Prince Daddy & the Nanny (3 page)

“Of course not,” his sister agreed. “So what are you worried about?”

He didn't say anything. He didn't even deny that he was worried, because his sister knew him too well to believe it. Worse, she would probably see right through the lie to the true origin of his concern. And he was concerned, mostly about the fact that he'd been thinking of Hannah Castillo far too frequently since their first meeting.

He'd had no preconceptions when he'd agreed to interview her. His only concern had been to find someone suitable to oversee the care of his daughter during the summer—because after conducting more than a dozen interviews, he'd been shocked to realize how
un
suitable so many of the applicants had been.

Almost half of them he'd automatically rejected because of their advanced age. Logically, he knew that was unfair, but he had too many unhappy memories of strict, gray-haired disciplinarians from his own childhood. Another few he'd disregarded when it became apparent that they were more interested in flirting with him than caring for his daughter. Two more had been shown the door when they'd been caught snapping photos of his home with the cameras on their cell phones.

At the conclusion of those interviews, he'd almost given up hope of finding a replacement for Brigitte. Then, during a casual conversation with Riley's doctor, he'd mentioned
his dilemma and Phillip had suggested that his niece might be interested in the job—but only for the summer.

So Michael had agreed to interview her and crossed his fingers that she would be suitable. Then Hannah had walked into his office, and
suitable
was the last thought on his mind.

“Oh,” Marissa said, and sat back, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

He scowled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“She's very attractive, isn't she?”

His scowl deepened.

“I should have guessed. Nothing ever flusters you—okay, nothing except anything to do with Riley,” she clarified. “But this woman has you completely flustered.”

“I am not flustered,” he denied.

“This is good,” Marissa continued as if he hadn't spoken. “And it's time.”

“Mar—”

She put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. I won't push for any details.”

“There are no details,” he insisted.

“Not yet,” she said, and smiled.

His sister always liked to get in the last word, and this time he let her. It would serve no purpose to tell her that he wasn't interested in any kind of relationship with Riley's temporary nanny—it only mattered that it was true.

And he would repeat it to himself as many times as necessary until he actually believed it.

 

With every mile that Hannah got closer to Cielo del Norte, her excitement and apprehension increased. If she'd been nervous before her previous meeting with the prince—simply at the thought of meeting him—that was nothing compared to the tension that filled her now. Because now she was actually going to live with him—and his daughter, of course.

She could tell herself that it was a temporary position, that she was only committing two months of her time. But two months was a heck of a long time to maintain her objectivity with respect to a man she'd fallen head over heels for when she was only twelve years old, and a little girl who had taken hold of her heart the very first time she'd met her.

Hannah cranked up the radio in the hope that the pulsing music would push the thoughts out of her head. It didn't.

She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, her palms sliding over the smooth leather, and was reminded of the feel of his hand against hers. Warm. Strong. Solid.

She really was pathetic.

She really should have said no when her uncle first suggested that she could be anyone's nanny. But as she drove through the gates toward the prince's summer home, after showing her identification to the guard on duty, she knew that she'd passed the point of no return.

Cielo del Norte was even more impressive than the prince's home in Verde Colinas. Of course, it had once been the royal family's official summer residence, bequeathed to the princess royal by her father upon the occasion of her marriage to Gaetan Leandres.

Hannah had been advised that there were two full-time employees who lived in a guest cottage on the property, the groundskeeper and his wife. Hannah had been thrilled to hear that Caridad, the housekeeper, also cooked and served the meals, because she knew that if she'd been put in charge of food preparation as well as child care, they might all starve before the end of the summer.

She parked her aging little car beside a gleaming black Mercedes SUV and made her way to the door. An older woman in a neatly pressed uniform responded to the bell.

“Mrs. Fuentes?”

“Sí. Caridad Fuentes.” She bowed formally. “You are Miss Castillo?”

“Hannah,” she said, stepping into the foyer.

“The prince has been expecting you.” There was the slightest hint of disapproval beneath the words.

“I was a little late getting away this morning,” she explained. “And then traffic was heavier than I expected. Of course, taking a wrong turn at Highway Six didn't help, either, but at least I didn't travel too far out of my way.”

The housekeeper didn't comment in any way except to ask, “Are your bags in the car?”

“Yes, I'll get them later.”

“Estavan—my husband—will bring them in for you,” Mrs. Fuentes told her.

