Prince of a Guy (6 page)

“Carly…” He let out a disparaging sound, struggling with temper, wanting even now to give her a chance to explain herself.

She didn’t take it.

“Is there something wrong?” he prompted, willing her to give him something, anything. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No!”

Too fast,
he thought with a surge of worry.

“What, then? What do I need to know that you haven’t told me?”

“Nothing.”

Frustrated, he turned away, staring blindly at the pool, thinking he should let it go. But he couldn’t seem to do that. After Tina, he’d started swimming laps to relieve stress.

Suddenly, he had a whole lot more stress
to relieve. “I can’t do this again,” he said grimly.

“What?”

“Never mind.” He wasn’t about to admit he’d been this stupid twice in his life. “Look, you don’t want to trust me, fine. But I’m trusting you with Melissa, and I’d like more references. Can you do that?”

She swallowed hard, her only sign she’d heard him. “Yes.”

Heart heavy, he headed inside.

“Sean?” she called, making him stop and look at her. “I’d never hurt Melissa.”

“I know.”

“Can I stay? For the few days there are left?”

Her eyes were eager. Hopeful. And dammit, that made him ache. “You can stay,” he said quietly, wondering why her relieved smile reached him when he didn’t want to be reached, not by her.

S
HE WASN’T
a princess in disguise, she was a chicken.

Late last night, long after Melissa had fallen asleep and Sean’s light had finally gone off, long after Carlyne had snorted in disgust over the television news, which was still claiming she was either in a hospital suffering exhaustion or on an extravagant vacation in the Bahamas, she’d slipped a sheet of paper beneath Sean’s bedroom door.

More references. That they were newly manufactured by Francesca didn’t make Carlyne feel any better. Nor did the fact that she still hadn’t told him the truth about herself.

She couldn’t tell him, not yet.

Francesca was mad at her. Sean was mad at her.

And she was mad at herself.

Not to mention nervous. Sean had left her a message on the machine saying he’d be home in time to take Melissa out for a
burger, which the little girl had been asking him to do for several days.

Carlyne was sure she wasn’t included in the invitation, so she sat on the porch watching Melissa play in the grass, waiting for Sean.

When she heard a rustle in the tree by the fence, she rose to her feet with a sense of resignation. Melissa was still happily playing on the far side of the yard, oblivious, so Carlyne didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Mrs. Trykowski?”

The rustling in the tree grew louder. There came a muffled curse.

“I know you’re up there.” She had to face this. She’d hadn’t slept a wink since she’d gone for that inadvertent swim. If Mrs. Trykowski had recognized her, Carlyne needed to know. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Oh, no, dear. I’m an expert tree climber.”

The branches wriggled wildly as the old woman let herself be seen. “I’ve been climbing this tree for a long time now.”

“What? Why?”

Though the tree was on Mrs. Trykowski’s side of the fence, the woman swung down from a branch and dropped to the ground on Sean’s side. “Why?” the older woman
asked incredibly. “So I know what’s going on, of course.”

“Don’t you think if people wanted you to know, they’d tell you?”

“Well, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Sniffing, she straightened her plaid cotton housedress. Her knee-high stockings had fallen to her ankles, and she had a twig in her hair. “But not Sean. He keeps his emotions right next to his closed-off heart, where they’re safe.”

“Closed-off heart?”

“You know about his ex.”

No. No, she didn’t.

“A horrible woman, Tina was. Well, actually, she was one of those incredibly beautiful women, a homecoming queen, if I’m not mistaken. But she couldn’t tell the truth to save her life. They were going to get married, but she lied about everything—her shopping bills, where she’d been, what she’d been doing, her hair…”

“Her hair?” Carly asked weakly, touching the ends of her wig.

“She pretended to be a natural blonde.” Mrs. Trykowski’s eyes were sharp. “No one is born
that
blond, honey. The point is, she broke his heart but good. I am very glad you plan on mending it.”

“Oh, but—”

“Just don’t ever lie to him.”

Carlyne looked into Mrs. Trykowski’s sky-blue, guileless eyes and searched for answers. Did she know?

Impossible to tell.

The older woman tipped her head to the side, as if considering the matter, and Carlyne held her breath.

