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Curious, Gail craned her neck to get a better look at her potential charge. “A lot of us feel a little cranky when we first wake up. Amazing what a diaper change, juice and a cookie can do.”
The woman smiled and walked closer. “A diaper change for adults?”
“Well, you must admit some adults act like their underwear is a little too tight, and they don’t have the excuse of a wet diaper.”
The woman gave a throaty chuckle. “So true. I’m Moira Barone and this is Molly. Sorry I can’t offer my hand.”
“I’m Gail Fenton. Pleased to meet you and Molly.” Gail gasped at the beauty of the screaming child. “My goodness, she’s gorgeous. Even with her face red as a tomato.”
Moira chuckled again, then shook her head. “I think she’s just getting herself more worked up.”
Gail blew into the baby’s face. Molly paused in her screaming and opened her eyes, her long black eyelashes damp with tears. She stared hard at Gail, and her lower lip protruded as if she was gearing up for another cry.
“Peekaboo,” Gail said, and moved out of sight.
Silence, followed by a hiccup.
Gail popped back. “Peekaboo,” she said with a smile and moved away.
Silence again. Molly turned her head to search for her.
Gail moved back into view again. “Peekaboo.”
A slow smile curved Molly’s mouth.
Moira shook her head in amazement. “I have eight grown children, and I had completely forgotten peekaboo.”
“Too many garden-club meetings with society matrons,” a man said as he strolled into the room with Mrs. Peabody by his side.
Gail glanced at the man and her jaw dropped. Well over six feet tall, jet-black hair, chiseled facial features and the lean, muscular kind of body that no doubt had women littering his path. He probably had to beat females off with a stick. The glint of ruthlessness in his eyes affected her stomach. Other women would try to tame him, but she possessed neither the attractiveness, sex appeal or polish necessary to match wits with or seduce a man like Nicholas Barone. Besides, she knew he’d never look twice at her. Darn shame, but that was the truth. Oh well, she supposed she could admire him from afar.
She instinctively turned to Moira. The older woman was safer. “The power of peekaboo is greatly underestimated, but I’m sure you would have remembered it soon enough.”
“Perhaps necessity might have jogged my memory,” Moira said, looking down at her grandchild. “Or desperation.”
“And what would a computer specialist know about peekaboo?” the man asked, his eyes cynical.
Gail paused less than a beat. She suspected there was a reason for the cynicism, but she disliked the attitude. Something told her he wasn’t a man who worried about being liked. She met his gaze head-on, confident in her ability to care for the man’s child, and just as confident about her lack of feminine appeal. “I could write a dissertation on the subject of peekaboo. The wonderful thing about peekaboo is that it requires no special equipment and can be employed at any time, just about any place. But there are some requirements for the game.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “And they are?”
“A sense of humor and a willingness to—” She broke off, her stomach a riot of butterflies at the intent way he stared at her. Gail felt heat rush through her bloodstream.
“Willingness to what?” he prompted.
She cleared her throat and prayed in vain that her cheeks weren’t turning fire-engine red with embarrassment. “A willingness for the adult involved to completely ditch his or her dignity,” she said, pretty sure she’d just lost hers.
His lips twitched slightly. “Is that so?” He glanced at her résumé. “Why isn’t ‘peekaboo specialist’ on here?”
Gail laughed in a combination of relief and amusement. “I knew I’d forgotten something.”
“Nicholas Barone,” he said, extending his hand and meeting her gaze.
She accepted his handshake. “Gail Fenton, but I imagine you already know that.”
“You imagine correctly. You’ve met Molly,” he said, glancing down at his daughter. “Bellisima,” he said to the child, then dropped a kiss on her forehead.
Molly stared up at him and her lower lip protruded in a pre-wail position.
Gail couldn’t blame the child. If Nicholas seemed larger than life to her, she could hardly imagine what a baby might think of him.
“Please join me in the living room,” he said to Gail. “I have a few questions.”
“Of course,” Gail said. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Barone, Mrs. Peabody and Molly,” she said as the tyke began to fuss. Gail followed Nicholas into the living room.
