“Did you mean it?” Carly asked

Sean bent to the task of changing his flat tire, only then realizing she’d followed him into the pouring rain when he’d left the car. “Mean what?”

“About this being just the beginning…” Her eyes were huge, her body taut with…nerves?

“I meant it,” he said with an ease that no longer startled him. “Now go stay warm in the car.”

Instead, she went down on her knees in the dirt beside him, reaching out to stroke away a strand of wet hair from his eyes. “You look very sexy all wet, Sean O’Mara.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.” She bit her full lower lip and Sean promptly dropped the jack.

“If I help with the tire,” she whispered in his ear, “we’ll get done faster, which would leave us at least a couple of hours’ darkness left to do…well, whatever we please.”

Sean broke the world record changing the tire, with Carly’s soft laughter egging him on.

“My, my,” she crooned, handing him the wrench. “A man who can use his tools. I like that.”

Dear Reader,

So how many times did you dream of being a princess? Come on, tell me true. I did. Often. Especially when I was little, but mostly that was because I wanted the tiara. As I grew up, the tiara took a back seat to getting Prince Charming. In A Prince of a Guy, my heroine, a princess in her own right, wants Prince Charming, too, but she wants him to be a “normal” guy and look at her as if she’s a “normal” woman. She gets a whole lot more than that when love enters the fray!

I’m honored to be kicking off RED-HOT ROYALS for Harlequin, and hope you enjoy the entire series, including my 2-in-1 ROYAL DUETS in October!

Happy reading,

Jill Shalvis

P.S. You can write me at www.jillshalvis.com or P.O. Box 3945, Truckee, CA 96160-3945.

A Prince of a Guy
Jill Shalvis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

1

IT TOOK Sean O’Mara a full five minutes to realize he was being taken advantage of, maybe six. His only defense was that he’d worked until past midnight and it was barely five in the morning, leaving him bleary-eyed and bewildered.

“You’re…what?” he asked again slowly, trying to make sense of the whirlwind that had barged into his house.

“I’m going to England for two weeks.” His sister deposited her four-year-old daughter, Melissa, on the floor of the foyer where Sean stood. The little girl immediately vanished into his kitchen. His sister vanished, too, only to return twice, each time with a huge load from her car.

Not a good sign. “England?” he asked, getting less groggy by the passing minute.

“Yep.” She said this as if it was only across the street from his Santa Barbara, California home, instead of across the globe.

“I can’t tell you how much your help means to me, Sean.” She staggered beneath an armful. “Melissa’ll be no trouble, I promise, and I’ll finish the design job ASAP.”

Melissa, no trouble? Ha! That had to be some sort of oxymoron. Exhaustion was quickly replaced by a gnawing sense of urgency to talk his sister out of this. He couldn’t be responsible for a child for two long weeks, he just couldn’t. He had work, he had a life…okay, maybe not a life outside of work, but he did have work, plenty of it.

Besides, and most importantly here, he had no idea how to care for a kid.

“Oh, and don’t forget,” Stacy warned. “She still needs a little help in the bathroom with the, um, paperwork.”

“What? Wait a sec.” He rubbed his temples. He yawned. He stretched, but he didn’t wake up in his own bed, which meant he wasn’t dreaming. “You can’t just leave her here.”

“Why not? You’re responsible. You know how to cook. You’re kind. Well, mostly. What could go wrong?”

“Anything! Everything!” He struggled for proof and hit the jackpot right in front of him. “I can’t even keep goldfish,” he said earnestly. “They die. Look.” He pointed to the ten-gallon glass aquarium sitting on a table in the entranceway. Empty. “I forget to feed them. So really, that knocks out both the responsible and the kind thing all in one shot.”

Stacy’s smile was indulgent. “You’re going to be fine. Oh, and don’t forget to put the toilet seat down or she’ll…go fishing.”

“But…” Sean craned his neck to peek into his kitchen. On the floor sat a sweet-looking, innocent-seeming child of four years.

He knew better.

Melissa, no matter how golden-curled, was no innocent. She could create a mess faster than he could blink. In her short lifetime, she’d bitten him three times, cut his hair twice—without permission—and peed on his bed only fifteen minutes before a hot date.

The little monster in question, the one who would be no trouble, looked right at him and smiled guilelessly…as she tipped her sipper cup upside down, shaking grape juice all over both her and the clean floor.

The ensuing purple sticky splatters caused her to giggle uproariously.

Fear curled in Sean’s belly. “I’ve got work,” he said to Stacy, sounding desperate even to his own ears. But children weren’t his thing. He was an architect. He ran his own business, which meant on a good day he put in fourteen hours minimum.

Not surprisingly, he came from a long line of workaholics. Both his grandfather and father had been attorneys, great ones, but they’d never spent any time with their children, which was one of the reasons Sean didn’t have any.

