Prince Daddy & the Nanny Read online

  “On Riley’s birthday,” Hannah noted.

  “She mentioned that to you, did she?”

  “Only about a thousand times,” she admitted with a smile.

  “A child’s birthday is a big deal—or it should be.” Caridad tapped her pen on the counter, her brow furrowed.

  Hannah knew that there was more she wanted to say. She also knew that prompting and prodding wouldn’t get any more information out of the housekeeper until she was ready. So she sipped her coffee while she waited.

  “The princess is going to be four years old,” Caridad finally said. “And she’s never had a party.”

  Hannah was startled by this revelation, and then realized that she shouldn’t be. Samantha had died within hours of giving birth, which meant that Riley’s birthday was the same day that Michael had lost his wife.

  “I don’t mean to be critical—I know it’s a difficult time for the prince. And it’s not like her birthday passes without any kind of recognition.

  “There’s always a cake,” Caridad continued. “Because I bake that myself. And presents. But she’s never had a party.”

  “Why are you telling me?” Hannah asked warily.

  “Because I think this year he might be ready, but he probably won’t think of it on his own.”

  “You want me to drop some hints,” she guessed.

  The housekeeper nodded. “Yes, I think just a few hints would be enough.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  “But not too subtle,” Caridad said. “Men sometimes don’t understand subtle—they need to be hit over the head.”

  Hannah had to laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

  Michael had thought that making love with Hannah once would be enough, but the first joining of their bodies had barely taken the edge off of his desire. After four years of celibacy, it probably wasn’t surprising that his reawakened libido was in no hurry to hibernate again, but he knew that it wasn’t as simple as that. He didn’t just crave physical release, he craved Hannah.

  Every time his path crossed with hers the following day, his hormones jolted to attention. Now that he knew what it was like to be with her—the sensual way she responded to the touch of his lips and his hands, the glorious sensation of sinking into her warm and welcoming body, the exquisite rhythm of their lovemaking—he wanted only to be with her again.

  But what did she want?

  He didn’t have the slightest clue.

  She’d been sleeping when he’d left her room, so he’d managed to avoid the awkward “What does this mean?” or “Where do we go from here?” conversations that purportedly followed first-time sex. Since Hannah was the first woman he’d been with since he’d started dating Sam almost eighteen years earlier, he had little firsthand experience with those morning-after moments. And now he didn’t know what was the next step.

  They had lunch and dinner together with Riley, as was customary, and the conversation flowed as easily as it usually did. There were no uncomfortable references to the previous night and no awkward silences. There was absolutely no indication at all that anything had changed between them.

  Until later that night, when he left Riley’s room after he was sure she was asleep, and he found Hannah in the hall.

  It wasn’t all that late, but she was obviously ready to turn in for the night. Her hair had been brushed so that it fell loose over her shoulders, and she was wearing a long blue silky robe that was cinched at her narrow waist. A hint of lace in the same color peeked through where the sides of the robe overlapped, piquing his curiosity about what she had on beneath the silky cover.

  He’d intended to seek her out, to have the discussion they’d missed having the night before. But now that he’d found her, conversation was the last thing on his mind.

  “Wow” was all he managed.

  But apparently it was the right thing to say, because she smiled and reached for his hand. Silently, she drew him across the hall and into her room.

  The robe was elegant but discreet, covering her from shoulders to ankles. But when he tugged on the belt and the silky garment fell open, he saw that what she wore beneath was a pure lace fantasy. A very little lace fantasy that barely covered her sexy curves, held into place by the skinniest of straps over her shoulders.

  And while he took a moment to appreciate the contrast of her pale skin with the dark lace, he much preferred reality to fantasy. With one quick tug, he lifted the garment over her head and tossed it aside.

  Afterward, he let her put the lace-and-silk fantasy back on, and they sat on her balcony with a bottle of wine, just watching the stars.

  “Are you ever going to tell me about that engagement?” he asked her.

  “It was a long time ago,” she said dismissively.

  Considering that she was only twenty-six, he didn’t imagine that it could have been all that long ago, and he was too curious to drop the subject. “What happened?”

  “It didn’t work out.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “We met at university,” she finally told him. “He was a member of the British aristocracy, I was not. As much as he claimed to love me, when his family made it clear that they disapproved of his relationship with a commoner, he ended it.” There was no emotion in her voice, but he sensed that she wasn’t as unaffected by the broken engagement as she tried to appear.

  “How long were you together?”

  “Almost four years.” She lifted her glass to her lips. “They didn’t seem concerned about my lack of pedigree so long as we were just dating—apparently even aristocrats are entitled to meaningless flings—but to marry me would have been a blight on the family tree.”

  Again, her recital was without emotion, but he saw the hurt in her eyes and silently cursed any man who could be so cruel and heartless to this incredible woman.

  “I didn’t imagine there was anyone living in the modern world—aside from my mother—” he acknowledged with a grimace “—who had such outdated views about maintaining the purity of bloodlines.”

  “And yet your mother married a farmer,” Hannah mused.

