Prince Daddy & the Nanny (14 page)

But he did sweep her off of her feet—to carry her up the stairs to her bedroom. And the sheer romanticism of the gesture made her heart sigh.

“Say my name, Hannah.”

It seemed an odd request, until she realized that she'd never spoken his name aloud. Maybe because she hoped that using his title would help her keep him at a distance. But she didn't want any distance between them now.

“Michael,” she whispered, savoring the sound of his name on her lips.

He smiled as he laid her gently on the bed, then made quick work of the buttons that ran down the front of her blouse. She shivered when he parted the material, exposing her heated flesh to the cool air. And again when he pushed
the silk off of her shoulders and dipped his head to skim his lips over the ridge of her collarbone.

“Are you cold?”

She shook her head.

How could she be cold when there was so much heat pulsing through her veins? When her desire for him was a burning need deep in the pit of her belly?

His mouth moved lower. He released the clasp at the front of her bra and pushed the lacy cups aside, exposing her breasts to the ministrations of his lips and teeth and tongue.

She wasn't a virgin, but no one had ever touched her the way he was touching her. The stroke of his hands was somehow both lazy and purposeful, as if he wanted nothing more than to show her how much he wanted her. And with every brush of his lips and every touch of his fingertips, she felt both desire and desired.

Her hands raced over him, eagerly, desperately. She tore at his clothes, tossed them aside. She wanted to explore his hard muscles, to savor the warmth of his skin, to know the intimacy of his body joined with hers.

Obviously he wanted the same thing, because he pulled away from her only long enough to strip away the last of his clothes and take a small square packet from his pocket.

“I didn't plan for this to happen tonight,” he told her. “But lately…well, I began to hope it would happen eventually and I wanted to be prepared.”

“I'm glad one of us was,” she assured him.

His fingers weren't quite steady as he attempted to open the package, and he dropped it twice. The second time, he swore so fervently she couldn't hold back a giggle. But he finally managed to sheath himself and rejoined her on the bed, nudging her thighs apart so that he could lower himself between them.

“Will you do me a favor?” he asked.

“What's that?”

“When you remember this night, will you edit out that part?”

She smiled. “Absolutely.”

But it was a lie. She had no intention of editing out any of the parts. She wanted to remember every little detail of every minute that she had with Michael. Because she didn't have any illusions. She knew this couldn't last. Maybe not even beyond this one night. But she wasn't going to think about that now. She wasn't going to ask for more than he could give. She was just going to enjoy the moment and know that it was enough.

His tongue swirled around her nipple, then he drew the aching peak into his mouth and suckled, and she gasped with shock and pleasure. He shifted his attention to her other breast, making her gasp again.

Oh yes, this was enough.

Then his mouth found hers again in a kiss that tasted of hunger and passion. His tongue slid deep into her mouth, then slowly withdrew. Advance and retreat. It was a sensual tease designed to drive her wild, and it was succeeding.

She whimpered as she instinctively shifted her hips, aching for the hard length of him between her thighs. Deep inside her.

She rocked against him, wordlessly pleading.

He entered her in one hard thrust, and her release was just as hard and fast. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her with an unexpected intensity that left her baffled and breathless.

While her body was riding out the last aftershocks of pleasure, he began to move inside of her. Slow, steady strokes that started the anticipation building all over again.

Had she honestly thought that this might not be enough?

It was so much more than she'd expected, more than she'd even dared hope for, more than enough. And still, he
somehow managed to give her more, to demand more, until it wasn't just enough—it was too much.

His thrusts were harder and faster now, and so deep she felt as if he was reaching into the very center of her soul. Harder and faster and deeper, until everything seemed to shatter in an explosion of heat and light and unfathomable pleasure.

 

Michael didn't know if he could move. He did know that he didn't want to. His heart was still pounding like a jack-hammer and every muscle in his body ached, and yet he couldn't remember ever feeling so good. So perfectly content to be right where he was.

But his own contentment aside, he knew that Hannah probably couldn't breathe with his weight sprawled on top of her. So he summoned enough energy to roll off of her. But he kept one arm draped across her waist, holding her close to his side. After another minute, he managed to prop himself up on an elbow so that he could look at her.

Her hair was spread out over the pillow, her eyes were closed, her lips were slightly curved. She looked as if she'd been well and truly ravished, and he felt a surge of pure satisfaction that he'd had the pleasure of ravishing her. And he wanted to do so again.

