A Prince Of A Guy

4

THAT NIGHT, Carlyne locked her bedroom door and sank to her bed with a grateful whimper before so much as removing her shoes.

She needed to take off the heavy, itchy wig, remove her colored contacts and strip down before she fell asleep, but she could hardly move.

Despite her utter failure today, despite her exhaustion, she felt…happy. The work was harder than anything she’d ever done, yet it exhilarated her to be stretching herself. Trying at something.

Baffled at that, and more than a little confused about why she wanted to work like this when she didn’t have to, she rolled over and dove through her bag for her cell phone, which she’d turned off when Sean had hired her. She turned it on. It was late, but that was her fault. She’d let Melissa sample the homemade play dough that morning and then a million or so chocolate kisses at Sean’s office. Was it any wonder the poor child had gotten sick all over him?

Then again in his car on the way home?

And once more in the living room?

Sean had been pretty gracious about the whole thing, really. He hadn’t yelled again, though she could tell he’d wanted to. Instead, he’d scooped up Melissa-careful to hold her at arms’ length-and had assured her she was okay.

Melissa had taken one look at him and had listened. She’d calmed down. She’d even wanted to hug him again, but Sean had managed to avoid that without hurting her feelings.

Just watching the two of them, Carly had felt that strange tightening in her throat. They didn’t seem to know the particulars of what their relationship entailed, especially Sean. But he’d never walk away.

Had she really compared him to the men in her family?

She’d been wrong, very wrong. Her parents had rarely been around, certainly not when she’d been sick. It was something she’d always ached for when she’d been hurting-warm, secure, loving arms. She’d rarely gotten them.

Melissa had no idea how lucky she was.

“Poor little rich girl,” Carlyne berated herself, pushing away the melancholy memories. No one in their right mind would spare a moment of pity for her.

On her cell phone, she punched in the numbers she knew by heart. “Francesca,” she said the moment her assistant answered groggily. “How are you?” she asked in their native French.

“How am I? Terrific. You, on the other hand, you have problems.” Francesca never held back to spare Carlyne’s feelings, which was the biggest reason they were so close. “In fact, let me list them for you. You’ve run away from home…”

“I did not.” Carlyne glanced at her still-shut door and lowered her voice. Wouldn’t do to get caught speaking French. “Look, we discussed this when I called you yesterday. I’m all grown up, Francine, so it’s entirely different when I go away. I’m…on vacation,” she said, unwilling to try to explain the mission she was on.

“Uh-huh. Vacation. Without any money, without a car, without-”

“Look, I didn’t call for a lecture. I could have called home for that.”

“Speaking of which, you might want to actually try that. Your parents have called looking for you. So has your cousin.”

“Yeah, only because they need me for something or another. It’s not as if they miss me.”

Francesca went quiet for a moment, and Carlyne winced at how pathetic she’d sounded. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

“What’s the matter? You sound different.”

She was different. She was Carly here, not Carlyne.

“Carlyne? Your mother is worried about that banquet you’re putting on for the international press.”

Heaven forbid her mother would call just to say hello. “Tell her everything is done. I’ll earn her thousands for all those charities.” And she would. It was Carlyne’s specialty, coaxing rich people to part with their money.

“And your grandfather-”

“Needs something, too, no doubt. Francesca. Help.”

“What do you need? A way to get home? I can come myself, or send-”

“No, I don’t want to leave.” Not yet. She’d wanted a break from her life. A glimpse at how everyone else lived. Well, she’d had more than a glimpse. No one knew her. No one treated her like glass. No one expected cool sophistication and smooth elegance. No one expected her to be anything or anyone other than Carly.

She wanted more of that.

“The help I need is different,” Carlyne said. “Francesca, if your sister had a kid, and she went off and left you with that kid for a couple of weeks because she had a job, would you watch after it?”

“Of course,” Francesca said immediately.

Of course. That simple. Unconditional love. No question, no hesitation. “I wouldn’t have said ‘of course,”’ Carlyne admitted quietly. “A few days ago I would have spent however much money it took and shipped the kid off for full-time care. And I probably wouldn’t have given it another thought.”

“Well, you’re not exactly experienced in matters of the heart,” Francesca said gently. “But while we’re on that, I think maybe it’s time for you to come clean.”

