better.”

“What monsters!” Mary proclaimed. People stared in their
direction, and she lowered her voice. “I can’t believe they did all that in one
day.”

They stood in line at Zen’s Chinese Take-Out. Ventura had
been so
unnerved,
she hadn’t even wanted to shower
first. Nothing could calm her nerves like an order of
pork fried
rice. “I know,” Ventura answered. “If I’d been watching it instead of living
it, it might even have seemed funny.”

“Ha-ha,” Mary deadpanned. “Bet you’re laughing all the way
to the bank.”

“What do you mean?” Ventura asked as the line inched
forward.

“Come on, Richard’s got ca-ching. Loads of it, from what I
hear. So why not crank it up a notch and ask for a raise?”

“A raise?” Ventura hadn’t even considered it. She was just
grateful she still had a job. As bad as it seemed, first days were bound to be
rocky. Truth was, things could only go up from there. “I don’t know, Mary. I
don’t want to push it.”

“Push what? The guy’s lucky you’re not pressing charges!”

“Against two five-year-olds?” Ventura asked in shock.

“Well, yeah. Okay. I kind of see your point.”

Ventura felt a tap on her shoulder and turned with a start
to see
—
oh no, not today
—
Charles! He flashed each of them
a pleasant grin. “I thought I saw you girls talking up here.”

“Hey! No butting in line!” an angry woman called.

Charles nodded deferentially. “Just passing through,” he
told the woman, who watched him with an eagle eye just the same.

Charles met Ventura’s gaze. “I’ve been thinking about you.
Thinking of calling.”

She self-consciously fingered her hair, her nail catching on
a dried piece of toilet paper. “Really?”

“Our first date ended so badly.”

“Through no fault of yours,” she added hastily.

“Accidents happen.” He tilted his head to the side. “Did you
change your hair?”

“Order up!” the cook called from the front.

The woman behind them loudly cleared her throat.

“Five more seconds,”
Charles
told
her, before turning his attention back to Ventura. “In any case, I was thinking
we might try it again. This time, away from the water?”

Ventura laughed lightly, thinking what a good guy he was.
What harm would it be?
One little date?
Ventura didn’t
have many friends in Washington. It never hurt to make more. “I’d like that.”

Charles shot her a big, bold grin. “That’s great. Just
great! I’ll call you.” Then he strode to the back of the line before the
disgruntled older woman could shoot daggers in his back with her eyes.

Chapter Six

The next morning, Mary opened the door to Nanette’s
townhouse to find an incredibly dapper guy standing outside. His pale pink
button-down was pressed, light starch, and his navy slacks were pleated to a
tee. Even his boat shoes looked brand-new.

“Um… I’m here for Ventura?”

Mary met bright blue eyes, and her heart beat faster. Who
was this fashion god, and why hadn’t he come calling sooner? Hang on!
For Ventura?
For a gal in constant need of a makeover, she
certainly seemed to be having all the luck.

“I’m Jason,” he said, extending a hand. “Richard’s personal
assistant.” Of course he was. How else would one explain Richard’s impeccable
wardrobe and the high-class way he dressed his children? He had a built-in
fashion consultant.

“Coming, Jason!” Ventura called, nearly stumbling up the
basement stairs. She dropped her purse to the floor and a roll of mints spilled
out, spiraling toward Jason’s shoe. He bent low to pick it up, and Mary gasped
with delight. That was no fifteen-dollar haircut, she thought, studying the
perfectly tapered lines of his short blond hair.
This
was high couture!

Mary’s face pinched as she wiggled her nose at an itch.

It was only then that she remembered she wore her damp hair
in a towel turban-style and that she had a
Salt
of the Earth
mud mask drying on her face! Jason stepped aside and Ventura
scurried out the door, then met Mary’s gaze with a smile. “Nice meeting you…?”
She blinked twice, hoping this was all some horrid dream and that it would poof
away. But it didn’t. He just stood there, waiting for her to give him her name.

“Mary,” she filled in with a squeak.

A few seconds later, Ventura sat behind the wheel of the
huge SUV. When Richard said she’d be driving the Lexus, she’d envisioned a sedan,
not something this enormous.

Jason glanced back toward the house. “Mary seems nice.”

“She’s a great roommate,” Ventura assured him. “She’s
probably really embarrassed you saw her that way.”

“Why’s that?”

“You don’t know, Mary. She’s always gorgeously dressed.
Perfectly put together from head to toe.”

Jason raised his brow, intrigued. “Really?”

Ventura fumbled with the keys in the ignition.

“Just go ahead and get it started. We’re going to run a few
practice rounds before heading back to the ranch.”

“Practice rounds?”

“Richard thought it would be good for you to get the feel of
the SUV before driving with the kids on board.”

She nodded and cranked the engine with trembling fingers.
“Where to?”

“We can take a few spins around the block, then maybe head
down to the Mall.”

Ventura swallowed
hard,
knowing the
area that housed the Smithsonian museums was always jam-packed with tourists.
Pedestrian tourists.
Especially in summertime.

“But first,” he said with a smile, “we’re going to have to
get out of this parallel parking spot.”

Sweat beaded on Ventura’s forehead as she attempted to maneuver
the beast of a vehicle for what seemed like the hundredth time. She’d inched
back and forth, and back and forth…but didn’t seem be getting anywhere nearer
to extracting them from this tight space between the minivan up ahead and the
tiny red sports car behind them.

Jason checked his cell for the time, comparing it to the
clock on the dash. “Maybe I should do this part.”

“Nope, I’ve got it.” Ventura sent the car’s rear tire into
the curve with a lurch,
then
rammed the pedal. She
sharply yanked the wheel to the left and they bolted forward. A taxi blew its
horn, its driver yelling an insult in some foreign tongue.