He stroked a finger down her cheek. Her eyelids slowly lifted, her lips parted on a sigh.

“
Dios,
you're beautiful.”

She smiled at that. “Postcoital rose-colored glasses.”

He shook his head. “Maybe I've never told you that before, but it's true. Your skin is so soft and smooth, your lips are like pink rose petals and your eyes are all the shades of the stormy summer sky.”

“I didn't realize you had such a romantic streak, Your Highness,” she teased.

“Neither did I.” His hand skimmed up her torso, from her
waist to her breast, his thumb stroking over the tight bud of her nipple. “I always thought everything was black or white—and for the past few years, there's been a lot more black than white. And then you came along and gave me a whole new perspective on a lot of things.”

She arched into his palm, as if she wanted his touch as much as he wanted to touch her. She had incredible breasts. They were so full and round, and so delightfully responsive to his touch.

Sam's curves had been much more modest, and she'd often lamented her tomboy figure. Even when she'd been pregnant, her breasts had never—

He froze.

Her gaze lifted to his, confusion swirling in the depths of her blue-gray eyes.

“Michael?”

The unmistakable smoky tone of Hannah's voice snapped him back to the present and helped him push aside any lingering thoughts of Sam. As much as he'd loved his wife and still grieved for the tragedy of a life cut so short, she was his past and Hannah—

He wasn't entirely sure yet what Hannah would be to him, but he knew that even if she wasn't his future, she was at least his present.

He lowered his head to kiss her, softly, sweetly. And felt the tension slowly seep out of her body.

Yes, she was definitely his present—an incredible gift. The only woman he wanted right now. And so he used his hands and his lips and his body and all of the hours until the sun began to rise to convince her.

H
annah didn't expect that Michael would still be there when she woke up in the morning. She'd known he wouldn't stay through the night. There was no way he would risk his daughter finding him there. But it would have been nice to wake up in his arms. To make love with him again as the sun was streaming through the windows.

Making love with Michael had been the most incredible experience. He'd been attentive and eager and very thorough. She stretched her arms above her head, and felt her muscles protest. Very very thorough. But while her body was feeling all smug and sated, her mind was spinning.

She'd been fighting against her feelings for the prince since the beginning, and she knew that making love with him was hardly going to help her win that battle. But as she showered and got ready for the day, she knew she didn't regret it.

After breakfast, while Riley was in the music room practicing piano—simply because she wanted to—Hannah was
in the kitchen sipping on her second cup of coffee while Caridad was making a grocery list.

“How many people are you planning to feed?” Hannah asked, when the housekeeper turned the page over to continue her list on the other side.

“Only the three of you,” she admitted. “But I want to make several ready-to-heat meals that you can just take out of the freezer and pop in the microwave.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Just for a few days, and I'm not sure when, but I want to be ready to go as soon as Loretta calls.”

Loretta, Hannah remembered now, was Caridad and Estavan's second-oldest daughter who was expecting her first child—and their fourth grandchild. “When is she due?”

“The eighteenth of August.”

“On Riley's birthday,” Hannah noted.

“She mentioned that to you, did she?”

“Only about a thousand times,” she admitted with a smile.

“A child's birthday is a big deal—or it should be.” Caridad tapped her pen on the counter, her brow furrowed.

Hannah knew that there was more she wanted to say. She also knew that prompting and prodding wouldn't get any more information out of the housekeeper until she was ready. So she sipped her coffee while she waited.

“The princess is going to be four years old,” Caridad finally said. “And she's never had a party.”

Hannah was startled by this revelation, and then realized that she shouldn't be. Samantha had died within hours of giving birth, which meant that Riley's birthday was the same day that Michael had lost his wife.

“I don't mean to be critical—I know it's a difficult time for the prince. And it's not like her birthday passes without any kind of recognition.

“There's always a cake,” Caridad continued. “Because I bake that myself. And presents. But she's never had a party.”

“Why are you telling me?” Hannah asked warily.

“Because I think this year he might be ready, but he probably won't think of it on his own.”

“You want me to drop some hints,” she guessed.

The housekeeper nodded. “Yes, I think just a few hints would be enough.”

“Okay, I'll try.”

“But not too subtle,” Caridad said. “Men sometimes don't understand subtle—they need to be hit over the head.”