“Clean?”

“With Sean. Carlyne, we talked about this already, remember? When you had me get your references. We agreed Sean should know who you really are.”

“No, you agreed and I yessed you.”

“Carlyne.”

“Okay, yes, he should know.” She sighed, lay back and stared at the ceiling of her perfect, cozy little bedroom. “I’m just not ready to tell him yet.” She looked out the window into the night, saw the flash of someone swimming in the pool. A strong arm. A long, powerful leg. A smooth, muscled back.

Her stomach tightened. “Not quite yet,” she said softly.

Beneath the shimmering moon, Sean executed a somersault turn at one end of the pool and continued swimming with even, powerful strokes. “I’ve got to go,” she whispered.

“But-”

“I’ll call you again.”

“See that you do. I’m worried about you.” Across the miles Francesca let out a sigh. “Think about it, Carlyne. Think about how he’ll feel when he does find out, on his own.”

Sean’s arms propelled his body through the water. “He won’t.”

“Why? Because you’re unrecognizable?” Francesca laughed. “You’ve been dodging the paparazzi since you could walk, Carlyne. It’s only a matter of time before you mess up or he gets a clue. Then he’ll know your little secret, and I don’t see him being happy at being made a fool, no matter what your intentions.”

“It won’t matter to him.”

“It won’t matter that he has a princess baby-sitting for him?”

“That title is nothing but froth.”

“But it is your title.”

In the water, Sean slowed slightly, his only sign of tiring. He’d finish soon and haul that leanly muscled body out of the water.

Carlyne wanted to watch. She wanted to be front and center. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if he discovered her true identity. “I’ve got to go, Francesca.”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“I will.”

“Call me every day.”

“I will. Bye.” Instead of pulling off her disguise, as she’d been waiting all day to do, Carlyne opened her door and let in the cool, California night air.

Then she walked toward the pool.

When she was on the edge, she sat, careful to tuck her skirt beneath her this time so Sean couldn’t reach for a leg and pull her in. But the memory of him doing just that the night before, of his large, still damp hand sliding up her ankle to grip her calf, altered her breathing.

He stopped swimming. Treading water in the middle of the pool, he looked at her with an intense but unreadable expression.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Where’s your bathing suit?”

No greeting. No recriminations for destroying his office. Just where’s your bathing suit. Her breathing quickened all the more because she could only imagine what would happen beneath the starless night sky if she’d put it on.

If she was really Carly.

But if she followed through with this crazy attraction, he’d discover the truth about her. Never again would he look at her the same. She knew this for a fact, because in her life, it had happened over and over again.

She had two kinds of acquaintances. The people who wanted to know her simply because of who she was and the kind who, once they found out, were too full of awe and disbelief to maintain any honest relationship at all.

That would happen here, too, and at the thought, her heart ached.

Caught by her own trap. Her own doing.

How had this happened?

This was supposed to be an escape. A little interlude in her life.

Only now she realized how others would be affected. Melissa.

Sean.

“Carly?”

God, that name. It represented all she wanted to be, open and free to do as she pleased. The opposite of Princess Carlyne Fortier, a woman tied by the bonds of responsibility and duty. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

An odd mix of disappointment and relief crossed his face. “We could buy you one.” He put two hands on the edge of the pool and with a flex of muscles that stole her breath, effortlessly pulled himself out of the water. Wet skin glimmered in the pale moonlight, and from the erotic position of sitting at his feet, she watched drop after drop run down the length of his body.

And what a body it was.

“Carly?”

She realized he’d said her name at least twice, and that he held out a hand.

Slipping hers in his, she let him pull her to her feet.

“About today,” he said quietly, not letting go of her hand, his intense gaze holding hers prisoner. “You seemed to be having a little trouble handling Melissa.”

Oh, God, he had noticed. “I’m sorry about your office,” she said.

“It survived.”

Barely. “Yeah. Nikki is great, you know. She helped me clean up.” Carlyne grimaced. “And then asked me not to visit you at work anymore.”

“Sounds like Nikki.” He grabbed his towel and started to dry off. “So…what happened?”

“It’s new to me, Melissa’s age.” Sidetracked, she watched him dry his chest, his legs. “She’s…very active.”

He went still. “Too active?”

