Raye Morgan - A Nanny Under the Mistletoe

Now he was the one in charge of running interference, which made him certain that fate had a sadistic sense of humor. It also made him want to put a fist through the wall, but that wasn’t an option.

“What did you do in school, Morgan?” he asked, grateful that Libby had thrown him a bone.

Morgan glanced up at him, then down again. “I made a pumpkin.”

“It’s there on the refrigerator. For Halloween,” Libby explained.

He looked behind him and saw the construction paper creation held to the front of the appliance with a magnet. The little girl had colored it green and he was about to say something about pumpkins being orange when he noticed Libby shake her head slightly in a negative motion. Fortunately he wasn’t quite as dense as a rock and got her drift.

“Wow, Morgan. I really like your pumpkin,” he said. “You did a great job.”

“One of the kids said it’s the wrong color,” she mumbled.

“What do they know? Maybe this is a pumpkin that’s not ripe yet,” he suggested.

Morgan lifted one slight shoulder in a shrug.

When he met Libby’s gaze, her expression was sympathetic. That wasn’t something he was used to seeing. If anyone could sense that it was him. When his mother had brought home a guy two years after his dad’s death, Jess had known in seconds that he didn’t measure up. He’d always gotten the same hostile vibe from Libby.

He was accustomed to her shooting daggers at him when their paths crossed in a party setting with other people around. He’d always noticed her but managed to find someone safe to take his mind off her. That wasn’t the case now. Worse, he kind of liked that she was cutting him some slack for his inexperience.

But there was something else about her that was different, too. Her blond hair was tousled around her face, teasing her pink cheeks. The smile she flashed him was bright and beautiful and made his chest feel weird. Intelligence snapped in her eyes and her mouth made him wonder if it would taste as good as he imagined.

From the first moment he met her, he’d been concerned that she could take his mind and libido to a place he’d always managed to avoid going. And he shouldn’t be going there now.

“How long until dinner?” he asked. “I’m going to change clothes.”

“About fifteen minutes,” she answered.

He nodded and headed out of the room. It wasn’t nearly enough time, he thought, feeling cornered in his own home. If he hadn’t promised to eat dinner with Morgan, he would leave. But he’d crossed his heart and somehow knew that the gesture was tantamount to sacred between Morgan and Libby.

As if that wasn’t enough proof of their attachment, the sound of Libby’s voice followed by Morgan’s giggle sliced into him and rattled around, echoing off the emptiness there.

The female interlopers in his world had a bond—the two of them against the world. He remembered the feeling from long ago and felt a flash of wanting to be a part of it again. But he’d experienced an alliance like they had and found out it wasn’t something he could trust. A unit as tight as Libby and Morgan’s had no room for him. Even if he wanted to join, which he didn’t.

Sooner or later he’d wind up in the cold anyway, so the cold was where he would stay.

Dinner could have been more awkward, but Libby wasn’t sure how. Her cheeks and jaw hurt from smiling too much and her brain was tired after thinking so hard to singlehandedly keep up a three-way conversation. Jess had stuffed his face full of nuggets and fries, then excused himself—a polite way of saying he couldn’t get away fast enough.

Once he’d vacated the table, Morgan released her inner chatterbox and turned back into the child Libby knew and loved. If Ben and Charity had been able to see their daughter’s future, would they still have named Jess her guardian? She wasn’t so sure. But there was something she needed to discuss with him and finally found him in the morning room.

Libby hadn’t thought to look there because it was evening and there were no lights on, which had made her think the room was empty the first time she’d checked. Now she stood in the doorway. The only illumination came from the lights on the Strip that were visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. As he’d said on her penthouse tour, it was a fabulous sight.

She felt a stab of guilt for pointing out that a five-year-old girl had no frame of reference to appreciate the adult view. It was true that billboards and taxis flaunted advertisements of scantily-clad women that Morgan shouldn’t see, but from here the view was classy and breathtaking. And she didn’t just mean the lights. Jess looked pretty fabulous, too. But he always did to her.

“Jess?”

The light on a glass-topped table came on instantly. He was sitting in a rattan chair on a plush, cream-colored cushion.

“Is everything okay?”

That depended on what he meant by everything and okay. But she figured he probably meant was there a crisis for which his presence was required.

“Fine.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

There was only a slight hesitation before he said no. That could have been her imagination, but she didn’t think so because the look in his eyes said she was marginally more welcome than a global financial crisis.

There was an identical chair beside his and she lowered herself into it. The seat was deep and if she slid back, she felt her feet wouldn’t touch the floor. Jess, on the other hand, had no problem, what with his long legs.

Before dinner he’d changed out of his suit into a pair of jeans, a cotton shirt and navy pullover sweater. It was a preppy look that he somehow pulled off as rugged. Her stomach did that quivery thing she recognized as acute attraction—unwelcome, but best acknowledged so it could be dealt with.

Libby folded her hands and settled them in her lap, angling her knees toward him. “So, how did you like dinner?”

“Awesome.”

“Really?”

“Best I ever had.”

“So, you’ve eaten chicken nuggets before?”

“It’s been a while.” Something darkened in his eyes. “But, yes, I have.”

“The amount you consumed was pretty amazing.”

“Did Morgan notice?”

“That you were shoving record-breaking amounts of food in your mouth to redeem yourself for dumping on her favorite meal?”

“Yeah. That.”

“No.”

“Just so we’re clear, I wasn’t dumping on her choice. That was humor.”

“She’s five.” Libby gave him a wry look. “She doesn’t know world-renowned, repertoire or chef. ”

“I got that.” He folded his arms over his chest as he stared out the window.

“Complimenting her artwork was a nice save.”

“Oh, please.” Now his look was wry. “It was pathetic and you know it.”

“What I know,” she said, feeling sorry for him in spite of herself, “is that you didn’t have a meltdown when you noticed a magnet on the expensive stainless-steel front of your refrigerator.”

“Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind,” he answered.

Libby laughed, but it didn’t lighten her mood. She wasn’t here to worship at the altar of Jess Donnelly and be seduced by his charm and self-deprecating humor.

“But you held back.”

“I would have made a joke about it but I was afraid she’d think I wanted her drawn and quartered at dawn.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Only a little.” He blew out a long breath. “It probably didn’t escape your notice that I’m not very good at kid talk.”

“No? Really?” she said in mock surprise. “I swear I was planning to get out the duct tape to shut you up.”

The corners of his mouth curved up slightly. “In my own defense, it has to be said that I spend my days in meetings about budgets, building materials and stock market shares. Until a week ago I didn’t have to know about nightlights, green pumpkins or trying something I don’t like.”