“Please don’t betray him. I’d really hate to see that. He wouldn’t like to think so, but he could still be easily hurt. Especially by a woman he cares about.”

“I—I don’t intend to hurt him.”
Don’t you?
taunted a small voice.

“Melissa is doing so well,” Mrs. T said.

Carlyne turned her head and found Melissa walking toward them, a big, warm grin on her face. The grin was for Carly, and she found herself returning it. And just that simply, Carlyne’s heart tripped. Or maybe not just that simply, at all.

Truth was, she was completely, hopelessly in love with the little girl. She hadn’t counted on that.

It was supposed to be temporary.

So what was this serious longing pulsing through her? A longing for a husband and a precious child of her own? And an even
more secret longing…that her family could be as wonderful as Sean and Melissa.

When Sean’s car drove up, Carlyne fought the urge to run to him and tell him everything. But it was too late for that. Far too late.

Melissa went racing toward him, bounding into his arms, which he’d opened for her. He settled her into her car seat, then turned and sought out Carlyne.

As Carly.

Carlyne suddenly couldn’t tell the difference between the two personas. Which one
was
she?

Carlyne?

Carly?

Who did she
want
to be?

Across the yard, their gazes met. Hers was hesitant, but his wasn’t. He looked sure and confident, and he was smiling.

Carly,
she thought. Definitely, she wanted to be Carly.

“See that?” Mrs. Trykowski whispered in her ear. “He’s thinking impure thoughts about you right this very second.”

“Mrs. Trykowski!”

“Well, he is. Don’t waste them now, you hear?”

If anyone was thinking impure thoughts,
it was Carlyne as Sean came toward her. He was fully dressed, of course, but she could see him as he looked at night, getting out of his pool, wearing only wet trunks clinging to his hard, toned body.

“Coming?” he asked.

“Well, I—” She forced the image of his sleek, drenched body out of her head. “I don’t— You and Melissa—” Sighing, she shut her mouth. Since when wasn’t her delivery smooth and articulate? She’d spoken in front of hundreds of people at a time. She’d been keeping her cool since she could walk.

But somehow, Sean O’Mara threatened her entire facade with a look.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.

The question seemed loaded, but his eyes were dark, unreadable. He wore his office attire. Khakis and a polo shirt. Simple clothes, but not a simple man. Intelligence blared from his eyes and expression. His body was tenser than he’d let on, and beneath the smooth cotton of his shirt, every muscle was delineated and defined.

Trouble. He was trouble personified. At least in terms of her mental health.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Get in the car, Carly.”

Surprised at herself, she did. When he’d driven away from the curb, she asked, “Did you call my new references?”

He looked at her, then turned his head and watched the road. His jaw was tight. “Yes.”

“Did they check out?”

“Didn’t you expect them to?”

He met her gaze again briefly, but this time she looked away first. “Yes. Sean…” She glanced at Melissa in the back seat. She was busy sucking on her fingers. Carlyne lowered her voice. “Despite the kitchen fiasco and the fact I don’t really cook—”

He made a noise that sounded like a snort of agreement.

“Despite the fact that maybe I’m not your typical nanny, I really am a good caretaker for Melissa.”

“We agreed on that fact last night, or you wouldn’t still be here.”

“So you do trust me that much, at least.”

Again he flicked her a glance. “That much, yes. But I’d like to know more about you. You haven’t volunteered an ounce of information.”

“Neither have you.”

He fell silent.

The radio wasn’t on. Melissa was oddly
quiet. Which left Carlyne with nothing to distract her from the way Sean’s long legs flexed every time he braked or clutched. His hand worked the gearshift with a natural ease that had her mind drifting to other things.

Such as what else he could do with those hands.

What he could do to a woman’s body. To
her
body.

She was pretty desperate if her mind had wandered in that direction about this man. “How’s work?” she asked, desperate for a diversion.

“Busy.”

“Nikki good?”

“Yep.”

“What are you working on?”

“Work.”

Subject clearly closed. Well, too bad. She needed to talk before the silence killed her. “Busy with your designs?”

He lifted a surprised brow.

“I do know what an architect does.”