“Okay. That would be great. Thanks.” She paused, just taking a minute to absorb the scene.

She'd thought passing through the gates at Verde Colinas had been a culture shock, but now she felt even more like a country mouse set loose in the big city. The house, probably three times the size of the prince's primary residence in Port Augustine, almost seemed as big as a city—a very prosperous and exquisite one.

“There's a powder room down the hall, if you would like to freshen up before meeting with Prince Michael,” the housekeeper told her.

Hannah nodded. “I would.”

“First door on the right.”

“And the prince's office?”

“The third door on the left down the west corridor.”

 

Michael sensed her presence even before he saw her standing in the open doorway. When he looked up, he noticed that she'd dressed less formally today than at their first meeting, and that the jeans and T-shirt she wore made her look even younger than he'd originally guessed. He'd told her that casual attire was acceptable, and there was nothing inappropriate about what she was wearing. But he
couldn't help noticing how the denim hugged her thighs and molded to her slim hips. The V-neck of her T-shirt wasn't low enough to give even a glimpse of cleavage, but the soft cotton clung to undeniably feminine curves. She wore silver hoops in her ears, and her hair was in a loose ponytail rather than a tight knot, making her look more approachable and even more beautiful, and he felt the distinct hum of sexual attraction through his veins.

Uncomfortable with the stirring of feelings so long dormant, his voice was a little harsher than he'd intended when he said, “You're late.”

Still, his tone didn't seem to faze her. “I told you that I would come as soon as possible, and I did.”

“I had a conference call at 8:00 a.m. this morning that I had to reschedule because you weren't here.”

He expected that she would apologize or show some sign of remorse. Instead she surprised him by asking, “Why on earth would you schedule a conference call so early on the first morning of your vacation?”

“I told you that I would be conducting business from here,” he reminded her. “And your job is to take care of my daughter so that I can focus on doing so.”

“A job I'm looking forward to,” she assured him.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” he said. “I would expect that someone who spends ten months out of the year with kids would want a break.”

“Spending the summer with a four-year-old is a welcome break from senior advanced English and history,” she told him.

Senior
English and history? The implications of her statement left him momentarily speechless. “You're a
high school
teacher?” he finally said.

Now it was her turn to frown. “I thought you knew that.”

He shook his head. “Phillip said you would be perfect for
the job because you were a teacher—I assumed he meant elementary school.”

“Well, you assumed wrong.” She shrugged, the casual gesture drawing his attention to the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her T-shirt and very nearly making him forget the reason for his concern.

“So what kind of experience do you have with preschool children, Miss Castillo?” he asked, forcing his gaze back to her face.

“Other than the fact that I was one?” she asked lightly.

“Other than that,” he agreed.

“None,” she admitted.

“None?” Dios!
How could this have happened? He was the consummate planner. He scheduled appointment reminders in his BlackBerry; he took detailed notes at every meeting; he checked and double-checked all correspondence before he signed anything. And yet he'd somehow managed to hire a nanny who knew absolutely nothing about being a nanny.

“Well, my friend Karen has a couple of kids, and I've spent a lot of time with them,” Hannah continued.

He shook his head, trying to find solace in the fact that their agreement was for only two months, but he was beginning to question why he'd been in such a hurry to replace Brigitte. Had he been thinking of Riley—or had he been more concerned about maintaining the status quo in his own life? Or maybe he'd been spellbound by Miss Castillo's sparkling eyes and warm smile. Regardless of his reasons, he knew it wasn't her fault that he'd hired her on the basis of some mistaken assumptions. But if she was going to spend the summer with Riley, she had a lot to learn—and fast.

“You'll need this,” he said, passing a sheaf of papers across the desk.

In the transfer of the pages, her fingers brushed against his. It was a brief and incidental contact, but he felt the jolt
sizzle in his veins. Her gaze shot to meet his, and the widening of her eyes confirmed that she'd felt it, too. That undeniable tug of a distinctly sexual attraction.

As he looked into her eyes, he realized he'd made another mistake in thinking that they were blue—they were actually more gray than blue, the color of the sky before a storm, and just as mesmerizing.

Then she glanced away, down at the papers he'd given to her, and he wondered if maybe he'd imagined both her reaction and his own.

“What is this?” she asked him.

“It's Riley's schedule.”

