Читать книгу A Nanny Under the Mistletoe - Raye Morgan - Страница 13

Libby stared at Bill Bradford’s charming smile and the crinkly lines around his pale blue eyes. It seemed wrong that her father’s dark hair was sprinkled with gray. That should be earned by hard work and worry, neither of which the man had ever done. This was the first time in months that she’d seen him, not since her younger sister Kelly had graduated from high school.

That meant he was up to something.

“What do you want?” she asked, pulling Morgan close to her.

“How are you, Lib?”

“Fine.”

“Who’s this?” he asked, looking at the little girl.

“Morgan,” she answered. “Charity’s child.”

He nodded. “I heard. Kelly mentioned it. I’m sorry.”

Libby didn’t answer. This man didn’t give a rat’s behind about anyone but himself. “What do you want?” she asked again.

“Can’t a father say hello to his kid?”

“Of course. But when you do, there’s an ulterior motive.”

The charming smile disappeared and the crinkly lines just made him look old. “Have you talked to your sister?”

“We e-mail all the time. She loves UCLA.”

He nodded. “Now that she’s away at college, Cathy’s parents have suggested I should make other living arrangements.”

A nice way to say get out, and about darn time, she thought. The man had mooched off Cathy’s family for years, ever since Libby was a little girl. There was nothing that tugged on heartstrings more than a motherless child. About the time her folks had his number, Cathy turned up pregnant. She’d lost a child to a debilitating disease and descended into despair and drugs. She’d been on the street when she’d hooked up with Bill Bradford. All Cathy had ever wanted was her own baby to love and her parents would do anything to give her that, even if they also had to take in the baby-to-be’s worthless father and his kid.

“What about Cathy?” Libby asked.

“She’s staying.”

So they were splitting up, which meant Cathy had finally had enough, too. At least the woman had been smart enough not to marry him.

He slid his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. “They didn’t give me any warning, so I haven’t had a chance to put together a plan. Other living arrangements take money and I haven’t had time to save up.”

She didn’t say it out loud—that he’d had the last eighteen years to put away money, but that took ambition. “I don’t have any cash to spare.”

“I understand. Just thought I’d check.” He looked at Morgan. “I know how expensive it is to have a kid.”

Play the guilt card and fishing for information at the same time. Classic manipulation.

“I’m her nanny,” Libby explained. “Just a working girl.”

“I live with my Uncle Jess,” Morgan added. “He has a big, big apartment in a very high building.”

Bill forced a smile. “Sounds really nice.”

“It is. And he bought me a new bed, with princess sheets.” She held up her bandaged hand. “I didn’t cry when I got stitches yesterday and he took me to the toy store and got me lots of stuff.”

“Your Uncle Jess did that?” Bill Bradford’s eyes gleamed with interest.

“Don’t even think about it,” Libby warned. “Jess Donnelly isn’t someone you can—”

“The Jess Donnelly, billionaire resort builder?”

Darn. Darn. Darn.

“Look, we have to go.” She took Morgan’s uninjured hand and led her away.

From behind she heard him say, “Goodbye, Morgan.”

“’Bye.”

When the little girl slowed to look back, Libby tugged her along.

“See you later, Lib.”

Not if she saw him first.

Libby kicked herself for letting anger squeeze out common sense. She was trying so hard to leave her past in the past and didn’t want it to spill over into her present. All she wanted was what every woman wanted—a family, someone to love who would love her back. She didn’t want to be associated with the man whose DNA she was trying so hard to overcome.

At dinner around the kitchen table, Jess had Libby on one side and Morgan on the other. She was eating fish sticks and fries, picking them up with her left hand because her right one was wrapped in white gauze. Because of him, her trauma had stretched out far longer than necessary.

He felt like pond scum. Actually worse. Scum was on top of the water. What he was settled lower, deeper, darker and slimier, at the bottom of the water. Because of him, the experience had been worse for Morgan, and remembering the way Libby’s voice cracked and her struggle not to cry ripped him up even now. Fear had been starkly etched on her face and bothered him more than he would have believed possible.

When he stopped beating himself up, Jess noticed that the girls were quieter than usual. No small talk tonight to fill the silence. Normally Libby picked up the slack, but tonight she looked different. The sunshine was gone and he wondered why. It was best not to consider why he noticed at all.

He looked at her, then Morgan. “So, how was your day?”