  “Elena is nothing if not illogical. Or maybe she believed that her royal genes would trump his.” He smiled as an old memory nudged at his mind. “The first time I scraped my knee when I was a kid, I didn’t know what the red stuff was, because I honestly believed that my blood was supposed to be blue.”

  She smiled, too, but there were clouds in her eyes, as if she was thinking of the lack of blue in her own veins.

  “So did you at least get to keep the ring?” he asked, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  She shook her head. “It was a family heirloom,” she explained dryly.

  “He didn’t actually ask for it back?”

  “Before we even left the ancestral estate,” she admitted.

  “And you gave it to him?” He couldn’t imagine that she would have just slid it off of her finger and handed it over. No, if she’d cared enough about the man to want to marry him, she wouldn’t have been that cool about the end of their engagement.

  “I threw it out the window.”

  He chuckled.

  “It took him three hours on his hands and knees in the immaculately groomed gardens to find it.”

  “He must have been pissed.”

  “Harrison didn’t have that depth of emotion,” she informed him. “But he was ‘most displeased’ with my ‘childish behavior.’”

  “Sounds like you made a lucky escape.” And he was glad, because if she’d married that pompous British twit, she wouldn’t be here with him now.

  “I know I did. I guess I just thought I’d be at a different place by this point in my life.”

  “You’re only twenty-six,” he reminded her. “And I don’t think there are many places in the world better than this one.”

  “You know I didn’t mean this place specifically.” She smiled as she tipped her head back to look up at the sky. “This place is…heaven.”

  “Cielo,”
he agreed. “And you are…mi ángel.”

  After almost a week had passed and Hannah’s apparently too-subtle hints about Riley’s approaching birthday continued to go unnoticed, she decided that Michael needed to be hit over the head. Not as literally as she had been, she thought, rubbing the pink scar that was the only visible reminder of her clash with Riley’s racquet now that her stitches had been removed. But just as effectively.

  So on Thursday morning, after the little girl had gone to the tennis court with Kevin, she cornered the prince in his office.

  “It’s Riley’s birthday next week,” she said.

  “I know when her birthday is,” he assured her.

  “Well, I was thinking that it might be fun to have a party.”

  “A party?” he echoed, as if unfamiliar with the concept.

  “You know—with a cake, party hats, noisemakers.”

  He continued to scribble notes on the ad layout on his desk. “Okay.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  He glanced up, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “Did you want me to say no?”

  “Of course I didn’t want you to say no,” she told him. “But I thought there would be some discussion first.”

  He finally set down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Discussion about what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the when and where, the guest list, a budget.”

  “When—sometime on the weekend. Where—here. As for the guest list, I figure if it’s Riley’s party, she should get to decide, and I don’t care what it costs so long as I don’t have to do anything but show up.”

  Happiness bubbled up inside of her. She couldn’t wait to race into the kitchen and tell Caridad the good news.

  “If you let Riley decide what she wants, it could turn into a very big party,” she warned.

  “I think we’re overdue for a big party.” He slipped his arms around her waist, drew her close. “And this year, I feel like celebrating.”

  Her heart bumped against her ribs, but she forced herself to respond lightly. “Okay, then. I’ll talk to the birthday girl when she comes in and get started making plans.”

  “Where is Riley?”

  “On the tennis court with Kevin.”

  “You’ll have to give me an updated schedule,” he said, not entirely teasing. “I never know where to find her these days.”

  “We don’t have a schedule—we’re improvising.”

  “I can improvise,” he said, brushing his mouth against hers.

  Hannah sighed. “Mmm. You’re good at that.”

  “How long is she going to be busy with Kevin?”

  “Probably about an hour. Why?”

  “Because I want to show you some of the other things I’m good at.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”

  “But you don’t have a schedule to worry about—you’re improvising,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, but—”

  “I really want to make love with you in the daylight.”

  He was a very lucky man, Michael thought with a grin as Hannah took his hand led him up to her room. And about to get luckier.

  When he followed her through the door, his gaze automatically shifted toward the bed upon which they’d made love every night for the past nine days—and caught on the enormous bouquet of flowers in the vase on her bedside table.

  He picked up the card. “With sincere thanks for helping me survive summer school, Kevin.”

  She paused in the process of removing the decorative throw cushions from the bed when she saw him holding the card. “Isn’t that sweet?”

  “Sure,” he agreed stiffly. “He’s finished his course, then?”

  She nodded. “He got an A-plus on his final essay to finish with first-class honors.”

  “Caridad must be thrilled.”

  “She promised to make baklava, just for me,” Hannah told him.

  She said it as if that was her favorite, and maybe it was. He didn’t know too much about what she liked or didn’t like.

  “I didn’t know you liked flowers,” he said, as if that was an excuse for the fact that he’d never thought to give her any.

  “Who doesn’t like flowers?” she countered lightly.

  There was no accusation in her words, no judgment in her tone. Of course not—Hannah had made it clear from the beginning that she didn’t have any expectations of him. Not even something as insignificant as a bouquet of flowers. And though he couldn’t have said why, the realization annoyed him.