He had no intention of neglecting his children—if he ever had any. Work was everything to him, and so was being the best at what he did.

He could hardly be the best child minder when he had no experience.

“News flash,” Stacy said. “You work too darn hard.”

“I like my work.”

“Uh-huh. And we all know it.” Her eyes softened with affection. “When was the last time you had a day off?”

“Well…” He couldn’t remember exactly, but thought it had probably been about two years ago when his ex-fiancée had nearly destroyed him.

“I’m doing you a favor, Seany, you’ll see. Melissa will show you how wonderful life is, or how it could be if you’d only slow down for a moment and take a deep breath. As it is now, you wouldn’t know how to enjoy life if it bit you on the tush.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he was losing this battle. “But—”

“Just try it, Sean. Do a puzzle. Color in a coloring book. It’s a terrific stress reliever.”

Color in a coloring book? Sean shuddered at the thought, but there was something to his sister’s voice beyond the coaxing. Something…desperate? “Stace? What’s really the matter here?”

She ignored the question, put her hands on her hips, blew a tuft of hair from her eyes and surveyed the mountain of gear she’d deposited. “Portable bed. Sipper cups. Clothes for an assortment of weather and activities. Car seat. Booster chair. Life vest for the beach. Humidifier, just in case.”

In case of what? “Stacy—”

“Yep, I think that’s everything. Oh, and here’s a list of numbers you might need.” She handed him a stack of business cards. “Doctor, hospital, dentist, insurance company, insurance agent—”

Good God. But beyond his panic, hers had taken root, and it stopped him cold. “Hey.” He took her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “What’s going on?”

She tried to smile. “I’ve already told you.”

“Just work?”

“Really.” Lifting two fingers, she smiled. “Scout’s honor.”

“Then there’s got to be someone else Melissa could stay with, a friend maybe, or—” Even as his words trailed off, he knew the truth. It was all over his sister’s face.

She had no one else to ask, no one else to go to.

Their parents had been gone for three years now. His dad of a heart attack, probably from a combination of working eighteen-hour shifts, smoking two packs a day and eating fast food at every turn. His mother had died the same year from pneumonia.

As for friends, Stacy had plenty, just not the responsible kind, as Sean knew all too well, since he’d spent the past few years getting her on the straight and narrow path again.

Dammit, he knew she had no one else. Her old friends couldn’t be trusted, her new friends were too new. Melissa’s father was long gone.

She had no one but him.

Stacy’s eyes were solemn, her smile gone. She was trying so hard to be brave, to get past her tromped on, damaged heart and make it on her own without too much help from her big brother, and what was he doing?

Trying to turn her away.

He couldn’t, not after all she’d been through. And since he loved her with all his own damaged heart, he sighed. “It’s okay.” He managed a smile. “I’ll do it.”

“Really?” Her entire face beamed with happiness and a good amount of relief as she flung herself into his arms. “I owe you,” she whispered, then blew a kiss to her daughter as she took off toward the door. “Love you, Melissa! Love you, too, Sean!”

And just like that, he was on his own.

He watched her drive off, listening to Melissa’s gales of giggles as she did God-only-knew-what to his kitchen. “Love you, too,” he said to the quickly disappearing car.

Slowly, dreadfully, he headed into his kitchen.

Melissa smiled and held up her empty juice cup. “More.”

Sean rubbed his eyes, then got a sponge and his first life lesson for the day—grape juice stains. Everything. Permanently.

TWO DAYS LATER, Sean’s eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. He hadn’t touched a razor or done laundry, and his house looked like a cyclone had hit it. Unable to go into his downtown office and baby-sit at the same time, he’d had another phone line installed and was doing what he could from home.

Which amounted to nothing other than chasing a certain four-year-old nightmare.

At the moment, his fax line was ringing, as well as both the regular phones, along with his head. Melissa had insisted on crawling into his bed every hour or so. All night long. Every night.

He suddenly realized that, in sharp contrast to the ringing, the kid was far too quiet.

“Melissa?” he called as he headed toward the phone.

Silence.

The last time she’d been this quiet, she’d been busy pouring liquid bubbles on his hardwood hallway floors, because it made them pretty. He’d hit the hall at a run and went skating on his butt, which had put Melissa into hysterics.

He hoped against hope that his ad in the paper—desperately seeking two-week nanny—worked. He hoped today’s nanny interviewee showed. He doubted it.

No one else had.

“Melissa” he called again, grabbing the first phone line. It was his harassed secretary, Nikki.

“Well, look at that. He lives,” she said into his ear. “Look, I have three contracts for you to go over, five new sets of plans to review and—”

“Hold on.” Ignoring her exasperated sigh, he clicked to the second ringing line, which was his latest client, Sam Snider.

