God. He remembered last night, when she’d been standing there in her nightie. Even though the sleepwear had been modest, it had shown more leg than he’d ever seen of her.

Long, lean leg. And he’d wanted to go to Melanie Grandy, bend down to curl his fingers around her ankle, then start from there on up, skimming over her toned calf, the soft, damp back of her knee, higher…

But he’d barred himself from doing any of it, mostly because of what he’d stowed in the chest just before he’d heard her moving around while going to the kitchen.

Danielle’s ashes in an urn.

He supposed that the approaching anniversary of his first wife’s suicide had urged him to take out her remains. But then again, he often contemplated her—the memories of what he could’ve done. The penance for not being able to stop her…

In any case, he’d been in a brooding mood, and the nanny had broken it open for a short time before he’d told himself to get out of the room, to resist a situation he just couldn’t handle.

Now he looked at the box she had sent for him to open, and like that chest, he wished he could just keep it closed.

But since he had a feeling about what was inside, he took off the lid.

The R2-D2 tie.

He tossed the box lid to the seat. Damn that woman. She’d probably found it where he’d placed it on the kitchen counter last night.

Legs or not, she was making his life hell.

Zane caught Monty’s gaze in the rearview mirror just before the driver looked away.

The rest of the ride was like a session in a torture chamber, with the world’s most invisible, cutting, self-inflicted weapons. Zane went back and forth between cursing himself for blowing it with Livie today and thinking that he should just send her back home, until Monty pulled up to his townhouse, with its luxurious, sleek façade that didn’t offer even a hint of the darkness inside.

They would be waiting in there for him: Livie, with those eyes that slayed Zane every time he saw them. And Melanie Grandy—who had quite a way of killing him softly, too.

Dammit.

He took off his Armani tie and put on the R2-D2 one, feeling like an ass, but not just because he was wearing a cartoon character on his chest.

Then Zane got out of the car, held up a hand to thank Monty and watched his driver pull away in a stream of red taillights.

He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath and entered his home, thinking that he’d never been so cautious about coming into his own doggone place before the nanny had arrived.

Standing in the foyer, he set down his briefcase, listening for any signs of life. No TV. No clanging around in the kitchen.

He went back outside to check the stand-alone garage, to see if Melanie’s designated Tall Oaks Volvo was still there where he’d parked it for her, last night before retiring.

Present and accounted for.

When he wandered back inside, ready to capitulate and call her cell phone, he heard something floating down from the stairway.

Laughter.

The roof terrace, he thought, his veins going taut as he took in the sound. It rang through him, and for a forbidden moment, he allowed it to settle.

What would it be like to have a house that sounded like this all the time?

Then reality returned. He had to go up to the roof, and the minute they saw him the laughter would stop.

Okay, you’re a man, he told himself. Face the consequences.

He straightened the R2-D2 tie and climbed the stairs, following the laughter—actually drawn to it, as he’d been last night, when it had filled this house.

When it had even filled something else that he wasn’t sure he could define.

Arriving at the roof, he found them sitting in lounge chairs that faced the Dallas skyline. The river sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine. They’d turned on the small rock waterfall near the hot tub, and the splash of it mingled with Melanie’s voice as she told Livie some story about a time she’d gone waterskiing.

“I never drank so much water as I did that day on the lake,” she said at the end of her tale. “I had a stomachache for hours afterward.”

Livie was giggling and sipping from a straw in a glass that looked to be full of milk. Her gaze was fixed on her nanny, as if she were the most incredible thing to drop from the sky since stardust.

As Zane watched them, his stomach ached with something sharp and empty stabbing it.

When was the last time Livie had looked at him that way?

Last night, he thought. And he hadn’t returned the affection.

Worst father ever, he thought again, taking no pride in this accomplishment.

He felt like such a nothing, all he wanted to do was change the perception—even if it were just for the final hours of Father’s Day.

He cleared his throat and both females looked back, Livie watching him, her gaze wounded.

