over, burrowing deeper into the soft, inviting bed.
Tenderness crept into Ryan’s exhausted face. He stood beside the bed, looking down at his child for several long, sweet seconds. Emotion fluttered beneath Kelsey’s ribcage as she wondered about the man who was never home but who appeared to adore his child. Was he simply unaware of how much his child needed him? Or was he, like Mark, more concerned with success than with his family?
She also wondered about Mariah’s mother. What kind of tragedy had taken her at such a young age? What kind of woman was she that a man like Ryan Storm had married her? Did he still love her? How well had Mariah dealt with her mother’s loss?
Straightening, Ryan snapped off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into semidarkness. The resulting atmosphere was softly intimate, too much so. With a tilt of his head Ryan motioned toward the door. They brushed arms in the doorway and Ryan stepped back, letting her pass first. The air between them trembled with the same something she’d felt in the airport when their hands had touched.
“This way,” he murmured, gesturing to the left. “Your room will be this one next to Mariah’s if it suits.”
“I’m sure it will.” Right now, she just wanted someplace to lie down and put her feet up. And a shower. Oh, a shower would be heaven.
“I’ll bring your bags up in a minute.”
“I can get them.”
As if she’d threatened to burn the house down, Ryan spun around, jaw tight, eyes blazing. His mood had gone from tender to angry.
“You will not carry bags upstairs. You will not even carry grocery bags from the car to the house. Nor will you lift anything heavy while in my employ. Ever. Understand?”
Kelsey took one step back, surprised at the intensity of the remark. Was this guy moody or what?
“I’d be pretty stupid not to,” she snapped. “Although I see no need for you to be cranky about it.”
Ryan said nothing else, but his odd mood quivered in the air. Pushing a door open, he motioned her inside. Still miffed by his sharp comments, she brushed past him, but the move was too close for comfort. As in the airport, she caught the scent of expensive male cologne, glanced the surprisingly muscled arm stretched flat across the raise-paneled door. He still hadn’t shaved and his shirt—unbuttoned at the collar, his tie long ago stuffed into a pocket—was coming untucked. The result was bedroom sexy and deliciously rumpled.
Darn. There she went again.
Living under the same roof with a man who caused her mind to think such things might not be such a smart move. But it was done. At least for thirty days.
“It’s lovely,” she said when they entered the bedroom. A small sitting area, complete with desk, chair and television opened into a bed and bath. Sleek, elegant and modern with mint-green walls and cream trim, it was generically right for a guest or an employee of status.
The room was as beautiful as any she’d ever seen, but Kelsey felt oddly disappointed. A lump of loneliness rose in her throat. She and her baby had no home to call their own. All her dreams of decorating a nursery, buying the perfect furniture and giving her baby everything tormented her. The only thing she could give her baby now was love.
She must have looked as lost as she felt because Ryan touched her shoulder. She glanced up, saw the mood had changed again. “You’re dead on your feet. Go to bed.”
At the unexpected kindness, tears burned the back of her eyes. “I have to take a shower first.”
He remained there, staring at her for several seconds. “You’ll be okay here?”
She swallowed back the troublesome emotions and forced a cheeky grin. “Sure I will. You promised not to murder me.”
The corner of Ryan’s mouth quirked. “If you need anything tonight—”
“I won’t. Go to bed, Ryan. You’re as tired as I am.” And if he stood around any longer, she might cry and embarrass them both.
“But I’m not pregnant.” The comment was an accusation, as though he resented the fact that he’d hired a pregnant nanny.
“It isn’t a terminal disease,” she said.
As though she’d slapped him, Ryan recoiled. Behind the outline of dark beard, his natural tan drained away. For a moment he wrestled with something. His mouth opened and closed. His chest rose and fell. And then without another word, he whipped around and left the room.
But not before Kelsey saw the misery in his eyes.
“Kelsey, wake up.”
Kelsey awakened in a strange room, disoriented. She lay very still, moving only her eyes until they focused on Mariah perched cross-legged next to her, books spread about her in a circle. The cobwebs cleared. She’d thought it was a dream, but she was really here, in the home of Ryan Storm. Memory came flooding in. In some moment of insanity she’d agreed to work for a man she barely knew.
Okay, so she’d been attracted to him. What woman on planet Earth, pregnant or not, wouldn’t be? And she’d been flattered at the instant trust he’d placed in her. After all, he was Ryan Storm, king of Dallas. Able to buy tall buildings with a single check.
Taking the position was a good thing, she’d told herself last night as she’d stood beneath the rain showerhead, washing hours of stomach-churning airport smells down the drain. She had a paying job, and both she and the baby had a place to live. At least temporarily.
She just wished she didn’t feel so weird about it.
Small fingers patted her knee. “Good morning. Are you awake yet?”
Then there was the other reason she’d agreed to come here. Mariah. The brilliant child who had touched her heart in Denver.
“Good morning,” she muttered after clearing the gravel from her throat. She stretched and looked around for a clock. An Asian-influenced wall hanging, more art than clock, read seven o’clock. Kelsey stifled a groan. Five hours of sleep to a pregnant woman was next to none.
“I hear Daddy downstairs,” Mariah said, raising up on her knees. “If we want to see him, we’ll have to hurry. He’s a very busy man.”
Kelsey’s heart squeezed. The little girl must have gotten up some time ago to bathe and dress herself in anticipation of spending time with her dad. Except for the mismatched colors, she appeared to have done a good job, fully dressed in a purple hoodie and green sweat pants. Her natural curls, still damp from a shampoo, had been ruthlessly stripped back from her face with a red headband.
Kelsey patted the child’s knee. “I doubt he’ll leave until we’ve had an opportunity to work out the conditions of my nannyship.”
Mariah giggled, putting both hands over her mouth in that adorable manner. “That’s a good one. Nannyship. Is it a real word I should add to my lexicon?”
A six year old with a lexicon? Good heavens. Kelsey shook her head and sat up. Sumptuous ivory sheets slid over her shoulders and pooled in her lap. “Not real, but real fun.”
“Should I leave so you can
