The Playboy & Plain Jane

“Volleyball,” he repeated, as if trying to put together a composite of her as a nanny.

“I was always better at sports than the arts, but I do a mean ‘eensy weensy spider,’” she said, and grinned. “I bet you’ve never asked about ‘eensy weensy spider’ during an interview before.”

His lips twitched. “Can’t say that I have.” He looked at her silently for such a long time that she had to resist the urge to squirm. “If you become Molly’s nanny, I’ll require complete honesty.”

She saw a glimmer of the hard line he probably held at the office. He was a man who would demand and get what he wanted. “I couldn’t give you anything less.”

He nodded. “Good. This position will require the two of us to communicate regularly. I think it’s best if we dispense with formalities. You can call me Nicholas.”

Gail wanted this job, but she had an instinct about Nicholas Barone. She suspected he could charm a bear out of its den, but he also probably expected his employees to submit to his will without asking too many questions. As Molly cried in the background, Gail began to think this job might be more challenging than she’d originally thought. Although she would respect Nicholas’s wishes, she needed to know he would at least listen to her ideas. “You strike me as someone accustomed to having most things your way. If I feel strongly about something, I will want you to consider it even if you don’t initially like it.”

He gave her a long, assessing glance. “I’m at ease with letting the buck stop with me. I don’t believe in shirking my responsibilities. As much as I’d like to be, I’m not an expert on my daughter yet. I will be soon enough, but until then I’ll value your input.”

In that one moment her respect for him grew. His commitment to his daughter got under her skin.

“Any other concerns?” he asked.

Just that he was so good-looking she hoped she wouldn’t be caught drooling whenever he came around. She shook her head.

“Good. We’ve already checked your references. When can you start?”

“When do you need me?” she asked, feeling a combination of excitement and some unnamed apprehension.

The sound of Molly’s cries filled the air. He didn’t blink once. “Yesterday.”

Two nights later Nicholas sank onto the bed in one of the guest rooms. The master bedroom was being painted, so he was temporarily displaced. He hadn’t slept well since he’d brought Molly home. The shock of instant fatherhood and all its accompanying concerns had kept him awake into early morning. After checking on his soundly sleeping daughter tonight, though, he felt he could finally relax. Part of it was the gut feeling that Molly felt safe and secure in Gail Fenton’s hands.

If he couldn’t make Molly feel secure, if his presence sent his daughter into tears, then he was damn determined to find someone who could make her feel safe. Gail had a natural warmth that he knew would comfort Molly. It surprised the hell out of him, but even he felt that same warmth in Gail’s presence. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she projected the attitude that perfection wasn’t required or expected. Nicholas had spent his life around people who expected perfection, or something damn close to it.

Through the walls, he heard the shower cut off and a feminine voice singing. The sound captured his attention. A committed bachelor whose lovers rarely stayed overnight, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a woman singing in his house.

Curious, he moved closer to the wall. A children’s song, he concluded, catching a few of the words. “Little teapot…steamed up…tip me over, pour—”

The singing stopped abruptly and he heard a loud thump, followed by a muffled shriek. Wincing, Nicholas heard a low moan, then nothing.

He frowned, wondering if she was hurt. He pressed his ear against the wall. Still no sound. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. What should he do? What if she was lying on the floor with a concussion?

Swearing under his breath, he strode from his room to her door and knocked lightly so he wouldn’t wake Molly. “Gail,” he said. “Gail, are you okay?”

No sound. Nicholas turned the knob and entered the room, scanning the floor for a body. He moved toward the ensuite bath and caught a glance of Gail Fenton with a towel precariously slung over her as she rubbed her shin. “Ouch, ouch. Ouch,” she whispered.

Nicholas would be missing a Y chromosome if he didn’t notice her long shapely legs and the fact that the towel was one breath away from revealing one of her breasts. In other circumstances with a different woman, he would get that towel off her in a New York minute, but now he needed to make sure she wasn’t seriously injured. “Are you okay?”

Her gaze shot to his and her mouth rounded in a mixture of horror and surprise. She glanced down at her body and hastily rearranged the towel. “M-Mr. Barone.”

“Nicholas is fine,” he said.

She clutched the towel to her. “I’m okay. I just slipped when I got out of the shower.”

“It sounded painful and potentially life-threatening,” Nicholas said.

She cringed. “I fall hard. It’s one of my flaws. Overconfidence. I trust my balance a little too much.”

“Maybe you were distracted by singing the teapot song.”

Her face bloomed with color and she scooted into a sitting position. “I’ll be honest,” she said in a confiding tone. “I’m no Mary Poppins, so I’ve been practicing all the children’s songs I know.”

He shrugged. “Sounded good to me until you…”

“Went splat on the floor,” she finished with a pained expression.

“Are you sure you didn’t break anything?”

“Totally. It was very kind of you to check on me, but unnecessary. I’ll just have a few very colorful bruises.”

“You’re sure you’re okay,” he said, something about her expression causing him doubt.

“Very sure. You can leave. Please.”

“Let me help you up first,” he said, moving toward her.

“Oh, no,” she said, her eyes widening as she shook her head.

He put his hands on her arms and watched in fascination as her cheeks bloomed with vivid color again. She didn’t look nearly so plain when she blushed. In fact she reminded him of a creamy white rose tipped with coral. He wondered if she blushed all over and glanced at her pink shoulders and pink chest. He looked down her pink legs to her pink toes.

“Mr. Barone—”

“Nicholas,” he corrected.

“Nicholas, I won’t die from this fall, but I may die of embarrassment if you don’t leave.”

