Читать книгу A Nanny Under the Mistletoe - Raye Morgan - Страница 10

The next night Jess walked into the penthouse and heard Libby’s voice, the smoke-and-whiskey huskiness that skipped over his skin and made him hot. Now was no exception. When she stopped talking, a little-girl giggle filled the silence. This was the first time he’d ever heard that sound in his home and it made him smile. Amusement faded fast when he remembered why he was here.

To get involved with Morgan. Libby’s words came back to him—like Ben would have been if he’d lived.

“I’m trying, buddy,” Jess whispered. “Man, I wish you were here. I’m already screwing this up.”

Libby had figured out that he worked late to avoid the situation at home. She’d nailed him and he didn’t like it. He also wasn’t sure how he felt about her coming up with the idea of being the nanny. On one hand, he was glad to have someone caring for Morgan that she knew and felt comfortable with. Someone who could make her giggle, he thought when the sound came to him again.

On the other hand, Libby had also guessed that he hadn’t wanted to go to the memorial service and seemed to share the feeling. She’d gone soft when they discussed it, unlike the harsh way she’d reviewed his home as it related to being kid-friendly. But he could tell that she didn’t particularly like him and he didn’t particularly care. At least he tried not to because that was a slippery slope straight to hell.

Jess set his briefcase down by the front door, took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. Every light in the room was on, including the under-the-cabinet fluorescents. Morgan was sitting on one of the six tall, padded wrought-iron stools arranged in a semi-circle around the island. Libby was across from her putting something on a cookie sheet. The glass-topped dinette was set with three woven placemats, plates, eating utensils and glasses. Until the last week, he’d always come home to a dark, silent penthouse. All this light and activity made him feel as if he’d stepped into an alternate universe.

Libby looked up and saw him standing there. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He lifted a hand when Morgan turned in his direction. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she said, not quite looking at him.

Until he made his presence known, Libby and Morgan had been talking and laughing. Now it was as if the cone of awkwardness had descended, closing off the giggles. Suddenly the room wasn’t quite so bright. Maybe Libby had been wrong about Morgan wanting him there.

He observed Libby, noting how the tailored white cotton blouse and snug jeans set off her curves to perfection. There was uncertainty in her vivid blue eyes. Maybe they took on that extraordinary color because her cheeks were flushed. It didn’t matter why, really, because the more he saw her, the more he realized how striking she was.

“So,” she said.

“What’s for dinner?” He looked at Morgan, who was staring at the beige-and-black design on the granite-covered island.

Libby waited a couple of beats, then answered with exaggerated cheerfulness in her tone. “We’re having chicken nuggets and french fries.”

He moved beside her and studied the mystery chicken pieces arranged in rows on the cookie sheet. He picked one up and examined it. “I have a number of luxury resorts that employ world-renowned chefs and I don’t think one of them has this particular entrée in their repertoire.”

“It’s Morgan’s favorite.” Libby gave him a look, although her tone was still relatively good-humored. “She chose this for dinner.”

He’d meant the words in a teasing way but the little girl looked worried. Clearly she didn’t get his sense of humor, but he’d put his foot in his mouth and needed to salvage the situation somehow.

“I can’t wait to try this,” he said, wondering if his voice had enough enthusiasm or was over-the-top.

“You’re going to love it,” Libby promised. “Isn’t he, Morgan?”

“I guess.” She didn’t look up.

“And to balance this meal nutritionally, I’ve made a salad with various kinds of lettuce, veggies, shaved almonds, croutons for crunch and blue cheese crumbles just because.”

“Yuck,” Morgan commented, wrinkling her nose.

“You know the rule,” Libby said.

The little girl heaved a huge sigh. “I don’t have to like it, but I have to try it.”

“Seems fair,” Jess said.

This brought back memories of his own childhood, before his dad died. Before everything went to hell. He knew the signs well enough to know that Morgan was on the dark side now. He wanted to make it better, but he didn’t even know how to carry on a conversation without hurting her feelings.