As he did this, the fax came alive. Nikki, ever so creative, was faxing the first page of one of the contracts that needed his attention. Sean greeted Sam, skimmed the contract and cocked his free ear for any sign of Melissa, of which there was none.

He’d become the master of multitasking.

“Your design?” he said to Sam. “I should have it ready by—”

“Uncle Sean!” This from the bathroom. Melissa had surfaced.

Hastily covering the phone with his palm, he called, “I’ll be right there!”

“Come now, Uncle Sean!”

“I’ll be right there,” he repeated and uncovered the receiver to continue talking to his client. “As I was saying—”

“But Uncle Sean! I’m done!”

Great. She was done. He tried to put Sam on hold, but the man was long-winded, so he ended up with the man talking in one year and Melissa shouting in the other.

The fax machine continued to spout his contract.

“Uncle Sean!”

Because apparently he wasn’t overwhelmed enough, the doorbell rang.

He needed a clone.

Or a wife.

Just two years ago, he’d come close to that with Tina. He’d never regretted not walking down the aisle, not once.

Until now.

Sam kept talking.

“Wipe me!” yelled Melissa, loud enough for the entire county to hear.

“I’ll wipe you in a sec!”

Sam sputtered, then said, “Excuse me?”

Sean dropped his head and thunked it on the counter, but even a near concussion didn’t change facts. He was failing, pathetically. And failing was the one thing he couldn’t handle. Slowly, he counted to ten, but yep, his life was still in the throes of hell.

He politely hung up on his very wealthy client. Then, mourning the loss of that income, he headed into the bathroom and handled Melissa’s paperwork.

Together they headed toward the front door. “I hope it’s my mommy,” Melissa said, bounding in front of him like an eager puppy, her blond curls wild and neglected. She hadn’t let Sean near her with a brush since she’d arrived.

He had, however, made her brush her teeth. That must count for something.

“I really want my mommy.”

“I know.” Sean missed her mommy too. Big time. “But she’s not coming home for two weeks. The person at the door wants to be your nanny during the day.” Please, God.

Melissa stopped short. “How long is two weeks?”

“Fourteen days.”

She tilted her head at him, piercing him with huge, baleful eyes. “That’s too long.”

No kidding. “It’ll be over before you know it, kiddo. Do you want to open the door?”

She brightened at that. “I hope it’s Mary Poppins. She sings pretty.”

Sean didn’t care about singing, pretty or otherwise. He needed help on this daddy gig, and he needed it now.

He hoped for an older nanny, a grandmotherly type who had lots of hugs and kisses and stories, all the stuff he didn’t have time for. Then he could get back to work without guilt.

Together they opened the door.

“Hello,” said the woman who stood there, who was neither old nor Mary Poppins-like.

Sean’s first thought was she had the most unusually bright blue eyes he’d ever seen, magnified as they were behind glasses as thick as the bottom of a soda bottle. They sparkled when she smiled, which she was doing right now. And it wasn’t a forced, I-need-a-job smile, either, it was the sweetest, most open smile he’d ever seen. Helplessly, he responded to it with one of his own, though his was definitely more from profound relief than anything else.

“I’m Carly Fortune, prospective nanny,” she said, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder as she held out her hand.

“I’m Sean O’Mara, nanny seeker.” She wasn’t what he’d imagined, not at all, he thought, shaking her warm, soft hand. For one thing, she was young. Her dark hair had fallen in her face again, but mid-twenties was his guess. She wore a long sweater over a wide skirt that fell to her ankles, exposing a pair of chunky boots.

Not an inch of her below her neck showed, so he couldn’t tell if she was small, large or somewhere in between. And because he was a man, and mostly a very weak man, at that, he usually noticed a woman for her appearance. Not that he felt particularly proud of that fact, but it was the truth. A beautiful woman turned his head.

Not that this woman wasn’t beautiful. More like Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality before the makeover.

But compassion and joy shimmered from her every pore, and he figured both those personality traits were important when it came to taking care of a child, which was the point to her standing there smiling at him.

And yet the feeling that she was hiding behind her slightly oversize clothing made him uncomfortable. Tina, he thought with a flash of bitterness. Two years since the woman who couldn’t tell the truth to save her life, and he was still second-guessing every woman he came into contact with.

Even so, when she continued to look at him, smiling that infectious, open smile, something very odd happened. From the region of his deadened heart came a pitter-patter, one he nearly failed to recognize.

Then she bent for a large canvas bag at her side, pushing at her glasses when they nearly slipped off her nose, and through the slit in her too full skirt he saw a flash of long, toned, smooth pale thigh.

Beneath that awful bulk of clothing, one would expect to find more clothing, not…bare lovely skin.

And without warning, the pitter-patter in his heart moved southward.

