Prince Daddy & the Nanny (11 page)

“I was in the middle of a conversation with the vice president of a major telecommunications company,” the prince informed her.

“You'll have to tell him that your call—” she tried to muffle her chuckle with a cough “—got dropped.”

He glowered at her.

“I'm sorry. I know it's not funny…” But she couldn't finish, because she was laughing.

“If you know it's not funny, why are you laughing?” he demanded.

Riley looked from one to the other, measuring her father's stern visage against her nanny's amusement, as if trying to figure out how much trouble she was in.

“I don't know,” Hannah admitted. “But I can't seem to stop.”

“She threw my BlackBerry into the ocean.”

She was turning red from holding her breath, trying to hold in the chuckles.

His eyes narrowed. “You really
do
think it's funny, don't you?”

She shook her head, wanting to deny it. But her efforts were futile.

“Well, then,” Michael said. “Let's see if you think this is funny.”

She fell silent when he scooped her into his arms, suddenly unable to remember why she'd been laughing. The sensation of being held close in his arms blocked everything else out. Everything but the heat and hardness of his body—the strong arms holding on to her, one at her back and one under her knees; the firm muscles of his chest beneath her cheek. She was tempted to rub her cheek against him and purr like a kitten, inhaling the enticingly spicy scent of the furiously sexy man. Oh, if only he would hold her like this forever—

The thought had barely formed in her mind when she realized that he was no longer holding on to her at all. Instead, she was flying through the air.

The shock of that had barely registered before she hit the water.

 

She came up dripping and sputtering, obviously as surprised as he had been when Riley had tossed his phone in the water, then she resolutely began to swim back to the dock. Any sense of satisfaction Michael had felt when he sent her on the same journey was gone. In fact, looking at her now as she pulled herself up onto the ladder, he was feeling distinctly unsatisfied. And very aroused.

He stared. He knew it was impolite, but he couldn't help himself. She usually dressed conservatively, keeping her feminine attributes well hidden. But now, with her pale pink T-shirt and white shorts soaked through and plastered to her
body, there was no disguising the delicious curves she had tried to hide—or the sexy lace bra that covered her pert, round breasts but couldn't conceal the tight buds of her nipples.

He swallowed, hard.

She was at the top of the ladder now, and he offered his hand to help her up the last step.

She eyed him warily for a moment before she accepted.

Her hand was cool, but the touch heated his blood, and he realized that he was in serious trouble with this woman. Because even now, when he should be angry and amazed, he couldn't deny the attraction between them. An attraction that continued to grow stronger with each passing day.

“All in all, I'd say you fared better than my phone,” he noted, trying to maintain some equilibrium.

She shoved a handful of sopping hair over her shoulder and, with obvious skepticism, asked, “How do you figure?”

“Your circuits aren't fried.” As his were—or at least in serious danger of doing so.

“Are you going to throw me in the water, too, Daddy?” Riley looked at him with an expression that was half hopeful and half fearful.

“I might,” he said, scooping her off of her feet and into his arms.

Riley shrieked and wrapped her arms tight around his neck. “No, Daddy, no.”

“But you did a bad thing, throwing my phone into the water,” he reminded her. “So there should be some kind of punishment.”

She nodded her head, still clinging to him.

“What do you think that punishment should be?”

His daughter wrinkled her nose, as if seriously contemplating an answer to his question, then offered her suggestion. “Maybe no broccoli for me for a month?”

It was all he could do not to laugh himself—because he
knew how much she hated broccoli. “Nice try, Princess, but I think the punishment needs to be a little more immediate than that and more directly linked to the crime.”

“An apology?” she suggested. “Because I am very sorry, Daddy.”

“That's a good start, but not very convincing.”

“Very, very sorry,” she said, framing his face in her hands and kissing first one cheek and then the other.

“Much more convincing,” he said.

She smiled at him, and it was the kind of smile he hadn't seen on her face in a very long time—a smile full of such pure joy that it actually made his heart ache.

He glanced over her head at Hannah, hoping to telegraph his appreciation to her because he knew that she was responsible for so many changes he'd seen in his daughter in the past few weeks. She was watching them and smiling, too, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes.