Hannah had to laugh. “I'll do my best.”

 

Michael had thought that making love with Hannah once would be enough, but the first joining of their bodies had barely taken the edge off of his desire. After four years of celibacy, it probably wasn't surprising that his reawakened libido was in no hurry to hibernate again, but he knew that it wasn't as simple as that. He didn't just crave physical release, he craved Hannah.

Every time his path crossed with hers the following day, his hormones jolted to attention. Now that he knew what it was like to be with her—the sensual way she responded to the touch of his lips and his hands, the glorious sensation of sinking into her warm and welcoming body, the exquisite rhythm of their lovemaking—he wanted only to be with her again.

But what did
she
want?

He didn't have the slightest clue.

She'd been sleeping when he'd left her room, so he'd managed to avoid the awkward “What does this mean?” or “Where do we go from here?” conversations that purportedly followed first-time sex. Since Hannah was the first woman he'd been with since he'd started dating Sam almost eighteen years earlier, he had little firsthand experience with those
morning-after moments. And now he didn't know what was the next step.

They had lunch and dinner together with Riley, as was customary, and the conversation flowed as easily as it usually did. There were no uncomfortable references to the previous night and no awkward silences. There was absolutely no indication at all that anything had changed between them.

Until later that night, when he left Riley's room after he was sure she was asleep, and he found Hannah in the hall.

It wasn't all that late, but she was obviously ready to turn in for the night. Her hair had been brushed so that it fell loose over her shoulders, and she was wearing a long blue silky robe that was cinched at her narrow waist. A hint of lace in the same color peeked through where the sides of the robe overlapped, piquing his curiosity about what she had on beneath the silky cover.

He'd intended to seek her out, to have the discussion they'd missed having the night before. But now that he'd found her, conversation was the last thing on his mind.

“Wow” was all he managed.

But apparently it was the right thing to say, because she smiled and reached for his hand. Silently, she drew him across the hall and into her room.

The robe was elegant but discreet, covering her from shoulders to ankles. But when he tugged on the belt and the silky garment fell open, he saw that what she wore beneath was a pure lace fantasy. A very little lace fantasy that barely covered her sexy curves, held into place by the skinniest of straps over her shoulders.

And while he took a moment to appreciate the contrast of her pale skin with the dark lace, he much preferred reality to fantasy. With one quick tug, he lifted the garment over her head and tossed it aside.

 

Afterward, he let her put the lace-and-silk fantasy back on, and they sat on her balcony with a bottle of wine, just watching the stars.

“Are you ever going to tell me about that engagement?” he asked her.

“It was a long time ago,” she said dismissively.

Considering that she was only twenty-six, he didn't imagine that it could have been all that long ago, and he was too curious to drop the subject. “What happened?”

“It didn't work out.”

He rolled his eyes.

“We met at university,” she finally told him. “He was a member of the British aristocracy, I was not. As much as he claimed to love me, when his family made it clear that they disapproved of his relationship with a commoner, he ended it.” There was no emotion in her voice, but he sensed that she wasn't as unaffected by the broken engagement as she tried to appear.

“How long were you together?”

“Almost four years.” She lifted her glass to her lips. “They didn't seem concerned about my lack of pedigree so long as we were just dating—apparently even aristocrats are entitled to meaningless flings—but to marry me would have been a blight on the family tree.”

Again, her recital was without emotion, but he saw the hurt in her eyes and silently cursed any man who could be so cruel and heartless to this incredible woman.

“I didn't imagine there was anyone living in the modern world—aside from my mother—” he acknowledged with a grimace “—who had such outdated views about maintaining the purity of bloodlines.”

“And yet your mother married a farmer,” Hannah mused.

“Elena is nothing if not illogical. Or maybe she believed that her royal genes would trump his.” He smiled as an old
memory nudged at his mind. “The first time I scraped my knee when I was a kid, I didn't know what the red stuff was, because I honestly believed that my blood was supposed to be blue.”

She smiled, too, but there were clouds in her eyes, as if she was thinking of the lack of blue in her own veins.

“So did you at least get to keep the ring?” he asked, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

She shook her head. “It was a family heirloom,” she explained dryly.

“He didn't actually ask for it back?”

“Before we even left the ancestral estate,” she admitted.