“No. No, I can do this. I know I can.”

He straightened and tossed the towel aside. “Melissa said so, too. She said you’re nice. The highest compliment, really, as she doesn’t like many people these days.”

He’d asked Melissa about her. Was it because he worried he’d made a hasty decision? Or was Carlyne unconsciously transmitting her own doubts?

“One thing I keep wondering about.” He stepped a little closer. “You know computers. You were able to put mine back together with nothing more than a screwdriver and your wits.”

Another degree and another special talent of hers. But it wasn’t a passion, and it bored her.

“So how does a nanny know so much about hardware?”

“Oh, I picked up a little here and there.”

There was a stray strand of hair in her face. Not her hair, it was the wig, but Sean reached out and touched it, tucked it behind her ear.

Too close, she thought with a hitch in her breath that had everything to do with his nearness, and she backed up a step.

His hand, still hovering, abruptly dropped to his side. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have touched you.”

“It’s okay.” Do it again. Kiss me.

His eyes smoldered. “What?”

Oh God, she’d spoken out loud, but before she could say a word-and really, what could she say when she’d spoken the utter truth-Sean let out a rough laugh. “I must be crazy to give you a chance to change your mind.” He slipped a hand around her waist, his fingers stroking low on her spine, urging her even closer. His other hand curved around her neck, his fingers playing with the sensitive skin at her nape.

And his mouth, his beautiful, sexy mouth slowly descended to hers in a kiss that instantly stole her breath. He was still wet, enough that when she pressed herself against his tough, hard body, she became wet, too.

His hands molded her damp clothing to her body as he slid them over her, touching her waist, her ribs, cupping her bottom so he could rock against her.

And all the while, he continued to kiss her, using his lips, his tongue, even his teeth, nibbling and sucking her to such a mindless state that she might have given herself away if he hadn’t pulled back, breathing harshly.

“What else about you is going to be a surprise?” His mouth was wet from hers. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath.

“N-nothing.”

“I doubt that. All I know is what you had on your résumé, and what your references were able to tell me about your capabilities. Not much, really.”

And all fabricated. Which meant he really knew nothing about her.

“Carly?”

That name again, and she winced before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, willing him to understand. “I…don’t like to talk about myself.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something tense and uncertain, but then it was gone, and he sent her a tight smile. “Me, either.”

An impasse. Good. And though it wasn’t what she wanted, she bent for his towel, handed it to him and walked away.

SHE WOKE UP EARLY. Or more accurately, got out of bed early, as she hadn’t slept much.

Sean was beginning to doubt her. Which meant she was definitely on borrowed time. But she wasn’t ready to give it all up, not yet.

She donned the robe and slippers she’d purchased at her special store. The robe was terry cloth and itchy. The slippers, the only ones she could find in her size, had a bunny on each. “Classy,” she said into the mirror.

Feeling very middle America, she walked outside to get the morning paper.

“Psst!”

Mrs. Trykowski, her dyed-red hair rolled in green curlers, her short, heavy body in a zebra-print, faux-silk robe, was waving wildly. “Yoo-hoo!” she cried, in a single bound leaping over the bushes that separated the yards. “Good morning, Carly!”

Startled, Carlyne dropped the paper.

“I’m so glad I caught you,” Mrs. T said when she’d reached Carlyne. “I wanted to tell you…first of all, that dark hair just isn’t you.”

“But…”

“And second, the way to Sean’s heart is through his stomach.”

“What?”

“Catching Sean, dear,” the older woman said patiently. “You do it through his stomach.”

“Um…okay.” Carlyne smiled through her teeth and backed toward the door, thinking, Crazy lady alert.

“You think I’m making this up. That’s what others thought, too, and they all failed.”

No, she wasn’t going to ask.

“Go ahead, dear,” Mrs. T said with a knowing smile. “Ask. I know you’re dying to.”

In the end, Carlyne couldn’t help herself. “Others?”

“Well, he’s a handsome man, don’t you think?”

Gorgeous. But absolutely beside the point. “How many others?”

“Oh, I really couldn’t tell all his secrets,” she said demurely. “Just trust me. Feed him. Cook for him. It’ll work.”

This was insane. “I’m not looking for his heart.”

“Well, now. There’s no reason to lie.” And with another knowing smile, the woman waddled away.