And Melanie?

She was watching him, too, but she looked about ready to throttle him. Yet, how could he be offended when she was angry for the sake of his daughter?

“I apologize,” he said, “for missing our date. I lost track of time.”

The excuse didn’t hold any water at all. In fact, with the way the nanny was visually shooting bullets at him, his words seemed punctured.

He continued. “Livie, I know how much you wanted me there.”

Her gaze had come to rest on his tie. That darn R2-D2-riddled tie.

And lo and behold, she smiled. An injured smile, to be sure, but at least he’d done something right today.

Thanks to Melanie, he reluctantly admitted to himself.

The nanny saw the tie, too, but that didn’t change her expression. “We understand. Work’s important.”

Yes, it is, he wanted to say, but he didn’t. It didn’t seem so true right now.

They were both still sitting in their lounge chairs, their bodies slanted toward the skyline, as if they knew better than to commit to turning all the way toward him.

“We had fun, Daddy,” Livie said. “Ms. Grandy made peanut butter and jelly starfish sandwiches. And we shared oranges with Sheree and Tammy.”

Zane almost flinched. Even after what he’d done, his daughter was still talking to him as if he hadn’t screwed up?

“Sheree and Tammy are neighbor girls,” the nanny said, grinning at Livie. “Their mom told me that they’re six and seven years old, almost twins with Livie.”

“And they have American Girl dolls, too!” his daughter added.

They laughed again, and Zane wished he could join in.

But he could—couldn’t he?

Even though he wondered, he knew that he would have to make it up to Livie somehow, because having her go back to Austin just after he’d pulled the rug out from under her was unthinkable.

Distance was fine, he told himself. It was subtle. But this afternoon he’d done something cruel—and he even wondered if he’d done it subconsciously, because he knew that going to the park would lead to daytrips and that would lead to week-long trips, and…

He stopped himself, vowing to give them a great night instead. Afterward, they could all go back to where they belonged, feeling the better for it.

“We’re going to do something else right now,” he said. “So why don’t you get yourselves up so we can go?”

Now Livie swung her legs to the side of her chair, and Zane smiled.

“Where’re we going, Daddy?”

“To a place that’ll make you real happy. Trust me on that.”

As his daughter clapped her hands, he couldn’t help but notice that Melanie wasn’t applauding at all.

Melanie had always told herself that she couldn’t be bought off, but as she stood in front of the mirror of the personal shopper’s boutique in Westenra’s, a high-class department store in the swanky Garden Faire Mall, she wasn’t so sure.

“Gorgeous,” said the sales associate as she adjusted the skirt of the sea-blue cocktail dress that Melanie was trying on. “It compliments your eyes, hair and skin tone. You look like a movie star!”

In back of Melanie, Livie glanced up from her picture book from where she was sitting on the leather sofa. Zane had already bought her a bunch of stuff at a bookstore.

“Oh, Ms. Grandy,” Livie said. “You’re bea-u-ti-ful.”

Melanie smiled at her while avoiding looking at Zane, who was sitting right next to his daughter.

“We’ll take this last dress, too,” he said.

Ecstatic at the commission she’d rung up, the personal shopper scooped up the six other outfits her client had tried on and flitted off, leaving Melanie alone in the mirror.

She tried not to give in to the lure of all this, but at the sight of herself she went a little dreamy. She looked like she’d found a glass slipper, but like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, she knew this was only transient.

Still…

Zane Foley seemed to catch her doubt. “That dress is all yours, if you want, just like the other outfits you’ve tried on.”

Yes, she wanted. And…darn him, he knew. She could tell from the contented way he was sitting there, taking it all in, as if this made up for his ditching Livie this afternoon.

Melanie ran her hand over the silk of the dress’s haltered neckline. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe he’d lost track of time at the office. Oh, yes, she truly had faith in that. And that was the problem.

He would always lose track at the expense of Livie unless something was done about it.

