Morgan Latimar seeks a nanny for his children. Being a Creole and a shifter makes the search hazardous for him as well as his family. The woman who accepts the position can never know his secret. Yet, despite his Wolfen wisdom, Morgan falls for the passionate, Laura Sinclair.
Laura Sinclair answers the post from the mysterious man from Louisiana. Soon she’s thrown into the world of Voodoo magic deep in the heart of Creole New Orleans in 1872. How can she perform the job she was hired to do when she’s falling in love with the handsome Morgan Latimar? Will he want her once he knows her secrets? Where can she turn for help?
She had the job! Laura could barely contain her joy. Schooling her emotions to calm, she gripped her hands tight in her lap, focusing straight ahead. Her heart pounded in her ears while her stomach danced a jig. She had a job. Oh Lord, she had a job. She would not panic. Familiarizing herself with the house schedule and setting up a list of duties each day would be challenging. She would not lose this job. Wanting desperately to impress Mr. Latimar with becoming the children’s nanny from this day forward were her main goals. She would have to deal with the tiny whisper of worry over having no experience. The notion needed quelling at all costs. She was Laura Sinclair, which meant she was an independent woman. After all, she had a job to prove her worth, didn’t she? Now she would glean from her time in the orphanage as a basis for beginning the new position she had only today acquired. The order of things could not be much different from how the schedule ran at St. Francis, could it? She would simply depend on her life there as a model for taking care of Jacob and Sara.
Before she knew it, they had arrived. The long drive lined with live oaks proved a lovely site indeed. Here the lush, dark green of the massive trees rose up, draping over the drive in a natural canopy. The air grew instantly cooler beneath their shade. As the buggy came to rest in front of the porch, Laura wondered what kind of family lived in such an impressive house. A slate roof sheltered the two-story structure, which rose up, stretching in depth from the impressive front entrance of Spanish wood. Here was a smart, efficient townhouse instead of a statement to an empire she had heard the Latimar’s sugar plantation boasted. The lines of the structure were simple with large floor to ceiling French doors flanking the front door on either side. Slim wrought iron fences enclosed the slender patio running across the front of the house. A small balcony encased in the same ironwork faced the street from the second story. The only elaborate touch the property possessed was a tall, ornate fence of wrought iron set in brick, which bordered the narrow side yards and circle driveway. The fence gave the property privacy from the public street. Tasteful and elegant was her impression of the marvelous place.
“You’re smiling. Does that mean you like my humble abode?”