She looked back at him, then at the papers again. “You're kidding.”

“A child needs consistency,” he said firmly, because it was something Brigitte had always insisted upon, and he usually deferred to the nanny with respect to decisions about his daughter's care.

“If you're referring to a prescribed bedtime, I would absolutely agree,” Hannah said. “But a child also needs a chance to be spontaneous and creative, and this—” she glanced at the chart again, obviously appalled “—this even schedules her bathroom breaks.”

Maybe the charts Brigitte had prepared for the new nanny did provide a little too much detail, but he understood that she'd only wanted to ease the transition for both Riley and her temporary caregiver. “Brigitte found that taking Riley to the bathroom at prescribed times greatly simplified the toilet-training process.”

“But she's almost four years old now,” Hannah noted. “I'm sure…” Her words trailed off, her cheeks flushed. “I'm sorry—I just didn't expect that there would be so much to occupy her time.”

He'd had some concerns initially, too, but Brigitte had made him see the benefits for Riley. Maybe she was young,
but she was so mature for her age, so focused, and she was learning so much. She had a natural musical talent, an artistic touch and a gift for languages, and there was no way he was going to let this temporary nanny upset the status quo with questions and criticisms on her first day on the job. Even if her doubts echoed his own.

“It is now almost eleven o'clock, Miss Castillo,” he pointed out to her.

She glanced at the page in her hand. “I guess that means it's almost time for the princess's piano lesson.”

“The music room is at the end of the hall.”

She folded the schedule and dropped a curtsy.

He deliberately refocused his attention back on the papers on his desk so that he wouldn't watch her walk away.

But he couldn't deny that she tempted him in more ways than he was ready to acknowledge.

W
ell, that hadn't gone quite as she'd expected, Hannah thought as she exited Prince Michael's office. And she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, not just with their meeting but in the man himself. She'd thought he might want to talk to her about Riley's favorite activities at the beach, give her some suggestions on how to keep the little girl busy and happy, but she'd gotten the impression he only wanted her to keep the child occupied and out of his way.

As she made her way down the hall in search of the princess, she realized that she'd never actually seen him with his daughter. The first time she'd met Riley—the day of the ice cream mishap at the art gallery—the little girl had been in the care of her nanny. When Hannah had arrived at the prince's house to interview for the position, Riley had been out with Brigitte. She'd gone back for a second visit, to spend some time with the child so that she wouldn't be a complete stranger to her when she showed up at Cielo del Norte, but she hadn't seen the prince at all on that occasion.

Now he was in his office, and the princess was apparently somewhere else in this labyrinth of rooms preparing for a piano lesson. Did they always lead such separate lives? Did the prince really intend to spend most of his supposed holiday at his desk?

Once she'd gotten over her wariness about taking a job for which she had no experience, she'd actually found herself looking forward to spending the summer with the young princess. She'd imagined that they would play in the water and have picnics on the beach. She hadn't anticipated that the little girl wouldn't have time for fun and frivolity. Yes, she'd been born royal and would someday have duties and obligations as a result, but she wasn't even four years old yet.

Brigitte had made a point of telling Hannah—several times—that Riley was an exceptionally bright and gifted child who was already reading at a second-grade level—in French. She'd encouraged the young princess to demonstrate her talents at the piano, and Riley had done so willingly enough. Hannah couldn't help but be impressed, but in the back of her mind, she wondered why the child didn't seem happy.

Somehow that question had Hannah thinking about what she'd been doing as a four-year-old. Her own childhood had hardly been traditional, but it had been fun. In whatever village had been their current home, she'd always had lots of local children to play with. She'd raced over the hills and played hide-and-seek in the trees. She'd gone swimming in watering holes and rivers and streams. She'd created rudimentary sculptures out of riverbank clay and built houses and castles from mud and grass.

Her parents had never worried about the lack of formal education, insisting that the life skills she was learning were far more important than reading and writing. While the teacher in her cringed at that philosophy now, she did
understand the importance of balance between life and learning.

At the princess's age, she'd picked up some words and phrases in Swahili and Hausa and Manyika, enough to communicate with the other kids on a basic level; Riley was studying French, Italian and German out of textbooks. And whereas Hannah had learned music by banging on tribal drums or shaking and rattling dried seed pods, Riley had lessons from professional instructors.