“I didn’t have to go to the hop-spital.”

“I’m glad about that,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. Obviously she remembered his boneheaded attempt to distract her from the upsetting situation with her hand.

“But I didn’t get to play outside,” the little girl added.

“Why?”

“’Cuz of my hurt hand.” She chewed a French fry. “Miss Connie didn’t want me to make it worser.”

He glanced at Libby, who would normally have corrected the grammar slip, and was surprised when there was no comment. Definitely preoccupied.

“So what did you do inside?” Jess persisted.

“I colored. But not very good.”

“How come?”

He directed the question to Morgan, then glanced at Libby, who was passive-aggressively multi-tasking. She was pushing fish stick bites around her plate and brooding at the same time.

“It was hard to hold the crayons in my other hand.” She picked up a green bean and popped it in her mouth. “But Miss Connie said it was art stick.”

“Is that scholastic terminology? A secret word between students and teachers?” he asked Libby.

“What?” she hadn’t been paying attention.

“Her teacher called her coloring ‘art stick.’”

“Artistic,” she translated.

“Ah. That means it was good,” he told Morgan. “Sometimes it’s hard to be objective about our own work.”

“Huh?”

“It means that we always like what we do so it’s not easy to tell whether or not other people will like it, too.”

“Oh.” But she still looked confused.

“The good news is that while your right hand is getting better, your left got a chance to be a star.”

“I guess.” Her look was doubtful.

“So you had a quiet day?” He couldn’t shake the feeling something had happened.

“Yup.” Morgan nodded emphatically. “Then me and Aunt Libby came here.”

He noticed she didn’t say home and on some level it bothered him. “After yesterday, I’m glad everything was peaceful. So, that’s all that happened?”

Morgan scrunched her nose thoughtfully. “I forgot. A man came to see Aunt Libby and asked if he could say hello to his kid.”

That sent his “uh-oh” radar into on mode. “Who was he? Libby?”

“Hmm?” She glanced at Morgan and the conversation must have registered on some level because she said, “Oh. Just my father.”

Jess realized he didn’t know anything about her family and suddenly wanted to. “That’s nice. Him stopping by, I mean.”

“Aunt Libby didn’t look happy. She s’plained to him that she’s my nanny.”

And had been for a while, Jess thought. That meant she wasn’t communicating with him regularly.

“I told him I live with you,” Morgan continued. “And that you bought me a new bed even before I hurt my hand. But when I didn’t cry you took me to the toy store for a ‘ward.”

“Reward,” Libby clarified, tuning in to the conversation now.

“Right,” Morgan said. “I told him stuff about you and Aunt Libby said for him not to think about that. But I don’t know what that means.”

“It was nothing,” Libby said. “He just stopped to say hello.”

“But you were mad, Aunt Libby.”

“I wasn’t mad, sweetie.” Libby looked startled. “What makes you think I was mad?”

“’Cuz you squeezed my not-hurt hand very, very tight and made me walk away kind of fast. And you didn’t even say goodbye to him, which wasn’t p’lite.”

“I was just in a hurry to get you home,” she said. “I’m sorry you thought I was angry.”

“That’s okay.” She slid from her chair. “I hafta go potty.”

She raced from the room, the unexpected visitor forgotten. But not to Jess.

When they were alone, he looked at Libby, who wouldn’t make eye contact. “You must have been happy to see your father.”

She looked up and there was nothing happy in her expression. “He shows up from time to time.”

“You didn’t tell him you’re working for me?”

“I did today.”

Not what he meant and the look on her face told him she knew that. “Does your mother know about this job?”

“She died when I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically.

Before he could ask even one of the million questions that popped into his head, Morgan ran back into the kitchen and Libby was reminding her to slow down and be careful of her hand. After that the routine ritual of table-clearing and bathtime commenced. The fact that it was becoming familiar to him wasn’t as disturbing as curiosity about Libby.

He hoped that was because she so obviously didn’t want to talk about her father. He figured that was because of a strained relationship, something he understood only too well. He didn’t share information about his mother because there was nothing to be gained by telling a story that always managed to piss him off all over again.

He refused to consider that his high curiosity level was due to anything more than Libby’s out-of-the-ordinary reserve. Every time their paths had crossed over the years, her smart, sassy sense of humor drew him, among other things that had caught his attention and some that hadn’t until she’d moved into his penthouse.

