The Playboy And The Nanny

His son’s flagrant disregard for propriety, his inappropriate kissing of a total stranger would have only underscored Stavros’s notion that he had done the right thing.

The old rogue had hired a nanny to straighten him out!

Far from running down here to rescue her, the old man was probably standing up on the deck now, congratulating himself—and laughing his fool head off.

Nikos’s teeth came together with a snap. His headache returned with a vengeance. He dropped his head back and shut his eyes, his mind whirling furiously. And furious was the operative word.

“I’ll shape you up if it’s the last thing I do. ” His father’s words came back to haunt him. To mock him. To humiliate him.

It was Stavros Costanides, down to the ground.

“Mr....er...I’m sorry, I don’t know your name—” the very proper nanny’s voice broke into his bitter reverie “—but you really do have to let me go. I have to find the right cottage. I have to—”

Nikos opened his eyes and glared at her.

She blinked again, but met his gaze determinedly.

Just how determined was she? He couldn’t imagine. He could bet, though. And he was willing to bet he could run her off in less than twenty-four hours.

A corner of his mouth tipped up slightly. Did the old man think he was just going to roll over and give up his wicked ways without a fight?

Well, if he did, he’d vastly underestimated his older son.

Whatever he was paying Miss Mari Lewis, it had better be a bundle. She was damned well going to earn it.

“You don’t have the wrong cottage,” Nikos told her.

“But you said—” She looked around, puzzled. “But... where’s Nikos?”

He smiled. It was a hard smile. There was nothing pleasant about it. “I’m Nikos.”

She gaped at him.

“Welcome to your new job, Ms. Lewis. Apparently my father has hired you to babysit me.”

He was obviously a madman.

But he was the most stunningly handsome madman she’d ever seen. He had dark brown eyes and tousled black hair, a lean face with high cheekbones and a wicked-looking dimple just to one side of his mouth that deepened when he gave her that bitter smile of his.

And he kissed like—

Mari didn’t want to think about what he kissed like! She’d never been kissed like that in her life!

A lesser woman—many lesser women, she was sure—would have fallen panting at his feet,

Mari Lewis was made of sterner stuff.

She had a job to fulfill, a reputation to uphold, a magazine ad and article to live up to, and a pair of lovable, impractical, dangerously gullible aunts to support.

And despite the fact that her heart was still hammering and her head was still spinning and her lips were still tingling, she needed to find Stavros Costanides. And she needed to do it fast.

But how? When Mr. Whoever-he-was was sitting next to the door, looking as if he would pounce on her if she made a move in that direction.

“Look, Mr....” She paused.

“Costanides,” he said helpfully. He smiled again. The same humorless smile he’d smiled before. However heart-stopping it was, his smile wasn’t meant to be friendly. It wasn’t even, she was fairly sure, meant to be attractive. Unfortunately it was. The dimple deepened again.

She wanted to touch it, To touch him. Again. Help! Determinedly Mari looked away and forced herself to say in a level tone, “Mr. Costanides, then. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—”

“You’d do better wondering why my father is doing this.”

“Your father?”

“The well-known despot, Stavros Costanides. You know? Older than me. Mustache.” He parroted back her description. “The man who hired you.”

“To take care of his little boy.”

“To take care of Nikos,” her fully-grown, very masculine nemesis agreed. He poked his chest. “Me.”

“But that’s ridiculous!”

“You’re telling me,” he muttered. His smile faded and suddenly he rubbed fiercely at his forehead. “Damn.”

Mari frowned. Maybe he wasn’t totally mad, after all, she thought. Maybe he was suffering from concussion—a head injury that made him think he was someone else. He certainly looked as if he’d recently done battle with something formidable—and lost.

His left leg was in a cast; he held one arm close to his body, as if he was protecting his ribs; he had a fresh scar on his jaw, and his very handsome face still showed the lingering signs of bruising beneath the left eye and temple.

“Are you all right?” she asked quickly.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Would you be?”

The very bleakness of his tone startled her. It also stopped her cold, having the effect that his words hadn’t had. It made her think that he wasn’t talking only about his physical condition at all.

It made her worry that he might be telling her the truth. Mari swallowed. Pushed the notion away. Tried not to think about it.

Stavros Costanides had hired her to be a nanny to his son. His little boy! She knew he had a little boy. She’d glimpsed a picture of him on the credenza in Stavros’s office.

