The Wedding Diaries Read online

  The words seemed to spur her on, as if she had something to prove to him, to the world. To someone.

  Her heat seared him, and he wanted to take her right there on the carpeted entry.

  With infinite slowness, he lowered her, their bodies sliding together. But when his hand drifted higher to her breast and he cupped the fullness, for half a second she sucked in her breath and he felt sensation shudder through her before her gentle whimper cut off with a startled gasp.

  As quickly as it had begun she stopped and pushed at his chest.

  “No,” she said, pulling away, her breath as ragged as his own. “I can’t do this.”

  “Why not?” He kissed the line of her throat.

  “No, no, no. That’s not why I’m here. This isn’t what I changed my mind about. I didn’t come back here to kiss you.” She touched her lips self-consciously, then she forced her arm to her side. “No. No kissing. Just because Grady and I have . . . broken up, doesn’t mean I should throw myself into your arms on the rebound.”

  “Rebound?” he demanded tersely, his heart pounding hard in his chest, a warrior’s heat burning through him.

  “Exactly. I am not going to fall into anyone’s bed, including yours. Besides, who knows what really got into Grady? People get cold feet all the time—and say mean, hurtful things.”

  She cringed, and he had the distinct feeling that she might have said something she regretted.

  He felt a barely contained fury. At her. At himself for his own foolish burning. “Then why are you here?” he demanded. “The penthouse? Did you decide to take the apartment after all?”

  Her pert little nose wrinkled, and she bit her lip in a wry grimace. “Well, no, not that either.”

  She visibly gathered herself, and he could practically see her brain working. She was on the verge of something, but he couldn’t imagine what. Her gray eyes darkened, color rose in her cheeks, and he would have sworn tears threatened.

  “As it turns out—” Her lips started to tremble, before she raised her chin bravely. “I’m here about the job.”

  His brow furrowed in confusion.

  “You remember. The job taking care of your sisters,” she explained, her bracelets jangling, jarring in his mind.

  A job? His sisters?

  Hell.

  He still couldn’t believe he had mentioned the position in the first place, then hadn’t simply told her straight out that she had gotten it wrong.

  But he knew why. With her sitting there in Bobby’s Place, so beautiful, so fragile, sipping her champagne cocktail with double sugar cubes in a bar that catered to a beer and margarita crowd, he had wanted to wipe away that vulnerable look in her eyes. Without warning, time had turned back, and she was the little girl in crinolines, too pretty to touch, like a doll kept behind glass, no contact with the real world. A fantasy. A dream that made his own world of dirt roads and an endlessly tired mother seem manageable.

  That night, like now, he had wanted to touch her, just as he had when he was ten years old.

  He cursed himself and relished the ruthlessness that he could feel just below the surface. He had survived by maintaining an ironclad control over every aspect of his life. And a slip of a woman who barely came to his chin when she wore those ridiculous high heels wasn’t going to undo him.

  “I find it hard to believe that you really need a job,” he said.

  “Need?” The single word squeaked out of her. “ Need is such an unflattering word. Think of it as helping out.”

  “Helping?” he asked incredulously.

  “Exactly, as in me helping you, and you helping me. What are friends for if not to help each other when they’re in a jam? Think of it as a temporary arrangement while I pay off some bills and until you can find someone more qualified to take care of the girls. I’m nothing if not helpful.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got Mother Teresa written all over you.”

  Those gray eyes narrowed and flashed. “I wouldn’t exactly describe you as a knight in shining armor,” she said, then slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what is happening to me.”

  He shook his head. “Tell me the real reason you need a job, Vivienne. Is your father having some kind of financial problem?”

  Horror whipped across her face. “Of course not. My father is fine. He’s just out of town, as I said, and unreachable. ” She shrugged daintily. “Besides, my bills are my responsibility. So I need a job.”

  “From my vantage point, it seems like you can hardly take care of yourself, much less my little sisters. Even temporarily.”