She could hear the piano now, and followed the sound of the sharp, crisp notes to the music room to find the prince's daughter practicing scales on a glossy white Steinway.

She was sitting in the middle of the piano bench, her feet—clad in ruffled ankle socks and white patent Mary Janes—dangling several inches above the polished marble floor. Her long, dark hair was neatly plaited and tied with a pink bow. Her dress was the same shade of cotton candy, with ruffles at the bottoms of the sleeves and skirt. The housekeeper was in the corner, dusting some knickknacks on a shelf and surreptitiously keeping an eye on the princess.

The soaring ceiling was set off with an enormous chandelier dripping with crystals, but the light was unnecessary as the late-morning sun spilled through the tall, arched windows that faced the ocean. The other walls were hung with gorgeous woven tapestries, and while Hannah guessed that their placement was more likely for acoustics than aesthetics, the effect was no less breathtaking.

Suddenly, the fingers moving so smoothly over the ivory keys stopped abruptly. Riley swiveled on the bench, a dark scowl on her pretty face. “What are you doing in here?”

“Hello, Riley,” Hannah said pleasantly.

“What are you doing in here?” the princess asked again.

“I wanted to hear you practice.”

“I like to be alone when I practice,” she said, demonstrat
ing that she'd inherited her father's mood as well as his dark eyes.

Hannah just shrugged, refusing to let the little girl's attitude affect her own. “I can wait in the hall until you're finished.”

“I have my French lesson after piano.”

Hannah referred to the schedule she'd been given, which confirmed Riley's statement. “I'll see you at lunch, then.”

The princess's nod dismissed her as definitively as the prince had done only a few minutes earlier.

On her way out, Hannah passed the piano teacher coming in.

The older woman had a leather bag over her shoulder and determination in her step. Clearly
she
had a purpose for being here. Hannah had yet to figure out her own.

 

The conference call that Michael had rescheduled came through at precisely eleven o'clock and concluded twenty minutes later. A long time after that, he was still struggling to accept what he'd learned about Miss Castillo—high school teacher turned temporary nanny.

Phillip Marotta had said only that she was a teacher; Michael had assumed that meant she had experience with children. Because he trusted the royal physician implicitly, he had taken the doctor's recommendation without question. Apparently he should have asked some questions, but he acknowledged that the mistake had been his own.

Still, despite the new nanny's apparent lack of experience, he knew that the doctor had stronger reasons than nepotism for suggesting his niece for the job. And from what Brigitte had told him, Riley seemed to accept her easily enough. Of course, his daughter had had so many doctors and teachers and instructors in and out of her life that she accepted most newcomers without any difficulty.

So why was he uneasy about Miss Castillo's presence at
Cielo del Norte? Was he really concerned about Riley—or himself?

When Sam died, he'd thought he would never stop grieving the loss. He was certain he would never stop missing her. But over the years, the pain had gradually started to fade, and Riley's easy affection had begun to fill the emptiness in his heart. He'd been grateful for that, and confident that the love of his little girl was enough.

He didn't need romance or companionship—or so he'd believed until Hannah walked into his life. But he couldn't deny that the new nanny affected him in a way that no woman had done in a very long time.

A brisk knock at the door gave him a reprieve from these melancholy thoughts.

“Lunch will be served on the terrace as soon as you're ready,” Caridad told him.

He nodded his thanks as he checked his watch, surprised that so much time had passed. Twenty minutes on the phone followed by an hour and a half of futile introspection. Maybe he did need a vacation.

The housekeeper dropped a quick curtsy before she turned back toward the door.

“Caridad—”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“What is your impression of Miss Castillo?”

Her eyes widened. “I'm not sure I understand why you'd be asking that, sir.”

“Because I value your opinion,” he told her honestly. “During the summers that I spent here as a kid, you were always a lot more of a mother to me than my own mother was—which makes you Riley's honorary grandmother and, as such, I'd expect you to have an opinion of her new nanny.”

“We've only spoken briefly, sir, I'm certainly not in any position—”

“Quick first impressions,” he suggested.

“Well, she's not quite what I expected,” Caridad finally admitted.

“In what way?”

“She's very young and…quite attractive.”

He didn't think Hannah was as young as Brigitte's twenty-four years, though he could see why the housekeeper might have thought so. Brigitte had dressed more conservatively and she hadn't been nearly as outspoken as the doctor's niece.

