His to Command: the Nanny: A Nanny for Keeps

‘You probably call them goujons. And pay an exorbitant price for them in restaurants.’ Not that he looked as if he was in the habit of frequenting expensive restaurants. ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked, concentrating on the sauce, so that she didn’t have to look at him. ‘I’ve made more of this than we can eat.’ And, since she didn’t want him to refuse, she gave him an escape route. ‘I’ll leave a dish in the fridge for you to heat up when we’re out of your way if you prefer.’

She sensed that he was hesitating. Caught between the desire to eat something he hadn’t poured out of a tin—and since the pantry was full of tins, she was pretty sure that was what he’d been doing—and telling her to get lost.

But all he said was, ‘Thank you.’

It wasn’t exactly disappointment that made her heart sink. But she had, for just a moment, hoped that he might pull out a chair, sit down at the table and join them. Imagined a little bonding between Maisie and Harry over the comfort food, with her playing the good fairy.

Pathetic.

Maisie was the only one around here with wings.

Although he was still in the kitchen. She was giving her entire attention to the sauce, but she could feel him behind her.

‘You’ll find ice cream in the pantry freezer, if Maisie wants some,’ he said. ‘Unless, of course, you’ve managed to whip up some fancy pudding as well?’

He’d almost been nice there. Almost. For a moment. She was going to reward him with a smile, but when she turned round, he’d gone.

She bathed Maisie and got her ready for bed, tucking her in with a teddy and reading her a story from one of the many books on the shelf. A jolly story about a little bear’s bedtime. Nothing to cause nightmares.

She was asleep before little bear, and Jacqui sat there for a while, watching her breathing. Smoothed the cover. Turned the light down until it was little more than a glow.

Somewhere, on the other side of the world, another child would soon be starting a new day. Crumpled and grumpy from sleep, reaching out for a cuddle from another woman…

She blinked fiercely, touching the bracelet as she swallowed down the ache. A bath. She needed to soak in warm, lavender-scented water. Forget and smile. Not even remotely possible, but maybe she should try concentrating on the joy, rather than the heartache…

Since she was travelling light and hadn’t bothered with a bathrobe, she helped herself to a robe hanging behind the bedroom door before going down to the kitchen to make herself something warm to drink.

Only the concealed lighting above the worktops was switched on, leaving the centre of the room barely lit. The chicken stirred and clucked disapprovingly from the basket. She gave it a wide berth. She didn’t much like chickens—even when they were house pets.

The cats didn’t twitch more than a whisker. It was the dog, always hopeful of food, slithering across the quarry-tiled floor that made her turn.

Harry Talbot had apparently been sitting at the kitchen table, finishing his supper. Now he was on his feet and it was a moot point which of them was most surprised.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d be long finished.’

‘Yes, well, I would have been but those wretched donkeys don’t know when they’re well off. The ungrateful little beasts made a mass dash for freedom when I went out to feed them,’ he said, pushing back the chair. ‘By the I’d time I’d rounded them all up I was plastered with mud.’

Which explained why his dark hair was now slickly combed back, although where it was drying it was already beginning to spring back into an unruly mop of curls. Why he was wearing fresh jeans and a dark blue collarless shirt. And looked good enough to eat himself.

‘What about the llama?’ she asked. ‘Is that an ungrateful beast, too?’

‘Who told you about the llama?’

‘The woman in the village shop warned me to watch out for it on the road.’

‘It was looking for company. Kate found it a home with a small herd on the other side of the valley.’

‘Oh. I thought she’d made it up.’

‘I wish.’ Then, ‘Well?’ he demanded, when she didn’t move. ‘What do you want?’

‘Nothing. At least, I’ll come back. I don’t want to disturb you.’

‘You already have, so you might as well make a proper job of it. What do you want?’ he repeated.

Nothing different about his manners, then. They were just the same.

‘I was going to make myself a hot drink and take it upstairs.’

‘Do whatever you like. I’ve finished,’ he said, abandoning his half-eaten meal and making a move to leave.

‘Can I make you something?’ she asked, feeling dreadful about interrupting his meal even though she had, moments before, been wishing it would choke him. It was only polite to make the offer. One of them should probably make the effort and it clearly wasn’t going to be him.

