A Prince of a Guy

by Jill Shalvis

  AT HIS FIRST opportunity to work without the interruption of a high-strung four-year-old, Sean sat at his desk. He meant to dig in but found himself staring out the window instead.

  Melissa was running as fast as her short, chunky legs would take her. Hair flying out behind her, wide, mischievous grin on her face.

  Sean rose, swearing, thinking she was on the run from whatever terrible thing she’d done to the new nanny, when said new nanny appeared in the window, as well.

  Hair flying behind her, running, and though he doubted her legs were short and chunky like Melissa’s, he couldn’t say for certain as they were hidden beneath her skirt. Just like his niece, she wore a wide and mischievous grin, and there was something in her infectious laughter that made him smile, too. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was incredibly…real. He liked real.

  He liked her.

  “Can’t catch me, can’t catch me,” squealed Melissa, slowing with a hopeful, expectant glance over her shoulder.

  She wanted to be chased.

  She wanted to be caught.

  And Sean stood there with a sudden pit in his stomach, because he couldn’t remember a single time over the past days that he’d spared the time to play with the little girl like that. Couldn’t remember not being annoyed or tired or frustrated.

  Couldn’t remember laughing, or just…being.

  “Can’t catch me,” Melissa sang.

  Catch her, Sean willed Carly, leaning close as if he could do it from the other side of the glass. Do for her what I never did.

  At the same moment he wished it, Carly surged forward and scooped the little girl up in her arms, swinging her around and around, looking young and happy and free.

  Their joined laughter rang out, and finally, they both collapsed in a fit of giggles to the grass. Melissa crawled into Carly’s lap.

  Carly’s arms lifted, and for a second hovered in the air as if she wasn’t used to such easy affection, but then she wrapped them around the child, her face filled with such contentment it almost hurt to look at her.

  Sean sat down, still watching. Still…yearning?

  No, that made no sense. No sense whatsoever.

  “SO WHO’S IN CHARGE of dinner?”

  Sean lifted his gaze off the plans he’d been studying, the plans he’d been trying to finish since Melissa had stepped into his life, turning it upside down. Slowly he blinked Carly into focus.

  She was standing in the doorway of his office, looking quite a bit more rumpled then when she’d arrived for her interview that morning. He knew without asking that the dirty smudges on her wide skirt were from grubby four-year-old hands, that the wrinkles in her shirt came from lifting that same four-year-old, and likely her hair was rioting around her face because of something Melissa had done.

  But somehow, she looked…cute. He knew from having a sister, and also a fair amount of relationships, that the word cute wasn’t exactly considered flattering, but he thought it should be.

  What made her so attractive that he couldn’t tear his eyes off her? He hadn’t a clue.

  “Dinner?” she repeated, pushing those huge glasses closer to her eyes. “Melissa’s hungry.”

  “Sure. What are you making?”

  She gave him a long, baleful look. “I wasn’t offering to make it.”

  “Oh.” The radio at his elbow switched from good old-fashioned rock music to the news.

  “And on the celebrity front,” the announcer said. “It’s rumored that Princess Carlyne Fortier has gone AWOL. Her grandfather denies this, claiming his granddaughter has merely left for a private vacation, but for the first time in ten years the princess didn’t attend the International Muscular Dystrophy fund-raiser, held last night in D.C.”

  Carlyne let out a sound of annoyance, so Sean turned the volume down. “Is it dinnertime already?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She glared at the radio, which continued to spit out the top-breaking story, very softly now.

  “Rumor has it she is close to a nervous breakdown from her heavy social schedule,” claimed the announcer, sarcasm in his voice. “Must be a tough life, folks, huh?”

  “He hasn’t a clue,” Carly muttered.

  Because she was obviously agitated, Sean flicked the radio off. “Uh, where were we?”

  She sighed. “Dinner.”

  “Yeah. To tell you the truth, I was kinda hoping you could cook.” Sean tried his most charming smile.