“She hasn’t smiled for me yet,” he muttered, motioning Gail to sit across from him on the couch. He took the large wing chair.
“She’s in awe,” Gail said.
He shot her a look of doubt. “Awe?”
“Well, yes. To normal people, you’re quite tall, but to her, you’re huge.”
“Normal people,” he said, rubbing his chin.
“Average,” Gail corrected, thinking he was one of those men who couldn’t miss a day of shaving. “Something tells me you’re not familiar with the idea of being average,” she said, and bit her lip. “Sorry. That was way too personal for an interview.”
He nodded. “Yes, it was, but you’re right. Barones aren’t allowed to be average.”
She saw a world of experience in his blue eyes and knew without his saying that he had always pushed himself, that much had been required of him and that he had done whatever it took.
He glanced at the application again. “I still don’t understand why you would choose to be a nanny when you could work at any number of top companies.”
She bit back a groan. “I like to play peekaboo,” she said. “Computers don’t.”
He remained silent as if waiting for the real explanation.
“When I work with computers, I don’t feel as if I’m making an important contribution. But when I take care of a child, I feel as if I’m shaping the future. I love the feeling of connectedness I get from caring for a child.”
“Mrs. Peabody tells me both your parents are deceased,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, surprising her with the gentle note in his voice. “You have one brother?”
“Who has tried to micromanage my life.”
He shot her a questioning glance, amazing her with his ability to extract information with just an expression.
“After I attended community college in Iowa, he persuaded me to finish my education here in Boston.”
“How does he feel about you taking this position?”
“How he feels about it isn’t important. How you, Molly and I feel about it is important.”
He nodded. “Are you engaged or in a serious relationship?”
Gail paused. “That’s personal, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but pertinent. I’ve just gained custody of a daughter I didn’t even know existed until a couple of weeks ago. I don’t want to hire someone who can’t make a long-term commitment.”
“How long-term?”
“Seventeen years,” he deadpanned, then cracked a wry grin. “Just kidding. After a thirty-day trial, I’d like you to sign a one-year contract.”
“A year is no problem,” she said, an odd assortment of emotions rolling through her. Mrs. Peabody had briefed her about the way Nicholas had learned of Molly’s existence, but the story still floored her. “Your life must have been turned upside down.”
“I’ve had to reevaluate my lifestyle,” he said, the fire in his eyes belying his neutral tone. “Providing a stable environment for Molly is my top priority. Which is why I asked that personal question. Are you in a serious relationship that can’t withstand your absence for a limited time?”
Gail thought of her wide assortment of male friends and bit back a chuckle. Serious? To them, she was one of the guys. “I’m not engaged or serious about anyone at the moment. I have several male friends, because I play volleyball on one of the more successful teams in a Boston recreational league. I also play a little basketball.”
“Volleyball,” he repeated, as if trying to put together a composite of her as a nanny.
“I was always better at sports than the arts, but I do a mean ‘eensy weensy spider,’” she said, and grinned. “I bet you’ve never asked about ‘eensy weensy spider’ during an interview before.”
His lips twitched. “Can’t say that I have.” He looked at her silently for such a long time that she had to resist the urge to squirm. “If you become Molly’s nanny, I’ll require complete honesty.”
She saw a glimmer of the hard line he probably held at the office. He was a man who would demand and get what he wanted. “I couldn’t give you anything less.”
He nodded. “Good. This position will require the two of us to communicate regularly. I think it’s best if we dispense with formalities. You can call me Nicholas.”
Gail wanted this job, but she had an instinct about Nicholas Barone. She suspected he could charm a bear out of its den, but he also probably expected his employees to submit to his will without asking too many questions. As Molly cried in the background, Gail began to think this job might be more challenging than she’d originally thought. Although she would respect Nicholas’s wishes, she needed to know he would at least listen to her ideas. “You strike me as someone accustomed to having most things your way. If I feel strongly about something, I will want you to consider it even if you don’t initially like it.”
He gave her a long, assessing glance. “I’m at ease with letting the buck stop with me. I don’t believe in shirking my responsibilities. As much as I’d like to be, I’m not an expert on my daughter yet. I will be soon enough, but until then I’ll value your input.”