‘Playing the domestic goddess isn’t going to change my mind, Miss Moore,’ he replied, as if to prove her point. ‘I’m quite capable of making my own coffee.’

‘Obviously you’d have to be,’ she replied, ‘or go without.’

So much for politeness. She’d been so determined not to let him annoy her, but apparently all he had to do was speak…

‘I’m actually making tea,’ she continued, in an effort at appeasement. After all, she had not only matched his rudeness, but also trumped it. ‘However, while acknowledging your undoubted competence, it would be no trouble to make you a pot of coffee at the same time. Since I’m boiling the kettle anyway. You can come back when I’ve gone upstairs and help yourself if you don’t want to stay.’

There was a moment of absolute silence when the air was thick with words waiting to be spoken. Not even the dog moved.

Harry felt as if his feet were welded to the floor. His brain was urging him to walk out. He couldn’t handle people. Couldn’t handle this woman who one minute was all soft curves and temptation, and the next disapproval and a sharp tongue. It was too complex. Too difficult. His only thoughts had, for so long, been simple, one-dimensional, fixed on survival, locked on one goal because he’d known that if he lost sight of it, even for a moment, he’d lose his mind.

He had to be alone. It was the only way he could survive…

But his body, which he’d been driving so hard and so long on sheer will-power, seemed suddenly unable to carry out the simplest of commands. It had demanded the food she cooked and now he seemed unable to walk away; trapped between the possibility of heaven and the certainty of hell.

As Jacqui waited the silence seemed to stretch like elastic until she feared it might snap. She couldn’t for the life of her imagine what he was finding so difficult about answering what had been a very simple question, yet she could see the battle waging inside his head.

She jumped as he finally moved, picked up his plate, carried it over to the sink, scraping the remnants into the disposal unit and rinsing it off before stowing it in the dishwasher.

‘You’re a very irritating woman, do you know that?’ he said, slamming the door so that the rest of the crockery rattled.

That was a matter of opinion. She thought he more than matched her in that respect, but good manners—and her well-honed survival instincts—suggested it would be wiser not to say so. Instead she crossed the kitchen, picked up the kettle and began to fill it.

‘A good cook, but irritating,’ he continued, elaborating on his theme.

‘One out of two isn’t bad. I might have been irritating and a terrible cook.’ She switched on the kettle and turned to face him. ‘No redeeming features whatever.’

On that, apparently, he was not prepared to venture an opinion. Instead he asked, ‘Is Maisie in bed?’

‘It’s nearly ten o’clock. Of course she’s in bed.’

‘There’s no “of course” about it. She’s usually up half the night, flouncing around, being spoilt by Sally’s ridiculous friends.’

‘Is she?’ Why was she not surprised? ‘Well, she’s had a big day. She didn’t even make the end of the story before she fell asleep.’

‘Amazing.’

‘You don’t like her very much, do you?’

‘Sally should stick to rescuing dumb animals,’ he said, which didn’t answer her question. But then you could often tell more from what people didn’t say. And what he hadn’t said would, she suspected, have filled volumes. ‘She can abandon them up here once she’s done the photo-call and there’s no harm done.’

What…? Was he implying…?

‘Maisie hasn’t been abandoned,’ she declared.

‘No? What would you call it?’

‘I’m sure that what happened today is nothing more than an unfortunate misunderstanding.’ Not one that she’d have made, but she wasn’t passing any judgements until she was in possession of all the facts. ‘Actually, I did want to ask you something. Do you know if she keeps any clothes here? Outdoor play clothes? There was nothing in her room, but then it is something of a fairy grotto. Denim would undoubtedly spoil the illusion.’

‘Undoubtedly. I’m afraid I can’t help you. But she won’t need them, since she isn’t staying.’

Jacqui wasn’t a violent woman, but if he’d been an inch or two smaller, she might just have seized his shoulders and shaken him. As it was, he’d probably laugh and his face might crack in two. Safer not to risk it. She’d have to start smaller. Try and tease out a smile…

She stopped. No point in wasting time worrying about ‘smile’ therapy; she would be more usefully employed in seizing the moment, reasoning with him. The kettle boiled just then, distracting her and by the time she’d poured water over a tea bag in a mug for herself, and made coffee for Harry Talbot, she’d thought better of it.

