A Nanny Under the Mistletoe: A Nanny Under the Mistletoe / Single Father, Surprise Prince!. Teresa Southwick

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      “Really?”

      “What’s this really about?” he asked.

      Apparently she’d been unsuccessful in maintaining a neutral expression. She might as well say what had been on her mind.

      “Was weather the real reason you couldn’t be at Ben and Charity’s memorial service? Or was it about dodging the hard stuff? The part where you’re Morgan’s guardian?”

      Stark pain etched itself on his face and looked even darker for the scruff of beard that was three hours past his five o’clock shadow.

      “I’ll admit to being grateful that weather grounded my plane. But it had nothing to do with the kid and everything to do with the fact that a memorial service meant facing the truth that my friend was gone and he wasn’t coming back.”

      “If anyone knows how you feel, it’s me.” Missing Charity was still a raw and ragged wound inside her. She was probably the only person on the planet who knew exactly how Jess felt. And she sympathized with him. “I didn’t want to go either.”

      He took another long drink of his beer and pulled the plate out of the microwave. “I’d have been there if weather hadn’t shut down the airport.”

      She believed him and that realization made her feel all gooey inside. Under the circumstances that was the wrong way to feel.

      “The fact is,” she said, “Ben and Charity made you Morgan’s guardian. The designation implies making an effort to be involved with her. Just like Ben would have been if he were here.”

      A muscle jerked in Jess’s jaw as he stared her down. “Define involved.”

      Libby tapped an index finger against her lips as she thought about the question. “Think of her as a resort development. Periodic reports from a project manager. That would be me. Intermittent on-site social interaction with said project. That would be—”

      “Dinner?” he guessed.

      “Go to the head of the class,” she said.

      He ran his fingers through his hair, then nodded. “I’ll make it a point to be home for dinner tomorrow night.”

      “Promise?”

      “Is that really necessary?”

      “I don’t want to tell Morgan you’ll be here unless it’s going to happen,” Libby said. Life was full of disappointments and she didn’t want more than necessary for a little girl who was dealing with the worst one of all.

      “Promise.” He made a cross over his heart and held up two fingers.

      “Okay, then. It’s a date.”

      Almost instantly she regretted her phrasing. That made it sound too personal, which was so the wrong tone. She wanted him to take an interest in Morgan, not herself. Mostly.

      And so she felt the same conflict of smart women throughout time. How could she want him so intensely when she wasn’t sure she liked him at all?

      Chapter Three

      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?”

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