Crystal Green - The Texas Billionaire's Bride / The Texas Bodyguard's Proposal - The Texas Billionaire's Bride

“I’m prepared to teach Livie,” she said, excitement churning. He was going to make an offer! “With Ms. Sandoval’s daughter, Toni, I planned a different learning experience every day, and doing the same here would be wonderful.”

“Livie would benefit from your dance background in particular.”

Melanie’s blood jolted, but then she realized he was probably talking about all the classes, from ballet to jazz to hip-hop, she’d taken. “Livie has taken dance before?”

“No, but she needs to let out her energy in a constructive manner.”

“I see.”

“Other than that, her schedule is set. Firm. Don’t deviate from it, because she responds well to structure. It might be your biggest saving grace.”

Based on Zane Foley’s well-ordered townhouse, as well as all his comments, Melanie wondered if, when she arrived in Austin, she would find Livie inhabiting something like a high-class jail.

Fuming inwardly, she told herself to stay quiet. You want this job, you need this job, so keep your opinions to yourself for now.

They came to what looked to be a study, with more dark, finely etched antique furniture carefully placed about the room: a desk set that held a laptop computer and organized files, a curio cabinet, shelves teeming with leather-bound books that lent the air a thick, musty scent.

There were also large, framed paintings on the walls, the biggest being an old family portrait of the Foleys that featured brothers Jason and Travis, both of whom couldn’t have been more than ten years old at the time, even though Travis looked a little younger. They stood next to their dad, Rex, an affable looking man with a charming grin. Then there was Olivia Marie, their deceased mom, who wore her own gentle smile as she hooked her arm through Rex’s.

On the fringes of them all was Zane, who even in his early teens seemed to carry himself with a combination of cockiness and seriousness.

When Melanie glanced away from the portrait, she found that Zane was behind her, standing in front of a different painting. Livie’s.

A recent depiction of a sweet little girl in a pink dress, her wavy dark hair held back by a lacy headband. She smiled faintly and held a stuffed lamb.

The picture got to Melanie, yet it was the expression on Zane’s face that just about melted her altogether.

Naked love and devotion.

But then it turned into something else—destruction—and Melanie wondered what could have possibly turned one emotion into the other so quickly.

As Zane stared at his daughter’s portrait, he wasn’t seeing Livie so much as someone else entirely. Danielle.

His wife, dead six years now, but still so agonizingly alive in the face of his daughter.

He couldn’t stand the questions that always came afterward: would Livie grow up to be just like her mother? Would his daughter break her own husband’s heart someday, too?

Would she have the same mood swings—from dark to manic—that had escalated into that awful day when Danielle had taken her own life?

He glanced away, his attention locking on the svelte figure of Melanie Grandy. With sunny blond hair that swept her shoulders and blue eyes that seemed to sparkle even when she wasn’t smiling, she was the opposite of Danielle and Livie. But from her heart-shaped face to her ill-fitting blue business suit that he supposed she’d purchased just for these interviews—she’d worn the skirt the other day, too—he got the impression of vulnerability. A leggy wisp of a woman, she might not be so different from Danielle after all.

At his inspection, she raised her chin, a habit he’d become familiar with even during their short acquaintance.

No, this woman had a core to her. She also had an innate dignity that sent a buzz of heat through his veins.

Raw beauty, he thought, flashes of an unpolished diamond lighting his mind’s eye.

But the glare of it made him realize that there was no room for any kind of attraction, especially since she seemed to be a perfect fit for Livie. And thank God for Andrea Sandoval’s timely reference, because the last nanny had quit, leaving Zane at loose ends. He’d needed a quick hire, and since Ms. Grandy didn’t have a criminal record and had come with the highest recommendation from a family friend, he seized the opportunity.

It was just a bonus that his daughter would match well with her new nanny. Livie required someone with spine enough to stand tall and firm, as Ms. Grandy had gracefully done throughout their interviews.

He chanced one last, long second of looking at her, turning the air into a humid fog.

And she seemed to feel it, too. He could’ve sworn it, because she set her jacket on a nearby end table and folded her hands in front of her while concentrating on the picture, a pink tint to her cheeks.

He got back to business, as well.

Always business. Safer that way.

He moved toward his computer, then woke it out of hibernation mode. He’d brought Ms. Grandy into his study to show her the virtual layout of the Austin estate where Livie resided, but even so, he held off on opening the computer file.

She was still back at Livie’s portrait.

“She’s a beautiful child,” Ms. Grandy said, and he could sense that she was being genuine in the compliment. “I can’t wait to start our first day, maybe with some art, where she can express ideas that she might be too shy to say out loud right away.”

“The last time a nanny got the paint out she was scrubbing it off Livie for what seemed like hours. It was even supposed to be washable.”

He could see a battle playing over Melanie Grandy’s face, and it wasn’t the first time. She was clearly wondering if she should put in her own two cents about her child-rearing philosophies, instead of listening to his own cynical point of view.

The other nannies had always kept quiet, but when Ms. Grandy spoke, he was pleasantly surprised that she even dared, although it raised his hackles, as well.

“I’m not afraid of some extra cleanup,” she said, “if it’s the result of something positive for Livie. Maybe she’s the type who would benefit from stepping out of that structure she’s so used to?”

Now he wasn’t even pleasantly surprised with her.

She obviously noticed. “Mr. Foley, I’m not suggesting anything radical. I’m only interested in getting to know Livie.”

He didn’t tell Ms. Grandy that, aside from that one out-of-control paint day, his daughter generally liked to keep her dresses and hands clean—and it wasn’t just at his insistence.

Or was it?

Guilt set in, just as it always did when he thought too hard about how he’d raised—or not raised—his girl. That’s why it was better that he’d adopted such a hands-off policy; he was far more adequate at shaping Foley Industries and concentrating on other important matters, like keeping those damned McCords in line.

Plus, he didn’t know anything about females at all. That was apparent from what he’d let happen to Danielle.

Melanie was still smiling as she looked at his daughter’s portrait, and his heart cracked at how a stranger could so openly display emotion for Livie, when he had such a hard time himself.

He opened the computer file that contained the slides of Tall Oaks.

“Ms. Grandy,” he said.

She glanced at him, and he could see the hope in her eyes.

He didn’t let that affect him. He and hope had parted company a while ago.

“When can you start?” he asked.

She beamed with one of those warm smiles. “When do you want me, Mr. Foley?”

He couldn’t help thinking that, despite the temptation, on a personal level the answer to that would have to be “never.”

After accepting the job and then rushing through a whirlwind of formalities, such as a salary agreement and a computer-aided tour of Zane Foley’s Austin estate, Melanie had followed her new employer down the hall and to the foyer, barely able to contain a bubbly grin.