Prince Daddy & the Nanny. Brenda Harlen

more than enough to finally pay off the last of her student loans was a bonus.

      As for responsibilities, she would be providing primary care for the widowed prince’s almost-four-year-old daughter. She didn’t figure that should be too difficult for someone with a master’s degree, but still her stomach was twisted in knots of both excitement and apprehension as she turned her ancient secondhand compact into the winding drive that led toward the prince’s home.

      Having grown up in tents and mud huts and, on very rare occasions, bedding down on an actual mattress in a cheap hotel room, she was unprepared for life in Tesoro del Mar. When she moved into her uncle’s home, she had not just a bed but a whole room to herself. She had clothes in an actual closet, books on a shelf and a hot meal on the table every night. It took her a long time to get used to living in such luxurious surroundings, but pulling up in front of the prince’s home now, she knew she was about to discover the real definition of luxury.

      The hand-carved double front doors were opened by a uniformed butler who welcomed her into a spacious marble-tiled foyer above which an enormous crystal chandelier was suspended. As she followed him down a long hallway, their footsteps muted by the antique Aubusson carpet, she noted the paintings on the walls. She had enough knowledge of and appreciation for art to recognize that the works that hung in gilded frames were not reproductions but original pieces by various European masters.

      The butler led her through an open doorway and into what was apparently the prince’s office. Prince Michael himself was seated behind a wide desk. Bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes lined the wall behind him. The adjoining wall boasted floor-to-ceiling windows set off by textured velvet curtains. It even smelled rich, she thought, noting the scents of lemon polish, aged leather and fresh flowers.

      “Miss Castillo, Your Highness.” The butler announced her presence in a formal tone, then bowed as he retreated from the room.

      The nerves continued to twist and knot in her stomach. Was she supposed to bow? Curtsy? She should have asked her uncle about the appropriate etiquette, but she’d had so many other questions and concerns about his proposition that the intricacies of royal protocol had never crossed her mind.

      She debated for about ten seconds, then realized the prince hadn’t looked away from his computer screen long enough to even glance in her direction. She could have bowed and curtsied and done a tap dance and he wouldn’t even have noticed. Instead, she focused on her breathing and tried to relax, reminding herself that Michael Leandres might be a prince, but he was still just a man.

      Then he pushed away from his desk and rose to his feet, and she realized that she was wrong.

      This man wasn’t “just” anything. He was taller than she’d remembered, broader across the shoulders and so much more handsome in person than he appeared in newspaper photos and on magazine covers. And her heart, already racing, leaped again.

      He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

      His voice was deep and cultured, and with each word, little tingles danced over her skin. She couldn’t be sure if her reaction to him was that of a girl so long enamored of a prince or of a woman instinctively responding to an undeniably attractive man, but she did know that it was wholly inappropriate under the circumstances. She was here to interview for a job, not ogle the man, she sternly reminded herself as she lowered herself into the Queen Anne—style chair and murmured, “Thank you.”

      “I understand that you’re interested in working as my daughter’s nanny for the summer,” the prince said without further preamble.

      “I am,” she agreed, then felt compelled to add, “although I have to confess that I’ve never actually worked as a nanny before.”

      He nodded, seemingly unconcerned by this fact. “Your uncle told me that you’re a teacher.”

      “That’s correct.”

      “How long have you been teaching?”

      “Six years,” she told him.

      “Do you enjoy it?”

      “Of course,” she agreed.

      He frowned, and she wondered if her response was somehow the wrong one. But then she realized that his gaze had dropped to the BlackBerry on his desk. He punched a few buttons before he looked up at her again.

      “And I understand that you’ve met Riley,” he prompted.

      “Only once, a few months ago. I was with a friend at the art gallery—” coincidentally, the same art gallery where she’d first seen him so many years earlier, though it was unlikely that he had any recollection of that earlier meeting “—and Princess Riley was there with her nanny.”

      Phillip had explained to her that the nanny—Brigitte Francoeur—had been caring for the princess since she was a baby, and that Prince Michael had been having more difficulty than he’d anticipated in his efforts to find a replacement for the woman who was leaving his employ to get married.

      “The way Brigitte told it to me was that my daughter ran away from her, out of the café—and straight into you, dumping her ice cream cone into your lap.”

      Hannah waited, wondering about the relevance of his recounting of the event.

      “I kept expecting to read about it in the paper,” he explained. “Princess Riley Accosts Museum Guest with Scoop of Strawberry.”

      She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sure, even if there had been reporters in the vicinity, they would not have found the moment newsworthy, Your Highness.”

      “I’ve learned, over the years, that a public figure doesn’t only need to worry about the legitimate media but anyone who feels they have a story to tell. A lot of ordinary citizens would have happily sold that little tale to El Informador for a tidy sum. Not only did you not run to the press to sell the story of the out-of-control princess, but you bought her a new ice cream cone to replace the one she’d lost.”

      “It wasn’t her fault that the strawberry went splat,” she said lightly.

      “A gracious interpretation of the event,” he noted. “And one that gives me hope you might finally be someone who could fill the hole that Brigitte’s absence will leave in Riley’s life.”

      “For the summer, you mean,” Hannah sought to clarify.

      “For the summer,” he agreed. “Although I was originally hoping to find a permanent replacement, the situation has changed. The current nanny is leaving at the end of this week to finalize preparations for her wedding, and my daughter and I are scheduled to be at Cielo del Norte by the beginning of next. None of the applicants I’ve interviewed have been suitable, and your uncle has managed to convince me to settle for an interim solution to the problem.”

      She wasn’t sure if she should be amused or insulted. “Is that why I’m here? Am I—”

      “Excuse me,” he interrupted, picking up the BlackBerry again. He frowned as he read the message, then typed a quick response. “You were saying?” he prompted when he was done.

      “I was wondering if I’m supposed to be your ‘interim solution.’“

      His lips curved, just a little, in response to her dry tone. “I hope so. Although my royal duties are minimal, my responsibilities to my business are not,” he explained. “I spend the summers at Cielo del Norte because it is a tradition that began when Samantha—”

      His hesitation was brief, but the shadows that momentarily clouded his dark eyes confirmed her uncle’s suspicion that the prince was still grieving for the wife he’d lost only hours after the birth of their daughter, and Hannah’s heart couldn’t help but ache for a man who would have faced such an indescribable loss so quickly on the heels of intense joy.

      “—when Samantha and I first got married. A tradition that she wanted to carry on with our children.” He cleared his throat, dropping his gaze to