Jason drew a breath, his eyes wide. “Well, don’t stop in the
middle of the street. Keep going!”

And she did, taking off with a squeal as Jason clung to his
shoulder harness.

Later that afternoon, Ventura drove the kids to their
lessons. She checked her rearview mirror, spying them nestled in matching car
seats. Little Ricky held his violin case, while Elisa clutched a soccer ball.
Ventura’s eyes flitted to the GPS, thinking things weren’t going too badly.
They were nearly to their first destination and hadn’t had a mishap yet. Not
only that, the kids appeared to be finally warming up to her.

“We want Jason!” Ricky whined suddenly out of nowhere. She
checked her mirror to see his little lips pushed out in a pout.

“Jason’s writing a business proposal,” she said evenly. “I
already told you.”

“What about us?” Ricky asked combatively.

Ventura spoke in an effort to reassure him as well as
herself
. “Your dad thinks I can handle that,” she said,
bringing their vehicle to a halt at a traffic light.

Seconds later, Ricky yelped. “Stop!”

Ventura glanced in the backseat to see Elisa grabbing
Ricky’s violin case.

“Elisa, be nice.”

She defiantly met Ventura’s eyes, then bopped Ricky over the
head with her soccer ball.

The boy hollered, “Ow!”

“Elisa!”

A horn blared behind her, and Ventura saw the light had
turned green. She drove forward just as the SUV’s wireless phone began ringing.
She pressed a button to answer it, thinking it might be Richard or Jason.

“He pinched me!” Elisa yelled.

“Ricky!” Ventura said.

“Ventura?” It was Charles on the other end of the line. “Is
this a bad time?”

“She’s a meanie!” Ricky hollered from the back.
“Meanie-Meanie Jelly-Beanie!”

Just then, several more horns blared, and Ventura rammed her
foot on the brake. The SUV skidded forward and dragged to a stop, inches shy of
hitting another car’s bumper. “The worst,” Ventura told Charles, breathless
with fright. “I’ll have to call you back.”

Two and a half hours later, Ventura limped from the SUV,
feeling like she’d just emerged from Boot Camp.

Jason paused on the steps to Richard’s townhouse, clutching
an express mail package. “Everything all right?” he asked, studying Ventura
unsurely.

“Oh yeah, fine! Just fine,” she said, tugging each of the
children by the hand and leading them indoors.

His eyes flitted to the curb to survey the SUV for damage,
before his face became awash with relief. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” he
told her, scampering away.

Ventura herded the kids upstairs and toward their rooms.

“Now remember to change quickly!” she told them. “Your
clothes are all laid out for you on your beds.”

The kids disappeared, and Ventura picked up the heavy
laundry basket on the floor with a sigh. Did the wash never end around here?
She’d put everything away except for Richard’s clothes. She’d do that now while
Elisa and Ricky were getting ready and before Richard came home. Ventura strode
to the master suite, thinking things were coming along. She’d figured out her
new cell and had already memorized the children’s schedules. This made it
easier for her to plan out her day, when she had a good grasp on the order of
her duties.

Ventura was halfway through the door when she stopped short.
There, straight in front of her, standing half-nude before his dresser
was…Richard!

His chest was muscled and broad, taut abs constricting.
“Ventura,” he said, turning toward her with a jerk. “What are you doing here?”
He wore crisp white shorts, tennis socks, and shoes. A tennis racket case lay
on his bed.
His very big bed.
The one he probably
slept in half-naked—at least.

Ventura swallowed hard, her face on fire. Her palms pooled
with sweat, loosening her grip on the basket handles.

 
“I was just
putting away the laundry,” she offered lamely.

He glanced at the basket in her hands. “I see.”

Ventura felt something weighty smack her left foot and
looked down to see she’d dropped the basket. It spilled over, balled-up pairs
of socks escaping in all directions. “I’ll get that,” she said, mortified.

But as she raced forward, so did he. “It’s all right. Let
me.”

Before she knew it, Ventura’s toe caught on—
oh please, not that
—a pair of
Richard’s plaid boxers, and she stumbled forward.

“Ventura!” he called, reaching out to catch her.

“Richard!” she screeched, crashing into him.

He grabbed her around the waist and shored her up, steadying
her frame against his gloriously rock-hard chest.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking down at her with deep dark
eyes.

She nodded and collected herself. “Yeah,” she said, barely
breathing the word.

“Good.” He straightened her,
then
let her go.

“I’m so sorry,” she babbled apologetically. “I had no clue
you were in here.”

“I had no idea you and the kids were back. It’s my fault,
really. I should have shut the door.”

“No harm done,” she said, backing away, her cheeks still
flaming hot.

“None at all,” he agreed as he watched her with a curious
expression.

As she turned to leave, he stopped her. “Ventura?”

She stared at him, her heart pounding.

“Do you think I could have my shorts back?”

Ventura gasped and looked down in horror, spying Richard’s
underwear twisted snugly around her shoe.

Chapter Seven

“That’s not what most women mean when they talk about getting
into their boss’s shorts.”

“Shut up,” Ventura said with a laugh. She and Mary stood
thumbing through a rack of sexy bras at a downtown lingerie shop.

“How about this one?” Mary asked, her face aglow. “This will
make Charles sit up and take notice.”

Ventura scrunched up her lips at the black-and-red lace bra
with “peekaboo” cut-away nipples. “I’m going on a date, not a
ho down
.”

“Very funny.” Mary picked through the rack, producing another
selection. It was cobalt blue with a hefty underwire and big push-up pads.
“Well?”

“It looks…small.”