overnight nanny like Mrs. Butters. I go home after dinner.”
“Too bad,” Christopher said with a doleful shake of his head, a gesture that looked too grownup and theatrical on a four-year-old. But, in just the short time she’d spent with Christopher, Melissa had decided he was intelligent and perceptive and curious beyond his years. Probably like his father had been as a child.
“I’ll bet Dad would like it if you stayed and kept him company after we go to bed,” Christopher suggested.
Melissa was surprised by the alarming mental image that instantly sprang to mind, an image brought on by the innocent words of a child. She could see it all too clearly…her and Charles sitting by the fire, eating, drinking, talking, laughing, whispering, cuddling, kissing.
Yep, it was a darn good thing she wasn’t spending the night under Charles’s roof. She barely knew him, really, and she was already fantasizing about him. And knowing he was sleeping right down the hall would only make the fantasies more vivid and more disruptive to her peace of mind.
Melissa supposed that most people considered fantasizing a harmless pastime. But she was opposed to fantasizing, to daydreaming. After all, living in a dream world was what got her married to the wrong man in the first place, and then kept her married to him for far too long.
Yes, fantasizing could be dangerous.
CHARLES WAS HAVING a hard time keeping his mind on his work. He found himself recalling those three weeks thirteen years ago, when he’d tutored Melissa. The way her long blond hair fell over her paper as she did her sums, the way she bit her bottom lip when she was concentrating, the smell of her perfume, the way her face lit up when she finally fathomed that advanced math.
He was daydreaming. He was recalling old fantasies he thought he’d forgotten more than a decade ago.
Sitting at his desk, with the door to his study firmly shut, he was getting absolutely nothing done. But at least he was keeping the promise he’d made to himself to remain in the study till six o’clock, the hour Melissa intended to have dinner ready…unless the house was burning down or some other disaster occurred!
Charles shook his head and smiled wryly. What kind of a schmuck still remembered a high-school crush with such vividness? After high school he’d gone to Stanford on a scholarship. He’d gotten rid of his glasses, gained weight on dorm food that he turned into muscle when he joined a gym, took up tennis and marathon running, and, finally, gradually got over his adolescent shyness.
In other words, Charles had enjoyed a full social life at Stanford and had dated numerous women before meeting and marrying Annette. He’d loved her more than he thought possible and was devastated when she was killed in that accident. Yet, even after many relationships and one wonderful marriage, why did he still remember his crush on Melissa with such clarity, the feelings he’d had back then so easily recalled and relived when she unexpectedly showed up on his doorstep?
Well, for whatever reason, it was inappropriate and silly. The woman was still grieving her dead husband! He turned his attention back to the computer screen and forced himself to concentrate. Five minutes later he looked at the clock. It was only two-thirty.
He kept wondering how Melissa was doing with the kids. He hadn’t heard any alarming sounds to indicate that either she or the children were in distress. And he didn’t doubt that Melissa was capable of performing her nanny duties. In high school she’d been the model of efficiency and enthusiasm in everything she undertook.
It’s just that she looked so tired…. And he suspected she’d get the job done, and done well, even if it totally exhausted her. This suspicion of Melissa’s dedication at the risk of her own health made it very difficult for Charles to know she was out there taking care of his kids, fixing meals and doing chores that on some days tired out even Mrs. Butters, who was the most robust, energetic, unpregnant fifty-five-year-old he’d ever met.
But he’d hired Melissa to do exactly what she was doing.
And she obviously was very sure it wasn’t beyond her capabilities.
In fact, she would probably be extremely offended if he suggested she perhaps wasn’t up to the job.
And she probably needed the money.
Hell!
Charles glared at his computer screen. Science had always fascinated him, seduced him, kept him occupied for blissful hours. Why was it failing him now?
BY THE TIME Melissa sent Christopher to fetch his father for dinner at five minutes to six, she was exhausted. They’d had a full day, she and the children. And she needn’t have worried about any awkwardness with Charles, because true to his word he’d stayed in his study all day. She’d only seen him once, when she’d taken him a sandwich at lunchtime.
Now he entered the kitchen on the heels of his son, carrying the empty sandwich plate, glass and soda can. She sat up straighter in her chair and smiled, trying not to look as tired as she felt.
“Get lots of work done?” she asked brightly.
Charles first rested his eyes on her, then the table, which was neatly set and covered with dishes of food, and then the gleaming countertops, which she’d already cleared of the dirty pots and utensils she’d used in preparing dinner.
“Not as much as you got done, evidently,” he murmured.
Melissa waved her hand dismissively. “Hey, it’s my job.”
Charles said nothing and moved to the sink to wash his hands. While his back was turned, Melissa allowed the perky smile to slip away. She didn’t remember getting this tired even as recently as last week, when she’d had her last nanny assignment. She could have really used a nap that afternoon.
Charles sat down at the end of the table and smiled around at his three small children. “Whose turn to say the prayer?”
All three kids raised their hands.
“Me!” Sarah shouted.
“No, it’s my turn,” Christopher argued.
Daniel garbled something around the cracker Melissa had given him to nibble on.
Charles settled it, saying, “I seem to remember it being Sarah’s turn. Christopher, you said the blessing at breakfast.”
“But Daniel was screaming and throwing oatmeal the whole time,” he objected. As if on cue, Daniel threw his cracker and let out a yelp.
“I think God heard you anyway,” Charles observed with a chuckle. “If God only heard us when Daniel wasn’t screaming or throwing food, He wouldn’t hear half our prayers.”
Christopher giggled, and the argument was over. Daniel, pleased with himself for making them laugh, grinned and remained quiet while Sarah recited the simple, memorized prayer that Melissa remembered saying when she was a child.
Along with Charles, Melissa helped the children spoon out their portions, but put only a dab of food on her own plate. She was too tired to eat. She pushed the food around, sampled a bite or two, and hoped no one noticed how little she ate. But Charles was eyeing her from his end of the table, his brow furrowed. Apparently he’d noticed.
CHARLES WAS ALARMED at how tired and flushed Melissa
