Temptation at His Door
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Joss Wood
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14
One
Joa Jones ducked under the red-and-white portico covering the impressive doors to Murphy International, thankful to get out of the snow-tinged rain. She blew into her hands, thinking she was inadequately dressed for Boston in late January.
It had been summer when she left Auckland two days ago. Left what she knew would be her last au pair contract.
In New Zealand she’d been an integral part of the Wilson family, welcomed and loved. They’d suggested she move to London with them but she knew that it was one of those oh-God-what-if-she-says-yes? suggestions. No, moving to London with the Wilsons wasn’t an option; their kids were older now and no longer needed a nanny.
Sadly, Joa knew she needed to move on. She could’ve easily picked up another job in New Zealand but, for the last few months, she’d been unable to ignore the feeling that she was in the wrong country, and in the wrong career.
Returning to Boston was a scary but necessary option. The only option.
Joa pushed her fist into her sternum, trying to push her panic down.
Since Iz’s death she’d done a load of self-analysis and was now self-aware enough to know that by becoming an au pair, she’d been trying to find the family she’d never had growing up in the foster care system. She was twenty-nine years old and if she wanted a family, she’d have to make her own.
And she was done insinuating herself into other people’s lives only to have to say goodbye when the families moved on.
Returning to Boston was her new start, a reset.
She’d take the time to be with her foster sister, Keely, and with Keely’s help, Joa could figure out what came next.
Blowing into her hands, Joa looked up and down the street, not seeing Keely. On arriving at Logan International, Joa had received a text message asking her to come directly to Murphy International, the world-renowned auction house situated in central Boston. She and Keely had a meeting with the CEO to discuss the auction of Joa’s foster mother’s (and Keely’s great aunt’s) art collection. The collection was one of the best in the world and, on Isabel Mounton-Matthew’s death a little over a year ago, Joa and Keely inherited her art, along with a historic house in Boston’s moneyed Back Bay neighborhood, a stupendously healthy stock portfolio and various plump bank accounts.
Joa, a child of Boston’s foster care system and a teenage runaway, was now an heiress. The mind boggled.
Keely, adopted by Isabel after her parents’ deaths when she was little, could’ve just met with Carrick Murphy on her own; she knew the Murphy brothers from way back and Joa had given her power of attorney to act on her behalf a week after Iz died. She trusted Keely implicitly.
But Boston was where Joa needed to be, the place where she would—she hoped—figure out her future.
A taxi pulled up and then Joa found her arms full of her curvy, bubbly friend. Keely rained kisses on her face. “It’s so amazing to see you, Ju. FaceTime is just not the same.”
“It’s good to see you too, Keels,” Joa quietly told her. And it was.
This woman had welcomed Joa into her house, into her life, and treated her like a sister, a best friend. From the day she’d left the shelter and moved into Isabel’s mansion, Keely had shared her clothes, showed her how to apply makeup, coached her through her first date. It was Keely who’d helped her fill in college applications and choose her prom dress.
Most importantly, it was Keely who held her hand as they buried Isabel.
Impulsively and uncharacteristically, Joa reached for Keely again and pulled her into another hug. She was family; the only one she had.
Keely, always happy to hug, rocked her from side to side before pulling back and placing her hands on Joa’s cheeks. “You’re an ice block! For goodness’ sake, let’s go in. And what are you wearing?”
Joa looked down at her thin coat, jeans and now-wet trainers. “Not enough, apparently.” She followed Keely into an impressive hallway dominated by a wide marble staircase and the familiar smell of beeswax polish.
To the right of the staircase, a sleek woman sat behind an equally smooth desk, waiting for them to approach. Keely pulled off her cashmere coat and draped it over her arm. A security guard stood by the door, another two by the entrances of the viewing rooms. Paintings hung on the walls and massive, tumbling arrangements of flowers spilled from two crystal vases on two plinths on either side of that impressive marble-and-wrought-iron staircase.
Joa, in off-the-rack clothes and shoes and wearing a battered vintage jacket, was in no doubt she’d stepped into another world. In spite of her new inheritance, this was Isabel’s world, Keely’s world, not hers. Intellectually she knew that she was a now stupendously wealthy woman, but emotionally, she was still that fourteen-year-old runaway, scared and cynical, always looking for the stick behind the carrot. A large part of her was still waiting for someone, anyone, to tell her that Isabel’s bequest was a mistake, that a girl from the wrong side of the tracks wasn’t allowed to inherit a half share of one of the biggest fortunes in the country.
Joa felt Keely’s hand on her back, grounding her.
“It’s so good to have you back, darling. How long are you staying?”
“Not sure.” Joa moved her rucksack to her other shoulder and shrugged. “My contract in Auckland ended. I think I need to switch directions, find a new career. So I’m staying until I can figure stuff out. Is that okay?”
Keely pretended to think. “Well, I’m not sure if we have room for you at the inn. It’s only a turn-of-the-century, fifteen-bedroom house with too many reception rooms, libraries, a ballroom, two dining rooms, a media room and servants’ quarters. I’m not quite sure where we’ll find a place for you,” Keely joked. Looking at her rucksack, she frowned. “Where is your luggage?”
