Cinderella for a Night Page 6

  He frowned. “I thought you taught kindergarten.”

  “No,” she said with a laugh. “You said I worked with children and I agreed. I actually work with babies the most.” She paused and felt herself blushing. “I would be thrilled to help you out, Jonathan. I owe you. Not just because of what happened here in the hospital but because you’re the reason I have my business at all. The seed money you provided for start-up companies here in Grand Springs made it possible for me to open Mother’s Helper. I received a grant of capital as well as a lot of excellent business advice.”

  He shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “Like I said, I’m not exactly saint material.”

  “You are to me. One of my clients gave me a ticket to the charity ball. I came specifically with the hope that I would be able to meet you and thank you.”

  “Look, Cynthia. You’re a nice young woman and I’m sure you mean all this, but I’m not a nice guy. I could introduce you to a dozen people who would be happy to swear that I’m a real bastard.”

  “They’re wrong,” she said simply and with great conviction. Jonathan had been nothing but kind from the moment she’d met him. “You’re one of the good guys. An asset to the community and a real gentleman. Just like my stepfather.”

  “How flattering,” he said dryly. “This is where I remind you that you don’t know me from a rock. Before you commission a statue to my greatness, you might want to get to know me a little better. You’ll find that I tarnish on further acquaintance.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she told him. His protestations simply convinced her that he was modest as well as good. “But I am still offering my company’s services. Do you want me to provide you with a temporary live-in nanny?”

  “Sure. Someone has to look after Colton. I have a business to run.” He stood up, leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You can barely keep your eyes open, so I’m going to go before I get thrown out. I’ll be by to talk with you in the morning. We can work out the arrangements.”

  Her skin heated where he’d touched her and she wished he’d kissed her on the mouth instead of the cheek. “You’ll, ah, have to tell me what you’re looking for in a nanny. I’m not sure who is available right now but I can find out and give you a list.”

  He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “I don’t bother with staff,” he said. “I prefer to work with the people in charge.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You want me to be the nanny? But that would mean living with you. In your house.”

  He smiled. “I know. Still think I’m a saint?”

  Heat filled her. Heat from his nearness and her memories of the kiss they’d shared. Heat and a desire to say yes. Even if it was just for a few days, she wanted to see what it was like to spend time with someone like Jonathan Steele.

  “I sometimes take jobs,” she said slowly. “If we’re really busy or it seems like I would be a good match for the client.”

  “I think we’ve already proven we’re a good match,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  And with that he was gone. Cynthia was left alone with Alfie, the bear and her whirling thoughts. Jonathan was completely out of her league. She had no business trying to make herself fit into his world. If she tried, she was practically promising herself heartache. The man appealed to her in fifty different ways, yet she knew that he couldn’t possibly share her feelings.

  “A smart woman would simply walk away,” she told the bear. And she’d always thought of herself as smart. Yet she knew she wasn’t going to be this time. She could only hope that she wasn’t going to regret her impulsiveness.

  What was he doing here? Jonathan asked himself the question late the next afternoon as he sat in the middle of the chaos that was the Morgan living room.

  Brad and Brett, the ten-year-old twins were sprawled out on the carpet, arguing about a board game they were playing. Betsy was fussing, bringing drinks and snacks, while Cynthia stretched out on the sofa, a handmade afghan tucked around her legs. Jenny sat in the wing chair by the window.

  He had no business being here, he thought, trying to avoid looking at both Cynthia and Jenny. He felt awkward and out of place. But he was trapped by a situation of his own making and he had no one to blame but himself. He’d been the one teasing Cynthia the previous night, playing a grown-up game with someone who was still very much an innocent. He’d allowed himself to consider the possibilities of having her under his roof, but he’d ignored the reality of who and what she was. He didn’t have the right to seduce her and by suggesting she be the one to help him with his nephew, he’d invited her into his home. Now he was stuck with her and all the temptation she provided.

  Even as he told himself to look away he found his gaze drawn back to her pretty face. She had wide hazel-green eyes, so different from the rest of the Morgan family. They all had blue eyes. Cynthia must take after her father in that way. She was also much taller than her mother—another legacy from her paternal side. But her features were similar to Betsy’s. He also caught the likeness in the tilt of her head and her quick smile.

  He told himself he had no business thinking of Cynthia that way. She was several years younger than himself. Her lack of worldliness widened the gap between them. If she was really going to work in his home, then he had to forget their kiss and the attraction he felt, and replace it with a cordial, worklike attitude.

  A soft cooing sound caught his attention. Reluctantly he looked at Jenny and the wrapped bundle she held. Child services had delivered his nephew to him less than two hours before. At Cynthia’s suggestion, the social worker had come to the Morgan house. Colton would spend the next couple of days here until Cynthia was well enough to begin her duties at Jonathan’s house.

  “Nervous?”

  He turned at the sound of her voice and caught her watching him. “About?”

  She smiled. “I’ve seen you trying to avoid looking at Colton. Small babies frequently make new fathers nervous, so I’m guessing he’ll have the same effect on his uncle. After all, you told me that you hadn’t spent much time around him.”