“But…you’re not Mary Poppins.” Melissa’s lower lip came out, trembled. Her eyes filled, and she ducked behind Sean, clutching the backs of his legs. “I really wanted Mary Poppins.” Her voice was muffled as she pressed her face against him, her fingers biting into his skin.

Sean reached back and tried to pry her off, but her fingers only dug in deeper. He wrapped an arm around her small shoulders, thinking that for such a tyrant, she seemed so tiny, so defenseless. No matter. This had to be done. He needed help.

He needed escape.

“Oh, sweetie.” Carly glanced at Sean, then kneeled to Melissa’s level. “I’m so sorry. You’re right, I’m not Mary Poppins. But I do have a really cool carryall like she did, with fun stuff in it, see?” She lifted the canvas bag and shook it enticingly. Something tinkled, something rattled.

Melissa sniffed, then peered around Sean’s legs. “Is my mommy in there?”

“Well…no.” Her voice was low and husky. Another contradiction. A voice dripping with sensuality in a body dressed for nunhood. “But I’ve got some dress-up clothes. What do you think?”

Melissa blinked slowly, then nodded. “Okay.”

Okay. She’d said okay. Sean found himself grinning stupidly at the woman who was going to save his life.

Or at least the next two weeks of it.

2

FOR THE FIRST TIME in her twenty-six years, she hesitated. But this had been what she wanted, a break from her crazy, whirlwind life. A chance to see how the other half lived.

An opportunity to go slumming.

So Princess Carlyne Fortier stepped into Sean O’Mara’s house. Only she didn’t do it as an elegant, sophisticated, classy princess. No, she entered as…Carly Fortune.

Her own doing. She regularly scanned newspapers from the United States. It was a habit, much like the way she secretly hoarded and watched old American television shows. Long unsatisfied with her life, she’d been reading the want ads, fantasizing about settling down in relative obscurity, about finding Mr. Right.

It couldn’t happen in her world. There were no Mr. Rights in her world, at least none in her immediate future. But she wondered…how was she ever going to get the chance to see if she’d make a good mother?

In light of that, holding a small paper from Santa Barbara, California, an ad had leaped out at her. Dared her. Sean O’Mara’s nanny ad.

“Do you know how to make play dough?” Melissa asked her.

Oh, boy. Not only was she currently dressed far worse than any example from the don’t do this list, she was impersonating an American, an everyday American nanny of a four-year-old girl!

A four-year-old girl who was blinking at her very solemnly.

Carlyne knew nothing about children and even less about making play dough, but that was going to change. “I’m afraid not, but I know where to buy it.” And only because she’d happened to see it at K mart while choosing her new unflashy, unsophisticated, un-princess-like attire. She’d fallen in love with the store, where one could buy panty hose and patio furniture from the same place. “It comes in all sorts of colors,” she said, proud to be in the know. “And I bet it’s better than the homemade stuff, anyway.”

“But my mommy makes it,” Melissa said, her lower lip sticking out a mile.

No problem. Carlyne would just call Francesca, her assistant, and have her hunt up a recipe ASAP. She could do this!

“Melissa, play dough isn’t required,” Sean told her, bending his tall form down to her eye level.

“I want play dough!”

“We’ve discussed this, remember?” Sean asked. “Yelling at me is not acceptable.”

“What’s sepable?”

Sean closed his eyes and plowed his fingers through his dark hair. “This is our nanny needer, Melissa,” he said to Carlyne, reminding her that this was a job interview.

Not that she needed the money or a place to stay. She had homes in St. Petersburg, Paris and on the coast of Spain. No, what she needed was a chance to live without the silver spoon in her mouth. No doubt, this job would thrust her right into what she imagined normal, middle-American women did every day, and that was what she wanted more than anything. A chance to go to the grocery store, to run her own errands. A chance to go somewhere, anywhere, without light bulbs going off in her face. A chance to see if motherhood agreed with her. She figured America was her best shot, since it was a place known for independence and freedom, two things she wanted with all her heart.

Sean was looking at her with eyes the color of a clear mountain sky, eyes that seemed to see right through her disguise, though she knew that was impossible.

She was no less than the granddaughter, daughter, sister and niece of one of the few royal families left in existence, from a long line of first Russian then French aristocrats. Not many could imagine a more fairytale-like beginning, her family being Russian royalty, then fleeing their country when the empire collapsed. They escaped with their wealth and titles intact and had lived in prosperity in France ever since. She was a princess without a kingdom, a citizen of the world, but because of the fame, never a normal one. People were fascinated by her and her family, and yet not a soul had recognized her on the trek over here. Thanks to her impeccable education and late-night television habit, she spoke flawless English.

