The Playboy & Plain Jane. Leanne Banks

trial, I’d like you to sign a one-year contract.”

      “A year is no problem,” she said, an odd assortment of emotions rolling through her. Mrs. Peabody had briefed her about the way Nicholas had learned of Molly’s existence, but the story still floored her. “Your life must have been turned upside down.”

      “I’ve had to reevaluate my lifestyle,” he said, the fire in his eyes belying his neutral tone. “Providing a stable environment for Molly is my top priority. Which is why I asked that personal question. Are you in a serious relationship that can’t withstand your absence for a limited time?”

      Gail thought of her wide assortment of male friends and bit back a chuckle. Serious? To them, she was one of the guys. “I’m not engaged or serious about anyone at the moment. I have several male friends, because I play volleyball on one of the more successful teams in a Boston recreational league. I also play a little basketball.”

      “Volleyball,” he repeated, as if trying to put together a composite of her as a nanny.

      “I was always better at sports than the arts, but I do a mean ‘eensy weensy spider,’” she said, and grinned. “I bet you’ve never asked about ‘eensy weensy spider’ during an interview before.”

      His lips twitched. “Can’t say that I have.” He looked at her silently for such a long time that she had to resist the urge to squirm. “If you become Molly’s nanny, I’ll require complete honesty.”

      She saw a glimmer of the hard line he probably held at the office. He was a man who would demand and get what he wanted. “I couldn’t give you anything less.”

      He nodded. “Good. This position will require the two of us to communicate regularly. I think it’s best if we dispense with formalities. You can call me Nicholas.”

      Gail wanted this job, but she had an instinct about Nicholas Barone. She suspected he could charm a bear out of its den, but he also probably expected his employees to submit to his will without asking too many questions. As Molly cried in the background, Gail began to think this job might be more challenging than she’d originally thought. Although she would respect Nicholas’s wishes, she needed to know he would at least listen to her ideas. “You strike me as someone accustomed to having most things your way. If I feel strongly about something, I will want you to consider it even if you don’t initially like it.”

      He gave her a long, assessing glance. “I’m at ease with letting the buck stop with me. I don’t believe in shirking my responsibilities. As much as I’d like to be, I’m not an expert on my daughter yet. I will be soon enough, but until then I’ll value your input.”

      In that one moment her respect for him grew. His commitment to his daughter got under her skin.

      “Any other concerns?” he asked.

      Just that he was so good-looking she hoped she wouldn’t be caught drooling whenever he came around. She shook her head.

      “Good. We’ve already checked your references. When can you start?”

      “When do you need me?” she asked, feeling a combination of excitement and some unnamed apprehension.

      The sound of Molly’s cries filled the air. He didn’t blink once. “Yesterday.”

      Two nights later Nicholas sank onto the bed in one of the guest rooms. The master bedroom was being painted, so he was temporarily displaced. He hadn’t slept well since he’d brought Molly home. The shock of instant fatherhood and all its accompanying concerns had kept him awake into early morning. After checking on his soundly sleeping daughter tonight, though, he felt he could finally relax. Part of it was the gut feeling that Molly felt safe and secure in Gail Fenton’s hands.

      If he couldn’t make Molly feel secure, if his presence sent his daughter into tears, then he was damn determined to find someone who could make her feel safe. Gail had a natural warmth that he knew would comfort Molly. It surprised the hell out of him, but even he felt that same warmth in Gail’s presence. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she projected the attitude that perfection wasn’t required or expected. Nicholas had spent his life around people who expected perfection, or something damn close to it.

      Through the walls, he heard the shower cut off and a feminine voice singing. The sound captured his attention. A committed bachelor whose lovers rarely stayed overnight, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a woman singing in his house.

      Curious, he moved closer to the wall. A children’s song, he concluded, catching a few of the words. “Little teapot…steamed up…tip me over, pour—”

      The singing stopped abruptly and he heard a loud thump, followed by a muffled shriek. Wincing, Nicholas heard a low moan, then nothing.

      He frowned, wondering if she was hurt. He pressed his ear against the wall. Still no sound. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. What should he do? What if she was lying on the floor with a concussion?

      Swearing under his breath, he strode from his room to her door and knocked lightly so he wouldn’t wake Molly. “Gail,” he said. “Gail, are you okay?”

      No sound. Nicholas turned the knob and entered the room, scanning the floor for a body. He moved toward the ensuite bath and caught a glance of Gail Fenton with a towel precariously slung over her as she rubbed her shin. “Ouch, ouch. Ouch,” she whispered.

      Nicholas would be missing a Y chromosome if he didn’t notice her long shapely legs and the fact that the towel was one breath away from revealing one of her breasts. In other circumstances with a different woman, he would get that towel off her in a New York minute, but now he needed to make sure she wasn’t seriously injured. “Are you okay?”

      Her gaze shot to his and her mouth rounded in a mixture of horror and surprise. She glanced down at her body and hastily rearranged the towel. “M-Mr. Barone.”

      “Nicholas is fine,” he said.

      She clutched the towel to her. “I’m okay. I just slipped when I got out of the shower.”

      “It sounded painful and potentially life-threatening,” Nicholas said.

      She cringed. “I fall hard. It’s one of my flaws. Overconfidence. I trust my balance a little too much.”

      “Maybe you were distracted by singing the teapot song.”

      Her face bloomed with color and she scooted into a sitting position. “I’ll be honest,” she said in a confiding tone. “I’m no Mary Poppins, so I’ve been practicing all the children’s songs I know.”

      He shrugged. “Sounded good to me until you…”

      “Went splat on the floor,” she finished with a pained expression.

      “Are you sure you didn’t break anything?”

      “Totally. It was very kind of you to check on me, but unnecessary. I’ll just have a few very colorful bruises.”

      “You’re sure you’re okay,” he said, something about her expression causing him doubt.

      “Very sure. You can leave. Please.”

      “Let me help you up first,” he said, moving toward her.

      “Oh, no,” she said, her eyes widening as she shook her head.

      He put his hands on her arms and watched in fascination as her cheeks bloomed with vivid color again. She didn’t look nearly so plain when she blushed. In fact she reminded him of a creamy white rose tipped with coral. He wondered if she blushed all over and glanced at her pink shoulders and pink chest. He looked down her pink legs to her pink toes.

      “Mr. Barone—”

      “Nicholas,” he corrected.

      “Nicholas, I won’t die from this fall, but I may die of embarrassment if you don’t leave.”

      He pulled one of