  She merely arched an eyebrow, looking suddenly very aristocratic. “Was cooking in my job description?”

  “Well, no.” His charming smile was clearly rusty—he hadn’t tried to charm a woman in a good long while. He was about to give wheedling a shot when the doorbell rang.

  His new nanny sent him a smile every bit as charming as his own—and just as manipulative. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said, already backing away. “I’ll get the door, you get dinner going.”

  “Not a fair trade,” he called, rising from his chair, listening as her laughter floated toward him.

  “First one to the door,” she called tauntingly.

  A challenge. He loved challenges. He raced down the hallway after her, enjoying the way her far-too-big skirt flew up, flashing him his second view of her legs. Why she wanted to hide them was a complete mystery.

  But then again, most women were mysteries.

  With his long strides, he could have easily overtaken her, but he got distracted by those legs, so she hit the front door a fraction of a second before he did. Whirling, she pressed her back to the wood, twisting to laugh at him.

  To stop his motion, his arms came out automatically, his hands landing on either side of her head to avoid crushing her against the wood.

  Both of them were laughing like little kids.

  Until his body brushed hers. Time stopped as he stared wide-eyed at her, stricken by the strange electrical current that ran through them.

  She seemed similarly conflicted.

  Being pressed against a woman wasn’t a new experience. Yes, it had been awhile, but not that long. Not long enough for him to be holding himself utterly still in order to get a better feel of all those warm curves he could feel beneath her clothes. And not just warm curves, but really great warm curves.

  Breasts smashed into his chest. Soft feminine hips pressed to his own. Not an inch of space between them. That combined with the real fact of already being attracted to her as a person caused a very base reaction, and she couldn’t have missed it.

  Her eyes went wide.

  Nope, she didn’t miss it. No more than he missed the way her nipples hardened to two tight tips, drilling through all her layers into his shirt.

  She felt amazing. Her mouth opened, but the only sound to escape was a little sigh he would have sworn was the sound of helpless awareness. Arousal.

  And he couldn’t help it. He lowered his head just a fraction, so his mouth nearly touched hers. She was a near stranger, but he needed to kiss her more than he needed his next breath. Given the way she angled her head and parted her lips, she felt the same way.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Slowly Sean pulled back, his chest, his belly, his thighs leaving hers reluctantly.

  She made that little sound again, the one that tugged at him so primally. Hardly able to think, he pulled open the door.

  Mrs. Trykowski, Slovak immigrant, next-door neighbor and local pest, brushed past him and marched right on in without being asked.

  The eighty-something woman was barely five feet tall, walked with a little skip in her step and had a voice like a truck driver’s. “Brought you some fruitcake,” she barked in the gravelly, heavily accented voice that assured everyone she’d been smoking like a fiend for over half a century.

  She brought Sean fruitcake on a regular basis. Not because he couldn’t feed himself, but because the woman had a curiosity streak a mile long.

  True to form, she craned her neck down the hallway, looking for new and exciting clues to his life.

  T
hen she spotted Carly.

  “Ah,” she said, a secret smile on her lips. She winked at Sean.

  “Stop it,” he said. “Stop it right now.”

  “I do not know what you are talking about,” she said innocently, her narrow, sharp gaze on Carly.

  Sean groaned, knowing what was coming—

  “Ten,” she said triumphantly.

  She had a terrible habit of rating his dates. “Mrs. Trykowski, Carly isn’t—”

  “What does she mean, ten?” Carly asked him.

  “Nothing,” he assured her, giving his nosy, bossy neighbor the evil eye. “Carly Fortune is Melissa’s new nanny for the next two weeks, just until my sister comes back.”

  “Whatever you say.” Mrs. Trykowski had been playing matchmaker for the better part of a year now, though Sean was having no part of it. “A ten,” she repeated triumphantly. “She is the one, Sean. Remember this.”

  “I’m the one what?” Carly asked, looking a little unnerved.