She’d donned a long dark wig and had used a heavy hand applying makeup, all to hide her perfect blond bob and flawless, porcelain skin. The sky-blue contacts helped, too, as her mossy-green eyes were distinctive, recognizable. Adding the thick-rimmed glasses had been pure inspiration on her part, except they kept slipping off her nose, which was annoying.

The blue-light-specials outfit had completed the disguise, since Carlyne had never been caught in public in anything less than designer duds.

Well, she was in the public eye now, wasn’t she? And on her own without the bodyguards, the buzz of the paparazzi. Grinning with the freedom of it all, she stepped into Sean’s mirrored foyer and…stopped short. The sight of her reflection beaming from the wood-framed mirrors left her frozen in shock.

It was one thing to carefully, secretly plan the badly needed “get away to prove herself” escapade.

It was another entirely to look it in the face.

But for too long she’d been feeling disturbingly disconnected. Lonely. Not that anyone in their right mind would feel sorry for her. After all, Princess Carlyne Fortier had everything. Decent looks. A good brain. Wealth. But her looks and wealth were inherited, and come to think of it, so were all her friends—as they were family friends. Her brain was courtesy of the best education money could buy. Every single waking moment, she was surrounded by people who needed one thing or another from her, yet no one in her family took her seriously enough to let her do so much as have her own job. She was a lovely ornament. No more, no less.

If things had been different, she wondered, if she’d been born poor or merely an average citizen, who would she be? A regular woman with a regular family—a child?

So was it any wonder she’d packed a bag, dumped all her credit cards—okay, all but one—given herself a hideous makeover and had answered Sean O’Mara’s ad?

But Lord, she really had done it…she looked very normal.

“Is everything okay?” Sean O’Mara asked her.

His reflection appeared at her side. His nearly black hair fell to his collar and looked as if maybe he’d forgotten to brush it that morning. His polo shirt was untucked, and he had what looked like a fresh stain across his chest. A chest that was very well defined and broad, she couldn’t help but notice. His khaki pants were clean, but wrinkled where the wide-eyed little Melissa gripped his long, long legs for all she was worth. His feet were bare, which would normally be a huge turn-off for her, because Carlyne liked and appreciated men who were well dressed from head to toe.

But Sean’s feet were tanned and…somehow…sexy.

So were his deep blue eyes, which were fixed on her. He looked curious, probably wondering why she’d been staring in the mirror for the past five minutes.

“Uncle Sean!”

But Uncle Sean was still looking at Carlyne. “I have to be honest,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure how to conduct this interview.”

“That makes two of us.” She didn’t know how to get a job. She’d never had to prove herself before.

A day for firsts, she decided.

“Uncle Sean!”

“We could start by sitting down.” He awkwardly patted the little girl on her back in a way that conveyed his bafflement. Obviously, he was not a natural with children. “Did you bring a résumé or references?”

Thank God for her assistant’s special talents. Francesca had not only gotten her a used clunker of a car to drive while here, she’d manufactured Carly a résumé and references that would hold up against the tightest scrutiny. “I did,” she said with a smile meant to charm and disarm. “But you should know, I’ve never been a live-in nanny before.” She’d never been a live-in anything before. Not because she was only twenty-six, but because no man had ever been able to stir her heart enough to encourage her to try.

She’d found it impossible to find a date, much less her soul mate, while constantly surrounded by people, all of whom wanted to be with her simply because of who she was.

“This must be a live-in position,” Sean told her. “Melissa belongs to my sister, who’s out of town for now. And—” He lowered his voice, and she found the growl that came out very sexy. “I’m really losing it here. I haven’t a clue what I’m doing. I need help, fast.”

“You’re not married?” she asked without thinking, then wondered what he would make of that question.

She didn’t know what to make of that question.

“No,” he said very firmly, as if the thought were abhorrent. “Not married. Which is why I might need help at night if I have a meeting.” He glanced at Melissa as if she were a puzzle missing some pieces.

Carlyne knew the song and dance. She remembered her own nanny well. And the cook. And the maid. During her childhood she’d seen only servants, rarely her own parents, and certainly not during the evening hours when they’d been busy with one social function or another.

She didn’t know anything else, but couldn’t contain her strange sense of disappointment that this man seemed to be no different.

“You have plenty of experience,” Sean said, skimming the list of her supposed previous jobs. “And you have a teaching credential, too.”

She had quite a few credentials, and no less than three accredited degrees. She collected them like others collected shoes, mostly because she had yet to figure out what she wanted to do with her life.

“Impressive references,” he murmured, and Carlyne sent a silent message of thanks to her assistant for providing the names. “Can you tell me about yourself?” He lifted his head, piercing her with those mesmerizing eyes.

There was a lock of hair over his forehead. He had a five o’clock shadow. By looks, he could have been a rebel, but the careful way he was reading her résumé seemed at odds with that. “What would you like to know?”