“Not that Brigitte wasn't attractive,” she clarified. “But she was more…subtle.”

She was right. There was absolutely nothing subtle about Hannah Castillo. While she certainly didn't play up her natural attributes, there was something about her—an energy or an aura—that made it impossible for her to fade into the background.

“But I'm sure that neither her age nor her appearance has any relevance to her ability to do her job,” she hastened to add.

No—the most relevant factor was her employment history, which he decided not to mention to the housekeeper. No doubt Caridad would wonder how he'd ended up hiring someone with a complete lack of experience, and he was still trying to figure that one out himself.

“If I may speak freely…” Caridad ventured.

“Of course,” he assured her.

“You should spend more time around young and beautiful women and less behind your desk.”

“Like the young and beautiful woman you ‘hired' to help in the kitchen when you sprained your wrist last summer?” he guessed.

“I wasn't sure you'd even noticed,” she admitted.

“How could I not when every time I turned around she was in my way?” he grumbled good-naturedly.

“Maybe she was a little obvious, but I thought if I had to
hire someone, it wouldn't hurt to hire someone who might catch your eye.”

“Caridad,” he said warningly.

“Your daughter needs more than a nanny—she needs a mother.”

The quick stab that went through his heart whenever anyone made reference to Samantha's passing—even a reference as veiled as Caridad's—was no longer a surprise, and no longer quite so painful.

“And in a perfect world, she would still have her mother and I would still have my wife,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately, this is not a perfect world.”

“Four years is a long time to grieve,” she said in a gentler tone.

“When Sam and I got married, I promised to love her forever. Is that time frame supposed to change just because she's gone?”

“Unless your vows were different than mine, they didn't require you to remain faithful forever but only ‘till death do us part.'”

“Could you ever imagine loving anyone other than Estavan?” he countered.

“No,” she admitted softly. “But we have been together forty-one years and I am an old woman now. You are still young—you have many years to live and much love to give.”

He glanced at the calendar on his desk. “I also have another quick call to make before lunch.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” She curtsied again, but paused at the door. “I just have one more thing to say.”

He knew it was his own fault. Once he'd opened the door, he had no right to stop her from walking through. “What is it?”

“No one questions how much you loved your wife,” she told him. “Just as no one would raise an eyebrow now if you decided it was time to stop grieving and start living again.”

He hadn't been with anyone since Sam had died, almost four years ago. And he hadn't been with anyone but Sam for the fourteen years before that. He'd loved his wife for most of his life. After meeting her, he'd never wanted anyone else—he'd never even looked twice at any other woman.

But Caridad was right—Hannah Castillo was beautiful, and he'd found himself looking at her and seeing not just his daughter's new nanny but a desirable woman.

Thankfully the buzz of his BlackBerry prevented him from having to respond to the housekeeper. Acknowledging the signal with a nod, she slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Michael picked up the phone, forcing all thoughts of Hannah from his mind.

 

Lunch for the adults was pan-seared red snapper served with couscous and steamed vegetables. For Riley, it was chicken nuggets and fries with a few vegetables on the side. She eagerly ate the nuggets, alternately played with or nibbled on the fries and carefully rearranged the vegetables on her plate.

Throughout the meal, Hannah was conscious—almost painfully so—of the prince seated across the table. She'd pretty much decided that she didn't really like him, at least not what she'd seen of him so far, but for some inexplicable reason, that didn't stop her pulse from racing whenever he was near. Remnants of her childhood crush? Or the shallow desires of a long-celibate woman? Whatever the explanation, the man sure did interfere with her equilibrium.

Thankfully, he paid little attention to her, seeming content to make conversation with his daughter. Hannah found it interesting to observe their interaction, noting how alive and animated the princess was with her father. Certainly there was no evidence of the moody child who had banished her from the music room earlier.

“Is there something wrong with your fish?”

Hannah was so caught up in her introspection that it took her a moment to realize that the prince had actually deigned to speak to her. She looked down at her plate now, startled to notice that her meal had barely been touched.

“Oh. No.” She picked up her fork, speared a chunk of red snapper. “It's wonderful.”

“Are you not hungry?”

She
was
hungry. The muffin and coffee that had been her breakfast en route were little more than a distant memory, and the meal the housekeeper had prepared was scrumptious. But not nearly as scrumptious as the man seated across from her—