In that one moment her respect for him grew. His commitment to his daughter got under her skin.
“Any other concerns?” he asked.
Just that he was so good-looking she hoped she wouldn’t be caught drooling whenever he came around. She shook her head.
“Good. We’ve already checked your references. When can you start?”
“When do you need me?” she asked, feeling a combination of excitement and some unnamed apprehension.
The sound of Molly’s cries filled the air. He didn’t blink once. “Yesterday.”
Two nights later Nicholas sank onto the bed in one of the guest rooms. The master bedroom was being painted, so he was temporarily displaced. He hadn’t slept well since he’d brought Molly home. The shock of instant fatherhood and all its accompanying concerns had kept him awake into early morning. After checking on his soundly sleeping daughter tonight, though, he felt he could finally relax. Part of it was the gut feeling that Molly felt safe and secure in Gail Fenton’s hands.
If he couldn’t make Molly feel secure, if his presence sent his daughter into tears, then he was damn determined to find someone who could make her feel safe. Gail had a natural warmth that he knew would comfort Molly. It surprised the hell out of him, but even he felt that same warmth in Gail’s presence. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she projected the attitude that perfection wasn’t required or expected. Nicholas had spent his life around people who expected perfection, or something damn close to it.
Through the walls, he heard the shower cut off and a feminine voice singing. The sound captured his attention. A committed bachelor whose lovers rarely stayed overnight, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a woman singing in his house.
Curious, he moved closer to the wall. A children’s song, he concluded, catching a few of the words. “Little teapot…steamed up…tip me over, pour—”
The singing stopped abruptly and he heard a loud thump, followed by a muffled shriek. Wincing, Nicholas heard a low moan, then nothing.
He frowned, wondering if she was hurt. He pressed his ear against the wall. Still no sound. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. What should he do? What if she was lying on the floor with a concussion?
Swearing under his breath, he strode from his room to her door and knocked lightly so he wouldn’t wake Molly. “Gail,” he said. “Gail, are you okay?”
No sound. Nicholas turned the knob and entered the room, scanning the floor for a body. He moved toward the ensuite bath and caught a glance of Gail Fenton with a towel precariously slung over her as she rubbed her shin. “Ouch, ouch. Ouch,” she whispered.
Nicholas would be missing a Y chromosome if he didn’t notice her long shapely legs and the fact that the towel was one breath away from revealing one of her breasts. In other circumstances with a different woman, he would get that towel off her in a New York minute, but now he needed to make sure she wasn’t seriously injured. “Are you okay?”
Her gaze shot to his and her mouth rounded in a mixture of horror and surprise. She glanced down at her body and hastily rearranged the towel. “M-Mr. Barone.”
“Nicholas is fine,” he said.
She clutched the towel to her. “I’m okay. I just slipped when I got out of the shower.”
“It sounded painful and potentially life-threatening,” Nicholas said.
She cringed. “I fall hard. It’s one of my flaws. Overconfidence. I trust my balance a little too much.”
“Maybe you were distracted by singing the teapot song.”
Her face bloomed with color and she scooted into a sitting position. “I’ll be honest,” she said in a confiding tone. “I’m no Mary Poppins, so I’ve been practicing all the children’s songs I know.”
He shrugged. “Sounded good to me until you…”
“Went splat on the floor,” she finished with a pained expression.
“Are you sure you didn’t break anything?”
“Totally. It was very kind of you to check on me, but unnecessary. I’ll just have a few very colorful bruises.”
“You’re sure you’re okay,” he said, something about her expression causing him doubt.
“Very sure. You can leave. Please.”
“Let me help you up first,” he said, moving toward her.
“Oh, no,” she said, her eyes widening as she shook her head.
He put his hands on her arms and watched in fascination as her cheeks bloomed with vivid color again. She didn’t look nearly so plain when she blushed. In fact she reminded him of a creamy white rose tipped with coral. He wondered if she blushed all over and glanced at her pink shoulders and pink chest. He looked down her pink legs to her pink toes.
“Mr. Barone—”