  She sucked in her breath, making him curse.

  “I’m sorry, Vivienne, really,” he offered gently. “But this isn’t an option.”

  “Of course it is!”

  This was crazy. Sure, he was drawn to her. Just looking at her made his blood heat. But hire her?

  “It won’t work,” he told her with the hard-edged business voice he used to intimidate an opponent.

  “Why not?”

  Max was rarely questioned, and only by his teenage sister. The last thing he needed was a woman who would promote the very habit that was starting to wear on his nerves.

  He focused on Vivienne. “The answer is no.”

  “That’s the best you can do?”

  He must have made a face, because she dropped her arms and her expression became determined.

  “I can do this,” she stated with conviction. “I really can. And I’ll be good at it. Just give me a chance.”

  His jaw clenched as he stared at her. She wasn’t afraid of him, probably had never encountered the word intimidated. A pit bull in ruffles.

  “How about a loan?” he suggested, feeling a little desperation of his own. “I could do a loan. As big as you want. Pay me back whenever you can. No rush.”

  He’d insulted her—he could see it in the red that surged into her cheeks.

  “I couldn’t accept a loan. I have more than enough debt as it is.”

  “Fine, consider it a gift. How much do you need?”

  “I don’t want your money! I don’t want anyone’s money. I’m going to find work and clear up this mess. Besides, you offered me a job.”

  “Actually . . .”

  He stared at her long and hard. Just a few simple words would clear up the misunderstanding. He had never intended to offer her employment, had only wanted to point out that there were all sorts of things people do. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

  He cursed himself for the flicker of emotion this woman stirred inside him, hated that somehow she brought to the surface a weakness he had thought long buried. He had hammered out a life of strength and remoteness, keeping people at a distance so he could stay focused on the task at hand—the task that had consumed him since he turned nineteen. Surviving.

  He had believed that feelings had been burned out of him long ago. But just the sight of this woman, the memory of her as a child, turned his thoughts upside down.

  Hell, yes, he wanted her out of his life.

  But there was another reality he had to deal with besides what this woman made him feel, and that was the undeniable fact that Nicki and Lila had run off every maid, housekeeper, and nanny he had hired. Only he and Patricia could control the girls. The rest of the Landry clan had given up long ago.

  Since then, the stream of women Max had interviewed hadn’t provided him any hope that they’d be any better. Nicki was a handful, and Lila followed her older sister like a puppy dog.

  Right or wrong, he was desperate. And while Vivienne Stansfield wasn’t a good answer, she was the only answer available just then.

  “I really do know a lot about girls,” she added hopefully, as if she could sense he was wavering.

  His brain raced for an alternate plan. One that would get her out of his office and someone else into his house by Sunday night to take care of the girls when they returned from Patricia’s apartment. But noth
ing came to mind.

  His eyes narrowed against the emotion that gripped his chest—something he hadn’t felt in years.

  “Hell.” He hesitated. “I know I’m going to regret this, but if I hire you, you’d have to stay at the house.”

  “Overnight?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Why do you need me there twenty-four hours a day if you’re there after work?”

  “I can’t always get home, and I don’t want the girls in the house alone at night.”

  “Then I’ll stay when you travel.”

  His jaw muscles ticked. “I don’t always know when I won’t be coming home.”

  “You can leave town without even taking the time to get luggage?”

  “It’s not always about travel.”

  “Why else wouldn’t you come home—” She cut herself off, then scoffed in disbelief. “You mean you go out with women, then . . . then . . . don’t go home?”

  “Not since Patricia moved out,” he stated tightly, before he shook his head. “Why am I explaining? This won’t work.”

  Vivienne put her hands up. “Fine, I’ll stay nights.”

  His eyes narrowed as he debated. “You’ll have to cook.”

  “Consider it done.”

  He hung his head. How had he gotten himself in this position?

  “Just give me a chance, Max.”