“Well…” He looked confused, as if he wasn’t sure exactly. “How about your family? Or how you grew up?”

“Oh, same old thing,” she said lightly. Poor little princess. Absent parents. No siblings. No close friends. Nothing she could tell him, of course.

“Really?” Lord, his eyes were deep. “What’s the same old thing?”

Since she couldn’t explain, she reverted to her lifelong fantasy. “A house with a white picket fence, two parents, various kids and a dog.”

“That sounds nice.” She could tell he really meant it. “So what makes you want to do this?” He was still looking at her, full of genuine interest and curiosity, as if he really cared.

Carlyne had to swallow hard because a wave of guilt nearly drowned her. She’d been describing her imagined ideals, but that didn’t make her lies right.

Another first, for Carlyne never felt guilty about anything.

“Uncle Sean!” The impatient little girl tugged hard on Sean’s shirt, letting it go so that it bounced up, exposing a good portion of lean, flat, tanned belly.

And just like that, Carlyne forgot what she’d been about to say.

“Just a minute, Mel,” Sean said distractedly, pushing down his shirt and waiting for Carlyne—Carly—to answer.

But she couldn’t, because she just realized what she was doing. She wanted a job working for this man, this gorgeous man, whom she would have to live with for the next two weeks.

Live with, as in play house.

“Carly?”

It took her another minute to remember he was talking to her, because never in her life had she allowed her name to be shortened. She’d never had a nickname. “I want to do this because…” She looked him in the eyes and gave up pretense, telling him the complete, utter truth. “Because I really need to.”

“You need to,” he repeated.

His gaze filled with compassion, and she winced inwardly, knowing he pictured her destitute and homeless or something equally horrible, which couldn’t be further from the truth. “I want this job with all my heart and soul,” she said, hoping her earnestness would be enough, that someday if he learned the truth, he’d forgive her. “I’ll take good care of Melissa and see that she gets everything she needs.”

“You might want to think about this,” he said. “Because believe me…” He pulled his stained shirt away from his chest. The material stuck to his skin until the last possible second, letting go with a suctioning sound that for some reason tugged at a place low in Carlyne’s belly.

“Grape juice,” he muttered. “It’s not an easy thing, caring for a four-year-old, so please, be sure. I need total concentration for my work, and she’s—” A little guiltily, he looked into Melissa’s eyes.

“A nightmare,” Melissa said proudly, nodding. “That’s what my mommy says.”

Sean laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and again, something pulled within Carlyne.

What was the matter with her? She’d heard a man laugh before, for crying out loud. Men far more sophisticated than Sean O’Mara. Smoother, richer, even more good-looking.

But there was something about this man who was obviously unconcerned about opening the door with bare feet and disheveled hair. Something unpolished and edgy. He didn’t care what others thought.

Another first for her. All the men in her life cared a great deal for what others thought.

“I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of, you know,” Sean told Melissa. “Being a nightmare.”

“Yes, but Uncle Sean—”

“Hold on, I’m still talking to Carly.” He looked at her. “Do you really want the job?”

For some reason, one Carly didn’t want to examine too closely, she wanted to stay more than ever. “Yes.”

Sean let out a ragged, relieved breath. The weight of the world seemed to lift off his shoulders. “Good.”

Awkwardly, they stared at each other.

“Uncle Sean!” Melissa tugged at him again. “I really have to go potty!”

“Again?” Sean turned that steady, heart-skipping gaze on his little niece, who’d let go of his legs to do what was apparently the got-to-go dance, which consisted of holding herself between the legs and skipping around in a little circle.

“Quick!” she demanded.

“You know how to do it.”

Still gripping herself, she shifted from foot to foot. “I want you to come with me.”

“Melissa—”

“I’m going to have an accident!” she cried, bouncing. “You’d better hurry!”

Groaning, Sean scooped her up. “Be right back,” he said to Carlyne, striding away. “Make yourself comfortable.”

They headed down the hall, Melissa in her uncle’s arms, her beaming face close to his. “I drank too much juice,” she confided.

“How could that be? I’m wearing more than half of it.”

“I didn’t mean to spill.”

“Yes, you did.” Their voices faded. “You were mad because I wouldn’t give you salami for breakfast, remember?”

Carlyne couldn’t help herself, she laughed, which was odd as she wasn’t one for spontaneous laughter.

Sean stopped, turning to look at her.

He had the longest eyelashes. That was her inane thought. Long and thick and black. Totally wasted on a man. Except that they emphasized the leanness of his cheekbones, the straight line of his nose, his generous mouth, and when he smiled, when those eyes of his closed slightly, his long lashes gave him a sleepy and undeniably sexy look.

She wondered if women fell all over themselves when he smiled like that. If he even knew it.