Carlyne shook her head and went inside, through the kitchen, where she stopped and stared at the stove.

The way to his heart is through his stomach.

Well, Carlyne didn’t want his heart, though his body would be nice.

And yet she was rather hungry. But where to start?

Until she’d come here, she’d never done more than boil water or push the buttons on the microwave. She’d never seen her own mother in a kitchen, other than to thank the chef.

But really, how hard could it be? She was a college graduate, for God’s sake. She could do this. After rolling up her sleeves, she cracked some eggs and dropped them in a pan, contemplating the stove for a moment before turning on the burner. Eggs, no problem. She shoved bread into the toaster. Easy enough. Then she threw some sausage in another pan and flicked on that burner, too. Pancakes took some extra doing, as she had to open the one and only cookbook she found, but following a recipe was easy. Any idiot could do that, right?

So why was the batter thick and sticky enough to form sidewalks?

She was contemplating that when the eggs started making an unusual popping sound-or maybe not unusual, she really had no idea. But when she tried to stir the boiling mess, it was…rubber.

Probably not good. Then she smelled smoke.

Oops. The toaster was on fire. Definitely not good. With a little screech, she snatched it away from the paper-towel rack, pulled the cord from the wall in the process, then promptly dropped it to the floor.

“Ouch!” There was a smoldering toaster at her feet, and the eggs were still popping, probably close to igniting, too. She was a complete and utter failure at being normal, and oh, my God, she’d set her bunny slippers on fire when she’d dropped the toaster.

That was it, the final straw, and the princess who never cried burst into tears. Then suddenly a big, tough, strong body sat her down on the floor and was slapping at the flaming bunny heads.

While she sat there staring at the burned fuzz, sniffling, overwhelmed by a bad case of self-pity, Sean efficiently and quickly smothered the small flame still coming out of the toaster.

He reached up and turned off the stove.

Then-and this was the part she’d never forget-he dropped to his knees, scooped her against that chest that was even more magnificent up close and personal, and peered into her face.

“You okay?” he demanded hoarsely. “Are you hurt?”

He had the most amazing eyes. And those hands…hands that were at this very moment running over her body, looking for burns, she supposed.

“Carly?”

Oh, my, he felt good. She felt good.

“Carly!”

He’d plastered her against him so they had full body contact, which was fabulous as all he wore was jeans-unfastened. And okay, yes, it had been way too long since she’d felt such delicious contact, but it wasn’t the lack of sex in her life that was making her dizzy.

It was Sean.

“Carly! Talk to me!”

His rough, edgy voice was like a bucket of cold water. While she’d been melting into a little pool of longing, he was anxious and probably furious. He certainly wasn’t helplessly turned on, not as she was, and why would he be? She wasn’t a glamorous princess, but a normal plain Jane. This man could have any woman he wanted-why would he want her? “I’m…” Pathetic. “…fine.”

Not satisfied, he reached for her hair, probably to smooth it out of her face, and she catapulted into action, because what if he dislodged the wig? Leaping to her feet, she grabbed for a kitchen towel. “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything completely under control now.”

“Carly-”

“We’re lucky I wore out the batteries on your smoke detectors yesterday.” She bustled around, tossing dirty pans into the sink, avoiding his gaze. “I promise, I’m not in the habit of setting the kitchen on fire every time I make breakfast.”

Mostly because she’d never made breakfast before.

Darn it, this was all Mrs. Trykowski’s fault.

Rising to his feet, Sean glanced at the flat, lumpy pancakes. Then at the burned-to-a-crisp sausages and rubber eggs. He raised an eyebrow. “Do this a lot, do you?”

“Sure.” Another pan hit the sink. It would probably never come clean, not with her expertise, anyway. “Every morning.”

“Really?” His expression changed, went guarded. It was as if he just…vanished. He was standing right there in front of her, yet he was gone. Eyes flat, mouth grim, gone. “And you’re not hurt?” he asked in a polite voice twenty-five degrees cooler than he’d been only a second ago.

“No. Sean…”

He avoided her gaze. “As you’ve mentioned, cooking isn’t in your job description. I’ll handle it from now on.”

“But-”

No buts. He’d recognized the lie, was probably disgusted. He walked out the door.