 

Since her first day at Cielo del Norte, Hannah had witnessed more and more examples of the strengthening bond between father and daughter. They'd come a long way in a short while, she realized. From virtual strangers who shared polite conversation across the dinner table to a father and daughter who genuinely enjoyed spending time together.

Watching them together filled her heart with happiness—and more than a little envy. Because as much as she wanted to believe that she'd played a part in bringing them together, her role had been peripheral. She was the outsider, as she'd been the outsider through most of her life.

Even when her uncle Phillip had brought her back to Tesoro del Mar, she'd been conscious of the fact that she didn't really belong. All she'd ever wanted was a home and a family of her own, a place where she was truly wanted and needed. But she'd be a fool to think she could find it here—even for a short while.

But there were moments—rare and precious moments that she knew she would hold in her heart forever—when she truly felt as if she was part of their world. Like when Riley reached for her hand as they walked on the beach. Or when the little girl spontaneously reached up to hug Hannah as she tucked her into bed at night.

She'd known from the beginning that her time with Riley and the prince wouldn't ever be anything more than temporary, but that knowledge hadn't stopped her from falling for the princess. There was simply no way she could have resisted a child who needed so much and somehow gave back so much more.

No, it didn't surprise her at all that the little girl had completely taken hold of her heart. The bigger surprise—and much bigger worry—was that she was very close to falling in love with the princess's father, too.

I
t was the sound of Riley's screams that had Michael bolting out of his office a few days later. The screams were coming from the tennis courts, and he raced in that direction. Caridad, also summoned by the sound of the little girl's calls, was right behind him.

“Help! Daddy! Help!”

He would have been the first to admit that his daughter had a tendency to melodrama and that she did everything at full volume. But he'd learned to tell from the tone of her cries whether she was sad or frustrated or hurt, and he'd learned to distinguish between playful and fearful shouts. But he'd never heard her scream like this, and the sound chilled him to the bone.

“Someone! Please! Quick!”

As soon as she saw him, her screams turned to sobs. “Daddy, Daddy, you have to help.”

He dropped to his knees beside her. “What happened? Where are you hurt?” He ran his hands over her as he spoke,
his heart in his throat as he tried to determine the nature of her injury. The way she'd been screaming, he'd sincerely feared that she'd lost a limb or at least broken a bone. But aside from the red face streaked with tears, she appeared to be unharmed, and relief flooded through him like a wave.

“It's n-not m-me,” she sobbed. “It's H-han-nah.”

By this time, the housekeeper had caught up to them, and he saw that she had gone directly to where Hannah was kneeling on the court. Though the nanny had a hand to her head, she didn't seem to be in any dire straits.

With Riley clinging to his side, he ventured closer.

“I'm fine,” he heard her saying, trying to shake Caridad off as she helped her to her feet.

But the older woman was resolute, and as she steered Hannah toward one of the benches along the sidelines of the court, he finally noticed the blood.

He halted abruptly, his stomach clenching.

“I d-didn't m-mean to d-do it,” Riley managed between sobs. “It w-was an accid-dent.”

He squeezed her gently, trying to reassure her but unable to tear his own gaze away from the crimson blood dripping down the side of Hannah's face.

“You are not fine,” Caridad said to Hannah. “And you need to sit down while I get a towel and the antiseptic cream.”

He'd yet to meet anyone who could ignore a direct order from the housekeeper when she spoke in that tone, and Hannah was no exception. She sat where Caridad directed.

“Come on, Riley,” the housekeeper said. “You can help me find what we need.”

Michael knew that Caridad didn't really need Riley's assistance but was trying to distract her from the situation. And Riley was eager to help, obediently falling into step
behind the housekeeper. Michael moved over to the bench to check on Hannah.

“I guess that will teach me to walk up behind a little girl with a tennis racquet,” she said ruefully.

“Is that what happened?” He kept his tone light, not wanting her to know how badly his insides were shaking. He guessed that she'd been cut right above the eye, because that's where she seemed to be applying pressure, but he couldn't tell for sure.

Hannah managed a smile. “Your daughter has a good set of lungs on her.”

“That she does,” he agreed.

“I'm sorry about the panic. I was trying to calm her down, but she saw the blood and then just started screaming.”

Riley raced over with a neatly folded towel. “This one's for your head,” she said, handing one to Hannah. “You're supposed to put pressure on the cut to stop the bleeding. Caridad's bringing the rest of the stuff.”