  Today was the first time he’d seen Colton, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Cynthia had her own particular views about families and their relationships. He didn’t share her opinion, but he wasn’t going to get into an argument, either. Not with Jenny and the twins as interested bystanders.

  “I thought Colton would do better in the hands of a professional.” He winked at Jenny. His gesture earned him a shy smile.

  “He’s a wonderful baby,” the teenager said. “I’ve been going on jobs with Cynthia since she started her business and I’ve always loved being with the babies.”

  “Jenny’s a natural,” Cynthia told him.

  Betsy bustled in with a plate of freshly baked cookies. Jonathan could see the steam still rising from them. The boys scrambled to their feet at the sight and swarmed toward their mother.

  “Company first,” she said, stepping around them and approaching Jonathan. “I hope you like chocolate chip.”

  “Who doesn’t?” he said lightly, taking two cookies.

  She passed the plate around, then had to take it back from Brad and Brett when they each grabbed two handfuls. The boys were good-natured about replacing the extra cookies.

  Jonathan took a bite of the still-warm cookie. While he appreciated the gesture, he felt out of place in the house. A part of him could appreciate the warmth of the well-worn furniture and the way the children obviously cared about each other. But appreciation was different from understanding. Here, in the small living room, with the open game box scattered and magazines stacked haphazardly on an end table, was the real heart of a home. His house might be several times larger, but that only gave it more room for the silence to echo. Not that he was interested in what these people had. He still believed that families were an invention of the devil.

  Betsy wiped her hands on her jeans, then settled on the sofa by Cynthia’s feet. She placed a hand on her daughter’s knee. “Did
Cynthia tell you that your contribution to start-up capital is the reason she was able to form Mother’s Helper?”

  Jonathan swallowed uncomfortably. “She mentioned it last night. It’s not a big deal.” Instead it was a nice tax write-off and a way to grease wheels in the community. Not that he could explain that to anyone in this room. He doubted any one of them had ever had a cynical thought in their collective lives.

  “We think it’s a very big deal,” Betsy insisted.

  “Jonathan’s not interested in having a statue erected in his honor,” Cynthia said, giving him a teasing smile. “He told me so last night.”

  He’d also told her that he was a bastard, but she hadn’t bothered to listen. Or had she? Had she figured out that he was nothing like her? That he was dangerous? That the only thing that would prevent him from following up on their impressive kiss was a thin veneer of civility that said a man like him had no business preying on the innocents?

  “Do you think he knows?” Jenny asked. She looked at the baby and blinked several times. “Colton. Do you think he knows his parents are gone?”

  Jonathan was stunned to see tears in her eyes, as if the thought of the boy being on his own was painful to her.

  “I know how I felt when Dad died,” she whispered.

  He didn’t know what to say to that. If he wasn’t careful they would start acting sympathetic, which he didn’t want. He still didn’t know how he felt about David being dead. His own brother had tried to steal millions of dollars and have him killed. In the process he’d gotten involved with some dangerous people and that had cost him his life.

  Betsy stood up and reached for the plate of cookies. “All right. You boys come on with me. You, too, Jenny. We’ll go into my bedroom and watch a movie while Cynthia and Mr. Steele talk about arrangements for Colton’s care.”

  She ushered the boys out in front of her, then placed her free arm around Jenny’s slender shoulders. The teenager held the baby as if he were her most precious possession. In her sweatshirt and jeans, she looked like the thirteen-year-old she was, yet her competence with the baby impressed him. He doubted he would ever do as well. Nor did he want to try.

  “I’m sorry,” Cynthia said when they were alone. “Jenny speaks without thinking.”

  “I’m fine,” he answered honestly. “I hope she’s not too upset.”

  “Sometimes Frank’s death still gets to all of us. But Mom is good at distracting the kids.” She hesitated. “I hope you don’t mind that Jenny took Colton in with her. I thought she would feel better if she continued to hold him, but if you’re concerned about her taking care of him—”

  He held up his hand to stop her in midsentence. “I might not know anything about babies, but even I can see she knows what she’s doing. In fact if it were in my power, I would be happy to leave him in her capable care until he was eighteen or so.”

  Cynthia grinned. “You’ll get over being nervous. In a couple of weeks you won’t be able to remember what it was like without him in your life.”

  He doubted that but didn’t see the point in arguing.

  She shifted on the sofa, pulling up the afghan and leaning back against the pillows one of the boys had brought her. “I expect Colton and I will be moving in this Friday. What do you want to do about baby furniture and supplies?”

  He stared at her blankly. “Whatever you think is best.”

  “I figured as much.” She smiled. “I can’t see you having a great time hanging out at the baby store.”

  Nor could he. “Are you going to be up to all this?” he asked. “You’re still recovering.”

  “I feel fine. I’m ready to get back to work.”

  He wasn’t so sure. “Perhaps I should simply start looking for a permanent nanny now and save you the trouble.”

  Cynthia’s gaze was steady. “You can start looking whenever you’d like. In fact one of the services I provide is an interview screening process. I’m also happy to be at the interview with you. But finding someone to stay in your house, looking after your child on a long-term basis isn’t all that easy. It usually takes time. I don’t mind filling in.”