“It’s not the actual work I’m too busy with,” he admitted. “I love that part. It’s the other. The dealing with rich, spoiled clients. Soothing ruffled egos. Attending silly cocktail parties to promote my work.”

“Parties?” They happened to be her forte, parties. Not that she missed wearing heels and stockings, but there was something to be said for the excitement of pulling it all together. “You have to go to a lot of them?”

“One in particular. This Saturday night,” he added in a voice that told her he’d rather have an impacted wisdom tooth removed without novocaine.

“It isn’t so bad, really,” she told him. “Just hold a drink in your hand and keep moving. Oh, and keep smiling.”

He flicked her an interested glance. “You sound like you know what you’re doing.”

“Well…”

“You can come with me, then.”

“What?”

She didn’t know who was more surprised. Sean, that he’d asked, or her. “But what about Melissa?” she asked. “She’ll—”

“She’ll be fine with Mrs. Trykowski for the night. Hey, it’s your own fault,” he said, sounding grumpy. “You looked interested. You can keep me in line.”

Yes, but who would keep
her
in line?

They didn’t talk again until they were seated in the noisy, bustling fast-food restaurant. They sat in front of the kiddie area, where Melissa had vanished. The small ta
ble was shaped like a hamburger. Their knees bumped. Their feet touched. And when they reached for their drinks at the same time, their hands brushed.

Overly sensitized to his touch, Carlyne drew back abruptly, knocking all her French fries to the floor.

“Here.” Sean reached into his bag and grabbed a fry. He dipped it in ketchup and lifted it to her lips.

His eyes were full of challenge and something else entirely, something that made her skin feel itchy and hot.

He waved the fry beneath her nose. It smelled heavenly.

But then again, so did Sean. “Sean, what are you doing?”

“Feeding you.”

“But—”

“Open.”

“I don’t think—”

“Open,” he said again, touching her lower lip with the fry, dabbing a drop of ketchup there, which she sucked off. The little sucking noise seemed exorbitantly loud.

S
EAN FELT
that noise to the depth of his toes, but mostly right between his thighs. And when Carly sunk her teeth into the French
fry, he nearly moaned. “Good?” he asked in a voice gone thick with unexpected desire.

“Yes, but—”

“Eat, Carly.”

“But you don’t even like me,” she reminded him.

“I’m just feeding you.”
Just looking at you. Just wanting you.

She drew the rest of the fry into her mouth. When she licked the remaining salt off her lower lip, he tore his gaze from hers and watched her mouth. It was a fascinating mouth. Wet, with a little bit of ketchup right…

She made a sound when he touched her lips. And when he dragged his finger across her lower lip, she made that sound again, an almost helplessly aroused noise that came from deep in the back of her throat.

“You have some…” His finger made the pass again, and when her tongue darted out to hit the spot, finger and tongue collided.

He let out a rough groan. “Carly—”

Her eyes closed as if the name somehow bothered her, but that was silly, it was her name, and then her tongue touched his finger again and he had to stop thinking because he lost all the blood in his head for parts south.

“You missed it,” he whispered hoarsely, and he bent forward, still holding her gaze until the last possible second, until their lips were nearly touching, until her long lashes drifted down, hiding her expression.

Until they were kissing.

Softly. Tentatively. Sweetly. And then that gentle connection wasn’t enough. Sean pulled back and reached for her glasses. He wanted them off, wanted no barriers.

“No, I want to see this,” Carly protested, her hands coming up, holding the glasses on.

He wasn’t going to argue. Cupping her face, Sean shifted closer and—

Nothing.

Because there came a tug on his shirt. “Can I have ice cream now, Uncle Sean? I been good. Really, really, really good.”

Melissa stood there, her eyes big and intent on her mission.

Carly’s eyes were big, too, and they landed on him with the same question he had. How long had Melissa been standing there?

Had she seen that impromptu—and totally inappropriate—kiss? And how had it happened? One moment he was teasing her with that French fry and the next…

“Aren’t you done talking yet?” Melissa wanted to know.

“Yes.” Carly surged to her feet. Careful to avoid Sean’s gaze, she grabbed Melissa’s hand. Her breathing wasn’t quite even, the only hint of any inner turmoil. “Let’s get that ice cream, kiddo.”