Elizabeth Duke - The Marriage Pact

Her eyes narrowed in quick suspicion. Was he trying to find out if she was available? Available...for what?

Her chin rose a notch, her grey eyes glinting, cooling to silver ice. There was no way she was going to let this man get the idea she was on the loose! Let alone available. Available for sharks like him to pick up.

‘They’re not my children. I’m just looking after them.’ Her tone was crisp. ‘And I’m not here alone—I’m with their parents. You might have seen them back at the hotel.’

Then again maybe he hadn’t. They always came down to breakfast late, with the excuse that they needed to go through their conference notes for the day. But she suspected that they simply wanted to sleep in and have breakfast by themselves later without the distraction and demands of their children. The baby was bottle-fed so didn’t rely on his mother for feeds.

‘Ah. So you’re just helping out with the children...’ Now the stranger’s dark eyes positively gleamed.

She took an instinctive step back, her own eyes glittering with derision. I know what you’re thinking, and you can forget it. Go find some other easy female.

‘I’m their nanny,’ she told him curtly, and began to walk on.

In a neat tigerish stride, he fell into step beside her. ‘Their permanent nanny? Or were you only hired for this Venice trip?’

She paused, frowning. Why would he want to know that? Simply to keep her talking?

‘I’m just filling in for their regular nanny, who has a bad ear infection and wasn’t able to fly.’ Meredith, an old friend from Australia, had recommended her as a fill-in, knowing she’d just thrown in her job. Knowing she’d had to—to get away from Nigel.

‘At the end of this week,’ she swept on, using clipped tones to discourage him, ‘I’ll be flying back to Australia.’ Back to the problems at home.

‘Ah...Australia. So that’s the accent. I was wondering. Um... You intend to look for another nanny job back in Australia?’

Her eyelashes flickered under his coolly interested gaze. Did he have a nanny fetish?

‘I doubt it,’ she answered dryly, adding in cutting tones, ‘I’ll be looking for a job as an accountant or auditor, which is what I’m qualified for and the kind of work I was doing until just recently.’

So put that in your pipe and smoke it, buddy, she thought with another upward jerk of her chin. If you imagined I was a brainless, man-crazy bimbo, ready to jump at the chance of a hot little dalliance with the likes of you, think again!

‘Well,’ he returned in a silky drawl, revealing by his next remark that he had been thinking along those lines, ‘Living proof that brains and beauty can on occasion co-exist.’ He quirked an admiring eyebrow at her, his dark eyes dancing.

For heaven’s sake, the man was flirting with her! ‘Can on occasion co-exist,’ indeed! What a disgusting male chauvinist he was!

‘I wonder if the same can be said about you?’ she whipped back in a withering tone, her eyes flashing contempt. ‘Or are you just a pretty face?’

The deep brown eyes flickered. Then he smiled, a sudden stretching of his lips, showing a flash of even white teeth and a burst of crinkles and dimples where there’d only been a tanned smoothness before.

She felt an unexpected jolt. That quick smile had a megawatt impact.

Oh, no, you don’t, she thought, rallying. Your devastating English charm won’t work on this girl, my friend. I’m immune to the flashy charms of gorgeous-looking Englishmen. Give me a rugged, down-to-earth, honest, decent Aussie guy any day.

I should be so lucky, she mused with a grimace, doubting if honest, decent men existed anywhere any more.

‘Why are you here?’ she tossed back at him as she began to walk on, not caring if he answered or not. Not being interested in dancing-eyed charm machines. She just wanted to switch the spotlight off herself. Or, better still, shake him off altogether.

But in a single stride he was at her side.

Holly, mercifully, came to the rescue, piping up before he could speak, ‘I’m hungry.’ She tugged at Claire’s hand. ‘I want an ice cream.’

‘All right, love, we’ll find you an ice cream.’ Claire quickened her pace, expecting the Englishman to take the hint and fade away.

He didn’t. ‘Let me buy you an ice cream at Florian’s,’ he offered, and waved a hand toward the famous café as they passed by, the romantic strains of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ swirling around them.

She didn’t falter, pretending that she hadn’t even heard the offer. There was no way in the world she was going to let this pushy Englishman buy anything for her—let alone try to buy her favours, if that was what he was doing. And Florian’s was way out of her own modest pocket.

‘There’s an ice-cream place at the back of the piazza,’ she said brusquely. Dismissively. ‘Come on, Holly.’ She almost swept the little girl off her feet as she hurried on, dragging the child along with her.

Maddeningly, the Englishman kept pace with them. ‘I’m here on business, unfortunately, not pleasure,’ he said in answer to her question—despite her having made it obvious that she didn’t care if he answered or not. ‘I’m here for a business seminar at the Cipriani...though I chose not to stay there. I prefer a hotel with a quieter, more personal touch—away from all the hype.’

That surprised her. She’d have thought he’d lap up that kind of place. The glitz, the glamour. Maybe, she mused cynically, he just wanted to be free of his fellow delegates so that he could more easily chat up solitary females.

‘You’re playing hookey this morning?’ she asked sweetly, slowing her pace as Holly whined, ‘You’re going too fast!’

‘Not at all.’ He fell into step beside her. ‘Morning off.’

‘Where are all your fellow delegates?’ she asked pointedly, glancing around. Hadn’t he made any friends amongst them? ‘More interested in the Cipriani’s glamorous social whirl, are they, than the cultural delights of Venice?’

‘I doubt that. They’re all at business sessions this morning. I’m not involved in those. I’m here to give a series of lectures on the effect of the Internet on worldwide communications. I’ll be giving my final one this afternoon.’

‘Oh.’ She deliberately looked at him the way he’d looked at her a few moments ago. ‘Well,’ she murmured, unable to resist the temptation, ‘Living proof that good looks and brains can co-exist...on occasion.’

His lips—sensuous, well-shaped lips, she noted reluctantly—stretched again, the outer edges curving upward and deepening the appealing creases in his cheeks.

‘Touché,’ he applauded softly, a gleam of amusement in the dark depths of his eyes.

Much as she wanted to dislike everything about him, Claire had to give him credit for appreciating the way she’d turned his chauvinistic remark back on him. Nigel probably would have taken umbrage and demanded huffily whether she was mocking him, his pale blue eyes wavering with hurt and uncertainty. Nigel had liked to feel in control at all times—on top of every situation.

‘Do your employers give you any time off...by yourself?’ the stranger pursued as they entered the narrow lane behind the piazza and began to weave their way through the throngs of other tourists, past windows with tempting displays of designer fashions, expensive knitwear, fine shoes and eye-catching jewellery. ‘In the evenings, I mean,’ he added smoothly, ‘when the children are asleep and their parents have no commitments themselves?’

In the evenings... I knew it, she thought as she seared a glance round. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said crushingly. Even if they did, her eyes told him, I wouldn’t be spending my precious spare time with you.