“Is that Nikos?” she’d asked him.

He’d smiled a proud papa smile and had picked up the picture, saying proudly, “That’s my son.”

Nikos, she’d thought

But he hadn’t actually said, “That’s my son, Nikos,” she realized now. He’d just agreed, “That’s my son.”

And the devilishly handsome man sitting across from her now was...?

“You’re Nikos?” she asked faintly. “You’re not... kidding?”

Deep brown eyes met hers. Slowly he shook his head. “I’m not kidding.”

Outside in the distance Mari could hear the gabble of cheerful women. Overhead a jet engine droned. A bird twittered.

“But...but it doesn’t make sense. I mean, why would he—?” she faltered. “You’re not—” She broke off. “I understood he had a four-year-old. He showed me a picture of a four-year-old!” She gave him an accusing look.

“He does have a four-year-old. My half-brother. Alexander.”

“Then it’s obviously a mistake.”

“It’s not a mistake.”

“But—”

“It’s his way of making a point. He thinks I’m wasting my life. He thinks I don’t take things seriously enough, that I haven’t accepted my responsibilities as heir to his damned empire, that I’m shirking my duty to follow in his footsteps as the eldest son.” His tone became more and more bitter as he spoke. His dark eyes flashed, and it was all Mari could do not to flinch under his gaze.

She didn’t, because as a nanny she knew that the slightest crack in her armor could do her in. Don’t let them intimidate you, was the cardinal rule of dealing with one’s charges.

One of her charges?

She wasn’t seriously thinking she was this man’s nanny, was she?

It was a joke. Any minute now Stavros Costanides would come along to say he’d made his point and they would all laugh about it—though this particular son might laugh a little harshly—and then she would get her real job as nanny to Alexander.

Wouldn’t she?

Oh, heavens, she’d better! She had to have a job. She couldn’t not have a job!

Aunt Emmaline and Aunt Bett would be out on the street if she didn’t keep this job. It had been a godsend when Stavros Costanides had called her two days ago and wanted to hire her.

“I read about you in a magazine my wife gets,” he told her. “You’re the woman who could make Little Lord Fauntleroy out of a Katzenjammer Kid?”

Mari remembered laughing a little self-consciously. “The writer might have been exaggerating a little,” she allowed, recalling the article that had appeared in last month’s issue of an upscale magazine for parents. The article had been subtitled “Mari’s not Mary, But This Nanny Could Make That Poppins Woman Take a Back Seat” and it raved about Mari’s ability to deal with problem kids. “I was nanny to her nephew for two years.”

“He was a handful?”

“Oh, yes.”

“My son is, too.”

His four-year-old, she’d thought.

The more fool she.

It certainly explained the bonus offer he’d made her when she’d met him at his office yesterday afternoon. He’d detailed his son’s stubbornness, his reluctance to toe the line, his determined rebellion in the face of parental authority.

“I thought I could handle it myself,” he’d said gruffly. “Now I don’t think so. But I need it done. If you bring him up to scratch at the end of six months—if you last six months—I’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars bonus.”

Mari had gaped at him.

And then, steepling his hands on his desk, and looking at her over the tops of his fingers, he’d said, “And if you quit before six months are up, you owe me ten.”

“Ten?”

“Thousand dollars.”

To him it was chicken feed. To her, in her family’s straitened circumstances, it was more than she could promise.

But she wouldn’t have to give him ten thousand dollars, she’d reminded herself—if she didn’t quit. She wouldn’t quit She knew she couldn’t quit!

“All right,” she’d agreed.

“He must have been kidding,” she said hopefully now to the dark brooding man who sat and watched as all these thoughts flitted across her face.

Slowly, deliberately, Nikos Costanides shook his head. “No.”

“But—”

“He’s hired you to reform me.”

Mari wanted to deny it. She couldn’t. She had the awful sinking feeling that it was true.

“I can‘t—”

“You bet your sweet tail you can’t!” he said harshly. “So just march yourself up to the house and tell him the joke is on him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, go tell him you’re not going to play. That whatever he’s paying you, it’s not enough. That there’s no way on earth he can con you into staying.”

Ah, but there was. There was that enormous white elephant of a house her aunts owned—their pride and joy, their legacy from their profligate father. It ate money. They couldn’t give it up.