If she reasoned and failed, then he’d just end up more stubbornly fixed in the position he’d adopted. Every time he said ‘she isn’t staying’ the words would became harder to retract.

And Maisie wanted to stay.

Better not give him the chance, she decided, dunking the tea bag.

Better to just wait until Vickie had spoken to Selina Talbot, at which point everything would doubtless resolve itself. And in the meantime she’d deal with the situation on the ground. One crisis at a time.

At least he seemed disinclined to rush off for once. She wouldn’t get a better chance to talk to him. Nothing to threaten him—which was rather an odd thought under the circumstances; he was the ogre, not her—but just in the hope of finding common ground.

They hadn’t, so far, had what could be described as a normal conversation.

‘Does that chicken actually live in the kitchen?’ she asked, saying the first thing that came into her head. Normal? ‘Or is she sick?’

‘The story is that one of the cats brought her in out of the rain when she was a chick and treated her as part of her litter.’

‘Are you suggesting that she thinks she’s a cat?’

‘That’s Aunt Kate’s theory.’ The look he gave her suggested otherwise.

‘You’re not buying that?’

‘I haven’t noticed any identity problem when the cockerel’s preening his feathers, but if the choice was a basket in front of the stove or slumming it with the rest of the birds in the hen house, which would you choose?’

‘That’s a deeply cynical point of view.’

‘And your answer is?’

‘She’s a smart hen.’ Then, ‘I’ll bet the eggs confuse the heck out of the cats, though.’

There! She nearly had him with that one. He didn’t actually smile, but there was definitely a giveaway crease at the side of his mouth. What he did do, was pick up the cafetière and pour himself a mug of coffee.

Classic distraction behaviour, she thought. She’d have done the same thing herself if she’d being trying to hide laughter. Or tears.

Maybe there was hope for him yet.

‘Where were you going?’ he asked, glancing sideways and catching her watching him.

‘Nowhere,’ she said, slightly flustered. She hadn’t moved…

He turned and leaned back against the worktop, still looking at her. ‘For your holiday?’

Oh, that. She’d forgotten all about Spain. Besides, it was warm enough in here to toast her skin. Not that he was crowding her. There was clear space between them, but the plush, wrap-around robe was much too warm.

And not nearly respectable enough.

It was too short, of course. They always were, but she’d never actually thought of her ankles as something she needed to cover up. But now her bare ankles seemed to suggest bare legs, which suggested all kinds of other possibilities.

And it felt much too tight.

While it was supposed to be her size, it had obviously been washed often and she had the unsettling feeling that somewhere down around her thighs it might be gaping open, just a bit.

She didn’t dare look down.

To do so would simply draw attention to the fact. Not that he seemed interested in her legs.

On the contrary, his gaze seemed to be riveted on the deep vee where the wrap crossed over her breasts.

Not in any sense of the word leering. Just looking at her as if trying to remember something…

Which was crazy.

She was crazy.

She was, she reminded herself, a picture of modesty beneath this barely adequate robe.

When there was every likelihood that you’d have to turn out in the middle of the night, half-asleep, to tend to a disturbed child, it didn’t take long to discover that smart nannies wore sensible PJs.

Not that it was a problem now, but she couldn’t af-ford to toss out perfectly good nightwear and there was nothing in the least bit flimsy about the jersey sleep shorts and vest she was wearing. OK, this one just happened to be a vest top with shoestring straps—she’d seen a pack of three in a sale and treated herself for the holiday—but even so she’d have been wearing a lot less on a Spanish beach.

But then this wasn’t a beach.

This was an isolated house with a man she didn’t know. And he was staring at her cleavage.

Bad enough.

But her cleavage was responding…

CHAPTER FIVE

‘DO YOU want milk?’ she asked. She didn’t wait for his answer, but crossed to the fridge, taking her time about it, using the opportunity to wrap herself closer in the robe, pull the belt tighter while she had her back to him, before turning with the jug.

‘No, thanks,’ he said, when she offered it to him.