Joa pulled a face. “The airline lost it. I think it’s in Kuala Lumpur. I’ve been told it will be here the day after next.”
“Or never.”
“That’s a distinct possibility,” Joa agreed.
Keely’s phone rang and she dug in her tote bag to pull it out. She swiped the screen and Joa caught the indistinct outline of a handsome face, a flash of white teeth as the man smiled.
“Hey, where are you?”
Joa started to step away but Keely’s hand on her arm kept her in place. Who was this man with the amazing, growly, gorgeous voice? Keely’s new boyfriend?
Curious, Joa angled her head and, making sure to keep out of the eye of the camera, took a quick peek at Keely’s screen.
Holy crap, cupcake.
Joa looked past the frustration dancing in those mostly green eyes—a light green touched with flecks of blue, gold and jade, the colors of a mother-of-pearl shell—and the annoyance tightening his mouth. Stubble covered a strong jaw and stubborn chin, and his open-collar chambray shirt skimmed broad shoulders, revealing a chest lightly covered with nut-brown hair, the same color as his collar-length, wavy hair. He looked like a fallen angel, someone who could be pretty but wasn’t, and was better looking for it.
He rocked the word masculine and Joa just knew that his body would match his face. God couldn’t be that cruel to team such a sexy face with a body that wasn’t as fine. Joa was very certain he had a flat stomach, long legs and a perfect ass.
That was the only scenario that made sense. The butterflies in her stomach flapped their wings in enthusiasm. And appreciation.
When last had she had such a visceral, sexual reaction to a man? Last year? Two years ago?
Never might be closer to the truth.
“I’ve just arrived at Murphy’s,” Keely replied. “We’re running late but I let Carrick know.” Keely handed an appointment card to the concierge and motioned Joa to lead them up the steps. “Are you joining us for the meeting?” she asked the hottie on the screen.
“Nah, too much on my plate.”
Keely stopped halfway up the stairs and Joa, a step higher, turned around to look down at her. A frown pulled Keely’s delicate brows together and concern flashed in her eyes. The man on the other side of the call was someone Keely cared about.
“What’s the matter?” Keely demanded.
“Anna’s gone.”
Joa, knowing they wouldn’t be moving until Keely finished her conversation, placed her arms on the railing and looked down into one of the viewing rooms. Murphy staff, dressed in red golf shirts and chinos, carefully lifted a huge painting off the wall.
Keely sounded horrified. “Oh, crap, that’s the sixth one you’ve lost since Lizbeth retired.”
Sixth what?
“Tell me something I don’t know.” The voice muttered, utterly pissed. “She went on a shopping spree.”
Keely pulled a face. “What did she buy?”
“Lingerie, designer. Cosmetics, designer. A designer sofa. Various high-end perfumes, shoes, handbags, clothes.”
“Wait! Let me guess...all designer.”
“Yeah. I single-handedly kept more than a few Boston boutiques in business recently.”
“I would not have expected her to do that.” Keely placed her hand on her hip. “You have the worst luck in nannies, Ro.”
Joa’s interest was pricked by the word nanny. It was her profession after all. Ah, the conversation was starting to make a little more sense.
And Keely called him Ro...
Keely had to be talking to Ronan Murphy.
Keely had often mentioned him in her frequent, lengthy emails. He was the worldwide director of sales and marketing and Murphy International’s chief auctioneer. Keely had known the Murphy family since they were all kids, and she had been a college friend of his wife’s.
“I don’t need this now. Thandi’s parents are on vacation, so they can’t help me with the boys and I have a day from hell today.”
“I can pick them up from school, spend the afternoon with them and feed them dinner,” Keely offered, as generous as ever. “They seemed to enjoy themselves last week.”
“Isn’t your sister coming in today?” Ronan asked.
“She’s here.” Keely started to turn the camera toward her and Joa made a slashing motion across her face. Was Keely insane? Joa looked like roadkill.
Keely rolled her eyes but thankfully didn’t turn the camera. “Joa won’t mind, she loves kids.”
She did love kids, but on her first night back in Boston, she wanted to chat with Keely, drink wine, catch up.
Keely ignored Joa’s shaking head, her don’t-do-it expression. “Consider it done.”
Dammit, Keels.
“You are an absolute lifesaver.” Joa heard the gratitude in his voice.
“I’ll let the school know,” Ronan told Keely. “Now I need to start hitting the phones to track down a new nanny.”
Boston had some good agencies; he’d pick up someone in a heartbeat. Joa knew this because she’d researched those agencies back in New Zealand, before she’d decided the Wilsons would be her last au pair job.
Keely tipped her head to one side, her bright blue eyes meeting Joa’s. “Before you hire someone new, talk to me first. I have an idea.”
The temperature of Joa’s blood dropped a degree. No way, Joa mouthed. Absolutely not!
“If you are offering to look after the boys on a full-time basis, my answer is yes. Hell, yes.”