  Sean knew the feeling. Yes, Carly was smart and funny. Yes, there was something about her, but he’d known her all of a few hours. And anyway, no woman was ever going to be the one, not ever again. “Carly, this is Mrs. Trykowski. She lives next door and has clearly forgotten to take her medicine.”

  Mrs. Trykowski grinned.

  Sean ushered her to the door. “They’ll be hauling you away in a white jacket if you’re not more careful.”

  Carly looked horrified.

  Mrs. Trykowski laughed.

  Melissa came down the hall doing the pee-pee dance. “Gotta go again, Uncle Sean!”

  Sean could only groan, wondering what had happened to his nice quiet life.

  3

  IT WAS NOTHING short of a miracle, but finally, after needing water, a multitude of stories, three bathroom stops, monster checks in the closet and countless hugs good-night, Melissa was ready for bed.

  As they had before, the hugs had stopped Carlyne cold. Her family never hugged good-night. In fact, they never hugged at all, but Melissa hadn’t cared about Carlyne’s reserve, she’d just crawled in her lap, wrapped her thin, bony arms tightly around Carlyne’s neck and squeezed so tight Carlyne could hardly breathe.

  “One more hug,” the little girl pleaded. “Please?”

  Carlyne had something sticky in her hair, grimy handprints all over her, and she couldn’t wait to take a shower, but Melissa wouldn’t let go.

  “I miss my mommy,” she whispered.

  Carlyne’s heart melted, and she found herself stroking Melissa’s hair. “I know, baby.”

  “You smell pretty.” She burrowed her face into Carlyne’s neck. “Like a mommy.”

  Startled by the unexpected lump in her throat, Carlyne held on.

  “Night,” Melissa finally said, kissing her cheek, leaving yet another sticky imprint.

  Carlyne no longer cared. “Night,” she whispered.

  Exhausted, she practically had to crawl to her room, thinking if high-school students were forced to baby-sit, even for one afternoon, teenage pregnancy would vanish.

  Unless good-night hugs were part of the package.

  She was surprised that taking care of one little child could be more tiring than her social benefits and parties, but it definitely was. The thought of multiple children was terrifying.

  And thrilling.

  Sean’s extra bedroom was much smaller than what she was used to. When she shut the door behind her, she was expecting to feel claustrophobic, but that didn’t happen. The room was clean and simple, had a lovely glass sliding door, overlooking the back yard, and it felt…cozy.

  Normally she reserved evenings for herself—when she wasn’t attending one social event or another, that is. She craved quiet time, and she was ruthlessly selfish when she managed to steal it. She’d take long baths, walk or read.

  Tonight was no different, though she had to admit, the need to get away from all the people around her didn’t feel as strong as usual.

  Still, she couldn’t wait to strip down to the buff, to get out of the weight of the disguise of Carly. But instead, her feet took her to the sliding glass door, to the beautiful moonlit night beyond.

  She’d been to many, many places, all across the world, but Santa Barbara was one of the most beautiful she’d ever seen. It was lush and green and fragrant, and in the distance, she could just hear the ocean, pounding the shore in relentless waves.

  But far closer, in the pool just beyond the patio, swimming for all he was worth, was Sean.

  She stepped out of the room and off the patio into thick wet grass that made her want to take off the hideous boots she still wore so her toes could sink in. Before she could stop herself, she made her way to the very edge of the pool.

  The night was clear, cool and fairly quiet, except for the sound of Sean’s long, powerful arms and legs slicing effortlessly through the water.

  One lap. Two. Ten.

  And still she watched, fascinated.

  She could see a flash of smooth, sleek back. A tough, muscled shoulder. A long, lean flank. She had no idea why she felt something deep within her react when there were plenty of gorgeous men in her life. Plenty.

  Okay, maybe not plenty, mostly because whatever men there were in her world, rich and educated and a perfect catch—just ask her mother—all bored her.

  She had a feeling nothing about Sean would bore any woman.

  Not that she planned on finding out. No, she couldn’t add a quickie affair to her current list of sins. An affair, no matter how suddenly tempting, wasn’t on her list of things to do while in the real world.