“Why don’t you tell Uncle Jess what you did at school today,” Libby suggested, as if she could read minds.

His next thought was the realization that the little girl had never addressed him by his given name, let alone said “Uncle Jess.” He’d have remembered that. When he’d dropped in on her parents, they’d run interference and the visits had been scattered, infrequent. Not enough for her to remember him.

Now he was the one in charge of running interference, which made him certain that fate had a sadistic sense of humor. It also made him want to put a fist through the wall, but that wasn’t an option.

“What did you do in school, Morgan?” he asked, grateful that Libby had thrown him a bone.

Morgan glanced up at him, then down again. “I made a pumpkin.”

“It’s there on the refrigerator. For Halloween,” Libby explained.

He looked behind him and saw the construction paper creation held to the front of the appliance with a magnet. The little girl had colored it green and he was about to say something about pumpkins being orange when he noticed Libby shake her head slightly in a negative motion. Fortunately he wasn’t quite as dense as a rock and got her drift.

“Wow, Morgan. I really like your pumpkin,” he said. “You did a great job.”

“One of the kids said it’s the wrong color,” she mumbled.

“What do they know? Maybe this is a pumpkin that’s not ripe yet,” he suggested.

Morgan lifted one slight shoulder in a shrug.

When he met Libby’s gaze, her expression was sympathetic. That wasn’t something he was used to seeing. If anyone could sense that it was him. When his mother had brought home a guy two years after his dad’s death, Jess had known in seconds that he didn’t measure up. He’d always gotten the same hostile vibe from Libby.

He was accustomed to her shooting daggers at him when their paths crossed in a party setting with other people around. He’d always noticed her but managed to find someone safe to take his mind off her. That wasn’t the case now. Worse, he kind of liked that she was cutting him some slack for his inexperience.

But there was something else about her that was different, too. Her blond hair was tousled around her face, teasing her pink cheeks. The smile she flashed him was bright and beautiful and made his chest feel weird. Intelligence snapped in her eyes and her mouth made him wonder if it would taste as good as he imagined.

From the first moment he met her, he’d been concerned that she could take his mind and libido to a place he’d always managed to avoid going. And he shouldn’t be going there now.

“How long until dinner?” he asked. “I’m going to change clothes.”

“About fifteen minutes,” she answered.

He nodded and headed out of the room. It wasn’t nearly enough time, he thought, feeling cornered in his own home. If he hadn’t promised to eat dinner with Morgan, he would leave. But he’d crossed his heart and somehow knew that the gesture was tantamount to sacred between Morgan and Libby.

As if that wasn’t enough proof of their attachment, the sound of Libby’s voice followed by Morgan’s giggle sliced into him and rattled around, echoing off the emptiness there.

The female interlopers in his world had a bond—the two of them against the world. He remembered the feeling from long ago and felt a flash of wanting to be a part of it again. But he’d experienced an alliance like they had and found out it wasn’t something he could trust. A unit as tight as Libby and Morgan’s had no room for him. Even if he wanted to join, which he didn’t.

Sooner or later he’d wind up in the cold anyway, so the cold was where he would stay.

Dinner could have been more awkward, but Libby wasn’t sure how. Her cheeks and jaw hurt from smiling too much and her brain was tired after thinking so hard to singlehandedly keep up a three-way conversation. Jess had stuffed his face full of nuggets and fries, then excused himself—a polite way of saying he couldn’t get away fast enough.

Once he’d vacated the table, Morgan released her inner chatterbox and turned back into the child Libby knew and loved. If Ben and Charity had been able to see their daughter’s future, would they still have named Jess her guardian? She wasn’t so sure. But there was something she needed to discuss with him and finally found him in the morning room.

Libby hadn’t thought to look there because it was evening and there were no lights on, which had made her think the room was empty the first time she’d checked. Now she stood in the doorway. The only illumination came from the lights on the Strip that were visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. As he’d said on her penthouse tour, it was a fabulous sight.