The rest of the stuff turned out to be a washcloth and a basin of warm water, which she used to clean the blood off of the area around the cut, and a first-aid kit, from which she took an antiseptic wipe to dab gently against the wound. Then she instructed Hannah to keep the pressure on and went back inside to finish getting dinner ready.

“There's a lot of blood, Daddy.” Riley spoke in an awed whisper.

“Head wounds always bleed a lot,” Hannah said, trying to reassure her. “I'll put a Band-Aid on in a few minutes and—”

The prince laid his hand over hers, forcing her to lift the towel so that he could take another look at the gash. The blood immediately began to flow again. “I'm pretty sure it needs more than a Band-Aid.”

“I'm sure it doesn't,” she insisted.

“You're not a doctor,” he reminded her.

“No, but I grew up with one, and he—”

“And he would want you to have this checked out,” the prince said firmly.

 

As it turned out, her uncle Phillip had been at a day conference in San Pedro, so he arrived at Cielo del Norte within an hour of the housekeeper's call. By that time, the bleeding had mostly stopped and Hannah was lying down on a sofa in the library, reading.

Riley was sitting with her, keeping her company while she waited for the doctor to arrive. Despite her repeated assurances that she was okay, the child insisted on staying by her side.

“You only had to call and I would have come to visit,” her uncle chided from the doorway. “You didn't need to create all this drama to get me out here.”

“I'm having second thoughts about it now,” she told him, easing herself back up to sitting position.

“Hi, Doctor Phil,” Riley said.

He smiled at the nickname and offered the little girl a lollipop that he took out of his bag. “For after dinner.”

She nodded and tucked it into the pocket of her shorts.

Phillip sat down beside his niece. “So how did this happen?”

“I hit Hannah with my racquet,” Riley confessed.

“Forehand or backhand?” the doctor asked.

Riley had to think for a minute before answering that one. “Backhand.”

“You must have a pretty powerful swing.”

“I've been practicing lots,” she admitted, sounding torn between pride and regret.

“Okay, let's see what kind of damage you did,” he said, moving to examine the wound.

Hannah winced when he tipped her head back.

“Headache?” he asked, all teasing forgotten.

She nodded slowly.

“I'll give you something for that after I stitch this up.”

He offered to let Riley stay to watch while he fixed up the wound. The little girl had seemed enthused about the prospect, but as soon as the needle pierced through the skin the first time, she disappeared quickly enough.

“Are you enjoying your job here?” Phillip asked Hannah when Riley had gone.

“Other than today, you mean?”

“Other than today,” he agreed with a smile.

“I am,” she said. “There was a period of adjustment—for all of us—but I think we've come a long way in a few weeks.”

“The young princess seems very taken with you.”

“I think she's feeling guilty.”

“That could be part of it,” he admitted.

Hannah sat patiently while he tied off the sutures, thinking about the little girl.

“I still miss my mom sometimes,” she finally admitted.

If her uncle thought it was a strange statement, or one that came from out of nowhere, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he said, “I do, too.”

“But I have a lot of memories of the time we spent together. Good memories.”

“And Riley has none of her mother,” he noted, following her train of thought.

“Do you think that makes it harder for her—because she doesn't have any memories to hold on to?”

“I'm sure there are times when she's conscious of a void in her life, but she seems pretty well-adjusted to me.”

“How long do you think someone usually grieves?”

He taped a square of gauze over the sutures. “I'm not sure there's an answer to that question. Each relationship is different, therefore each grieving process is different.”

She thought about her father's latest email again—and her
own surprise and anger when she read his note. “I thought my dad would love my mom forever.”

“I'm sure he will,” her uncle said gently. “But that doesn't mean he couldn't—or shouldn't—fall in love again.”

She nodded, but her thoughts were no longer on her parents' relationship or her father's remarriage. “Do you think Prince Michael could fall in love again?”

“I'm sure he could,” he said with a slight furrow in his brow. “But I wouldn't want to speculate on when that might happen, and I don't want you to forget that this is only a summer job.”

“Don't worry—I have no desire to give up teaching to be a full-time nanny,” she assured him.

“That's not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“I know you had a crush on the prince when you were younger, and I'm worried that being here may have rekindled those feelings.”

