When the summer nanny arrives, I know the job is more than she expected.
After my mam passed, it's been me looking after my five feral brothers.
I'm running the family bed & breakfast to boot.
I need her help - I'm over my head as it is.
And the moment I meet Wendy, I'm also head over heels.
She has a way with the boys that is gentle yet firm.
But considering she slaps me across the face the day we meet - I'm gonna need to win her over one charming line at a time.
Trouble is, I'm a filthy Irishman.
And she's the sweetest thing I've ever seen.
Dear Reader,
Ewan O'Brion may be Irish, but he's never gotten lucky.
Double virgins mean double the fun.
And this time we promise there will be more than one happy ending.
Wink. Wink.
Xo, Frankie & Chantel
Ewan
“Ye’re a good man, Ewan,” my aunt Niav says. “But those boys need more than ye can give them. Ye’ve got enough on yer plate running this business.”
In a way, I know she’s right. The bed and breakfast that’s been in my family for three generations takes up most of my waking hours. I’m struggling just to keep it running. But I promised my mam that I would take care of my brothers.
“I’ve been taking care of them since before my mam passed,” I tell my aunt. “Nothing has changed.”
Except it has. I may be the oldest of seven boys, the head of the household since my dad left when I was sixteen, but it was my mam who kept the boys in check.
I glance out the window, seeing the twins Liam and Niall, playing football with the youngest, Bradan. The twins were only toddlers when my dad left us, and Bradan was still in my mam’s belly. I’m the only father figure the three of them have known.
Colin and Riley are teenagers, but they’re about as much help around here as the goats we keep in the back pen for milk.
And Carrick, the second oldest, well, he up and left to Australia a month after mam passed away. Not that I blame him, the responsibilities here are overwhelming, and there are days when I’ve thought about tossing in the towel myself.
I sigh and drag a hand through my hair, then turn back to my aunt. “I’ve hired a nanny. She’ll be here later today.”
“A nanny?” She grunts. “And where’d ye get the money for that?”
“It’s not yer concern.”
“It ‘tis, lad. Yer mam was my sister, and I promised her I’d watch over ye boys if anything ever happened to her.”
“I’m not a boy, Aunt Niav. I’m twenty-three.”
“Aye. But Bradan is only seven, and the twins just ten. I’ve called the school and they told me the trouble they’ve been getting into.”
“No more trouble than most boys their age.”
She clicks her tongue. “I don’t know why ye insist on making more work for yerself. If ye need hands around here, then Riley can stay. He’s sixteen now—”
“I’m not going to let ye separate them.”
“Ye might not have a choice, Ewan.”
Frustration and anger burn through me. I love my aunt, but even when my mam was alive, she was always sticking her nose in places it didn’t belong. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I didn’t want it to come to this, but since yer being as stubborn as yer father was, I’ve taken matters into my own hands. I’ve contacted the Child and Family Agency.”
“What is the matter with ye?”
She stands and pushes her chair back. “I could ask the same as ye, son—”
“I’m not yer son, and neither are those boys.”
“I’ll be in touch, Ewan.” She walks out the door, and it takes all my self-control not to put my fist through the kitchen wall. But I just put a new coat of paint on it and the last thing I need is to have to re-mud and paint it.
“Bloody, wicked, miserable bit—”
“Ewan?” Bradan is standing in the doorway, his dirty blond hair matted against his forehead, freckles indistinguishable from the dirt that’s smeared across his nose and cheeks. “Is it true?”
I sigh and glance over his head to where my aunt is talking to the twins on the front lawn. “Is what true?”
“We’re going to live with Aunt Niav?”
I could curse the woman for her interference. “Tell your brothers to come inside.”
He makes a face but turns and yells for them.
“Riley, Colin,” I call for the older two who are in the living room on their phones, playing games or talking to girls. Anything but helping out. “Come here, now.”
The kitchen isn’t large, and when all five boys pile in, the space feels crowded...and like home.
I can’t imagine not having them here. Sure, it would be a hell of a lot easier to not be worrying about homework and whether they bathed and brushed their teeth. But they’re my family, and there’s nothing in the world more important. My mam taught me that, even if my dad was a fool not to know it.
The twins start shoving each other before I have a chance to talk, and I pull them apart. “Both of ye, stop.”
“He pushed me first,” Liam says, glaring at his mirror image. Most people can’t tell them apart. They have the same red hair and green eyes, like my mam had. But Liam is a quarter of an inch taller, and he’s got more mischief in his crooked grin than Niall. But the two of them together are trouble with a capital T.
“What are ye hollering about?” Colin, the thirteen-year-old asks, pulling himself up on the counter, legs hanging over the edge.
“Naiv was just here,” I tell him. He’d been too busy playing on his phone to notice.
“Is she threatening to take us away again?” he asks, looking ready for a fight.
“Aye,” I answer honestly. “And this time she’s called the Child and Family Agency.”