Of course he knew it. In her experience, men were very aware of themselves. Too aware.

Carlyne didn’t plan on falling at his feet, no matter how her heart fluttered. She wasn’t here to make friends—or lovers for that matter. She was here to prove something to herself.

But Sean wasn’t what she planned on, and he sure wasn’t going to be easy to ignore. Unaccustomed nerves leaped at her. “Is the job really mine?”

Melissa bounced in Sean’s arms, and with an ease that assured her of his strength, he shifted her to his other side so he could look directly into Carlyne’s eyes. “It’s yours,” he said. “For better or worse.”

“Hurry, Uncle Sean, hurry!”

Carlyne had to smile at the pure terror that crossed Sean’s face—her father had never, ever given a thought to helping his children in the bathroom—before Sean whirled and rushed down the hall.

No, Sean may not like this responsibility he’d taken on, but he appeared to be a man who wouldn’t shirk his duties. Carlyne watched him with new eyes and an awareness she hadn’t expected to feel.

When they were out of sight, her be-mused smile slowly faded. She blinked at her reflection, wondering about what she’d done.

Urgent potty calls?

Salami for breakfast?

She shivered at the thought, but then she pictured Sean, all that disturbing dark sensuality, his intensity, and shivered all over again.

AT HIS FIRST opportunity to work without the interruption of a high-strung four-year-old, Sean sat at his desk. He meant to dig in but found himself staring out the window instead.

Melissa was running as fast as her short, chunky legs would take her. Hair flying out behind her, wide, mischievous grin on her face.

Sean rose, swearing, thinking she was on the run from whatever terrible thing she’d done to the new nanny, when said new nanny appeared in the window, as well.

Hair flying behind her, running, and though he doubted her legs were short and chunky like Melissa’s, he couldn’t say for certain as they were hidden beneath her skirt. Just like his niece, she wore a wide and mischievous grin, and there was something in her infectious laughter that made him smile, too. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was incredibly…real. He liked real.

He liked her.

“Can’t catch me, can’t catch me,” squealed Melissa, slowing with a hopeful, expectant glance over her shoulder.

She wanted to be chased.

She wanted to be caught.

And Sean stood there with a sudden pit in his stomach, because he couldn’t remember a single time over the past days that he’d spared the time to play with the little girl like that. Couldn’t remember not being annoyed or tired or frustrated.

Couldn’t remember laughing, or just…being.

“Can’t catch me,” Melissa sang.

Catch her, Sean willed Carly, leaning close as if he could do it from the other side of the glass. Do for her what I never did.

At the same moment he wished it, Carly surged forward and scooped the little girl up in her arms, swinging her around and around, looking young and happy and free.

Their joined laughter rang out, and finally, they both collapsed in a fit of giggles to the grass. Melissa crawled into Carly’s lap.

Carly’s arms lifted, and for a second hovered in the air as if she wasn’t used to such easy affection, but then she wrapped them around the child, her face filled with such contentment it almost hurt to look at her.

Sean sat down, still watching. Still…yearning?

No, that made no sense. No sense whatsoever.

“SO WHO’S IN CHARGE of dinner?”

Sean lifted his gaze off the plans he’d been studying, the plans he’d been trying to finish since Melissa had stepped into his life, turning it upside down. Slowly he blinked Carly into focus.

She was standing in the doorway of his office, looking quite a bit more rumpled then when she’d arrived for her interview that morning. He knew without asking that the dirty smudges on her wide skirt were from grubby four-year-old hands, that the wrinkles in her shirt came from lifting that same four-year-old, and likely her hair was rioting around her face because of something Melissa had done.

But somehow, she looked…cute. He knew from having a sister, and also a fair amount of relationships, that the word cute wasn’t exactly considered flattering, but he thought it should be.

What made her so attractive that he couldn’t tear his eyes off her? He hadn’t a clue.

“Dinner?” she repeated, pushing those huge glasses closer to her eyes. “Melissa’s hungry.”

“Sure. What are you making?”

She gave him a long, baleful look. “I wasn’t offering to make it.”

“Oh.” The radio at his elbow switched from good old-fashioned rock music to the news.

“And on the celebrity front,” the announcer said. “It’s rumored that Princess Carlyne Fortier has gone AWOL. Her grandfather denies this, claiming his granddaughter has merely left for a private vacation, but for the first time in ten years the princess didn’t attend the International Muscular Dystrophy fund-raiser, held last night in D.C.”

Carlyne let out a sound of annoyance, so Sean turned the volume down. “Is it dinnertime already?” he asked.

“Yes.” She glared at the radio, which continued to spit out the top-breaking story, very softly now.

“Rumor has it she is close to a nervous breakdown from her heavy social schedule,” claimed the announcer, sarcasm in his voice. “Must be a tough life, folks, huh?”

