he couldn’t make Molly feel secure, if his presence sent his daughter into tears, then he was damn determined to find someone who could make her feel safe. Gail had a natural warmth that he knew would comfort Molly. It surprised the hell out of him, but even he felt that same warmth in Gail’s presence. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she projected the attitude that perfection wasn’t required or expected. Nicholas had spent his life around people who expected perfection, or something damn close to it.
Through the walls, he heard the shower cut off and a feminine voice singing. The sound captured his attention. A committed bachelor whose lovers rarely stayed overnight, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a woman singing in his house.
Curious, he moved closer to the wall. A children’s song, he concluded, catching a few of the words. “Little teapot…steamed up…tip me over, pour—”
The singing stopped abruptly and he heard a loud thump, followed by a muffled shriek. Wincing, Nicholas heard a low moan, then nothing.
He frowned, wondering if she was hurt. He pressed his ear against the wall. Still no sound. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. What should he do? What if she was lying on the floor with a concussion?
Swearing under his breath, he strode from his room to her door and knocked lightly so he wouldn’t wake Molly. “Gail,” he said. “Gail, are you okay?”
No sound. Nicholas turned the knob and entered the room, scanning the floor for a body. He moved toward the ensuite bath and caught a glance of Gail Fenton with a towel precariously slung over her as she rubbed her shin. “Ouch, ouch. Ouch,” she whispered.
Nicholas would be missing a Y chromosome if he didn’t notice her long shapely legs and the fact that the towel was one breath away from revealing one of her breasts. In other circumstances with a different woman, he would get that towel off her in a New York minute, but now he needed to make sure she wasn’t seriously injured. “Are you okay?”
Her gaze shot to his and her mouth rounded in a mixture of horror and surprise. She glanced down at her body and hastily rearranged the towel. “M-Mr. Barone.”
“Nicholas is fine,” he said.
She clutched the towel to her. “I’m okay. I just slipped when I got out of the shower.”
“It sounded painful and potentially life-threatening,” Nicholas said.
She cringed. “I fall hard. It’s one of my flaws. Overconfidence. I trust my balance a little too much.”
“Maybe you were distracted by singing the teapot song.”
Her face bloomed with color and she scooted into a sitting position. “I’ll be honest,” she said in a confiding tone. “I’m no Mary Poppins, so I’ve been practicing all the children’s songs I know.”
He shrugged. “Sounded good to me until you…”
“Went splat on the floor,” she finished with a pained expression.
“Are you sure you didn’t break anything?”
“Totally. It was very kind of you to check on me, but unnecessary. I’ll just have a few very colorful bruises.”
“You’re sure you’re okay,” he said, something about her expression causing him doubt.
“Very sure. You can leave. Please.”
“Let me help you up first,” he said, moving toward her.
“Oh, no,” she said, her eyes widening as she shook her head.
He put his hands on her arms and watched in fascination as her cheeks bloomed with vivid color again. She didn’t look nearly so plain when she blushed. In fact she reminded him of a creamy white rose tipped with coral. He wondered if she blushed all over and glanced at her pink shoulders and pink chest. He looked down her pink legs to her pink toes.
“Mr. Barone—”
“Nicholas,” he corrected.
“Nicholas, I won’t die from this fall, but I may die of embarrassment if you don’t leave.”
He pulled one of his hands back, amused by her frank admission. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who blushes from head to toe.”
Her mouth straightened into a firm line. “A gentleman wouldn’t bring that fact to my attention.”
He chuckled, thinking he was enjoying this exchange far more than he should. “I’m not a gentleman one hundred percent of the time,” he said, and pulled her to her feet. “Gentlemen can be boring.”
She rushed to adjust the towel around her and Nicholas caught a glimpse of the curve of her round derriere. The sight was so distracting he almost didn’t catch her frown. “I disagree,” she said. “A true gentleman understands the value of good manners and consideration.”
“A smart man uses those to his advantage, but makes his own rules.”
Gail sighed and walked around him, the towel offering more tantalizing glimpses of her rear end with each step she took. “You’re not going to change my opinion. And with me clinging to this towel, I’m reasonably sure I won’t be changing yours. So, thank you for your concern. I’d like to get to bed now. Good night.”
His gaze latching on to her derriere, Nicholas barely resisted the urge to say, You give new meaning to the word peekaboo.
Gail survived the night, even though she felt sick every time she thought about Nicholas Barone hearing her sing in the shower, then feeling compelled to pick her up off the floor and nearly catching her buck naked. Molly soon distracted her. Unfortunately one of Gail’s most effective calming tricks involved her own hair, which Molly liked to grasp and hang on to. It meant the baby was attached to her for most of her waking hours. Gail told herself it was a bonding period and it would pass.
At six o’clock on the dot, Nicholas walked through the front door. “It’s Daddy!” Gail said, trying to convey a feeling of happy excitement to Molly. Gail feared the baby and her hottie father were off to a rocky start. “It’s Daddy,” Gail said again, heading toward the foyer with Molly in her arms.
Nicholas spotted his daughter and approached cautiously. Gail felt Molly’s hand wind around a strand of her hair. A sure sign of tension. Molly popped her thumb in her mouth and stared at her father as if she couldn’t decide if he were a monster.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice. “How was your day today? Did you have a good time with Gail?”
Molly wound her hand another turn around Gail’s hair and stared at her father.
“Say Da-da,” Gail prompted the child. Then she turned to Nicholas. “I think she’s focused on verbal development now. She’s making lots of sounds.”
“What is she doing to your hair?” Nicholas asked, his brow furrowing.
“I think it’s a security thing,” Gail said wryly. “Some kids use a blanket. Molly uses my hair.”
Nicholas