“Where would we go, dear?” Aunt Em’s frail voice echoed in her ears. “We’ve always lived here.”

“Can’t put Em in one of those homes,” Aunt Bett said over and over. “It’d kill her.”

Probably, Mari acknowledged, it would. Aunt Em had a bad heart. It wouldn’t feel any better if she learned about Aunt Bett’s disastrous attempt to bail them out by playing the ponies, either.

Actually having to leave their home would likely kill them both. And Mari could see that they didn’t have to leave it—she could even see that the gambling debt was paid and the house had new struts, new paint and a new roof—if she managed to keep this job and earn Stavros Costanides’ bonus.

“No,” she said. “I can’t.”

Nikos Costanides scowled at her. “Why the hell not?”

“Because I need the job.”

“What did he offer you?”

Mari blinked. “What?”

“Obviously he offered you a bundle,” Nikos said impatiently. “Fine. I’ll offer you more to leave.”

It was tempting. Terribly tempting. She wanted to take it. And yet—

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

He glared at her. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

She knotted her fingers. “My reputation is at stake.”

“What?” He looked thunderous.

“I have a professional reputation, as I said before.” She felt her cheeks warm and, certain that he could see how flimsy that excuse was, she felt compelled to add, “Not the sort you imagined, but such as it is, it’s important to me,”

His jaw clenched. Their eyes battled.

Mari’s heart beat faster, her pulses raced. She felt like a racehorse in the home stretch, given its head. “All you have to do is shape up,” she reminded him a little breathlessly.

“Like hell. I’ll be damned if I’ll knuckle under to his threats!”

“Yes, well—” She took a careful shallow breath, then shrugged lightly. “Maybe you can’t.”

A nerve in his temple pulsed. He shoved a hand through disheveled dark hair. His eyes narrowed. “You’re saying you’re staying, Ms. Lewis?”

Say no, she told herself. Walk out. To hell with your reputation, your aunts, the hundred thousand dollars, the way he kisses! Where’s your common sense?

She didn’t know. She only knew that something had happened when Nikos Costanides kissed her. She had been kissed before. Heavens, she’d even been engaged before. But when Ward had kissed her it had been pleasant, warm, and in a few seconds, gone.

Even now the imprint of Nikos’s mouth was still on hers. The taste of him was a part of her, reaching into her. And somewhere deep inside it was as if a fundamental answering chord responded.

She hadn’t known such a response existed. She wanted desperately—perhaps foolishly—to know more.

Sanity—despite her reputation, her aunts, the money——told her to say no. It was foolish. It was insane to agree to be nanny to a grown man for any reason or any amount of money.

Mari was practical. Mari was sensible. Mari was grounded.

“People who are grounded have never flown,” her free spirit uncle Arthur always said with a twinkle and a hint of challenge in his eye.

She took a deep breath and said, “Yes.”

CHAPTER TWO

SHE had lost her mind.

A twenty-nine-year-old virgin who’d never felt the slightest tingle—not even from the kiss of the man she’d been engaged to for three years—had no business taking on a man who looked like he ate nuns for breakfast!

But she’d committed herself.

Mari didn’t see that she had any choice.

It wasn’t just the fact that she’d given her word—even if Stavros Costanides had fudged a little bit on his. It wasn’t just that it was a matter of honor. And pride. And integrity. And the fact that she was good at what she did.

It was that recently she’d felt incomplete. Unfinished. Inadequate somehow.

At least Ward had certainly thought she was!

“You want to know why I’m breaking it off?” her fiancé Ward Bishop had said last month when he’d come to tell her he’d had second thoughts about marrying her. “It’s because you’re a cold fish, Mari. I want to make love and you talk about the weather. I touch your breasts and you grab my hands. I kiss you and you don’t respond.”

“You mean I don’t tear your clothes off-or mine,” Mari had retorted scathingly, hurt beyond reason at her fiancé’s outspoken words.

“You don’t even unbutton them,” Ward snarled.

Later he’d apologized, had said he’d never meant to be so blunt. “You’re a fine person, Mari,” he’d said in a conciliatory, unctuous manner that made her want to wipe the floor with him. “It’s not your fault. You just aren’t...passionate.”

“I don’t remember you burning down any buildings either!” Mari retorted, stung.