She felt a stab of guilt for pointing out that a five-year-old girl had no frame of reference to appreciate the adult view. It was true that billboards and taxis flaunted advertisements of scantily-clad women that Morgan shouldn’t see, but from here the view was classy and breathtaking. And she didn’t just mean the lights. Jess looked pretty fabulous, too. But he always did to her.

“Jess?”

The light on a glass-topped table came on instantly. He was sitting in a rattan chair on a plush, cream-colored cushion.

“Is everything okay?”

That depended on what he meant by everything and okay. But she figured he probably meant was there a crisis for which his presence was required.

“Fine.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

There was only a slight hesitation before he said no. That could have been her imagination, but she didn’t think so because the look in his eyes said she was marginally more welcome than a global financial crisis.

There was an identical chair beside his and she lowered herself into it. The seat was deep and if she slid back, she felt her feet wouldn’t touch the floor. Jess, on the other hand, had no problem, what with his long legs.

Before dinner he’d changed out of his suit into a pair of jeans, a cotton shirt and navy pullover sweater. It was a preppy look that he somehow pulled off as rugged. Her stomach did that quivery thing she recognized as acute attraction—unwelcome, but best acknowledged so it could be dealt with.

Libby folded her hands and settled them in her lap, angling her knees toward him. “So, how did you like dinner?”

“Awesome.”

“Really?”

“Best I ever had.”

“So, you’ve eaten chicken nuggets before?”

“It’s been a while.” Something darkened in his eyes. “But, yes, I have.”

“The amount you consumed was pretty amazing.”

“Did Morgan notice?”

“That you were shoving record-breaking amounts of food in your mouth to redeem yourself for dumping on her favorite meal?”

“Yeah. That.”

“No.”

“Just so we’re clear, I wasn’t dumping on her choice. That was humor.”

“She’s five.” Libby gave him a wry look. “She doesn’t know world-renowned, repertoire or chef.”

“I got that.” He folded his arms over his chest as he stared out the window.

“Complimenting her artwork was a nice save.”

“Oh, please.” Now his look was wry. “It was pathetic and you know it.”

“What I know,” she said, feeling sorry for him in spite of herself, “is that you didn’t have a meltdown when you noticed a magnet on the expensive stainless-steel front of your refrigerator.”

“Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind,” he answered.

Libby laughed, but it didn’t lighten her mood. She wasn’t here to worship at the altar of Jess Donnelly and be seduced by his charm and self-deprecating humor.

“But you held back.”

“I would have made a joke about it but I was afraid she’d think I wanted her drawn and quartered at dawn.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Only a little.” He blew out a long breath. “It probably didn’t escape your notice that I’m not very good at kid talk.”

“No? Really?” she said in mock surprise. “I swear I was planning to get out the duct tape to shut you up.”

The corners of his mouth curved up slightly. “In my own defense, it has to be said that I spend my days in meetings about budgets, building materials and stock market shares. Until a week ago I didn’t have to know about nightlights, green pumpkins or trying something I don’t like.”

Libby didn’t want to sympathize with what he was going through and worked hard to suppress it. He’d agreed to be Morgan’s guardian should anything happen to her parents. The argument that no one expected they wouldn’t come home didn’t fly with her. For God’s sake, they’d gone halfway around the world to a place where bad, life-threatening things happened much more frequently than here in the States.

Jess could have taken the time to get to know Morgan. He could have made the effort to fill his friend’s shoes and make the absence of a little girl’s father a little easier for her. But he hadn’t done that.

He was doing the right thing now and got points for that, but no sympathy for the fact that talking to a little girl, a virtual stranger, wasn’t easy. Still, for Morgan’s sake, she decided to help him out. Be a bridge.

Libby blew out a breath. “Kid talk takes practice, just like any other language. Ask her questions.”

“Like?”

“What’s her favorite color?”

“Pink,” he answered. “Sometimes purple, better known as lavender.”

Would wonders never cease? He’d actually listened that day they’d first arrived. “So ask things you don’t know. Such as what she did at school.”

