The Nanny Bombshell. Michelle Celmer

used and some still in the original boxes. Seeing them, Fern shifted restlessly in Sierra’s arms, clearly wanting to get down and play.

      From the bars hung a wardrobe big enough for a dozen infants. Dresses and jumpers and tiny pairs of jeans and shirts—all designer labels and many with the tags still attached, and all in duplicate. In her wildest dreams Sierra never could have afforded even close to this many clothes, and certainly not this quality. They were neatly organized by style, color and size—all spelled out on sticky notes on the shelf above the bar.

      Sierra had never seen anything like it. “Wow. Did you do this?”

      “God, no,” Coop said. “This is Ms. Densmore’s thing. She’s a little fanatical about organization.”

      “Just a little.” She would have a coronary if she looked in Sierra’s closet. Besides being just a fraction the size, it was so piled with junk she could barely close the door. Neatness had never been one of her strong suits. That had been okay living with her dad, who was never tidy himself, but here she would have to make an effort to be more organized.

      “The bathroom is through there,” Coop said, walking past her to open the door, filling the air with the delicious scent of soap and man. The guy really did smell great, and though it was silly, he looked even more attractive holding the baby, which made no sense at all. Or maybe it was just that she’d always been a sucker for a man who was good with kids—because in her profession she had seen too many who weren’t. Dead-beat dads who couldn’t even be bothered to visit their sick child in the hospital. And of course there were the abusive dads who put their kids in the hospital. Those were the really heartbreaking cases and one of the reasons she had transferred from pediatrics to the NICU.

      But having an easy way with an infant didn’t make a man a good father, she reminded herself. Neither did giving them a big beautiful bedroom or an enormous closet filled with toys and designer clothes. The twins needed nurturing, they needed to know that even though their parents were gone, someone still loved them and cared about them.

      She held Fern closer and rubbed her back, and the infant laid her head on Sierra’s shoulder, her thumb tucked in her mouth.

      “I’ll show you your room,” Coop said, and she followed him to the bedroom across the hall. It was even larger than the girls’ room, with the added bonus of a cozy sitting area by the window. With the bedroom, walk-in closet and private bath, it was larger than her entire apartment. All that was missing was the tiny, galley-style kitchen, but she had a gourmet kitchen just a few rooms away at her disposal.

      The furnishings and decor weren’t exactly her style. The black, white and gray color scheme was too modern and cold and the steel and glass furnishings were a bit masculine, but bringing some of her own things in would liven it up a little. She could learn to live with it.

      “That bad, huh?”

      Startled by the comment, Sierra looked over at Coop. He was frowning. “I didn’t say that.”

      “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.

      You hate it.”

      “I don’t hate it.”

      One brow tipped up. “Now you’re lying.”

      “It’s not what I would have chosen, but it’s very … stylish.”

      He laughed. “You are so lying. You think it’s terrible.”

      She bit her lip to keep from smiling, but the corners of her mouth tipped up regardless. “I’ll get used to it.”

      “I’ll call my decorator. You can fix it however you like. Paint, furniture, the works.”

      She opened her mouth to tell him that wouldn’t be necessary, and he held up one ridiculously large palm to shush her. “Do you really think I’m going to let you stay in a room you despise? This is going to be your home. I want you to be comfortable here.”

      She wondered if he was always this nice, or if he was just so desperate for a reliable nanny he would do anything to convince her to take the job. If that was the case, she could probably negotiate a higher salary, but it wasn’t about the money. She just wanted to be with her girls.

      “If you’re sure it’s not a problem, I wouldn’t mind adding a few feminine touches,” she told him.

      “You can sleep in the nursery until it’s finished, or if you’d prefer more privacy, there’s a fold-out love seat in my office.”

      “The nursery is fine.” She didn’t care about privacy, and she liked the idea of sleeping near her girls.

      He nodded to Fern and said, “I think we should lay them down. It’s afternoon nap time.”

      Sierra looked down at Fern and realized that she had fallen asleep, her thumb still wedged in her mouth, and Ivy, who had laid her head on Coop’s enormously wide shoulder, was looking drowsy, too.

      They carried the girls back to the nursery and laid them in their beds—Fern on the right side and Ivy on the left—then they stepped quietly out and Coop shut the door behind them.

      “How long will they sleep?” Sierra asked.

      “On a good day, two hours. But they slept in until eight this morning, so maybe less.” He paused in the hall and asked, “Before we call my attorney, would you like something to drink? We have juice and soda … baby formula.”

      She smiled. “I’m good, thanks.”

      “Okay, if you’re having any second thoughts, this is your last chance to change your mind.”

      That would never happen. He was stuck with her. “No second thoughts.”

      “Great, let’s go to my office and call Ben,” Coop said with a grin. “Let’s get this show on the road.”