Turning around, she faced him, and once again she was thrown off by his mere presence. The dark hair that seemed slightly ruffled from a long day. The hazel eyes that were even now stroking over her and making her get butterflies in her tummy.

And the R2-D2 tie.

He was still wearing it, and she couldn’t help but appreciate that, even if she’d pushed it on him.

“Mr. Foley, I don’t think—”

“Stop with the polite refusals,” he said. “As Livie’s nanny, you need to look the part.”

“You already told me that.”

She shot him a glance that said the rest: and this has no connection to how you win over people? With how you buy Livie all those dolls instead of showing up to be with her every once in a while?

She couldn’t say it out loud. Not with Livie here, even if the child had gone back to reading her books.

“Besides,” Melanie continued, “I’m guessing that Livie and I probably won’t be attending many cocktail parties together.”

He leaned forward, and as those butterflies painted the lining of her belly with flutters, she almost touched her stomach, calming them.

Chasing them away.

“Okay, maybe I’m aiming for more than appearances,” he said quietly.

He left it at that.

But what did he mean? Was he using these dresses as a means to thank her for what she’d done for Father’s Day?

She searched his gaze for more of a hint, and when she didn’t find any, she looked further for a shade of dishonesty.

None of that either, but she had to turn back to the mirror, because he made her feel like a hypocrite.

Talk about dishonesty.

She ran a hand down the dress. Classy—so unlike the former showgirl or lower-class daughter whose family skimmed the poverty line.

But even in this dress, the old days still seemed to cling to Melanie, refusing to let go, no matter how hard she was trying.

The secret of her past levered down on her as, in the mirror, she saw Zane Foley come to a stand. He whispered something to Livie, and the girl sprang to her feet, clutching her books.

“We’ll be back soon,” he said as he began walking away with his daughter.

Melanie gave him a quizzical look in the mirror.

He smiled, and it ripped through her, upending every cell in its wake.

“We’re headed for the pièce de résistance,” he said, glancing down at Livie, who gazed back at him adoringly. “There’s a massive Toys ‘R’ Us store that rivals the one in Times Square, and I thought Livie might have some fun there.”

“But…” Melanie began.

By now, his daughter was tugging him away, and he actually seemed amused by that.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll be busy here.”

As Livie pulled him out of the boutique, the personal shopper returned, seeming so chipper that it almost scared Melanie.

“Are you ready?” the woman asked.

Melanie wasn’t sure if she liked this or not. “For what?”

The other woman laughed, almost sounding like one of those twittering birds who’d created Cinderella’s dress in the Disney movie.

“You’ve got a makeover waiting for you, ma’am.”

Melanie’s pulse leaped before she tamed it.

A…makeover?

She glanced in the mirror again, and instead of seeing the present, she thought back to a girl who used to wear drab dresses, the young woman who’d worked hard to get where she was today.

A makeover.

How could she refuse?

Chapter Six

When Melanie called Zane’s cell to tell him that her makeover appointment was done, he made sure Monty had all the toys Livie had purchased in hand.

Then, since Livie begged to go with Monty to the parked car where she could begin to tear into her new toys, Zane let her escape the tedium of the department store and headed there alone so he could settle the bill while their packages were carried to the valet station.

Hopefully, he thought after rapidly taking care of money matters and boarding the Up escalator, this shopping trip and makeover would improve Melanie’s mood. If so, he would look forward to getting back to the townhouse with a more chipper nanny, then prepare to say goodbye to her and his daughter in the morning.

A niggle got to him, but he didn’t pay any mind to it.

Yup, they’d be gone tomorrow, and life would go back to normal.

He came to the personal shopper’s boutique, where Melanie had evidently gone to put on one of her new outfits with the sales associate’s encouragement. When he got there, a few women were in front of the mirror, flittering about and doing what women often did over new clothes.

Zane had just opened his mouth to ask if his employee was set to leave when the women parted to reveal the nanny in the midst of them.

The words lodged in his chest, then began pumping like a conflicting heartbeat.

Melanie?

