Picnics in Hyde Park

According to the tabloids, Stephen was abroad a lot of the time, a playboy who basically partied and shopped his way around Europe with the family money. Why her sister had fallen for him she couldn’t understand. At thirty, Matt was older by seven years, a famous music producer who was hardly ever out of the press, despite his attempts to evade the spotlight. Snapping pictures of his children was a rabid hobby for British journos and there were rumours of a new girlfriend every week, although you couldn’t believe everything you read in the papers. She and Melody were close, despite the vast miles that’d been between them, and Melody had told her a lot about Matt’s children via Skype and text messages but nothing about any of his personal relationships, respecting her boss’s right to privacy. Not that she’d got any thanks for that loyalty and professionalism.

Zoe banged her fist on the wood one last time and to her satisfaction finally heard footsteps. The door was yanked open by a dark-haired guy in his twenties.

‘Yes?’ he drawled, stepping out into the sunlight, forcing her to move backwards down the three concrete stairs and onto the pavement.

Cocky green eyes ran over her flat black shoes, tight black jeans and the fashionable short-sleeved print top that hung off one shoulder. Having had no chance to change out of the clothes she’d travelled in, she felt rumpled, sticky and at a distinct disadvantage.

She couldn’t afford to jump to any conclusions, but this guy had to be Stephen.

‘Are you planning to say something today, or not?’ he demanded, looking her up and down again, a bit too slowly for her liking.

Sucking in a deep breath, shudders of rage and adrenalin swirled with the giddy exhaustion of jet lag and noon heat, making her feel light-headed and dangerously out of control. Face scalding, she started shaking, hands bunching into fists around her oversized bag. Ignoring the feeling, along with the urge to ask if he was done checking her out and start demanding what the hell he was playing at with her sister, she expelled the breath. If she lost it too soon it was game over; he’d likely slam the door in her face. Getting over the threshold was the important bit. Then she could tear strips off them both.

‘Yes, sorry. Hello. Matthew Reilly?’ It was Matt’s house and it might seem weird if she asked for Stephen.

‘God, no! Definitely not,’ smirking, he turned his head to yell over his shoulder. ‘Matt, there’s some Katy Perry lookalike-wannabe here for an interview.’ A pause. ‘I’m off.’ Shrugging when there was no reply, a strange expression flashed across his face. ‘All right,’ he hollered, ‘see you when I’m back.’ Reaching back inside the hallway, he grabbed a travel bag and hustled past her, leaving the front door yawning open behind him.

See you when I’m back?

‘Wait—’ she yelped, spinning around as his comment registered.

But the arrogant jerk ignored her, running down the steps and leaping into the yellow open-top car like some Dukes of Hazzard extra. Screeching away with a spin of tyres, gravel flew everywhere in an unholy rain of stones and he barely paused before roaring off towards the main Knightsbridge road. God knew how many people he was going to take out driving like that. Complete maniac.

Then his other words sunk into her sluggish, travel-addled brain. Katy Perry lookalike-wannabe? He was a cheeky bugger! She might have black hair and blue eyes but was no wannabe, wasn’t here to audition for some tacky talent show, didn’t care that Matthew Reilly was in the music business— Hang on, interview?

‘That was my brother Stephen. I’m Matt.’ A deep, terse voice said behind her.

She swung around to face the door, stumbling slightly. She needed to get out of this relentless sunshine, she was starting to feel pretty sick.

‘Ready?’

‘Ready?’ she repeated, thinking. She’d missed her chance to have it out with Stephen for now, but it was this man stood in the shadows who was ultimately responsible for her sister’s confused distress.

Keep calm, just breathe. She squinted, hardly able to make him out. The inside of the house was too dim and it was so bright outside, red dots blurring her vision.

‘Look, I’m very busy. Are you here to interview for the nanny position or not? I haven’t got any time to waste.’

He’d got rid of her sister only yesterday and was already trying to replace her.

At her dumbfounded silence, he began shutting the door. ‘Okay then, goodbye.’

‘I, uh— hang on! Sorry, of course I’m here for an interview,’ she thought fast. ‘There’s just a slight problem.’

The breath hissed loudly from between his teeth. ‘Which is?’

‘I flew in from New York this morning and came straight from the airport, as you can see from my lack of a suitable outfit,’ she gestured to her jeans, ‘so I don’t have my CV with me.’

‘How did you hear about the job then?’

It was hardly surprising he was suspicious. ‘A contact at the agency called me, knowing I was due back in the UK today,’ she fibbed, hoping she was right. ‘Zoe Harper, pleased to meet you.’ She nodded briskly in greeting to avoid shaking his hand. ‘I was added to the list at the last minute,’ she finished the lie, ‘haven’t the agency emailed the updated schedule?’ She prayed it was the same agency that’d placed Melody here originally, the one Zoe had also got the placement in America through.

A ringtone filled the hallway. Blowing out an exasperated breath, he prised a sleek mobile from his pocket and after checking the screen, cut the call off.

As he tucked the phone away, she chattered on. ‘When this job was mentioned,’ ironically one she was more than qualified for, ‘I asked to be put forward, especially when it’s working for you and this is such a lovely area to live in.’ Sucking up to him felt wrong but if it gave her an in, it’d be worth it.