  The conviction and enthusiasm that had tried to surface on her features dimmed. Suddenly he realized that she was still fighting hard to hold on, hold back emotion, not give in. If nothing else, he understood that.

  “You won’t be disappointed,” she whispered. “I promise.”

  He groaned.

  Her hands curled up in little hopeful fists, and she caught her breath. “Please, Max, tell me I have the job.”

  Seconds ticked by, options ran out. “Temporarily,” he conceded. Though little did she know that given his sisters’ ability to run people off, he doubted she’d last longer than twenty-four hours.

  She all but gasped her relief, then squealed her delight as she flung her arms around him, only pulling back when the heat started to resurface.

  “Ummm, well,” she said, clearing her throat. “No more of that.”

  Suddenly she was Ms. Demure—if anyone with sexy pink lips and incredible legs underneath a scrap of material that was a sorry excuse for a skirt could be considered demure.

  She clasped her hands. “When’s payday?”

  He growled, though he did provide a date and an amount.

  “Great. When do I meet the girls?”

  “They get back Sunday afternoon around five. You can meet them then.”

  “Perfect. Just give me your address.”

  Reluctantly, he did.

  “Fine. I’ll go home and pack a few things, then I’ll be there.”

  She turned away, then stopped. Slowly she pivoted back and cringed. “I’m going to need a tiny bit of help.”

  “Already?”

  “Funny.”

  “Believe me, I don’t see anything funny about this. Tell me the problem.”

  “Gas. I ran out when I pulled in across the street.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday afternoon, at five exactly, Vivi arrived at Number 15 Pinehurst Drive. She sat up straighter in her car, determined not to give in to panic. Everything would work out just fine.

  Over the weekend, she had held out hope that her father would call and she could straighten out this mess before Sunday afternoon even arrived. Surely he had simply moved the money or invested in stocks and bonds. Or . . .

  Well, she hadn’t been able to come up with any other reasonable explanation, especially when she remembered the missing jewelry.

  Unfortunately, her father hadn’t called, though several bill collectors had.

  As a result, the thought of getting away from her father’s Sutton Place condominium wasn’t altogether unappealing now that she had joined the ranks of debt-ridden individuals who were hounded by an assortment of thug-like Mob types wielding baseball bats.

  Max’s house wasn’t far from the condo, just farther up the mountain in the Coronado Country Club. At first sight, his home was gigantic—a sprawling hacienda with creamy adobe walls, terra-cotta tiles on the roof, and an abundance of beautifully trailing wisteria blooms covering an arbor that arched over the long drive to the garage out back. The house was impressive, perched on the edge of the rolling green golf course.

  She had grown up in the Upper Valley, on a ten-acre estate. The property had been sold after her parents divorced, her mother downsizing again and again until she lived out of a backpack in India. Her father had downsized as well, now living in the condo where Vivi had been staying while she planned the wedding.

  Vivi shuddered. Missing fathers. Canceled weddings. Puny penises. And now she had a job. She hardly recognized her life anymore.

  Shaking the thought away, Vivi gathered her suitcases. She clicked up to the entrance of Max’s home in a leopard-print skirt and café au lait top, then stared at the door. Then stared just a little longer.

  “This is not a problem,” she told herself firmly, setting down the luggage, adjusting her skirt one last time, before ringing the bell.

  Seconds passed without a response. Ringing again, she stood there. Just when she would have banged the brass knocker, the door was pulled open and she peered down at a very serious-looking young girl. Despite the thick Coke-bottle glasses she wore, she looked just like Max.

  Silence ticked by as each of them absorbed the other until Vivi smiled brightly and said, “Hello, I’m Vivi Stansfield.”

  The door was pulled open wider, revealing another girl, older, no doubt the fourteen-year-old. She also looked like Max, even if she was staring at Vivi with a scowl.

  “Who are you? One of my brother’s nimrod girlfriends?”