Her blond hair was swept back into a graceful chignon, which complemented the slim lines of a short jacket and long cigarette skirt worthy of Jackie O. Her makeup was elegant, bringing out the breathtaking blue of her eyes and the lovely heart shape of her face.

She fit the role of a princess, not a nanny, and for a taboo instant, he envisioned her on his arm at a charity event, shining like the brightest of stars.

Seconds must’ve passed. Maybe even minutes. And during each escalating heartbeat, he kept himself from saying something he would regret to this new woman, even if, under the makeup and clothing, she was still the same lady who’d hooked his attention that first day.

She just had an extra sparkle in her eyes, and that was what took his breath away.

She was staring right back at him with something that resembled hope as she folded her hands in front of her—a nervous gesture he was just starting to recognize.

Melanie, he thought. Not “the nanny.”

Not now.

“You…” He trailed off.

Surely he could find a comment somewhere in his brain. Any comment. Zane Foley was the last man on earth who should’ve been searching for words.

A couple of the sales associates laughed softly, and heat crept up Zane’s neck.

He pushed his hands into his suit pockets as he addressed his employee. “Looks as if you’re ready.”

His back-to-business tone seemed to bring Melanie—no, it had to remain “the nanny”—back to reality, too. But as she nodded at him, then thanked the women around her, he could tell that she’d lost the glimmer that had made her more beautiful than ever, and he hated that he’d done this to her.

But what was new?

He turned to leave, getting the hell out of there, and she caught up just as they were crossing the marble floors and coming to the baby grand piano near the escalators. The musician was playing that song from Casablanca.

He hoped she didn’t notice.

“But,” she said, “I didn’t tip them yet.”

“It’s taken care of.”

Without looking at her, he motioned for her to climb aboard the Down escalator before him.

Cold, he thought. Didn’t he have it within himself to be more than that?

She got on the conveyance, turning around to face him while holding the moving handrail. “But shouldn’t I—?”

“It was my treat. Besides, I know the owners and my credit’s good with them.”

“Oh.” She patted the side of her hairdo, as if not knowing what else to do. “Of course you know them. You probably know every top tax-bracket entrepreneur in the country.”

“I know them because I helped develop this center, among others that Westenra’s also uses.”

At the news, she went silent, as if he’d intentionally reminded her of his station in life and hers—and the chasm between them.

But he hadn’t meant to.

Even so, the sudden space between them bothered Zane. God knew why, because it wasn’t as if they would ever be close.

They got off the escalator and moved through the men’s shoe department toward the exit where Monty would be waiting. Zane couldn’t help noticing that the suit-and-tie salesmen were watching Melanie Grandy, and he wanted to take her arm and link it through his in a show of…

He stopped himself before he used the word “possession.”

Not him. Not for her.

Nevertheless, he didn’t appreciate the staring, so he shot the men subtle back-off looks, while approaching the doors to the valet and pickup area.

When they got out there, Monty hadn’t yet arrived, and Zane guessed it was because Livie was probably going through her new purchases and making it nearly impossible for the softhearted driver to get the packages in the trunk.

He would give them three more minutes before calling.

As they waited, a couple of valets were giving Melanie the eye, just as the guys inside had been doing. With one extra long look at them, Zane persuaded the boys to go back to being valets instead of slobbering dogs.

Melanie didn’t seem to notice any of it. She stood there, face forward, the silence deafening.

Luckily, she broke it.

“And how did Toys ‘R’ Us go with Livie?” she asked.

In spite of himself, a smile captured his mouth, and when it stayed, it surprised him a little. “She was really excited. They had a Ferris wheel in the middle of the store. We went on that thing three times.”

“Good.” A smile broke out over her face, too.

My, wasn’t she content about her schemes to get father and daughter together?

Her happiness would end soon enough when she realized that tonight wasn’t going anywhere beyond this.

He shifted under the weight of the thought—and under the heft of the tension that remained between them.

