I could do this. At least, I thought I could do this. How difficult could pancakes be? Sure, the batter had splattered all over the counter, the butter had burned in the pan, and the dilapidated oblong pieces of pancake had scorched on contact while the centers continued to ooze runny dough. But I wasn’t giving up yet.

“Daddy, those don’t smell right,” Abby piped up from where she sat at the breakfast bar, peering dubiously at the pan from a safe distance away. A smoky haze seemed to have formed between us, and as if on cue, the fire alarm sounded, brought to life by the smoke wafting through the room. Abby covered her ears and looked ready to burst into tears.

“All right, kiddo. Let’s go.” I grasped her hand gently, still not accustomed to her tiny hands, and worried I’d crush her delicate fingers with the slightest grip. I ushered her into the room quickly, down the hall and out the front door. “Just, stay there, honey, and I’ll turn off the alarm.”

She nodded and I darted back inside, just long enough to make it through the living room and down the hall to the electronic home control station that I was beginning to think had been rather inconveniently placed.

It was time to give up. I could organize multi-million-dollar mergers with my eyes closed, but apparently, I was not fit to master the intricate art of pancake-making.

The alarm temporarily silenced, I raced back to the porch, resigned to another breakfast out. But Abby was gone. I hadn’t been gone for more than two minutes, but she was nowhere in sight. Panic welled in my chest—a sensation I was unaccustomed to. I’d always been calm and cool under pressure, but then, I’d never been responsible for a four-year-old child before. I hadn’t even had her a full two weeks, and already I’d lost her.

Just as I was about to call in the armed forces, I heard giggling, and it sounded suspiciously like Abby’s wind chime laugh. I followed the sound down the steps and across the yard to the neighbor’s house. And there she was. I could see her golden-blonde hair above the bushes in the front yard. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking it’s a wonder parents could handle this sort of stress on a regular basis.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay on the porch, kiddo?” I queried, probably less sternly than I should have, but I was just relieved she hadn’t wandered into traffic or gotten carried off by kidnappers.

I came around the bushes to retrieve her and wound up not three feet away from the most incredible ass I’d ever seen. The owner was bent over, her head and upper body beneath the bushes. She must be the gardener, and I bet by the look of her she was never out of work. Hell, I’d hire her just to watch her work. What guy wouldn’t?

“Look, daddy, I made a friend,” Abby announced proudly, not the least bit chagrined over her quick escape.

“But I told you to stay put.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t un-sup’vised ‘cause Emma is watching me. See?”

“I can see that, but you shouldn’t be bothering the woman while she’s working.”

The woman—Emma, I presumed—slipped out from under the bush then and stood up, and every drop of blood circulating in my veins threatened to drain to my cock. The rest of the woman was just as incredible as her ass—long, dark hair, vivid green eyes, tits handcrafted by the gods and legs that were made to be spread.

“She’s no bother, really,” Emma said, and her voice rippled over my skin like a caress. “I’m Emma McKenna,” she introduced herself and extended her hand, but pulled it back with an apologetic smile when she glanced down to find her slim hand covered in dirt.

I’d gladly get a little dirty if it meant touching her. Hell, dirty sounded pretty damn good right then.

“I’m Ryan Cade,” I said instead. “It’s nice to meet you, Emma.”

“It’s OK if she hangs out here with me for a while…if you’re busy, I mean.”

The fire alarm began to sound again, and I debated just letting the house burn down to the ground. It would teach me better than to delve into something as dangerous as pancake-making ever again.

“That’s all right. Abby and I were just heading out for breakfast.” I smiled ruefully.

“Do you wanna come with us, Emma?” Abby piped up without warning.

Oh no. I had nothing against sharing a meal with the woman, but I’d much rather her be the meal. And that hardly seemed appropriate for my four-year-old daughter at the table. Still, an image sprung to mind of Emma McKenna up on the dining table, naked and bent over in the position I’d found her. Now that was the kind of breakfast any man could go for.

“Oh, I really couldn’t,” she said quickly. “I’ve plenty of work to get done here, Abby. But you’re welcome to come see me when you get back—if that’s all right with your father, of course.”

“Sure.” I particularly didn’t mind if it gave me the chance to see the sexy-as-hell gardener bent over another garden bed.

And ten minutes later, with the image of the delectable gardener still fresh in my mind, I was driving away from the house to a diner halfway across town. I’d learned on my second day with Abby that she wasn’t the type of child who enjoyed five-star dining. I’d arranged a private breakfast at Urasawa, but when the food arrived, she’d just looked at me like I was crazy. From what I could recall of her mother, I was surprised to discover Abby’s tastes leaned toward the ordinary. Her mother wouldn’t have been caught dead in an all-you-can-eat diner. But then, it had also been nearly five years since I’d seen the woman.

Back at the house an hour later, Abby made a beeline for the gardener next door.

While I knew why I wanted to get another glimpse of her, I had no idea what Abby’s instant obsession with her was. Was it just a need for female companionship? I had never been the loving and nurturing kind of guy, but I’d done my damnedest to take on the role since she had arrived. And aside from the occasional kitchen mishap, I thought I’d been doing a decent job. I wondered if perhaps she needed more though, and that started me thinking.

Abby seemed quite enthusiastic about the gardener, and the gardener appeared to have an easy rapport with children. If I happened to arrange for the gardener to become my daughter’s nanny, it would provide Abby with the female companionship she might need. And if that happened to put me in close proximity to the nanny’s gorgeous body after hours…who was I to complain?

Even if Emma happened to be a very well paid gardener, I figured I’d have no trouble enticing her away with a much—much—bigger paycheck. I would, of course, still have to perform a rigorous background check. Just because the woman was hot as hell didn’t guarantee she was nanny material. But I’ve always been pretty damn good at reading people and I figured I could read two things about Emma McKenna at the moment: the woman was genuinely good with kids, and she would be one hell of a good fuck. What more could a guy ask for?

And now all I had to do was put my plan into action.