A Prince of a Guy (Red Hot Royals #1)(21)

Carlyne?

Carly?

Who did she want to be?

Across the yard, their gazes met. Hers was hesitant, but his wasn’t. He looked sure and confident, and he was smiling.

Carly, she thought. Definitely, she wanted to be Carly.

“See that?” Mrs. Trykowski whispered in her ear. “He’s thinking impure thoughts about you right this very second.”

“Mrs. Trykowski!”

“Well, he is. Don’t waste them now, you hear?”

If anyone was thinking impure thoughts, it was Carlyne as Sean came toward her. He was fully dressed, of course, but she could see him as he looked at night, getting out of his pool, wearing only wet trunks clinging to his hard, toned body.

“Coming?” he asked.

“Well, I—” She forced the image of his sleek, drenched body out of her head. “I don’t— You and Melissa—” Sighing, she shut her mouth. Since when wasn’t her delivery smooth and articulate? She’d spoken in front of hundreds of people at a time. She’d been keeping her cool since she could walk.

But somehow, Sean O’Mara threatened her entire facade with a look.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.

The question seemed loaded, but his eyes were dark, unreadable. He wore his office attire. Khakis and a polo shirt. Simple clothes, but not a simple man. Intelligence blared from his eyes and expression. His body was tenser than he’d let on, and beneath the smooth cotton of his shirt, every muscle was delineated and defined.

Trouble. He was trouble personified. At least in terms of her mental health.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Get in the car, Carly.”

Surprised at herself, she did. When he’d driven away from the curb, she asked, “Did you call my new references?”

He looked at her, then turned his head and watched the road. His jaw was tight. “Yes.”

“Did they check out?”

“Didn’t you expect them to?”

He met her gaze again briefly, but this time she looked away first. “Yes. Sean…” She glanced at Melissa in the back seat. She was busy sucking on her fingers. Carlyne lowered her voice. “Despite the kitchen fiasco and the fact I don’t really cook—”

He made a noise that sounded like a snort of agreement.

“Despite the fact that maybe I’m not your typical nanny, I really am a good caretaker for Melissa.”

“We agreed on that fact last night, or you wouldn’t still be here.”

“So you do trust me that much, at least.”

Again he flicked her a glance. “That much, yes. But I’d like to know more about you. You haven’t volunteered an ounce of information.”

“Neither have you.”

He fell silent.

The radio wasn’t on. Melissa was oddly quiet. Which left Carlyne with nothing to distract her from the way Sean’s long legs flexed every time he braked or clutched. His hand worked the gearshift with a natural ease that had her mind drifting to other things.

Such as what else he could do with those hands.

What he could do to a woman’s body. To her body.

She was pretty desperate if her mind had wandered in that direction about this man. “How’s work?” she asked, desperate for a diversion.

“Busy.”

“Nikki good?”

“Yep.”

“What are you working on?”

“Work.”

Subject clearly closed. Well, too bad. She needed to talk before the silence killed her. “Busy with your designs?”

He lifted a surprised brow.

“I do know what an architect does.”

“It’s not the actual work I’m too busy with,” he admitted. “I love that part. It’s the other. The dealing with rich, spoiled clients. Soothing ruffled egos. Attending silly cocktail parties to promote my work.”

“Parties?” They happened to be her forte, parties. Not that she missed wearing heels and stockings, but there was something to be said for the excitement of pulling it all together. “You have to go to a lot of them?”

“One in particular. This Saturday night,” he added in a voice that told her he’d rather have an impacted wisdom tooth removed without novocaine.

“It isn’t so bad, really,” she told him. “Just hold a drink in your hand and keep moving. Oh, and keep smiling.”

He flicked her an interested glance. “You sound like you know what you’re doing.”

“Well…”

“You can come with me, then.”

“What?”

She didn’t know who was more surprised. Sean, that he’d asked, or her. “But what about Melissa?” she asked. “She’ll—”

“She’ll be fine with Mrs. Trykowski for the night. Hey, it’s your own fault,” he said, sounding grumpy. “You looked interested. You can keep me in line.”

Yes, but who would keep her in line?

They didn’t talk again until they were seated in the noisy, bustling fast-food restaurant. They sat in front of the kiddie area, where Melissa had vanished. The small table was shaped like a hamburger. Their knees bumped. Their feet touched. And when they reached for their drinks at the same time, their hands brushed.