‘My assistant is off sick, I haven’t had time to mess around checking emails and my kids are due back in two hours,’ he said in an irritated tone, ‘so I’m sorry but—’

‘But I’ve come all this way—’

His phone started ringing again and he swore, wrestling it back out of his pocket. ‘Sorry.’ After a quick glance at the screen, he answered. ‘Matt Reilly,’ he barked. ‘Yes?’

She forced her lips into a polite smile while she waited. It wobbled when she realised he was talking to the recruitment agency.

‘No, it’s not good enough. I’m completely dissatisfied with the level of service I’ve received. You know I need a new nanny urgently. You sent someone else along, but— What? Oh, never mind, forget it.’ He hung up, clenching the phone in his fist.

Jeez, was he this grumpy all the time? He must have been a joy for her sister to live with. Or maybe he was just having a bad day. If that was the case, it wasn’t going to get any better with her arrival.

‘That was about another no-show. Incredibly, the third today.’ He paused, then shook his head, as if already regretting what he was about to say. ‘I’ve only got this afternoon set aside for interviews, I suppose as you’re here you may as well come in.’ Gesturing her over the threshold. ‘You can talk me through your experience and the agency can get me your details later if things go well,’ he bit, slamming the front door behind them.

Gee thanks, don’t do me any favours. She stuck her tongue out crossly at his back as her eyes adjusted to the light inside the house, then blanked her expression as he moved past her.

But he didn’t stop, striding off down the wooden parquet hallway so that she had to hurry after him. ‘This way.’

She caught a flash of a staircase to her left and a dazzling though unlit chandelier overhead, but her focus was on following Matt. The scents of vanilla polish, flowers and some unnameable but appealing fresh male aftershave drifted over her as she caught up with him.

‘I’m presuming the agency will have up-to-date references for you, along with an enhanced DBS clearance,’ Matt threw open a door and lead her into a massive lounge filled with windows and light.

Zoe made a non-committal mmmm sound, taking in her surroundings. The parquet flooring continued straight through from the hallway, but apart from that everything was white; the ceiling, the walls, the fireplace that looked like it had never been used. On the far side of the room two French doors opened onto some kind of outdoor space, with matching conifers in square black pots sat outside them. There was very little furniture and no paintings on the walls. She walked over and sat on one of the shiny black sofas that faced each other across a blocky glass coffee table. Hiding a grimace, she slung her handbag down on the floor. It was so impersonal, more like a show-home than a real one. She hated it. It was way too pristine. How on earth did kids live here? Where was the personality, the clutter, the colour? Perhaps the children were kept in a cupboard under the stairs like Harry Potter, she thought unkindly, tongue in cheek.

She knew from her sister that Matt’s daughter Aimee was seven years old, didn’t talk much and was exceptionally bright, and that his son Jasper was nearly five and about to start school. Melody had described the little boy fondly but seeing her sister’s sometimes strained face on the laptop screen and listening to funny stories about what he’d got up to, Zoe had concluded he was a bit of a handful.

‘Anyone in there?’ a gravelly voice broke into her thoughts.

Straightening, she lifted her chin and met Matt Reilly’s gaze properly for the first time. ‘I—’ Oh.

Oh, man. The Americanism resounded in her head. Freezing, heart thudding, her mouth dropped open. Realising she must look like the village idiot, she shut it immediately, teeth clicking together. ‘Yes. Sorry.’

‘Good.’ Leaning forward, he grabbed a notepad and silver embossed pen, and made a few notes on the paper.

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. She’d seen blurred photos of Matt in the press, but he was always ducking his head away or wearing sunglasses, so there’d never been an opportunity to see what he really looked like.

The reality was that he was outrageously, jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

He shared his brother’s colouring, the green eyes and thick dark hair, but the similarity ended there. Stephen was tall and wiry, but with the long spread of his ridiculously muscular legs and the breadth of his shoulders Matt was far bigger and better built. In fact, he looked more like an international rugby player than some arty creative type who spent most days holed up in a dark studio.

And though she could understand why Melody found Stephen attractive, Matt was far more appealing. His face was leaner, rugged with stubble and with a fierce intelligence shining in his gaze under thick dark eyebrows. James Marsden chiselled cheekbones and a stern mouth might have given him a rugged male beauty were it not for the two tiny imperfections she’d always been a sucker for. A sinking feeling tugged at her tummy as she stared at a bump on the ridge of his nose, perhaps from a break, and a small, inch long scar that ran down into his top lip.

She’d had a thing about bad boys since a teenage crush on Harrison Ford in the Indiana Jones films, sparked by watching Christmas re-runs with Ruth. Their great aunt, who’d raised them since Mel was seven and Zoe was thirteen, loved adventure movies despite her appearance and stilted manner. Since then, the rebel characters in TV series and films had prolonged Zoe’s obsession with bad boys. It was unfortunate for her, because Matt definitely looked like the kind of guy who’d ride up on a motorbike wearing leathers and whisk a girl away for a dirty, dangerous weekend. The sinfully tight blue jeans and black t-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders reinforced the image.