  Or maybe he was annoyed to realize that he’d never really made an effort where Hannah was concerned. He’d never even taken her out to dinner, and they only went as far as the media room to watch a movie. They came together after dark like clandestine lovers, without ever having had anything that resembled a traditional date.

  He knew that was his fault. He wasn’t ready to subject Hannah to the media scrutiny of being seen in public together. Going shopping with Riley didn’t really count, because the press accepted that the prince would require the assistance of a nanny when he was out with his daughter. But he knew it would be very different if he and Hannah ventured out together without Riley as a buffer between them.

  It was difficult to date when you were a member of the royal family, even one not in direct line to the throne. There was no such thing as privacy, and rarely even the pretense of it. Every appearance, every touch and kiss, became a matter of public speculation.

  Not that Michael thought she couldn’t handle it. He had yet to see Hannah balk at any kind of challenge. No, it was simply that he wasn’t ready to go public with a relationship that felt too new, or maybe it was his feelings that were too uncertain. And that he was unwilling to look too deep inside himself to figure them out.

  “I don’t know if I like the idea of a much younger man bringing you flowers,” he said, only half joking.

  “He didn’t just bring flowers,” she teased. “He kissed me, too.”

  His brows drew together; Hannah laughed.

  “It was a perfectly chaste peck on the cheek,” she assured him.

  “Lucky for him, or I might have to call him out for making a move on my woman.”

  Her brows rose. “Your woman?”

  The words had probably surprised Michael even more than they’d surprised Hannah, and were followed by a quick spurt of panic. He immediately backtracked. “Well, you’re mine until the end of summer, anyway.”

  Hannah turned away on the pretext of rearranging the colored bottles on her dresser, but not before he saw the light in her eyes fade. When she faced him again, her smile was overly bright.

  “And that’s less than three weeks away, so why are we wasting time talking?” She reached for the buttons on his shirt.

  “Hannah—” He caught her hands, not sure what to say, or even if there were any words to explain how he felt about her.

  He cared about her—he couldn’t be with her if he didn’t. And he didn’t want her to think it was just sex, but he didn’t want to give her false hope, either. He didn’t want her to think that he could ever fall in love with her. Because he couldn’t—he loved Sam.

  “I never asked you for any promises,” she told him.

  And he couldn’t have given them to her if she had. But he could give her pleasure, and he knew that doing so would give him pleasure, too.

  He stripped her clothes away and lowered her onto the mattress. Then he knelt between her legs, stroking his fingertips slowly over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He brushed the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, and she gasped. He repeated the motion, parting the curls so that his thumb stroked over the nub at her center, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

  “It’s okay,” he told her. “I want to hear you. I want to know how it feels when I touch you.”

  “It feels good. So good.”

  As his thumb circled her nub, he teased her slick, wet opening with the tip of a fing
er. She whimpered.

  “Michael, please.”

  “Tell me what you want, Hannah.”

  “I want you.”

  He wanted her, too. He wanted to spread her legs wide and bury himself in her. To thrust into the hot wetness between her thighs, again and again, harder and faster, until he felt her convulse around him, dragging him into blissful oblivion.

  But first, he wanted to taste her.

  He slid his hands beneath her, lifting her hips off of the mattress so that he could take her with his mouth.

  She gasped again, the sound reflecting both shock and pleasure. His tongue slid deep inside, reaching for the core of her feminine essence. Her breath was coming in quick, shallow pants, and he knew that she was getting close to her edge. It wouldn’t have taken much to push her over the edge, but he wanted to draw out the pleasure for her—and for himself.

  With his lips and his tongue, he probed and suckled and licked. He heard her breath quicken, then catch, and finally…release.

  He stroked and kissed his way up her body until she was trembling again. Her belly, her breasts, her throat. She reached for him then, her fingers wrapping around and then sliding up the hard, throbbing length of him. He sucked in a breath. She stroked downward again, slowly, teasingly, until his eyes nearly crossed.

  She arched her hips as she guided him to her center, welcoming him into her slick, wet heat. The last threads of his self-control slipped out of his grasp. He yanked her hips up and buried himself deep inside her.

  She gasped and arched, pulling him even deeper, her muscles clamping around him as she climaxed again. The pulsing waves threatened to drag him under their wake. He reached for her hands, linking their fingers together over her head, making her his anchor as he rode out the tide of her release.

  He waited until the pulses started to slow, then he began to move. She met him, stroke for stroke. Slow and deep. Then fast and hard. Faster. Harder. This time, when her release came, he let go and went with her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Once the prince had given his nod of approval to the birthday party, Hannah was anxious to get started on the planning, so she turned to her best friend for advice. Karen outlined the five essential ingredients of a successful children’s party: decorations, such as colorful streamers and balloons; games or crafts to keep the kids busy; cake to give the kids an unnecessary sugar high; presents for the guest of honor and loot bags for all of her friends—all of which should somehow coordinate with the party theme. And preferably, she added as an afterthought, outdoors so that the sugar-high kids weren’t tearing through the house and destroying everything.