Grace Green - His Potential Wife

The man got up and she heard him say in a deep voice that made her think of dark brown velvet, “Lizzie, keep an eye on these two. I’m going for a coffee refill.”

He strode away toward the counter and she saw that he was quite tall, and wearing a beautifully cut charcoal-gray suit. She also noticed that he walked in an athletic way that spoke of lean muscles and coiled strength, and with a sense of purpose that gave an impression of self-confidence.

He took up his place in one of the short lineups and as he did, she saw Jamie turn from the counter.

He began walking toward her, carefully balancing his tray. She held her breath as the tall cola cup wavered, but he paused and it steadied and he resumed his precarious journey.

All went well until a fracas suddenly erupted at the next table. The tot in the high chair let out an enraged howl: apparently the middle child had stolen a handful of French fries from his tray because the one called Lizzie snapped, “Put those back, Amy! You said you didn’t want any fries. When are you going to stop being such a pest!” She grabbed Amy’s fist and tore the half-dozen fries from her.

“Give those back!” screamed Amy and reached after them.

“No way, you little pest! Pest! Pest! Pest!” Taunting her sister, Lizzie swung her hand away, out into the aisle…

And banged it into Jamie’s carefully balanced tray, knocking it wildly from his hands.

For a split second, silence fell on the group of three. The boy’s mouth froze in a wide-open O; the redhead’s screams stopped as if chopped off by an ax; and the girl called Lizzie’s expression turned to one of stark shock.

And then…oh, the clatter as the tray bounced on the tiled floor; the mess as the cola spilled out in a sticky stream; the cry of dismay from Jamie as he stared in horror at the demise of his gleefully anticipated treat.

But even as Willow shot to her feet, the three children resumed their squabbling.

“That was all your fault, Amy. If you hadn’t been such a pest—”

“You did it!” Amy’s shout was outraged. “It was—”

“I want more fries!” The little boy hammered his hands on his tray. “More, more, more!”

Jamie was quietly sobbing.

“Oh, honey!” Willow hunkered down and gathered his slight body to her. “Don’t cry. It wasn’t your fault, you were being so very careful. We’ll get someone to clean up this mess, and then we’ll just order the same thing again.”

He leaned away from her and furiously swiped his hands over his teary eyes. “I want to go home. I don’t like it in here today.” He glared at the still-squabbling trio who were paying him no attention. “And I don’t like them! They didn’t even say they were sorry—”

“Excuse me.”

At the same time as she heard and recognized the brown velvet voice, Willow saw, over Jamie’s shoulders, a pair of long legs encased in fine charcoal-gray fabric.

She felt a surge of grim satisfaction: the man had returned at just the right time to be assaulted by the full force of her annoyance.

Grabbing Jamie’s hand, she lurched upright, bursting to vent the words of censure that were rising up inside her—

She gulped. And reared back. The stranger was way, way taller than she’d realized.

And he was undoubtedly the most devastatingly attractive man she had ever seen.

Her senses reeled from the dazzling effect of electric-blue eyes twinkling at her from under a slash of black eyebrows; Hollywood white teeth glinting in a wry smile; and features so perfectly chiseled they could have been computer-generated.

By Bill Gates himself.

But even as she gawked at him she had a disturbing feeling of déjà vu.

She had seen this man before.

Somewhere.

But if she had, wouldn’t she have remembered him? He was surely unforgettable—

“Excuse me,” he murmured again, a toe-curling, coaxing tone now brushing his velvety, sexy voice.

Willow stiffened her toes. And her knees. And her resolve. She was not going to allow this man to sweet-talk her. She was made, was she not, of sterner stuff?

She lasered him with an icy glare. “Are those—” she flicked her head curtly toward the trio who were still going at it hammer and tongs “—your children?”

“Yeah.” He raked a long-fingered hand through his black hair. Gold gleamed from his wafer-thin gold watch and from a stylishly engraved gold cuff link and from his wide gold wedding band. He dropped his hand and his hair fell back into perfect place—the unmistakable sign of a very expensive salon cut, Willow thought sourly. “I have to confess,” he murmured, “they are most certainly mine—”

“Then I have to confess they are the very worst-behaved children I have ever seen!”

“If you’ll let me apologize for them—”

“Apologize for them?” Her laugh was scornful. “Oh, don’t apologize for them.” From the corner of her eye, she saw an employee approach to clean up the mess on the floor. “You are the one who should be ashamed. When children behave as yours do there’s no one to blame but the parents!”

She should have stopped there. And she probably would, if she hadn’t suddenly realized how pathetic she must seem to him in her cheap T-shirt and old cutoffs, while he looked elegant enough to have dinner at Buckingham Palace. So instead of calling a halt, she charged recklessly on.

“Maybe if you spent less time on your hair and your clothes and your…your fancy accessories,” she sputtered, “and more time reading up on child psychology, you’d be able to take your family out into the world without having to apologize for them.”

How rude! As soon as she’d said the words, she felt a shock of disbelief, and wanted desperately to drag them back. But of course it was too late…

And now he was angry.

A dangerous glitter had replaced the twinkle in his eyes. A thin, compressed line had replaced the full sensual curve of his mouth. And his pleasant demeanor had been replaced by an aura of hostile menace that made her think apprehensively of a cougar making ready to strike.

Uh-oh. Alarm rattled through her. A speedy retreat was most definitely called for.

Grabbing up Jamie’s backpack, she stuck her nose in the air and in a valiant attempt to appear regal—which was a bit of a stretch considering her petite build and her ragtag outfit—she swept Jamie toward the exit door.

An imperious “Hey, hang on there!” rang after her.

She pretended not to hear it.

Once outside, she walked even faster in case he came after her, and hurried Jamie along the street, not looking back till they reached the end of the block. And when she did and saw no sign of him, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank goodness!

The whole incident, she reflected with a grimace, had been distressing to say the least.

Jamie said, “Who were they, Mom?”

“Just strangers. Passing through.”

“Well, I’m glad about that because I sure wouldn’t ever want to see them again.”

Willow echoed his sentiments exactly.

Jamie dug into his pocket. “Here’s your change.”

“Put it in your bank,” Willow said. “After your next swimming lesson, we’ll go back to Morganti’s again.”

“Will we tell Gran what happened today?”

“Sure, if you like.”

But when they got home, Willow’s mother, Gemma, had news to pass on—news so welcome that both Willow and Jamie forgot all about the unfortunate incident at Morganti’s.

The employment agency had called. At last Mrs. Trent had a job for Willow—an excellent job, she had enthused to Gemma, as nanny to a family of darling, darling children. Willow must call in at the office right away, her mother told her happily, to sign the new contract.