“And you gave it to him?” He couldn't imagine that she would have just slid it off of her finger and handed it over. No, if she'd cared enough about the man to want to marry him, she wouldn't have been that cool about the end of their engagement.

“I threw it out the window.”

He chuckled.

“It took him three hours on his hands and knees in the immaculately groomed gardens to find it.”

“He must have been pissed.”

“Harrison didn't have that depth of emotion,” she informed him. “But he was ‘most displeased' with my ‘childish behavior.'”

“Sounds like you made a lucky escape.” And he was glad, because if she'd married that pompous British twit, she wouldn't be here with him now.

“I know I did. I guess I just thought I'd be at a different place by this point in my life.”

“You're only twenty-six,” he reminded her. “And I don't think there are many places in the world better than this one.”

“You know I didn't mean this place specifically.” She
smiled as she tipped her head back to look up at the sky. “This place is…heaven.”

“Cielo,”
he agreed. “And you are…
mi ángel.
”

 

After almost a week had passed and Hannah's apparently too-subtle hints about Riley's approaching birthday continued to go unnoticed, she decided that Michael needed to be hit over the head. Not as literally as she had been, she thought, rubbing the pink scar that was the only visible reminder of her clash with Riley's racquet now that her stitches had been removed. But just as effectively.

So on Thursday morning, after the little girl had gone to the tennis court with Kevin, she cornered the prince in his office.

“It's Riley's birthday next week,” she said.

“I know when her birthday is,” he assured her.

“Well, I was thinking that it might be fun to have a party.”

“A party?” he echoed, as if unfamiliar with the concept.

“You know—with a cake, party hats, noisemakers.”

He continued to scribble notes on the ad layout on his desk. “Okay.”

She blinked. “Really?”

He glanced up, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “Did you want me to say no?”

“Of course I didn't want you to say no,” she told him. “But I thought there would be some discussion first.”

He finally set down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Discussion about what?”

“I don't know. Maybe the when and where, the guest list, a budget.”

“When—sometime on the weekend. Where—here. As for the guest list, I figure if it's Riley's party, she should get to decide, and I don't care what it costs so long as I don't have to do anything but show up.”

Happiness bubbled up inside of her. She couldn't wait to race into the kitchen and tell Caridad the good news.

“If you let Riley decide what she wants, it could turn into a very big party,” she warned.

“I think we're overdue for a big party.” He slipped his arms around her waist, drew her close. “And this year, I feel like celebrating.”

Her heart bumped against her ribs, but she forced herself to respond lightly. “Okay, then. I'll talk to the birthday girl when she comes in and get started making plans.”

“Where is Riley?”

“On the tennis court with Kevin.”

“You'll have to give me an updated schedule,” he said, not entirely teasing. “I never know where to find her these days.”

“We don't have a schedule—we're improvising.”

“I can improvise,” he said, brushing his mouth against hers.

Hannah sighed. “Mmm. You're good at that.”

“How long is she going to be busy with Kevin?”

“Probably about an hour. Why?”

“Because I want to show you some of the other things I'm good at.”

Her cheeks flushed. “It's nine o'clock in the morning.”

“But you don't have a schedule to worry about—you're improvising,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but—”

“I really want to make love with you in the daylight.”

He was a very lucky man, Michael thought with a grin as Hannah took his hand led him up to her room. And about to get luckier.

When he followed her through the door, his gaze automatically shifted toward the bed upon which they'd made love every night for the past nine days—and caught on the
enormous bouquet of flowers in the vase on her bedside table.

He picked up the card. “With sincere thanks for helping me survive summer school, Kevin.”

She paused in the process of removing the decorative throw cushions from the bed when she saw him holding the card. “Isn't that sweet?”

“Sure,” he agreed stiffly. “He's finished his course, then?”

She nodded. “He got an A-plus on his final essay to finish with first-class honors.”

“Caridad must be thrilled.”

“She promised to make baklava, just for me,” Hannah told him.

She said it as if that was her favorite, and maybe it was. He didn't know too much about what she liked or didn't like.

“I didn't know you liked flowers,” he said, as if that was an excuse for the fact that he'd never thought to give her any.

“Who doesn't like flowers?” she countered lightly.

There was no accusation in her words, no judgment in her tone. Of course not—Hannah had made it clear from the beginning that she didn't have any expectations of him. Not even something as insignificant as a bouquet of flowers. And though he couldn't have said why, the realization annoyed him.