A Prince Of A Guy

exhaustion or on an extravagant vacation in the Bahamas, she’d slipped a sheet of paper beneath Sean’s bedroom door.

More references. That they were newly manufactured by Francesca didn’t make Carlyne feel any better. Nor did the fact that she still hadn’t told him the truth about herself.

She couldn’t tell him, not yet.

Francesca was mad at her. Sean was mad at her.

And she was mad at herself.

Not to mention nervous. Sean had left her a message on the machine saying he’d be home in time to take Melissa out for a burger, which the little girl had been asking him to do for several days.

Carlyne was sure she wasn’t included in the invitation, so she sat on the porch watching Melissa play in the grass, waiting for Sean.

When she heard a rustle in the tree by the fence, she rose to her feet with a sense of resignation. Melissa was still happily playing on the far side of the yard, oblivious, so Carlyne didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Mrs. Trykowski?”

The rustling in the tree grew louder. There came a muffled curse.

“I know you’re up there.” She had to face this. She’d hadn’t slept a wink since she’d gone for that inadvertent swim. If Mrs. Trykowski had recognized her, Carlyne needed to know. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Oh, no, dear. I’m an expert tree climber.”

The branches wriggled wildly as the old woman let herself be seen. “I’ve been climbing this tree for a long time now.”

“What? Why?”

Though the tree was on Mrs. Trykowski’s side of the fence, the woman swung down from a branch and dropped to the ground on Sean’s side. “Why?” the older woman asked incredibly. “So I know what’s going on, of course.”

“Don’t you think if people wanted you to know, they’d tell you?”

“Well, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Sniffing, she straightened her plaid cotton housedress. Her knee-high stockings had fallen to her ankles, and she had a twig in her hair. “But not Sean. He keeps his emotions right next to his closed-off heart, where they’re safe.”

“Closed-off heart?”

“You know about his ex.”

No. No, she didn’t.

“A horrible woman, Tina was. Well, actually, she was one of those incredibly beautiful women, a homecoming queen, if I’m not mistaken. But she couldn’t tell the truth to save her life. They were going to get married, but she lied about everything-her shopping bills, where she’d been, what she’d been doing, her hair…”

“Her hair?” Carly asked weakly, touching the ends of her wig.

“She pretended to be a natural blonde.” Mrs. Trykowski’s eyes were sharp. “No one is born that blond, honey. The point is, she broke his heart but good. I am very glad you plan on mending it.”

“Oh, but-”

“Just don’t ever lie to him.”

Carlyne looked into Mrs. Trykowski’s sky-blue, guileless eyes and searched for answers. Did she know?

Impossible to tell.

The older woman tipped her head to the side, as if considering the matter, and Carlyne held her breath.

“Please don’t betray him. I’d really hate to see that. He wouldn’t like to think so, but he could still be easily hurt. Especially by a woman he cares about.”

“I-I don’t intend to hurt him.” Don’t you? taunted a small voice.

“Melissa is doing so well,” Mrs. T said.

Carlyne turned her head and found Melissa walking toward them, a big, warm grin on her face. The grin was for Carly, and she found herself returning it. And just that simply, Carlyne’s heart tripped. Or maybe not just that simply, at all.

Truth was, she was completely, hopelessly in love with the little girl. She hadn’t counted on that.

It was supposed to be temporary.

So what was this serious longing pulsing through her? A longing for a husband and a precious child of her own? And an even more secret longing…that her family could be as wonderful as Sean and Melissa.

When Sean’s car drove up, Carlyne fought the urge to run to him and tell him everything. But it was too late for that. Far too late.

Melissa went racing toward him, bounding into his arms, which he’d opened for her. He settled her into her car seat, then turned and sought out Carlyne.

As Carly.

Carlyne suddenly couldn’t tell the difference between the two personas. Which one was she?

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