But she still seemed to be in a positive mood. She even laughed a bit, yet it sounded more self-aware than anything.

“What is it?” he asked.

She gestured to her dress, her face and hair. “This whole night. Me getting made over at your pleasure.”

He almost coughed.

She caught herself. “That’s not exactly what I meant.” Sighing, she shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with…Well, I heard that you make sure all the Foley nannies have looked good to one extent or another.”

What was this about? “Meaning…?” he asked.

“Rumor has it that in the past most nannies were easy on the eye.”

That heat began its slow crawl up his skin again, from his neck to his face. “And who told you this?”

“You’re not confirming or denying my comment.”

He knew she wouldn’t give up her source, and even though that got to him, he also had to respect her loyalty. It was a decent quality for anyone to have. Besides, if he really cared about the mild gossip that much, he could narrow it down to one of a few other employees with whom she had regular contact.

“Pretty has nothing to do with it,” he muttered. “It’s never been a job requirement.”

And that was the truth. Even now, he couldn’t say if the other nannies had been good looking or not. All he knew was that Melanie Grandy affected him like none of the others had, and it didn’t sit well.

“If appearances don’t matter,” she said, “then why give me a makeover, even as a thank you?”

She’d turned to him in her direct manner. He faced her, too, and out of habit, he actually thought he might be able to make her look away if he stayed quiet long enough.

Yet she stood her ground, and he was the one at the disadvantage, overtaken by the depth and color of her eyes. There was a vivid strength in her gaze, like the undertow of the sea, and he’d noticed it even prior to the makeup bringing it out.

Before he knew what he was doing, he raised his hand and rested it on her cheek, where there had always been a natural blush, even without the aid of all these cosmetics.

Then, realizing what had just happened, he rubbed his thumb over the makeup as if to take some of it off.

“You don’t need all this,” he said.

And it was true. Achingly true.

Her eyes had gone wide. He’d shocked her, he knew, and he wondered if it was because of his brash move or because she could feel the same current that sizzled when his skin met hers.

He could see her throat working as she swallowed, and his breathing picked up.

What if he moved his fingertips down over her jaw, to her neck, where he could brush over the delicate, smooth lines? What would she do then?

What would he do after that?

Nothing around them stirred, the air seeming to hover in place, locking everything in to this one moment, this one touch. Locking them into each other’s gazes, where he could see a different world, a livelier one, hued with the laughter he’d heard on the roof of his townhouse a few hours ago.

But then he remembered how he’d put an end to the gaiety, just because he was Zane Foley—bad husband, bad father.

He’d promised he wouldn’t add any more “bad”s to his list.

Slowly, he removed his hand from her face and turned away, going for his cell phone to see where in tarnation Monty was.

As he accessed speed dial, he could feel Melanie beside him, awkward in the aftermath. And he hated himself for doing that to her—putting this otherwise self-assured woman in a place where she had no firm footing.

That’s right, he thought, once again Zane Foley’s made a mess of things.

But he was going to make sure it didn’t happen again.

Ever.

Melanie arose early the next morning, getting out of bed at the crack of dawn.

Since sleep hadn’t come easy—once again—she thought she might as well make the most of her last morning here. So she showered and threw on a sundress before going down to the kitchen, where she’d stored all the food she’d purchased from the market yesterday, including the makings of a meal that had been a hit with kids in the past—fluffy biscuit sandwiches teeming with egg, bacon and cheese. Hearty and filling.

As the biscuits baked in the oven, she began whisking the eggs, milk, garlic salt and pepper together, but all the while she kept looking toward the hallway that led to Zane’s study and bedroom.

Couldn’t she stop thinking of how he’d touched her last night? How her heart had nearly exploded at the feel of his hand on her cheek?

She stopped taking her frustration out on the eggs and fanned a hand in front of her face. Whoo. Maybe it was the heat of the oven, combined with the vulnerability of her skin after last night’s makeover facial.

<1...4 5 6 7 >

На страницу:

Перейти

6 из 7