She quickly looked away. She couldn’t let him see how nervous he made her. In a carefully controlled voice she said, “I’m sure you’re not here to work on jigsaw puzzles. Can I help you?”
“No, I’m just waiting for my son. Don’t let me bother you.”
Bother her? Just his presence was disturbing. And he had a son. She might have known he was married. Very few unattached men wandered into the children’s room of the library. She was aware of a fleeting feeling of disappointment and mentally shook herself out of it.
“Looks to me like you’re the one who needs help,” he said as he surveyed the mess.
“What happened here?”
“Nothing unusual,” Amanda said ruefully. “You have no idea how much havoc a few three-year-olds can create.”
He chuckled. “Well, it looks like reinforcements are on the way. Hey, Josh, why don’t you come and help the pretty lady?”
“Sure, Dad.” A sunny-faced youngster appeared from nowhere and smiled cheerfully at her. “Hi, Miss Amanda.” He sat down at the table and began sorting through the puzzle pieces.
“Hi, Josh.” Amanda smiled back at him. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. She guessed he was seven or eight, dark-haired, with gray eyes and the longest lashes she had ever seen. Like father, like son, she thought, sneaking a look at the sexy stranger.
“Miss Amanda?” His dark eyebrows arched mischievously. “You’re not quite what I expected.”
Josh looked up from the puzzle he was working on. “I told you all about her, Dad. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes, but you left out a few important details, son.” His voice, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through Amanda.
He held out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He peered at her nametag. “Ms. Lloyd.”
She nodded as she felt her hand swallowed up in his warm, friendly grasp. A tingling sensation shot up her arm. For heaven’s sakes, what was wrong with her? Her fiancé had been as good-looking, maybe better, but there was a sensual awareness in this man that she hadn’t been conscious of in Tim.
She pulled her hand free at the sound of a childish voice and turned to see a little blond-haired girl looking up at her. “Do you need some help?” Amanda asked the youngster.
“I can’t find the fairy tales.”
“They’re right over here,” Amanda said, leading the way to a shelf by the window. She pulled a few books from the shelf. “How about Cinderella, Snow White, and The Frog Prince?”
The child took the books with a happy smile. “I’m gonna marry a prince someday.”
It had never been known to fail, Amanda thought. The female of the species was a sucker for a happy ending. She hated to burst the child’s illusions, but… “There really aren’t—”
“Of course you will, sweetheart,” a low masculine voice interrupted. “Whoever you marry will be your prince.”
The little girl gave the handsome stranger a dazzling smile and ran out of the room.
“Shame on you,” he scolded. “You were going to tell that child there aren’t any princes, weren’t you?”
“Isn’t it better to be honest? Sometimes I wonder at the wisdom of filling children’s heads with fairy tales, even though it’s part of my job. That little girl will find out sooner or later that there aren’t any real prince charmings.”
He leaned against a table, his long legs crossed at the ankles. “Oh? What about Prince William?”
Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Friend of yours, is he?”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I have met his brother, Harry.”
Sure you have. Amanda recognized a line when she heard one. “All right, there are a few actual princes left. But we’re not talking about them.” The man was aggravating, standing there practically daring her to defend herself. “The truth is that frogs outnumber princes by about a million to one.”
The man grinned lazily. “Ah, a cynic.”
Amanda returned his smile. “Remember what the Brothers Grimm said: ‘Before you meet the handsome prince, you’ve got to kiss a lot of toads.’”
“If you think all men have warts, I beg to differ,” he said softly, staring into her eyes.
“You never know which frog might turn into a prince. Have you always been so cynical?”
Authors’ websites:
Linda McLaughlin
Anne Farrell
Rogue's Hostage Page 32