He pulled one of his hands back, amused by her frank admission. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who blushes from head to toe.”

Her mouth straightened into a firm line. “A gentleman wouldn’t bring that fact to my attention.”

He chuckled, thinking he was enjoying this exchange far more than he should. “I’m not a gentleman one hundred percent of the time,” he said, and pulled her to her feet. “Gentlemen can be boring.”

She rushed to adjust the towel around her and Nicholas caught a glimpse of the curve of her round derriere. The sight was so distracting he almost didn’t catch her frown. “I disagree,” she said. “A true gentleman understands the value of good manners and consideration.”

“A smart man uses those to his advantage, but makes his own rules.”

Gail sighed and walked around him, the towel offering more tantalizing glimpses of her rear end with each step she took. “You’re not going to change my opinion. And with me clinging to this towel, I’m reasonably sure I won’t be changing yours. So, thank you for your concern. I’d like to get to bed now. Good night.”

His gaze latching on to her derriere, Nicholas barely resisted the urge to say, You give new meaning to the word peekaboo.

Gail survived the night, even though she felt sick every time she thought about Nicholas Barone hearing her sing in the shower, then feeling compelled to pick her up off the floor and nearly catching her buck naked. Molly soon distracted her. Unfortunately one of Gail’s most effective calming tricks involved her own hair, which Molly liked to grasp and hang on to. It meant the baby was attached to her for most of her waking hours. Gail told herself it was a bonding period and it would pass.

At six o’clock on the dot, Nicholas walked through the front door. “It’s Daddy!” Gail said, trying to convey a feeling of happy excitement to Molly. Gail feared the baby and her hottie father were off to a rocky start. “It’s Daddy,” Gail said again, heading toward the foyer with Molly in her arms.

Nicholas spotted his daughter and approached cautiously. Gail felt Molly’s hand wind around a strand of her hair. A sure sign of tension. Molly popped her thumb in her mouth and stared at her father as if she couldn’t decide if he were a monster.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice. “How was your day today? Did you have a good time with Gail?”

Molly wound her hand another turn around Gail’s hair and stared at her father.

“Say Da-da,” Gail prompted the child. Then she turned to Nicholas. “I think she’s focused on verbal development now. She’s making lots of sounds.”

“What is she doing to your hair?” Nicholas asked, his brow furrowing.

“I think it’s a security thing,” Gail said wryly. “Some kids use a blanket. Molly uses my hair.”

Nicholas moved closer. “It looks like she’s going to rip it out,” he said, reaching to loosen Molly’s grip.

Momentarily distracted by a whiff of his aftershave, Gail stared at the sensual curve of his mouth. She wondered how he kissed. Heat rolled through her. Instinct told her he was an incredible lover.

Not that she would ever find out. Not that she really wanted to find out, she told herself, feeling Molly stiffen. “It’s okay. You don’t need to—” She broke off when she felt Nicholas’s fingers graze the skin of her neck as he tried to pry Molly’s fingers loose.

Molly’s eyes widened in alarm. She let out an ear-rattling wail of protest.

Gail winced and shook her head. “Just let her have my hair. I don’t like it that much,” she said with a chuckle. “She can use it.”

Nicholas pulled back his hand with a frown. “She always seems to cry when I come around.”

Gail bit her lip. He was right. “Maybe it’s just the time of day.”

“Morning and night?” he asked skeptically.

“She probably just needs some time with you alone. Maybe you could start reading to her at night.”

If Gail didn’t know better, she would say she saw a sliver of terror flash through his eyes. That couldn’t be right, she thought. After all, Molly was his daughter. A big, powerful man like Nicholas Barone couldn’t possibly be terrified of his baby daughter. Could he?

“Maybe,” he said in a considering tone, his expression guarded. “Maybe another night. I have a commitment to attend a charity function tonight. My turn to be the official Barone-family representative.”

Still wailing, Molly clutched Gail’s hair tightly. “It’s okay,” Gail cooed, rubbing the baby’s back. “You’re just fine.” She glanced again at Nicholas, her curiosity aroused. “Do you mind being the official Barone representative?” she said.

He shrugged and his mouth tilted in a sexy grin. “Depends on the function and the woman.”

She nodded. “Ah,” she said, feeling a jumpy sensation at the sensual glint in his eyes. How would it feel to spend an evening receiving the undivided attention of a man like Nicholas Barone? Gail would no doubt spend the entire date stammering and blushing, unlike the confident, gorgeous women he was accustomed to. She wondered who it was tonight. “You must have a tough time choosing the ‘flavor of the day.’ I don’t remember meeting a woman who doesn’t love ice cream, so you must represent the perfect combination.”

“What would that be?” he asked. “Wealth and…”

She shook her head. “Actually I wasn’t thinking of wealth. I was thinking of ice cream and a favorite topping. Something hot,” she said impulsively, because if ever the word was an apt description for a man, it was now. “Hot fudge sauce.”

As Nicholas stared at her for a long moment, she felt a roar of embarrassment race through her. What had possessed her to say such a thing? Thinking it was one thing. Saying it was something totally different. She cringed, certain her cheeks matched the color of her hair. Was she destined to constantly embarrass herself in front of this man? “Could we just forget I said that?”

“Forget you just compared me to ice cream and hot fudge sauce?” he asked, his dark eyebrows arching.

“Uh, yeah,” she said hopefully.

He shook his head and chuckled. “No. I’m sure I’ll remember that for a long time.”

And Gail made the futile wish that she could fall through a crack in the perfectly sealed tile floor of the foyer so her five-foot-eight-inch frame would disappear.

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