  But this wasn’t about her, he thought. Even now Cynthia was gazing at him with a look that spoke far more than she realized. She wasn’t looking at him with hero worship—not exactly. It was more…female interest in an available man. And he would be willing to bet his third-quarter earnings that she didn’t have a clue that he could tell what she was thinking.

  She reached for her glass of water, but it was a couple of inches out of reach. When she started to move, he waved her back to the sofa.

  “I’ll get it,” he said and crossed the room.

  When he handed her the glass, he found himself sitting on the edge of the sofa instead of returning to his seat. Cynthia took a drink then put the glass down.

  She wore jeans and a green sweatshirt that had faded from too many washings. There wasn’t a speck of makeup on her face. Her shoulder-length blond hair was loose and soft around her face. She looked young and fragile and she’d nearly died because of him.

  “I’m sorry about the poisoning,” he said. “I know that’s a stupid thing to say, but I never wanted you to get hurt.”

  She drew her knees to her chest. “Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

  His hip pressed against hers. He could feel the heat of her through the layers of her clothing and his own. He was close enough to inhale the floral fragrance of soap or shampoo or maybe just the essence of her.

  She smiled. “Right up until the bad stuff started happening, I’d been having a really good time. I’d hoped I would meet you. I never thought we’d get to dance.”

  “Or that you would drink poison meant for me.”

  “Don’t,” she said with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  He found himself drawn to her, moving closer, when there wasn’t that much room between them to begin with. She was trouble, he thought. She might look like the last living virgin, but she was more dangerous than any other woman he’d ever known.

  “Did you like the dancing, too?” she asked, her voice breathless.

  He was close enough to see that her eyes had dilated and that color was moving up her neck and down from her hairline. A blush. Who the hell still blushed?

  “I liked the kissing better,” he said honestly.

  But before he could press his mouth to hers, there was a sound from a nearby room. He remembered where he was and who had the potential to walk in without warning. He drew back and rose to his feet.

  “Coward,” Cynthia said lightly.

  “Let’s just say I know about the importance of good timing. And this isn’t it.”

  Chapter 5

  It was nearly eleven in the morning when Cynthia arrived at Jonathan’s house on Friday. She pulled up in front of the huge three-story home and wondered if her aging but serviceable car was going to faint from shock at being in such impressive surroundings.

  The brick façade was both grand and intimidating. A wide porch fronted by pillars stretched out twenty or thirty feet. “We come from different sides of the tracks,” she told the baby gurgling contentedly from his car seat behind her. “You have lots of money in your family tree.”

  Colton was not impressed. His blue-eyed gaze settled on her face and he smiled. Then he blew a bubble out of his perfect rosebud mouth.

  “You are too cute,” she informed him as she collected her purse, then prepared to walk around to the passenger side of the car. Behind her a large truck rumbled into view. A truck filled with everything a baby could ever want.

  While she hadn’t seen Jonathan since the day she’d been released from the hospital, they’d been in touch by phone. Last night he’d called to tell her that he’d arranged for one of the larger baby stores in town to open an hour early this morning so that she could buy whatever Colton might need. He’d already faxed the store a floor plan and the dimensio
ns of the baby’s room to help visualize the space. Cynthia had been impressed with his efficiency.

  The store owner had met her and Colton promptly at nine. Jonathan had left the same instruction with both women—there was no spending limit. Cynthia was to get whatever she thought was best.

  Cynthia opened the rear passenger door and began unstrapping the baby. “Your uncle trusts my taste, doesn’t he?” she cooed. “I think Uncle Jonathan was terrified I was going to make him come with me. Yes. Big, powerful Uncle Jonathan is afraid of baby things.”

  She lifted out Colton and held him close. The little boy smelled of baby powder and that indescribable scent that makes maternal types go weak at the knees with longing for a child of their own. She tickled him under the chin, making him laugh and wave his hands.

  “I’m sure you had a good time,” she told the baby as she carried him toward the front door. “I, however, couldn’t help thinking that it would have been more fun for me if I’d had cart blanche in a ritzy department store.” She was smiling as she reached for the doorbell.

  But she never had a chance to press the button. The wide wood and beveled glass door flew open. A woman in her mid-fifties, wearing a black dress and white apron clapped her hands together.

  “Oh, finally Mr. Jonathan brings me a baby. I’ve been begging him for years and always he ignores me. ‘Lucinda,’ he says. ‘I’m not the baby type.’ Maybe so, but I remind him that I am.”

  The woman, Jonathan’s housekeeper Cynthia presumed, was about her height, with short dark hair and brown eyes the color of milk chocolate. Her wide smile made her eyes crinkle. She looked soft and plump—and Cynthia liked her on sight.

  Lucinda reached for the child, then stopped and touched her forehead with her fingertips. “You must think I’m crazy, keeping you out here on the doorstep. You’re Cynthia, right? Come in, come in. I’m Lucinda. I keep Mr. Jonathan’s house. Not that there’s very much to do. The man works all the time. He rarely eats at home. I send his clothes out to be cleaned. So where does that leave me? I watch my soaps in the afternoon. I tell him not to pay me so much money, what with me watching television, but does he listen?”