Читать книгу The Playboy & Plain Jane - Leanne Banks - Страница 13

Gail Fenton looked at the doozy of a run in her panty hose and tried to tug the hem of her dress lower to conceal it. She wasn’t having a good hair day, either, but with her noncompliant red curls, she couldn’t remember ever having a good hair day. Perfect grooming probably wasn’t a requirement for the job of nanny to a one-year-old, but looking like a slob during the interview wouldn’t help her chances, either. Then again, if Gail felt out of place in the elegant formal living room of Nicholas Barone’s luxurious town house, how must his poor little girl feel?

Nicholas Barone’s assistant, Mrs. Peabody, who explained she’d come from the office to assist her boss with these interviews, looked over her half glasses. “Your résumé says you hold a degree in computer science. Why do you want to be a nanny?”

Translation: Are you nuts to give up the prestige of a computer position to change diapers? Gail was accustomed to the question and had her answer ready. “I find working with children much more rewarding. Children smile, hug and laugh. Computers don’t.”

“Then why didn’t you major in early-childhood education or something similar?” Mrs. Peabody asked.

“My brother’s influence,” Gail confessed. Her brother, Adam, had wielded his influence in several areas, and with both parents gone, Gail had been susceptible to his guidance until recently. “My brother encouraged me to major in computer science because it’s a marketable field and I’ve always been pretty good with computers. But during the summer before I graduated, I took a position as a nanny and loved it. After I graduated, I worked with Manatee Computer Services. The company recently downsized, and I saw this as my opportunity to do something I want to do—work with a child.”

“Your references are excellent,” Mrs. Peabody mused. “You realize this is a live-in position?” she asked.

“That’s no problem for me,” Gail said. “My roommate is getting married.”

Mrs. Peabody nodded thoughtfully. “I think Mr. Barone should meet you. Please wait while I get him.”

Gail felt a jiggle of nerves in her stomach. “I’ll be here,” she said with a smile.

As soon as the woman left, Gail rose and paced around the beautiful room. At her age, twenty-five, she was surprised at her case of nerves. Although she’d wanted a career change, she hadn’t realized how much she wanted this job. She wanted more of a feeling of connection in her life. She stopped pacing to study a collection of family photographs on the wall.

The Barones. There was a passel of them, and their names and faces frequently graced the Boston Globe society and business pages. She wondered what it would be like to have that many brothers and sisters, and felt a pinch of longing. With both her parents gone, it was just Gail and her brother now, and although Adam was generous with his advice, he was busy with his own career. Gail had plenty of friends, but since college she’d missed feeling as if she really belonged.

The sound of a woman’s cultured voice and a child’s loud wail broke her reverie. Gail peeked out the doorway and spotted a statuesque, red-haired, older woman in what was obviously a designer dress. Not one smoothly coiffed hair was out of place, Gail noticed in awe as she absently smoothed her hand over her own mass of curls.

The woman held a howling, dark-haired little girl in her arms. She glanced up with a pained expression and met Gail’s gaze. “Our Molly is still adjusting.”

Curious, Gail craned her neck to get a better look at her potential charge. “A lot of us feel a little cranky when we first wake up. Amazing what a diaper change, juice and a cookie can do.”

The woman smiled and walked closer. “A diaper change for adults?”

“Well, you must admit some adults act like their underwear is a little too tight, and they don’t have the excuse of a wet diaper.”

The woman gave a throaty chuckle. “So true. I’m Moira Barone and this is Molly. Sorry I can’t offer my hand.”

“I’m Gail Fenton. Pleased to meet you and Molly.” Gail gasped at the beauty of the screaming child. “My goodness, she’s gorgeous. Even with her face red as a tomato.”

Moira chuckled again, then shook her head. “I think she’s just getting herself more worked up.”

Gail blew into the baby’s face. Molly paused in her screaming and opened her eyes, her long black eyelashes damp with tears. She stared hard at Gail, and her lower lip protruded as if she was gearing up for another cry.

“Peekaboo,” Gail said, and moved out of sight.

Silence, followed by a hiccup.

Gail popped back. “Peekaboo,” she said with a smile and moved away.

Silence again. Molly turned her head to search for her.

Gail moved back into view again. “Peekaboo.”

A slow smile curved Molly’s mouth.

Moira shook her head in amazement. “I have eight grown children, and I had completely forgotten peekaboo.”

“Too many garden-club meetings with society matrons,” a man said as he strolled into the room with Mrs. Peabody by his side.

Gail glanced at the man and her jaw dropped. Well over six feet tall, jet-black hair, chiseled facial features and the lean, muscular kind of body that no doubt had women littering his path. He probably had to beat females off with a stick. The glint of ruthlessness in his eyes affected her stomach. Other women would try to tame him, but she possessed neither the attractiveness, sex appeal or polish necessary to match wits with or seduce a man like Nicholas Barone. Besides, she knew he’d never look twice at her. Darn shame, but that was the truth. Oh well, she supposed she could admire him from afar.