He’d deliberately pretended not to remember her because he couldn’t ever completely forget her. He had sensed the moment they met that she could be more to him, which wasn’t something he ever wanted. The problem was getting that message where it needed to go. Every day he became more aware that she was bright and sexy. Not drop-dead gorgeous, but definitely pretty. And he was damned attracted.

The good news was that Morgan had talked to him more than she ever had and didn’t seem to hold the emergencyroom fiasco against him. The bad? Every day it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep himself from kissing the nanny.

And that would be a huge mistake.

Libby expected Jess to work late and miss Halloween, but that hadn’t stopped her from hoping she’d be wrong. She wasn’t. When he walked into the penthouse, Morgan was already asleep, worn out from trick-or-treating and the excitement of wearing her costume.

He came into the kitchen, where Libby was standing by the island, inspecting the cache of candy the little girl had collected in her plastic pumpkin.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said by way of greeting.

“Yeah.”

With his jacket slung over his shoulder and held by one finger, he looked every inch a corporate pirate. His tie was loosened and the first button of his white dress shirt undone, with the long sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm. The look was so blatantly male, so incredibly masculine that he quite literally took her breath away. She wasn’t prepared for that, but then she never was. There was no way to brace for the overwhelming force of attraction she’d experienced from the moment they’d met.

Jess picked up a chocolate bar and the expression on his face held traces of regret, which was surprising. “Did Morgan have fun?”

“Big time.” Libby tossed a small bag of hard candy with a tear in the package onto the discard pile. “I took her to the District in Green Valley Ranch. The stores surround a big courtyard and were all giving out candy. It had a safe, blockparty sort of feel and there were lots of kids. She had a blast.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see her dressed up.”

“It’s not too late. She insisted on wearing her princess costume to bed.”

One dark eyebrow rose. “You let her?”

“It’s a special occasion. Relaxing the rules seemed like a good idea.” Relax being the operative word since there was something she needed to discuss with him. “You can look in on her if you want.”

“I’ll do that.”

And there was a surprise. Every time she thought she had him figured out he did the unexpected.

He was gone for a while and returned wearing worn jeans and a pale yellow pullover sweater with the neck of his white T-shirt peeking out. Another masculine look that rocked her hormones. She should be used to it by now, but not so much.

“She looks pretty cute,” he said. “While I think it’s really cool, I have to ask. You don’t think the glow-in-the-dark tiara is dangerous?”

Libby laughed. “I tried to talk her out of sleeping in it, but she was willing to take the risk. Then things threatened to get ugly. That wasn’t a hill I wanted to die on, since I can take it off when she’s sound asleep.”

“Sounds like a wise decision.” He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a longneck brown beer bottle, then twisted off the metal cap.

“Speaking of wise…”

Libby wasn’t anxious to bring up the subject of his father or parental males in general after all the questions he asked about her own. Jess had never shown quite that level of interest in her before and she regretted more than was prudent that it probably wasn’t about her at all. For the record, he was smart to be wary of her father.

As much as she didn’t want to, she needed to talk—specifically about his feelings after his father died. He might be able to help Morgan more than anyone.

“What?” He took a drink of beer.

“I was hoping you could help with something.”

“If I can,” he agreed.

“Miss Connie came to see me today.”

“Who?”

“Her kindergarten teacher. She was wondering how Morgan’s coping with the loss of her parents.”

“What do you think?” he asked.

“That’s difficult to answer.” Absently she twisted the cellophane ends of a candy package. “I had to break the news to her.”

Libby remembered that horrible day. Reeling from the news that her best friend wasn’t ever coming home. The realization that she’d have to tell Morgan something that no child should have to hear. “She didn’t have an immediate reaction except to get very quiet. I figured she was only five and hadn’t seen them for months, which is forever to a kid.”

“That makes sense.” The tone was casual and completely at odds with the hard edges and shadows on his face.

“But the regular phone calls from Charity and Ben stopped. I’ve sort of been waiting for her to bring up the subject, if she wants to talk about it.”

“And?” he prompted.

Libby toed open the stainless-steel trash can, then tossed in the questionable candy before meeting his gaze. “She hasn’t mentioned Charity and Ben at all. The thing is, I don’t know how a kid would react to something like that.”

He leaned a hip on the bar stool beside her. “I’m not sure how I can help.”