“Not with you I haven’t,” he’d agreed readily enough. Which she supposed meant that he and the new love of his life, Shetley—the twenty-three-year-old he was dumping her for—were setting whole forests on fire!

Well, fine. Let him. Let him have Shelley! Let them burn up the world!

She didn’t care. Much.

But, as little as she wanted to admit it, long after Ward had gone his accusation still hurt. It hurt thinking there was something wrong with her, that other people had something she was lacking, some fire deep within that God had apparently forgotten to build.

And then this afternoon, completely unexpectedly, totally out of the blue, something had happened-something deep, strong, passionate. And all she could think was that God apparently hadn’t forgotten to build the fire at all.

It just wasn’t Ward who’d been given the match!

But...Nikos Costanides? A—

“How old are you?” she asked a glaring Nikos as she came back into the cottage with her luggage.

“Thirty-two,” he growled as he watched her come in with her luggage.

A thirty-two-year-old Greek playboy? Because she had no doubt now that a mindless frivolous playboy was exactly what he was.

Mari shook her head. What could God have been thinking about?

Nikos apparently wondered the same thing. He was sitting right where she had left him, scowling at her. While she’d been out finding Thomas the gardener, he had put on a pair of white shorts, and she supposed that was some concession. Still, he looked very adult, very masculine and very intimidating as he again sprawled bare-chested in the chair, watching like a sulky child as Thomas, laden down with suitcases, followed her in.

“How old are you?” he asked insolently.

She lifted her chin. “Twenty-nine.”

“You don’t kiss like you’re twenty-nine.”

Mari felt her cheeks flush. The feelings of inadequacy reared their head again. She wondered if that meant Nikos hadn’t felt what she’d felt.

At his impertinent words Thomas made a disapproving noise in his throat, and Mari knew she should be feeling more embarrassed than she was, but in fact she was mostly curious. Hadn’t he? She looked at Nikos closely.

Immediately his gaze shifted away.

Yes! He had felt it! Mari felt a twinge of triumph. Hugging herself inwardly, inadequacy vanquished for the moment, Mari said to Thomas as blithely as she could manage, “Don’t mind him. He’s just sulking.”

“I am not sulking!”

His outrage made Mari hide another smile. “You can take them through here,” she said to Thomas, ignoring Nikos. She started toward the hallway that led away from the small living room, then looked back. “I presume that’s where the bedrooms are?” she said over her shoulder.

Nikos grunted something. His dark gaze was brooding as he looked at her again.

“Did he kiss you, miss?” Thomas asked worriedly.

“Oh, yes.” She tried to sound blithe, matter-of-fact and indifferent, not at all as if, by doing so, he had turned her world upside down.

“She’s not any good at it,” Nikos said loudly.

“I can see why your father thinks you need a nanny,” Mari said pleasantly. “Someone needs to teach you how to behave.”

Then she sailed out of the room and down the hallway. A strategic exit after having the last word was always a nanny’s strength.

“A nanny?” Thomas’s eyes goggled.

“Mr. Costanides has a strange sense of humor apparently,” Mari said. It was all she was going to say.

“Didn’t know he had a sense of humor,” Thomas mumbled. Then, “Which room, miss?”

Behind her Nikos called, “She can sleep with me.”

“Mr. Nikos!” Thomas was clearly scandalized.

“She loves it when I talk dirty.” Nikos’s voice followed them.

Thomas sputtered.

“Children act up when they think we’re watching, Thomas,” she said firmly. “I advise you to ignore him. Come along. I’ll find my own room.”

Down the short hallway beyond the small living room and kitchen, Mari found three bedrooms. The biggest, with a view overlooking the garden, was clearly the one Nikos was inhabiting. The king-size bed was unmade. There was a laptop computer and a lot of boating magazines scattered on the desk. The better to choose his next yacht from, Mari thought.

The room itself was actually very Spartan-looking, done in whites and tans and browns with just a hint of black. Somber. Harsh.

Rather like its occupant, Mari thought.

“Like my bed?” Nikos called. “It’s plenty big enough to share.”

She ignored him. She tried to ignore the bed, too. But the thought of sharing it with Nikos was astonishingly vivid. She could imagine him naked against those white sheets, could envision herself, equally naked, tangling with him—

Oh, girl, stop this! She’d never had such blatant fantasies in her life!

