About the book
Greer wants a job that
lasts more than a few months. Working as a housekeeper and nanny should be a
no-brainer. Should be.
Her first surprise is the two sexy guys hiring her. The second is discovering
that Liam and Chas share a bed and wouldn’t mind her right in the middle.
Watching her hot employers with their hands on each other is a fantasy come
true. Having their hands on her is even better. But baring all for them means
baring a few secrets of her own and facing fears she hoped she’d left behind.
As the sexual heat accelerates so do problems outside the bedroom. To forge
their own sense of family and a home for Liam’s son, the three of them must
fight off a vicious ex-wife and a sexual harassment lawsuit that threatens
Chas’ career.
Inside Scoop: Greer joins this established male/male couple in a sexy and
romantic ménage relationship.
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
An excerpt from the book
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An Excerpt From: BARE
BOTTOM GIRL
Copyright © SARINA
WILDE, 2014
All Rights Reserved,
Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Greer slipped through
the crowd flowing in and out of the supermarket. She remembered when the busy
shopping center had been just a hayfield, but with more and more people headed
for the burbs, business had followed.
Everyone was busy with
homes and careers. Her? Yeah, she was running an errand for her mom. Poor,
unemployed Greer. None of her jobs seemed to last even a year. She’d worked as
a maid for nice old Mrs. Henry, but then she’d died. Next was the waitress job,
but the state decided to widen the highway and the restaurant, in business for
decades, had gotten the heave-ho. Next was the B and B—right in the river’s
flood plain. When the spring floodwaters receded but the river stink remained,
the owners had filed bankruptcy and moved.
So Greer was back home,
buying bread and cat food for her mother. After picking up her purchases, she
headed for the doors, but something made her stop at the bulletin board, a
collage of community announcements. Soccer games, church fundraisers, puppies
and ponies for sale, and then she saw it. The announcement wasn’t big or fancy,
just a simple computer printout—housekeeper and part-time nanny needed. Older
woman preferred .
Natch.
Greer tucked a wisp of
hair behind her ear and started to walk on.
Screw that. Backing up a
step, she looked at the ad again. No little number tabs to pull off, and of
course she didn’t have a pen. With a glance over each shoulder, she yanked the
tack out and stuffed the paper in her grocery bag.
On the way to her dad’s
truck , she considered what she might have to offer for the job. She liked
kids, and heaven only knew she’d had plenty of experience along the maid and
cook line. She’d just ignore the older woman part. Age was a relative thing.
She was almost twenty-five. She was older than—well someone.
A few miles down the
highway, she turned onto the narrow county road leading to her family’s home.
Greer’s eyes strayed to the stone pillars and iron gates leading to a big brick
mansion set on the hill. Not her home. It was the Carles’ place.
She’d sneaked all over
the back of their property as a kid, playing in the creek and swinging from the
grapevines in the woods. In her more Walter Mitty-ish moments, she’d pretended
she lived there. Somehow it seemed better than the old log cabin tucked into a
holler along a back road. Great. Now she was channeling Coal Miner’s Daughter .
Her parents weren’t poor. Her dad was an attorney. They just liked a quiet,
modest home. A really old, quiet, modest home.
As soon as she’d parked
the pickup under the shed and put away the purchases for her mother, Greer
folded the ad in her hand and slipped down the hall to her room. Once inside,
she scanned it again. A local number, no address, or any real information about
how many children she might be expected to look after.
Well, it was now or
never. Her mom and dad would be home in an hour, and she sure would like to be
able to tell them she had a job interview. Clearing her throat, Greer practiced
making her voice sound deeper and older. When she was sure it was as good as
she could make it, she grabbed the phone and dialed.
It rang and rang and
rang. Greer sighed. Figured. Just as she was about to hit the Off button, a
deep, male voice barked, “Hello?”
In the background she
heard what sounded like her dad’s air compressor.
“I’m calling about the
job you had advertised.”
“You from the agency?”
“Uh…no. This was an ad
on the board in the Kroger.”
The air compressor noise
stopped. “So you’re from around here?”
Now the voice was
decidedly friendlier, deep and warm. Greer’s hand relaxed on the phone. “Yes.”
“Tell me about your
experience.”
This was the tricky
part. She didn’t need to mention how long she’d worked at any of her positions.
“I’ve worked as a maid and caregiver for an elderly woman. I’ve also done
housekeeping and kitchen duties for a local bed and breakfast—”
“When can you come for
an interview? This evening?”
Greer swallowed, almost
unable to believe her luck. Thinking quickly about when she might be able to
get the car… “Would eight be too late?”
“Perfect. Let me give
you the address.”