“You lost your dad when you were just a kid. I was wondering how you handled it.”

He’d started to lift the bottle to his mouth and stopped. The expression on his face said he’d rather walk naked in a hail storm than discuss this.

“That was a long time ago. I don’t remember anything specific.”

Something about his tone made her think he wasn’t telling the whole truth about that. For the life of her she couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t open up. For all his flaws, shallowness being top of the list, she’d never known him to be deliberately mean. And clearly he was loyal. Maybe she could get him to share.

“Did you talk about how you felt? To a counselor? A teacher? Or some other professional?”

“No.” A muscle in his jaw jerked.

“Was there anything your mother did to make it easier?”

He set the beer down with enough force to splash some of the liquid on the counter. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. And I was only a few years older than Morgan.”

“Which is why I think you’re the best person to consult about how to proceed—”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “Little girls are way outside my area of expertise.”

In essence he was refusing to discuss the issue, which tweaked Libby’s temper. “Right. I forgot. Big girls are more your style.”

“I like women,” he agreed.

Libby remembered. She hadn’t meant to say anything out loud and wasn’t sure why she did now. That wasn’t exactly true. It was no surprise that he dated, but seeing Elena Cavanaugh had hurt more than she was prepared for. His type was something she would never be, and face-to-face confirmation was tough to reconcile.

“A child is definitely a responsibility,” she said, bringing the subject back to the little girl. “Is the obligation cramping your style?”

“Morgan is the daughter of my best friend. He’d have done the same for me.”

That wasn’t an answer and sounded more like the company line than a reason to raise an orphaned little girl. This time a dash of irritation made her ask, “Did you ever plan to have children?”

“Honestly?”

“Always the best policy,” she said.

“Since high school my focus has been on achieving success. I knew business was the best way to do that and concentrated all my energy in college on learning everything I could to get me where I wanted to be. I’m determined to make the name Jess Donnelly as recognizable and synonymous with Las Vegas resorts as Steve Wynn or the Maloof family with their fantasy suites at the Palms Hotel.”

“So children aren’t now nor have they ever been one of your priorities?”

“No.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

His gaze narrowed. “Has anyone ever told you that’s quite the talent you’ve got for lobbing verbal zingers?”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I didn’t say that. Just that I noticed.”

“That makes two of us.” Libby froze, then let out a long breath.

What she noticed reinforced that her recent appointment with the attorney had been the right thing to do. The family law specialist had promised to research the situation and get back to her on options for Morgan’s custody—if it became clear that was in the child’s best interest. Libby still hadn’t made up her mind about that.

Sometimes Jess showed signs of bonding with Morgan, then he pulled back. Like tonight. Missing Halloween.

Or maybe she was painting her perception of him with the rejection brush he used on her. She wasn’t proud of the way she yearned for him to become aware of her but couldn’t deny the feelings for him that had simmered inside her for so long.

“What did you notice?” he asked.

Like she would actually share her most personal and intimate thoughts with him. “It’s not so much that as watching Morgan tonight. She made a couple of comments about kids with the adults around them. Wondering if they were moms and dads.”

Jess folded his arms over his chest. “So you’re wondering whether or not her teacher is right about a delayed reaction to losing her parents.”

“Yeah. It crossed my mind.” Among other things, she thought.

“Do you think she needs to see a professional?”

“It’s an option,” she agreed. “I think it might be best to just observe for a while.”

“Okay,” he said.

“And I’m thinking it might be a good idea to get out pictures of Charity and Ben. Not only is there a chance she would open up, but we should try and keep their memory alive for their child.”

“You’re right. Okay.”

Okay. There’d been willingness in his voice to do whatever Morgan needed. That was the kind of thing that warmed Libby’s heart and fueled her impossible fantasies where Jess was concerned. It’s why she wasn’t prepared to do anything drastic to uproot Morgan yet again.

As long as Libby was around to keep that little girl from getting hurt, there was no reason things couldn’t stay the way they were. And that was the problem. They’d agreed she would stay on as nanny until Morgan adjusted. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t decide tomorrow that Morgan was peachy and Libby’s services were no longer required.

She didn’t think he was there yet. At the moment she was more worried about her secret crush on him. But she’d had a lot of practice in hiding how she felt and would simply keep on not letting Jess see what was in her heart, the feelings that just refused to go away.