“He hasn’t a clue,” Carly muttered.

Because she was obviously agitated, Sean flicked the radio off. “Uh, where were we?”

She sighed. “Dinner.”

“Yeah. To tell you the truth, I was kinda hoping you could cook.” Sean tried his most charming smile.

She merely arched an eyebrow, looking suddenly very aristocratic. “Was cooking in my job description?”

“Well, no.” His charming smile was clearly rusty—he hadn’t tried to charm a woman in a good long while. He was about to give wheedling a shot when the doorbell rang.

His new nanny sent him a smile every bit as charming as his own—and just as manipulative. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said, already backing away. “I’ll get the door, you get dinner going.”

“Not a fair trade,” he called, rising from his chair, listening as her laughter floated toward him.

“First one to the door,” she called tauntingly.

A challenge. He loved challenges. He raced down the hallway after her, enjoying the way her far-too-big skirt flew up, flashing him his second view of her legs. Why she wanted to hide them was a complete mystery.

But then again, most women were mysteries.

With his long strides, he could have easily overtaken her, but he got distracted by those legs, so she hit the front door a fraction of a second before he did. Whirling, she pressed her back to the wood, twisting to laugh at him.

To stop his motion, his arms came out automatically, his hands landing on either side of her head to avoid crushing her against the wood.

Both of them were laughing like little kids.

Until his body brushed hers. Time stopped as he stared wide-eyed at her, stricken by the strange electrical current that ran through them.

She seemed similarly conflicted.

Being pressed against a woman wasn’t a new experience. Yes, it had been awhile, but not that long. Not long enough for him to be holding himself utterly still in order to get a better feel of all those warm curves he could feel beneath her clothes. And not just warm curves, but really great warm curves.

Breasts smashed into his chest. Soft feminine hips pressed to his own. Not an inch of space between them. That combined with the real fact of already being attracted to her as a person caused a very base reaction, and she couldn’t have missed it.

Her eyes went wide.

Nope, she didn’t miss it. No more than he missed the way her nipples hardened to two tight tips, drilling through all her layers into his shirt.

She felt amazing. Her mouth opened, but the only sound to escape was a little sigh he would have sworn was the sound of helpless awareness. Arousal.

And he couldn’t help it. He lowered his head just a fraction, so his mouth nearly touched hers. She was a near stranger, but he needed to kiss her more than he needed his next breath. Given the way she angled her head and parted her lips, she felt the same way.

The doorbell rang again.

Slowly Sean pulled back, his chest, his belly, his thighs leaving hers reluctantly.

She made that little sound again, the one that tugged at him so primally. Hardly able to think, he pulled open the door.

Mrs. Trykowski, Slovak immigrant, next-door neighbor and local pest, brushed past him and marched right on in without being asked.

The eighty-something woman was barely five feet tall, walked with a little skip in her step and had a voice like a truck driver’s. “Brought you some fruitcake,” she barked in the gravelly, heavily accented voice that assured everyone she’d been smoking like a fiend for over half a century.

She brought Sean fruitcake on a regular basis. Not because he couldn’t feed himself, but because the woman had a curiosity streak a mile long.

True to form, she craned her neck down the hallway, looking for new and exciting clues to his life.

Then she spotted Carly.

“Ah,” she said, a secret smile on her lips. She winked at Sean.

“Stop it,” he said. “Stop it right now.”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” she said innocently, her narrow, sharp gaze on Carly.

Sean groaned, knowing what was coming—

“Ten,” she said triumphantly.

She had a terrible habit of rating his dates. “Mrs. Trykowski, Carly isn’t—”

“What does she mean, ten?” Carly asked him.

“Nothing,” he assured her, giving his nosy, bossy neighbor the evil eye. “Carly Fortune is Melissa’s new nanny for the next two weeks, just until my sister comes back.”

“Whatever you say.” Mrs. Trykowski had been playing matchmaker for the better part of a year now, though Sean was having no part of it. “A ten,” she repeated triumphantly. “She is the one, Sean. Remember this.”

“I’m the one what?” Carly asked, looking a little unnerved.

Sean knew the feeling. Yes, Carly was smart and funny. Yes, there was something about her, but he’d known her all of a few hours. And anyway, no woman was ever going to be the one, not ever again. “Carly, this is Mrs. Trykowski. She lives next door and has clearly forgotten to take her medicine.”

Mrs. Trykowski grinned.

Sean ushered her to the door. “They’ll be hauling you away in a white jacket if you’re not more careful.”

Carly looked horrified.

Mrs. Trykowski laughed.

Melissa came down the hall doing the pee-pee dance. “Gotta go again, Uncle Sean!”

Sean could only groan, wondering what had happened to his nice quiet life.

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