“You covered that,” he reminded her.

“I found out she made a pumpkin. A good question would be why that, as opposed to a ghost or pirate.”

“I just figured it best captured Halloween.” He shrugged.

“Of course, but asking shows that you’re interested and could get her talking. Which brings to mind an obvious question.”

“Obvious to who?”

“Everyone.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Libby. I have no idea what to say to her next.”

“I keep forgetting you don’t live in the real world.” She sighed. “You do know that Halloween is when kids dress up in costumes and go trick-or-treating for candy?”

It took several moments before the “aha” light came on in his eyes. “So the question is—what does she want to be for Halloween?”

Libby smiled. “Give the man a prize.”

“Even though the man doesn’t deserve it?”

He sounded sincere. Like he didn’t believe getting a clue was anything to be proud of. And she had to agree with him. It wasn’t a big deal. But the fact that this being-out-of-his-comfort-zone side to Jess was something that she’d never seen before did land squarely in big-deal territory. It could make him sympathy-worthy and she couldn’t afford to feel that way. She wasn’t here to stroke his ego, but as Morgan’s advocate. It was time to bring up the subject she’d come here to discuss with him.

“I just tucked her into bed and we were talking about something—”

Alarm jumped into his eyes. “The fact you’re here means she had something on her mind.”

“I see you’ve gone to the bad place where you’re expected to eat fish sticks as well as chicken nuggets every night for the rest of your life.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s not about that.” His confused male look was so astonishingly cute that there was a definite tug on her heart. “She remembered that you said you would think about making changes to her room.”

“Oh.” He relaxed. “Okay.”

“Letting Morgan put her personality stamp on her own space might help her to niche in with you.”

He steepled his fingers and tapped them against his mouth. “I have no objection to that.”

“Good. So, let’s figure out when you can take her shopping.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need to approve her taste. Just let her pick out whatever she wants and send the bills to me.”

It was like he’d pulled down a shield to hide the vulnerability she’d seen just moments before, when he worried about how to talk to a little girl. What was up with that?

“Shopping with Morgan is a good way to know her and build up a collection of conversational questions,” Libby pointed out.

“I’ll pass.”

“Don’t you want to be a part of picking things out?”

“It’s not necessary.”

“No one said it was. But to continue our discussion of a little while ago, it’s a way to break the ice. Which you were just wondering how to do. Because she lives with you now. You’re her family.”

“No.”

“Excuse me, you’re her guardian.”

“And as such I will make sure she has everything she ever needs, but don’t call it family because I don’t know how a family is supposed to behave.” He met her gaze and there were shadows in his own.

“Ben and Charity believed otherwise or you wouldn’t be Morgan’s guardian.”

“A past like mine makes their judgment questionable.”

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“My father died when I was a boy. A little older than Morgan.”

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically.

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”

“Even so…” She thought for a moment. “It would seem that a loss like that would make you more sympathetic to what Morgan is going through—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “What I know is Ben and Charity meant for me to provide for Morgan’s material needs. He was my friend and knew me and my limitations and he still asked me to take her. So I’m prepared to pay the bills.” He stood, signaling an end to the discussion. “Is there anything else?”

“I’ll let you know.”

He nodded. “Then I’ll say good night.”

When he was gone the chill in the morning room made Libby shiver, a feeling fueled by sympathy she couldn’t stop this time. She realized how little she knew about Jess’s life. She hadn’t been aware that he’d lost his father at such a young age. At a time when he felt the loss destroyed any sense of family for him. What about his mother?

Libby had never known her own. The woman had died before she was old enough to remember her. Her father was still alive, still an opportunist who used people. But she’d grown up watching a family support their own. Even though she’d never felt a part of that family, she understood the dynamic and the love that underscored everything.

Apparently Jess hadn’t been as lucky. She’d always thought of him as the golden boy, never touched by tragedy. Obviously there were more layers to him than she’d suspected.

Only time would tell whether that was good or bad.