As he rattled it off,
Greer’s brow knitted. That wasn’t very far away at all. She’d Google it as soon
as they got done.
“What’s your name?”
“Greer—”
“Well, Mrs. Greer, we’ll
look forward to seeing you at eight this evening.”
“All right, but—”
She heard a click on the
other end before she could correct him about the name. It also occurred to her,
she hadn’t gotten his name. Dumb. No wonder she had such a hard time finding
work. Her hands were shaking a little, so Greer pressed them against her pants
legs and took a deep, calming breath. Before she forgot it, she scribbled the
address, snatched the paper and sat at her laptop.
She plugged the address
in and watched familiar road intersections pop up in the satellite photo
showing a mixture of farmland and woods with the ribbon of the Ohio River at
the edge. As the address flag appeared, her heart skipped a beat. Zooming in,
she caught her breath. The Carle estate? Oh shit.
Greer made a grab for
the phone again to call back and cancel. Then she recalled the man’s voice on
the other end. He’d sounded nice, not stuffy or snobby. If his wife was nice
too… She withdrew her hand and swallowed nervously. If they needed a nanny,
maybe they’d want her to stay there. Greer took a deep breath and closed her
eyes.
She loved her mom and
dad. They’d been great since the accident, not putting pressure on her, but
Greer needed a change, needed to be able to get out on her own. She was ready.
Older woman preferred.
Not much she could do
about that, except dress conservatively.
By the time she reached
the call box at the iron gates with their ornate C design emblazoned on each
side, her hands shook so much she could barely press the button. No one
answered. The gates simply swung inward to allow her in. Evening shadows
stretched across the wide expanse of manicured lawn, making Greer wonder why
this household would even be in need of more servants. And why stick an ad on
the bulletin board in the grocery? Were the children all rich, spoiled little
brats?
She parked under the
shade of several large beech trees, swallowing a little nervously and hoping
her throat wasn’t so dry she wouldn’t be able to talk. For good measure, she
practiced her more mature sounding voice. Maybe it would help. Smoothing her
hands down her dark skirt, Greer adjusted the collar of her blouse to be sure
nothing other than the hollow of her throat was visible.
After letting the door
knocker fall, her gaze darted over the house’s façade. When the door opened,
she had to look up a long way.
“Mrs. Greer?” The
outright doubt in the tall, golden-haired man’s voice made her spine stiffen.
“Greer’s my first name,”
she said. “You disconnected before I could tell you my last name. It’s
Davidson.”
He smiled, and it seemed
to her there was just a touch of smirk to it, but the expression in his gaze
was warm enough. Strange. “Well come on in, Greer Davidson. I’m Chas Lynch, not
the person you spoke to by the way. I think Liam will be surprised.”
There was a hint of
laughter in the man’s voice, and it made Greer’s nerves flutter. Nothing about
this seemed amusing to her. What the hell was she getting into? And who was this
guy—the butler?
As he led the way
through a hallway stretching nearly the full length of the house, Greer’s eyes
widened. She stared at the spacious formal rooms and the broad staircase
ascending to an overhead landing. The house was even larger inside than it
appeared from the exterior.
“If you don’t mind my
asking, Ms. Davidson, just how old are you?”
Her glance darted to his
laughing blue eyes. “Almost twenty-five.”
Now she did hear a
chuckle. “How almost is almost?”
Greer raised her chin. “Next month.”
He nodded, a smile still
making his lips twitch. “Liam will be with us in just a moment. He was working
in his studio and wanted to clean up.”
He opened a door and
stepped aside to allow her to precede him into the room. Greer glanced around,
quickly absorbing the feel of rich wood paneling, polished furniture and
beautiful paintings. Her stomach rolled. What was she doing here? This was so
far beyond anything she was accustomed to, even Mrs. Henry couldn’t compare.
“Have a seat. May I call
you Greer?”
“Yes.” She saw his
medical diplomas on the wall behind the desk. “You’re Dr. Lynch?”
“Chas,” he corrected in
an easy tone. Instead of taking a seat behind the desk, he pulled his chair
around to the side where he could sit closer to her. Wow. Mr. Bedside Manner.
Greer tried to keep her
hands still in her lap, but found she was biting her lip instead. Too many
doctors h ad figured prominently in her life the last few years.
“Are you nervous?” Chas
asked. “We won’t bite.”
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I
live and teach in an area that is split roughly down the middle between
African-Americans and Caucasians. Just as my colleague’s concern about the
number of black men dating white women came out in conversation, so have I
heard people—both black and white—express concerns about interracial relationships.
Prejudice is still out there. Personally, I prefer to address things head on
rather than pretending it doesn’t exist. I’ve never been a proponent of what I
call the “emperor’s new clothes” philosophy.
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