A Prince of a Guy

“You’re not married?” she asked without thinking, then wondered what he would make of that question.

She didn’t know what to make of that question.

“No,” he said very firmly, as if the thought were abhorrent. “Not married. Which is why I might need help at night if I have a meeting.” He glanced at Melissa as if she were a puzzle missing some pieces.

Carlyne knew the song and dance. She remembered her own nanny well. And the cook. And the maid. During her childhood she’d seen only servants, rarely her own parents, and certainly not during the evening hours when they’d been busy with one social function or another.

She didn’t know anything else, but couldn’t contain her strange sense of disappointment that this man seemed to be no different.

“You have plenty of experience,” Sean said, skimming the list of her supposed previous jobs. “And you have a teaching credential, too.”

She had quite a few credentials, and no less than three accredited degrees. She collected them like others collected shoes, mostly because she had yet to figure out what she wanted to do with her life.

“Impressive references,” he murmured, and Carlyne sent a silent message of thanks to her assistant for providing the names. “Can you tell me about yourself?” He lifted his head, piercing her with those mesmerizing eyes.

There was a lock of hair over his forehead. He had a five o’clock shadow. By looks, he could have been a rebel, but the careful way he was reading her résumé seemed at odds with that. “What would you like to know?”

“Well…” He looked confused, as if he wasn’t sure exactly. “How about your family? Or how you grew up?”

“Oh, same old thing,” she said lightly. Poor little princess. Absent parents. No siblings. No close friends. Nothing she could tell him, of course.

“Really?” Lord, his eyes were deep. “What’s the same old thing?”

Since she couldn’t explain, she reverted to her lifelong fantasy. “A house with a white picket fence, two parents, various kids and a dog.”

“That sounds nice.” She could tell he really meant it. “So what makes you want to do this?” He was still looking at her, full of genuine interest and curiosity, as if he really cared.

Carlyne had to swallow hard because a wave of guilt nearly drowned her. She’d been describing her imagined ideals, but that didn’t make her lies right.

Another first, for Carlyne never felt guilty about anything.

“Uncle Sean!” The impatient little girl tugged hard on Sean’s shirt, letting it go so that it bounced up, exposing a good portion of lean, flat, tanned belly.

And just like that, Carlyne forgot what she’d been about to say.

“Just a minute, Mel,” Sean said distractedly, pushing down his shirt and waiting for Carlyne—Carly—to answer.

But she couldn’t, because she just realized what she was doing. She wanted a job working for this man, this gorgeous man, whom she would have to live with for the next two weeks.

Live with, as in play house.

“Carly?”

It took her another minute to remember he was talking to her, because never in her life had she allowed her name to be shortened. She’d never had a nickname. “I want to do this because…” She looked him in the eyes and gave up pretense, telling him the complete, utter truth. “Because I really need to.”

“You need to,” he repeated.

His gaze filled with compassion, and she winced inwardly, knowing he pictured her destitute and homeless or something equally horrible, which couldn’t be further from the truth. “I want this job with all my heart and soul,” she said, hoping her earnestness would be enough, that someday if he learned the truth, he’d forgive her. “I’ll take good care of Melissa and see that she gets everything she needs.”

“You might want to think about this,” he said. “Because believe me…” He pulled his stained shirt away from his chest. The material stuck to his skin until the last possible second, letting go with a suctioning sound that for some reason tugged at a place low in Carlyne’s belly.

“Grape juice,” he muttered. “It’s not an easy thing, caring for a four-year-old, so please, be sure. I need total concentration for my work, and she’s—” A little guiltily, he looked into Melissa’s eyes.

“A nightmare,” Melissa said proudly, nodding. “That’s what my mommy says.”

Sean laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and again, something pulled within Carlyne.

What was the matter with her? She’d heard a man laugh before, for crying out loud. Men far more sophisticated than Sean O’Mara. Smoother, richer, even more good-looking.

But there was something about this man who was obviously unconcerned about opening the door with bare feet and disheveled hair. Something unpolished and edgy. He didn’t care what others thought.

Another first for her. All the men in her life cared a great deal for what others thought.

“I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of, you know,” Sean told Melissa. “Being a nightmare.”

“Yes, but Uncle Sean—”

“Hold on, I’m still talking to Carly.” He looked at her. “Do you really want the job?”

For some reason, one Carly didn’t want to examine too closely, she wanted to stay more than ever. “Yes.”

Sean let out a ragged, relieved breath. The weight of the world seemed to lift off his shoulders. “Good.”

Awkwardly, they stared at each other.

“Uncle Sean!” Melissa tugged at him again. “I really have to go potty!”

“Again?” Sean turned that steady, heart-skipping gaze on his little niece, who’d let go of his legs to do what was apparently the got-to-go dance, which consisted of holding herself between the legs and skipping around in a little circle.

“Quick!” she demanded.

“You know how to do it.”

Still gripping herself, she shifted from foot to foot. “I want you to come with me.”

“Melissa—”

“I’m going to have an accident!” she cried, bouncing. “You’d better hurry!”

Groaning, Sean scooped her up. “Be right back,” he said to Carlyne, striding away. “Make yourself comfortable.”

They headed down the hall, Melissa in her uncle’s arms, her beaming face close to his. “I drank too much juice,” she confided.

“How could that be? I’m wearing more than half of it.”

“I didn’t mean to spill.”

“Yes, you did.” Their voices faded. “You were mad because I wouldn’t give you salami for breakfast, remember?”