She had the feeling that he knew exactly what she’d done, but there was no sign of a self-congratulatory smirk. He just stared into his coffee as, discarding the tea bag, she splashed milk into her own mug.

‘Isn’t it rather late for black coffee?’

He didn’t answer, just gave her a look that suggested she was treading a very fine line, but then he’d been doing variations of it since she’d arrived. It was, she suspected, supposed to have her running for cover. It reminded her of an unhappy child, testing to the limits her resolve to love her. Testing her promise to stay…

‘Just my professional opinion,’ she added.

‘Keep it for Maisie, Mary Poppins.’

If he wanted her to duck for cover, he’d have to do better than that. Mary Poppins was, after all, ‘practically perfect in every way’. One of the good guys.

‘Lack of sleep can turn anyone into a grouch,’ she said, not backing down, even though holding his gaze seemed to be having a detrimental effect on her knee joints. Turning them to mush as a small voice in her head whispered, ‘Touch him. He needs someone to hold him…’

She cleared her throat to shut it up and said, ‘But you’re right, it’s absolutely none of my business. Just don’t blame me if you can’t sleep.’

‘Why not? I think we both know that you’ll be the one keeping me awake—’

He paused, as if the image his words evoked had caught him by surprise and he’d forgotten what he was about to say. Time slowed and the air pressed against her, making her conscious of every inch of her skin as her mind filled with a picture of him in a dimly lit room, bare shoulders propped up against the pillow, arms behind his head, wide awake. Thinking about her.

It wasn’t just her knees, but her entire body responded to this disturbing image with the heavy drag of sexual awareness, the ache of need. The swelling breasts, the taut, hard nipples almost painful against even the softest cloth. For so long immersed in a job that demanded everything of her, she’d forgotten how physical the demands of the body could be. How it could overpower the will, dominate all other thoughts…

‘Like a thorn in your mattress,’ she said, quickly, shattering the tension. Then, because she didn’t want to dwell on his mattress, she quickly reverted to his earlier question and, answering it, said, ‘Spain.’

‘Spain?’ Like her, he seemed to have come from somewhere deep inside himself. ‘Oh, your holiday.’ Then, ‘On your own?’

She didn’t think he’d have asked that question before and, while it would probably be wiser to just pick up her mug, say goodnight and retreat to the safety of her room, she’d be missing an opportunity to get to know him a little better.

For Maisie’s sake, obviously.

So she sipped her tea, because her mouth seemed rather dry, and said, ‘Does it matter?’

‘If you were going with your boyfriend I’d imagine he’d be pretty fed up.’

‘If I’d been going with a boyfriend, believe me, I’d be pretty fed up, but you needn’t worry about some irate male turning up on your doorstep to add to the mayhem.’

He didn’t look especially relieved, but then an irate male would probably have suited him very well. He was assuming he’d have an ally. She didn’t bother to explain that what he’d have would be one more house guest while they sorted out the Maisie situation.

‘At least there are plenty of flights to Spain.’ Harry Talbot seemed determined to keep her focused on what was important in life. ‘You’ll only have missed a day.’

Well, she hadn’t really thought he was interested in her well-being, had she? It was like the car. Getting it fixed was not thoughtfulness. Getting it fixed meant she had no excuse to stay.

‘It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. It was a cut-price last minute deal. If you don’t show, tough luck.’

‘You can’t reschedule?’

What planet was he on?

‘Don’t bother your head about it. The agency will sort that out with your cousin. They’ve promised I won’t be out of pocket.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, but you won’t get the money back for a couple of weeks, will you?’

She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m just doing temporary work at the moment so I can schedule my break to suit myself.’ And she could think anywhere, after all. The sun would just be a distraction.

‘That doesn’t seem fair. If it would help I’ll cover your losses and sort it out with Sally later.’

‘Good grief, you are desperate to get rid of me.’ A woman with self-esteem issues might have crumpled at this point, but she pulled a face in an attempt to suggest she found his persistence amusing. ‘Paying to have my car fixed and now offering to sub me for a holiday.’

‘I’m just doing my best to be reasonable.’

Reasonable!

Reasonable would be him saying—I’m sorry you’ve been put to so much trouble. Just make yourself at home while my useless family sorts itself out…

Or words to that effect.