  Learning who she was and what she was made of…that was her plan.

  Sean, oblivious to her standing there, continued to swim beneath the starlit night until finally he slowed, then stopped only inches from where she stood, his body strong and pulsing and gleaming in the moonlight.

  He was startled to see her. Shoving back his wet hair, he held onto the side of the pool, his chest heaving from exertion. Water ran down his face, over his strong, firm jaw. There was a drop on his lower lip, which he licked off with his tongue.

  “You swim like a fish,” she said inanely, as if she wasn’t wishing he’d pull himself out of the water and give her a view of his body.

  “Swimming is a stress reliever.”

  “Is there a lot of stress in your life, Sean O’Mara?”

  She had no idea why she asked, why the obvious probe into his life. She didn’t want to know about him, didn’t want to become friends, because then she would care. And if she cared, she’d have to feel badly about using him and Melissa, not to mention all the little untruths she’d told.

  Sean didn’t look any more thrilled than she at the idea of sharing. “Some,” he said, then purposely changed the subject. “You’re looking a little worse for wear. Why don’t you try swimming and see if it works for you?”

  “You mean…now?”

  At her surprise, he grinned. “No, next week. Yes, now.”

  “No, thanks.”

  He shook his head, and water flew. A drop hit the glasses that were continuously slipping off her nose, but she couldn’t remove them to dry the lenses or she’d risk exposing herself.

  “Come in,” he said.

  “In the water?”

  He laughed again, and before she could so much as breathe, he reached out with one very big, very wet, warm hand and grabbed her ankle.

  He tugged playfully.

  Panic replaced any amusement Carlyne might have felt. She couldn’t get wet. She’d lose her wig, her glasses, her contacts. Her clothes would cling to her, maybe slip off, and then the truth would be evident. She’d reveal who she really was…and the jig would be up.

  She’d have to go home, and though the day had been nothing short of the most work she’d ever done, she’d loved it.

  Loved it.

  She wasn’t ready to go back, not yet. Please, not yet.

  “Come on, Carly.” His fingers stroked the skin above her a
nkle.

  Never in her life would she have imagined that spot to be an erogenous zone, but suddenly she had visions of him touching her like that all over.

  His knowing eyes watched as he continued to stroke her in what should have been a completely innocent way, but nothing about Sean O’Mara was innocent when he looked at her that way, as if she could be eaten up in one bite.

  “Come in,” he coaxed. “Swim off the stress.” He tugged on her ankle again, the pressure of his fingers going right through her big, clunky boot. The tingle spread directly between her thighs.

  “No!” she said, much harsher than she intended, shoving the slipping glasses up her nose, pressing her other hand to the top of her head in case he dislodged the wig.

  Though he didn’t let go, his hold gentled, and the teasing went out of his eyes. “You don’t swim?”

  She blinked at him, nearly laughing in relief as he unwittingly gave her the out she needed. “No,” she said quickly, shocking herself. This lying was getting too easy.

  “That’s dangerous.” But he let go of her almost reluctantly, and she shivered with something that had nothing to do with the slight chill in the air.

  “Your family never made sure you learned?”

  “No.”

  “Where did you say you grew up?”

  “I didn’t.”

  He looked at her for a long moment while she waited for him to grill her. “I could teach you,” he finally said.

  The image of him doing just that, of his nearly nude body brushing hers in the water, his work-roughened hands all over her— “Bad idea,” she said, her pulse rocketing.

  “I’m a good teacher.”

  No doubt, with a low, husky voice like that, he could teach her anything. Everything. “Really bad idea.”

  He didn’t pressure her, just nodded. Then patted the brick edging of the pool. “Sit down, then, put your feet in. At least get used to the water.”

  He thought she was afraid. He had no idea that Princess Carlyne Fortier was afraid of nothing. Nothing at all. Except for maybe deep, dark, piercing eyes, a voice smooth as whiskey and hands that promised heaven. “I don’t think—”