Ronan’s jaw hardens. “It seems we’re without a nanny.” He bends over and picks up the equipment I’d dropped. “Come in.”
“I-I’m so sorry.” I follow him into the house, feeling awkward as he sets up my easels in the same area I placed them last week, in the patch of diffuse sunlight overlooking the lake.
“Can I do something?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “You can get started on the lesson. I need to make some calls. I’m an hour late to set, but I’ve got to figure this out.”
As he walks to the library, he barks into his phone, “Emma, I need you to tell Jordan that I’m going to be late. Then call the agency and explain to them what happened. That she was trying to sell our story and photos to the tabloids. No, I don’t want them to send a new nanny. The last one was shit, even before this went down. Find another agency. Just do whatever it takes. I have night shoots coming up, and I need someone here for Belle. It would be too disruptive to take her with me. I need to know she’s safe. And happy.”
He closes the door to the library, and his voice disappears.
I shake my head, my focus shifting as I realize Belle is patiently watching me. “So, Belle. I thought we’d paint a wreath today. This one has pretty fall colors, but we could paint a Christmas one if you’d rather, just to bug your dad.” I grin.
“You can do it.”
“Do what?” I ask, taking out both wreaths from my bag so she can decide. I secretly hope she chooses the Christmas wreath. It’s such fun to irritate Ronan, and it seems like he could use the diversion.
“You can be my new nanny.”
I laugh. “I’m a teacher. Not a nanny.”
“But at the lesson, you told us that it was your last day teaching kindergarten at the school and that’s why you were a little sad.”
“It’s true I’m not working there anymore. But your father wants to hire someone experienced with being a nanny.”
“Like Tiffany?”
“Um…” I say, setting out the paintbrushes. “I’m sure he’ll find someone better.”
“I don’t want anyone else. I want you,” Belle insists, her chin stubborn.
“Please, Father?” She begs, looking behind me.
I turn to find that Ronan has emerged from the library. His eyes and face are impassive as always. But even impassive, he’s larger-than-life. His body is too big. His face too handsome. His hair too long and too golden. He’s a Viking portrait come to life, as if he were built straight from CGI.
“Can I talk to you outside?” Ronan asks, all stern politeness. He wears it well.
“Sure.” I follow him to the covered porch that looks off to a small gazebo, wooden dock, and the shimmering lake beyond. The sky is the cloudless blue of a brisk fall day.
I’d taken off my coat, and now I shiver. He removes his plaid flannel overshirt and puts it over my shoulders. It falls to mid-thigh.
“No. Now you’ll be cold.”
“Keep it.”
I’m about to protest again, but he silences me with a look.
“Thank you,” I acknowledge, resisting the urge to bury my nose in the flannel. I’m not sure what cologne he wears, but damn, it’s good, all nature and masculinity, like pine and sandalwood and something that’s uniquely him. The soft shirt is still warm from his body heat, which adds another layer of intimacy, as if I’m enveloped in him. Is this what it would be like to wake in the morning, after a long night of sex, and put on his shirt?
I don’t need the flannel to keep me warm anymore. My hot blush could power the warmth of a small city.
“Can I help with anything? I don’t know any hit men, but I have a few large cousins who are what you might call underemployed. I bet they could catch your runaway nanny for a small fee.”
He blows out a breath that might have been the start of a laugh then looks out at the horizon before his gaze lands back on me.
“I hate to ask, but can you watch Belle?”
My breath skips. Belle asked me to be their new nanny. Had he overheard? Is that what he’s asking?