“I did have a crush,” she admitted. “But it was a childhood infatuation. I didn't know him then, and I didn't even like him when I first came here—he was so distant and reserved.”

“And now you've fallen in love with him,” he guessed.

She shook her head. “No. I have feelings for him—” deeper feelings than she was ready to admit even to herself “—but I'm smart enough to know that falling in love with a prince could never lead to anything but heartache.”

“You're not nearly as smart as you think if you honestly believe that you can control what is in your heart,” he warned her.

As Phillip finished packing up his bag, Caridad came in to invite him to stay for dinner. He declined the offer politely, insisting that he wanted to get on his way.

Hannah was sorry to see him go—she had missed him over the past several weeks, but she was also relieved by his
departure. Apparently he had shrewder observation skills than she would have guessed, and she was very much afraid he was right. And if she was falling in love with the prince, she didn't want her uncle to be a witness to her folly.

Because she knew that it would be foolish to give her heart to a man who could never love her back because he was still in love with his wife. And she feared that her uncle was right—that loving the prince might not be a matter of choice, and that she already did.

 

After dinner, Hannah joined the prince and his daughter in the media room to watch a movie. Riley insisted on sitting between them with the bowl of popcorn in her lap, and while the action on the screen kept her riveted for nearly ninety minutes, she did sneak periodic glances at the bandage on Hannah's head to ensure that it wasn't bleeding again.

“Bedtime,” the prince told his daughter when the credits began to roll.

“I can't go to bed,” she protested. “I have to stay up in case Hannah has a concuss.”

“It's
concussion,
” Hannah said. “And I don't.”

“But what if you do?”

“Doctor Phil checked me over very thoroughly.”

“But the medical book says you should be 'specially vigi—” She wrinkled her nose, trying to remember the word.

“Vigilant?” her father suggested.

She nodded. “You should be 'specially vigilant when someone gets hit in the head.”

So that was what she'd been doing while Phillip stitched up Hannah's wound—reading up on head injuries.

“I appreciate your concern,” she told the little girl. “But I'm really okay—I promise.”

“You're not going to die?” The little girl's eyes were wide, her tone worried.

“Not today.”

“Does it hurt very much?” The child didn't sound worried so much as curious now.

“Not very much,” she said, and it was true now that the acetaminophen her uncle had given her was finally starting to take the edge off of the pain.

“Do you want me to kiss it better?”

Hannah was as surprised as she was touched by the offer. “I think that would make it much better.”

Riley leaned forward and very carefully touched her lips to the square of white gauze that had been taped over the wound.

“Okay?”

She nodded.

“You have to kiss it, too, Daddy.”

Hannah's panicked gaze met with the prince's amused one.

“It's really much better now,” she said to Riley.

“But if one kiss helps, then two should help twice as much,” the little girl said logically.

“You can't argue with that,” Michael told her.

“I guess not,” she agreed.

“Kiss her, Daddy.”

So he did. He leaned down and touched his lips gently to her forehead, just above the bandage. It was nothing more than a fleeting touch, barely more than a brush against her skin, but it made everything inside of her melt. Oh yeah, she was definitely falling.

He pulled back, looking into her eyes again. All traces of amusement were gone from his expression now, replaced by an intense awareness that rocked her to her very soul.

“Is that twice as much better?” Riley wanted to know.

Hannah forced a smile. “Twice as much.”

“Now that Hannah's boo-boo has been kissed all better, it's bedtime for you,” Michael reminded his daughter.

“Will you take me up, Daddy?”

“You bet,” he said, and swept her off of her feet and into his arms.

Hannah let out an unsteady breath as they disappeared through the doorway. She felt the tiniest twinge of guilt knowing that she'd lied to the little girl. Because the truth was that the prince's kiss hadn't made anything better, it had only made her desire for him that much harder to ignore.

 

When Riley was all snug under her covers, Michael kissed her good-night and went back downstairs to find Hannah. He wasn't happy when he found her in the kitchen.

“You're supposed to be resting,” he admonished.

“I'm not on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor— I'm just putting a couple of glasses in the dishwasher.”

“Nevertheless—” He took her arm and steered her out of the room. “I don't want your uncle mad at me because you weren't following his orders.”