  This from the sneering teen who looked like a cross between Morticia from The Addams Family and a bad-boy rapper from MTV. Everything she wore was black and baggy, and her hair fell into her eyes. Instantly, Vivi saw that with the right makeup and clothes, the girl would be pretty. Very pretty.

  Project, she nearly enthused.

  “Actually, no,” Vivi said instead. “I’m not one of your brother’s girlfriends.”

  “Then you must be the new nanny,” the younger of the two surmised.

  Nanny? Her?

  Vivi hadn’t quite thought of it in those terms. But she could do nanny.

  “I’m Lila,” the little one said, the seriousness on her tiny features softening with a mix of disbelief and awe.

  Unlike the older sister’s, Lila’s clothes were a mismatched assortment of colors. Red scarf, purple belt, pink sneakers with hand-drawn daisies on the canvas. Even her glasses were a bright shade of blue.

  “And you’re beautiful,” Lila breathed, pushing her frames up on her nose. “You look like a doll.”

  The older one snorted. “Yeah, like a Barbie doll with fake plastic hair and a painted-on smile.”

  Vivi blinked. “Do you write for the El Paso Tribune?”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing, nothing. Is your brother home?”

  “Yes.” Then silence.

  “Could you tell him that I’m here?”

  “Not a good idea,” Lila supplied.

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s working out in the gym upstairs. But he’ll be finished any time. He’s into the whole healthy heart thing. I think he’s a little too into the exercising myself, but you know how old people get when they’re trying to stay young.”

  Vivi eyed the little girl curiously, then turned to the teenager. “You must be Nicki.”

  She got a scoff for an answer.

  “We should wait for Max inside,” Lila suggested.

  Leaving the suitcases on the patio, they went to the kitchen, which was a great space of high-beamed ceilings, white walls with Spanish arches, and a terra-cotta tile floor. Brushed chrome appliances accented the room, a
nd just beyond the windows the hill-swept golf course spread out like a carpet.

  Nicki sat down at the table and opened Spin magazine.

  Lila offered Vivi a vacant chair, then sat next to her. The eleven-year-old cupped her chin in her palm. “Have you been a nanny for long?”

  Without looking up from the magazine, Nicki snorted. “Does she look like she’s ever been a nanny?”

  That’s when Lila smiled, a wide pull of lips that lit up her face, a laugh spilling over as she tilted in her chair like a teapot and looked under the table at Vivi’s shoes. “No,” she decided. “But she looks wonderful and fun.”

  “You’re here.”

  All three of them whirled around at the sound of the voice. Max leaned up against a doorjamb, his arms crossed on his chest, those dark blue eyes glittering, his hair combed back and still wet from a shower. He didn’t have on a sports coat, but he looked nearly as dressed up since he wore navy slacks with a white button-down shirt. His loafers sported tassels. Still formidable. Vivi wondered if he even owned a pair of jeans.

  Lila sat Indian style in the chair. “If you’re referring to Vivi, she is here. How’d you find her?”

  Max smiled with a hint of devilish amusement. “I think it’s safe to say that she found me.”

  Vivi rolled her eyes. But his gaze turned slow and heated, turning her eye roll into a blink.

  “I didn’t think you’d show up,” he said.

  She forced her mind away from how good he looked and how out of sorts she felt. “I’m nothing if not responsible.”

  Max chuckled, his mood appreciably better than the last time she’d seen him.

  “That’s right, you’re Miss Never Drive over the Speed Limit,” he quipped, pushing away from the wall.

  “Funny.”

  The girls watched the exchange closely, then Nicki flipped her magazine closed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Maxwell. You’ve hired a woman who looks like a party cake, who no doubt knows more about getting into your bed than making one, and who probably can’t spell the word nanny much less be one.”

  Vivi’s mouth fell open. Max glowered. Lila sighed. “Nicki,” she said beneath her breath, “give this one a chance. She’s nice.”