Keely laughed at Ronan’s hopeful statement. “I love you, and your kids, but not that much and not in that way.”
So Keely and Ronan weren’t romantically or, eek, sexually involved. And why did that make Joa happy? She was, obviously, more tired than she thought.
Keely continued, “But I might have a solution for you. Let me talk to someone and I’ll get back to you.”
No, she was exhausted and imagining things. Keely couldn’t possibly have hired her out on her first day back home. Not even Keely was that bold.
Joa was done with au pairing; she didn’t want to drop herself into another family because she couldn’t trust herself not to fall back into her bad habit of pretending it was all real.
After Keely said goodbye to Ronan, Joa gave Keely the stink eye. She wasn’t interested in becoming Ronan Murphy’s nanny, or anybody’s nanny. Not today, tomorrow or anytime in the future.
“Do not even think about it!”
“What?” Keely asked, pulling on her butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression. Joa knew her better than anyone and knew a diabolical mind lived under that innocent exterior.
“I don’t want to be a nanny again, Keels.”
She was done with au pairing, with pretending she was part of a family only to realize that after a year, sometimes two, her families would move on...without her.
Besides, she didn’t work for single dads, not anymore. She’d learned her lesson with Liam, then with Johan. Joa knew that single dads were her kryptonite, because she found herself easily believing she was the wife they needed, the mother their children craved.
Liam had met and married someone from his office, someone who adored his kids and was happy to be their full-time mom. The week before their wedding, Joa had gotten her marching orders. And Johan, well, he was gay and had wanted another husband...
If Joa wanted a family, she needed to have one of her own and not appropriate someone else’s.
They started to walk up the stairs, Keely’s high heels clicking on the expensive marble. Joa could only hope that she wasn’t trying to figure out a way to get her to fall in line with her wishes... Keely was a force of nature. Not a gentle breeze or soft summer rain but a Category 5 hurricane or an asteroid strike.
Maybe if she changed the subject Keely would be distracted. It was worth a try.
“I know that Murphy’s is going to auction Iz’s art collection for us, but I don’t understand the reason for this meeting. They have the inventory, they auction it off and then cut the foundation a check. I thought it was a simple process.”
“Not exactly,” Keely said, guiding Joa down the hallway to her right. “Murphy’s has to check provenances to make sure all the items are genuine. Most of Isabel’s works have been well documented, but Finn, the younger Murphy brother, found three paintings at Mounton House that we suspect might be lost Homers.”
Okay, wow. This was news. “As in Winslow Homer?”
“Mmm. Finn Murphy took one look at them and said we need to establish provenance, which is a pain in the butt. Anyway, the meeting is with Carrick Murphy and Sadie Slade, an art detective. Isn’t that a fun career? Hi, I’m an art detective...”
Keely continued to talk. “I did some research on Sadie and she’s super smart and, unfairly, as beautiful as she is brainy. She’s very much Carrick’s type.”
Joa rolled her eyes at the speculation in Keely’s eyes. Her sister was both lovely and an impossible know-it-all.
Annoyingly, she was often right.
But Keely also had a grasshopper mind and tended to veer off subject. “We were talking about the paintings, Keels.”
“Right, we need Sadie to tell us that all three paintings are by Homer. First, because they could raise a lot of money for the foundation but also because I do not want to eat crow.”
Joa knew she was exhausted but she kept losing track of this conversation. “Why?”
Keely pouted. “Because snotty Seymour gave me a twenty-minute lecture about managing my expectations. He’s the biggest pain in the ass. He’s a lawyer’s lawyer, a real dot-your-t’s-and-cross-your-i’s type.”
Seymour? Seymour... Right, the lawyer handling Isabel’s estate. Joa had met him at the funeral, then at the reading of the will. Grief-stricken, she hadn’t paid much attention, and didn’t remember much from either occasion.
“Isn’t that a good thing in a lawyer?” Joa asked, bemused.
“I suppose,” Keely admitted, “but he just annoys the hell out of me.”
Joa was curious to find out how he’d managed to elicit such an extreme reaction from her I-bother-men, they-don’t-bother-me sister. “What’s he ever done to you?”
“He has a stuffy name and it suits him. Seven feet tall, six feet wide, blue eyes, dark blond hair, a long scar on his jawline. His friends call him Dare, an equally stupid name.”
Okay, as their lawyer, his looks and a nickname shouldn’t be a factor. Keely had obviously spent a lot of time looking at the face of someone who annoyed her. Interesting.
Keely stopped by a door with a discreet plate stating it was the conference room—thank God!—and Joa prayed that someone behind the expensive door would offer her coffee. And lots of it.
Joa pushed her shoulders back. She was here so she’d attend this meeting but then she’d retreat, leaving Keely to operate in this rarified world of high-priced estate lawyers and world-renowned auctioneers. Her job, her priority, was to redesign her life...
And if that was her plan, and it was a good one, then why did Ronan Murphy’s masculine face keep popping onto the big screen of her mind?