She wondered if it had something to do with the squid her Aunt Em had fixed for lunch. Was squid an aphrodisiac?

She turned and hurried out of the room.

The bedroom across from Nikos’s was equipped as an office, but with a daybed instead of a sofa or pair of chairs. It didn’t look as if anyone was using it at the moment. No big surprise there. If Stavros imagined that Nikos needed “shaping up,” it wouldn’t be because he was a workaholic!

She could have stayed in this room, but somehow Mari didn’t want to be that close to Nikos Costanides—whether because she thought he might get the wrong idea, or whether she didn’t trust herself, she wasn’t sure.

Fortunately there was a third bedroom along the back of the house. It was a long narrow room that seemed to have been converted from a sleeping porch and was more casually decorated than the rest of the house. Airy and sunlit, with balloon curtains done in white eyelet, it was soft and romantic. Soothing, not passionate.

Just as well, Mari thought. She was curious. Not suicidal.

“Put my things here, will you, Thomas?” She went over to the window and looked out. Beyond the main house she could see the beginning of the dunes that dipped toward the Atlantic. Now, in the silence, she could hear the sounds of the waves.

“Miss?”

She turned to see that Thomas had set down her cases and now stood looking at her. He had a slight smile on his face. “I just wanted you to know, miss...he isn’t as bad as he says.”

“He couldn’t be,” Mari agreed drily.

Thomas’s bare hint of a smile turned into a real one. He almost chuckled. “He’ll try, though.”

“It...should be interesting,” Mari agreed. “Tell me, Thomas. Did you know about this? That Mr. Costanides was setting us up, I mean?”

Thomas hesitated a moment, then said, “No, but, I’m not surprised. It’s no secret Mr. Costanides is worried—about Mr. Nikos, about the future of his company. He’s getting older. He’s had one heart attack. He wants time with Mrs. Costanides and the children. So he wants Mr. Nikos to take over. But,” he added, “only if he does it the way Mr. Costanides wants.”

Which was the situation in a nutshell. “And why am I sure that Nikos has his own mind?” she asked wryly.

Thomas smiled again. “Because he’s his father’s son.” Thomas shook his head. “Mr. Costanides doesn’t always handle Mr. Nikos very well.”

“And he thought hiring a nanny would help?”

“I’m not sure he thinks anything will help at this point,” Thomas said bluntly. “But this, at least, he hasn’t tried.”

That would make two of them.

“He won’t hurt you, miss,” Thomas said quickly. “He teases, that’s all. If he gives you trouble, you call me. I’ll come whip him into shape for you.” He grinned. “Mr. Nikos listens to me.”

“But not to his father.” It wasn’t a question.

Thomas shook his head adamantly. “Never. Mr. Costanides never talks to Mr. Nikos, come to that. Just yells. And demands.” He gave a shake of his head, then brightened and looked at her. “You can fix that.”

“Sounds like it’s been broken for a very long time.”

Thomas hesitated, then gave a small nod. “They’re good men, though. Both of them.”

“Then what’s the problem? Why don’t they listen to each other? Why don’t they talk to each other?” She needed a place to start. Some clue as to what dynamic existed between them.

Thomas lifted broad shoulders. “You got to ask Mr. Nikos or Mr. Costanides about that.” His warm brown eyes met hers. He reached out a hand and squeezed hers briefly. “I wish you luck, miss.”

Mari thought she was going to need it.

The knock on the door was quick and staccato. Seven taps, the last two separated from the first ones in brisk, cheerful fashion.

Obviously the old man—pleased with himself and coming to gloat.

“Door’s open,” Nikos growled.

A second later it was, and a seductively stacked blonde in a revealing leopard-spotted dress sashayed in. “Nikos?” she purred, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

Oh, hell. He’d forgotten about her!

But a second later he grinned with unholy glee at the thought of what his father must be thinking now—and how gloriously shockable the Mary Poppins clone was going to be!

He pushed himself forward in the chair and held out a hand. “Come here, sweetheart,” he drawled.

Debbie’s Dolly shut the door behind her, then moved toward him, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her very low-cut blouse as she came. “Aw, did you hurt yourself, darlin‘?” she murmured, taking in the yellowing bruises on his face. “Let me kiss it and make it better.” She bent over him, giving him a good glimpse of a pair of her more outstanding assets as she did so.