“What does that mean?” Riley asks, leaning his long, lanky body against the doorframe. He’s shot up this past year, and at sixteen he almost matches my six foot two frame. Although I still have a good thirty pounds of muscle on him, and I’m still able to whoop his ass when needed.
Which after the stunt he pulled last night, sneaking out and stumbling in drunk at four in the morning, I should probably box his ears. But I figured the hangover he’s sporting today is good enough punishment.
“It means that ye all need to be on yer best behavior, especially when the nanny arrives.”
“But I don’t want a nanny,” Bradan says, sticking his bottom lip out.
“Would ye rather go live with your aunt Naiv?” I ask. “Because that’s where ye’ll all go if she can prove I’m not fit to take care of ye.”
“I’m sixteen,” Riley says. “She can’t make me go anywhere.”
“Ye’re right.” I nod. “But she can take the younger ones away.”
Bradan sniffs and I see the tears start to form in his eyes. I’ve never been good at sentimental bullshit. I was happy playing the man of the house, but I’m no good at this mothering shit.
I place a hand on Bradan’s shoulder. “No tears now. Everything’s going to be alright. But I need ye all to go clean yerselves up while I go to the airport.” I point at Riley. “And I’m going to need ye to check on the guests and start to prepare supper while I’m gone.”
There’s only one couple staying with us right now, so it’s not a lot to ask of the boy. I was doing twice the work when I was his age.
And look at all the things you missed out on. I shake away the thought. Sure, I had to grow up faster than most. Take on responsibilities that most grown men would scoff at. But looking around the kitchen at the five sets of eyes that look to me for answers, I wouldn’t have it any different.
Although truth be told, I wouldn’t mind a little help.
Which is why hiring this nanny is so important. It’s a three-month contract over the summer, with an American agency that I found online. Because the agency focuses on the experience of living abroad, the cost of hiring the woman is half of what I’d have to normally pay. And with trying to keep five growing boys fed, I need that extra money for the grocery bills.
* * *
Dublin airport is busy as always when I park outside arrivals. I glance at my phone, pulling up the email the agency sent me. I know that the woman’s name is Wendy Ferguson. She’s twenty-one, and from the small, blurry photo they sent me, she looks timid and more likely to have her nose stuck in a book than capable of dealing with five rowdy boys.
I glance at the photo again to help me pick the girl out in the crowd. Oversized glasses hide most of her face, and her hair is a mousy brown, with chunky bangs that make her look closer to Riley’s age than my own. The picture is too blurry to make out any other details, so I make a quick sign with her name on it on the back of a sheet of paper, and get out to wait.
I lean against my car and watch the people that come out of the airport, but none of them look like the photo of Wendy Ferguson. Especially not the pretty little brunette, with the curves of a goddess and the smile of an angel who walks toward me now.
Shit, the woman is gorgeous, with hazel eyes that look almost golden when the sun catches them. She lugs an enormous suitcase behind her, and from the tags, I can tell she’s American. Now this is a lass I wouldn’t mind taking home.
My cock twitches, reminding me that it’s been a long time since I’ve even kissed a woman. Too damn long. But with the business and the boys, I hardly have a moment to myself.
“Hello, lass,” I say when the beauty is standing in front of me, squinting at my homemade sign. “I wish that I was the one picking ye up, but I’m afraid I’m waiting on someone else.”
She gives a small frown. “You’re here to pick up Wendy Ferguson?”
“Aye.” I grin down at her. “But I’m afraid she’s not as fair as you.”
Her brows raise. “Really?”
I may not have much time for lasses these days, but the way she’s looking at me now, I know she’s interested. And what’s a little flirting going to hurt?
“Has anyone ever told ye that ye can see the sun in yer eyes?”
She laughs and the sound goes straight to my balls. “No. I don’t think I’ve ever received that compliment before.”
“Ye need a man who’ll tell ye everyday how beautiful ye are.”
She crosses her arms and stares up at me, a grin tugging at her lips. “And you think you could be that man?”
“I wish I were. But—”
“You’re waiting on Wendy Ferguson.”
“Aye.” I sigh, wishing I could spend more time with this woman, but knowing I should be scanning the crowd instead. I glance over the woman’s head and look around, but no one matches the girl’s picture.
When I look back, she’s getting into the passenger seat.
Confused, I run my fingers through my hair. “As much as it pains me to deny ye a ride, lass, I’m not a taxi service.”
She grins up at me. “But you are Ewan O’Brion, right?” I frown, a sinking feeling in my gut. “Aye, and ye are?”
“Wendy Ferguson.” She chuckles. “Your new nanny.”
Frankie Love
Frankie Love writes filthy-sweet stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in
love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie.
You can find her at FRANKIELOVE.NET or on FB.
Frankie also writes under the pen names CHARLIE HART.
C.M. Seabrook
Amazon bestselling author C.M. Seabrook writes hot, steamy romances with possessive bad boys, and the passionate, fiery women who love them. Swoonworthy romances from the heart!