She instinctively turned to Moira. The older woman was safer. “The power of peekaboo is greatly underestimated, but I’m sure you would have remembered it soon enough.”

“Perhaps necessity might have jogged my memory,” Moira said, looking down at her grandchild. “Or desperation.”

“And what would a computer specialist know about peekaboo?” the man asked, his eyes cynical.

Gail paused less than a beat. She suspected there was a reason for the cynicism, but she disliked the attitude. Something told her he wasn’t a man who worried about being liked. She met his gaze head-on, confident in her ability to care for the man’s child, and just as confident about her lack of feminine appeal. “I could write a dissertation on the subject of peekaboo. The wonderful thing about peekaboo is that it requires no special equipment and can be employed at any time, just about any place. But there are some requirements for the game.”

He arched a dark eyebrow. “And they are?”

“A sense of humor and a willingness to—” She broke off, her stomach a riot of butterflies at the intent way he stared at her. Gail felt heat rush through her bloodstream.

“Willingness to what?” he prompted.

She cleared her throat and prayed in vain that her cheeks weren’t turning fire-engine red with embarrassment. “A willingness for the adult involved to completely ditch his or her dignity,” she said, pretty sure she’d just lost hers.

His lips twitched slightly. “Is that so?” He glanced at her résumé. “Why isn’t ‘peekaboo specialist’ on here?”

Gail laughed in a combination of relief and amusement. “I knew I’d forgotten something.”

“Nicholas Barone,” he said, extending his hand and meeting her gaze.

She accepted his handshake. “Gail Fenton, but I imagine you already know that.”

“You imagine correctly. You’ve met Molly,” he said, glancing down at his daughter. “Bellisima,” he said to the child, then dropped a kiss on her forehead.

Molly stared up at him and her lower lip protruded in a pre-wail position.

Gail couldn’t blame the child. If Nicholas seemed larger than life to her, she could hardly imagine what a baby might think of him.

“Please join me in the living room,” he said to Gail. “I have a few questions.”

“Of course,” Gail said. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Barone, Mrs. Peabody and Molly,” she said as the tyke began to fuss. Gail followed Nicholas into the living room.

“She hasn’t smiled for me yet,” he muttered, motioning Gail to sit across from him on the couch. He took the large wing chair.

“She’s in awe,” Gail said.

He shot her a look of doubt. “Awe?”

“Well, yes. To normal people, you’re quite tall, but to her, you’re huge.”

“Normal people,” he said, rubbing his chin.

“Average,” Gail corrected, thinking he was one of those men who couldn’t miss a day of shaving. “Something tells me you’re not familiar with the idea of being average,” she said, and bit her lip. “Sorry. That was way too personal for an interview.”

He nodded. “Yes, it was, but you’re right. Barones aren’t allowed to be average.”

She saw a world of experience in his blue eyes and knew without his saying that he had always pushed himself, that much had been required of him and that he had done whatever it took.

He glanced at the application again. “I still don’t understand why you would choose to be a nanny when you could work at any number of top companies.”

She bit back a groan. “I like to play peekaboo,” she said. “Computers don’t.”

He remained silent as if waiting for the real explanation.

“When I work with computers, I don’t feel as if I’m making an important contribution. But when I take care of a child, I feel as if I’m shaping the future. I love the feeling of connectedness I get from caring for a child.”

“Mrs. Peabody tells me both your parents are deceased,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprising her with the gentle note in his voice. “You have one brother?”

“Who has tried to micromanage my life.”

He shot her a questioning glance, amazing her with his ability to extract information with just an expression.

“After I attended community college in Iowa, he persuaded me to finish my education here in Boston.”

“How does he feel about you taking this position?”

“How he feels about it isn’t important. How you, Molly and I feel about it is important.”

He nodded. “Are you engaged or in a serious relationship?”

Gail paused. “That’s personal, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but pertinent. I’ve just gained custody of a daughter I didn’t even know existed until a couple of weeks ago. I don’t want to hire someone who can’t make a long-term commitment.”

“How long-term?”

“Seventeen years,” he deadpanned, then cracked a wry grin. “Just kidding. After a thirty-day trial, I’d like you to sign a one-year contract.”

“A year is no problem,” she said, an odd assortment of emotions rolling through her. Mrs. Peabody had briefed her about the way Nicholas had learned of Molly’s existence, but the story still floored her. “Your life must have been turned upside down.”

“I’ve had to reevaluate my lifestyle,” he said, the fire in his eyes belying his neutral tone. “Providing a stable environment for Molly is my top priority. Which is why I asked that personal question. Are you in a serious relationship that can’t withstand your absence for a limited time?”

Gail thought of her wide assortment of male friends and bit back a chuckle. Serious? To them, she was one of the guys. “I’m not engaged or serious about anyone at the moment. I have several male friends, because I play volleyball on one of the more successful teams in a Boston recreational league. I also play a little basketball.”

“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.