Amy J. - Single Father Seeks...

“Ms. Stuart?”

Bryce’s tone warned her that he’d called her more than once and she blamed her inattention on the alias last name she’d given him. She met his gaze and smiled. “Call me Ciara. I think it’s a bit more appropriate.”

His features tightened, as if fighting a smile.

“She looks just like you,” Ciara said and somehow that pleased him.

He looked at his daughter and his entire body softened. He moved closer, touching Carolina’s hair. “You think so?”

“Yeah.”

He met her gaze and their close proximity made his thoughts skip and stall on her, made him imagine what she looked like naked. What she felt like in his arms. This was going to be tough if he couldn’t even look at her without remembering that night. He wanted to call Wife Incorporated and ask for someone less…beautiful and exotic. But he needed help now. Besides, he could handle this, he thought. He wasn’t going to get involved with the nanny, no matter who she was. However, just seeing his baby cuddled in her arms did something to him.

“So Mr. Ashland, are we going to stand in this tornado of a room all day or are you going to show me this house and tell me what I’ll be doing?”

Bryce watched her stroke Carolina’s arm, then press her lips to the top of his daughter’s head. As if she’d known his child from the day she was born. But household duties were not what he was thinking about right now. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ciara. She hadn’t changed. She was still a classic beauty, and though she looked a little thinner than before, she was still curved and womanly. The thought of putting his hands on her bare skin again made him hard, and he instantly knew he could get into real trouble with her around. He reminded himself she was his employee and old fantasies were just that. Old and buried. Well, he thought with a long look at her, not quite buried.

Before his imagination took off to parts unknown, he cleared his throat and gestured to the room. “The kitchen obviously,” he tossed a thumb back over his shoulder. “The garage, laundry room and back door are that way. There’s an old servants staircase there, too.”

Servant. That’s what she was to him. Even if he was looking at her like they’d made love last night instead of five years ago. And despite that and the fantasies floating through her mind when she looked at him, she had to keep that in mind, remember why she was here and that she’d be leaving soon. It wouldn’t take the agency long to nab Mark.

Needing a distraction, Ciara looked around the huge peach, green and white kitchen. It was decorated like something out of a magazine, with all the latest appliances and an island counter with a sink. A chef’s dream. She couldn’t wait to see the rest of this place.

“Can you cook?”

“Sure.” She frowned a bit. “With Wife Incorporated, it’s a requirement. Why would you ask?”

“Home cooking is the last thing I’d expect from you,” he said with a sly glance.

Ciara’s heart skipped an entire beat at the sound of his voice and she looked him over. “Being a dad is the last I’d have expected of you.”

He gave her a velvety look. “No expectations, remember?”

She smirked. How could she not remember?

Bryce walked ahead and with the baby in her arms, Ciara followed him into the living room. “Front parlor,” he said, then pointed out the dining room beyond before walking into the main hall. The foyer was wide, a staircase on the right sweeping to the second floor. He pointed to it. “Bedrooms and baths upstairs, den and library there,” he said, gesturing to the left as he walked down the hall.

Carolina made noises, adding her own input.

Now that she’d had the chance to really look, Ciara was floored. The carved ceiling panels and wainscoting were works of art. Paintings hung on the walls and the hall was wide enough to fit a settee. When she’d driven up the long oak tree-lined driveway and had first seen the two-story house with double porches, she wondered how she was supposed to take care of this place when it went on forever. White with green plantation shutters, it spoke of old charm and grace, and she admitted it gave her a strange sense of home.

Odd, when she hadn’t had a real home since joining the CIA.

He led her back through the kitchen, then into a large Carolina room banked with windows and filled with casual furniture, the TV, a stereo. He crossed to a pair of French doors and threw them open, letting her step out onto the back deck first.

And as she passed he whispered softly, “Welcome, Ciara, to River Bend.”

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