‘You really don’t get it, do you?’

‘Get what?’

She sipped her tea, then risked a glance at him over the rim of the mug. He looked, she thought, not so much uncaring as, well, a bit desperate, but she firmly quashed any feeling of guilt. She had done nothing to feel guilty about. He was the one behaving like a jerk.

‘You must see that I can’t go anywhere until I’m sure that Maisie is settled and safe.’

‘Then I’ve got another suggestion, Miss Moore. Go to Spain and take Maisie with you.’ He waited and, when he didn’t get the ecstatic response he’d no doubt counted on, added, ‘That way you’ll get paid by the hour for lying in the sun.’

She laughed. ‘You obviously have a very limited idea of what looking after a child entails.’

‘I’ll even pay for an upgrade.’

‘I’m truly sorry,’ she said. It was possible that she didn’t sound entirely sincere, but then she wasn’t. Despite what Maisie had told her, the man kept suckering her into thinking that he deserved some consideration. He deserved absolutely nothing. ‘Appealing as your offer sounds, there are two very good reasons why I can’t accept. One, I’d need her legal guardian’s written permission before I took Maisie out of the country—something that I’m sure even you’d agree is a basic essential. It’s not as if you know a single thing about me.’ And because, suddenly, she was really angry with him for being so completely lacking in family feeling, so irresponsible, she said, ‘Have you any idea how much cute little girls fetch on the illegal-adoption market?’

‘I have a rather better idea of the cost than you, I imagine.’ Then, while she was still trying to get her head around that one, ‘And because I’m not as stupid as you appear to believe, I called your agency this afternoon and the charming Mrs Campbell emailed me your CV along with all manner of glowing testimonials.’

‘She did?’

‘Why did you drop out of university in the middle of your second year?’

‘She did.’

She left it at that. He didn’t want an answer to his question; it had simply been a power play, a demonstration that he did indeed know all about her. While she knew next to nothing about him. And what she did know was all bad.

She wasn’t having a very good day.

Little Princess, 2—Giant, 1…

‘So,’ he continued, ‘now we’ve cleared up that small problem and, assuming that, using the wonders of modern technology, Sally faxes her written permission to your agency, what’s your second objection?’

Everything, she thought, comes to she who waits. Time for Dumb Nanny to break her duck.

‘Maisie wants to stay here,’ she said. ‘And my job—’ she decided this might not be a good moment to tell him that she wasn’t actually being paid for doing this ‘—is to keep her happy. Why don’t you phone your new friend, Mrs Campbell, and ask her if she’d be prepared to take a bet on me doing just that?’

Despite the warm glow that putting a dent in his plans gave her, she anticipated a negative reaction to this challenge and, judging that this might be a good moment to leave, wasted no time about it.

‘Goodnight, Mr Talbot,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘Sleep tight.’ Actually, the ‘sleep tight’ was probably a mistake and it was just as well that she was carrying a mug of hot tea or she might have been tempted to make a run for it.

Not cool.

She’d managed to get in the last word and now she was leaving him—with dignity—to chew on it.

But as she walked across what seemed like a mile of quarry-tiled floor between her and the door, for every self-conscious inch of it aware of his gaze locked on her back, she didn’t really expect to get away without some knife-edged parting shot.

‘It’s Harry,’ he said, just as she made the safety of the door. ‘Call me Harry.’ Which was totally unexpected and then, when he had her full attention, added, ‘I think we’ve traded sufficient insults to drop the formalities, don’t you?’

Now that she’d had a chance to assess some of his finer points, Jacqui had to admit that she was tempted. No doubt about it, cleaned up, the man was six feet four inches of raw temptation. With a decent haircut and the serious application of razor to chin, she suspected he’d be dynamite.

Such a pity that he didn’t have a heart to match his body.

‘Are you offering to surrender, Mr Talbot?’

His jaw tightened, momentarily, and she had the uneasy impression that she was the one whose tongue was doing the cutting.

Impossible that a man of his stature, his character, could ever feel vulnerable, but she wished she’d kept her mouth shut for once and responded to his invitation with an encouraging smile, giving him a chance to tell her exactly what he was offering.