The Blacksheep Prince's Bride. Martha Shields

“The two of you together don’t weigh as much as one normal person.”

      Her dark red-brown eyebrows drew together as if she couldn’t decide whether he was insulting or complimenting her. “And just how often do you have ‘normal’ people on top of you?”

      “Often enough to tell,” he countered.

      “Daddy, guess what?”

      “What, Sammy?”

      “Ena’s here.”

      “I know.” Jake’s smile turned to a grin. “Her elbow is sticking into my ribs. Or is that your knee?”

      “Why didn’t you say something?” She carefully extricated herself from between them.

      “I did.” Jake sat up easily, bringing Sammy with him. He froze immediately.

      Rowena had rolled to her knees and her silk blouse had pulled away from her chest. Jake had a clear vision of two wonderfully ripe breasts falling into a black silk bra that would’ve done Victoria’s Secret proud.

      As he swallowed the thick lump which suddenly stopped his air supply, Sammy scrambled over to Rowena, who sat back Indian-style and patted the full skirt that modestly covered her legs. She smiled fondly and settled Sammy in her lap.

      Though Jake felt deserted, he was glad Rowena was covered up, and that she was unaware of how much he wanted to slowly unbutton every silk-covered button and—

      “Thank you for rescuing me, Mr. Stanbury. Although there was no need.”

      Jake’s attention swung back to reality with a hard blink. “No need? You were about to break your neck.”

      “I doubt it would’ve broken.” Her smile turned impish. “As you pointed out, I’m not very tall. Which means my neck is much closer to the ground than yours.”

      Beautiful, funny and she could turn a joke on herself as well. Jake had always admired people who could laugh at themselves. He’d found it an indication of intelligence and self-confidence beyond the norm.

      Damn.

      What the hell was he doing sitting on the floor with her? The last thing he needed was to let his libido lead him down the path to destruction. He’d been there, done that.

      Annette had taken his heart and ripped it into shreds—which she threw in his face as she walked out the door for a man with more money and more ambition.

      And Jake had a sneaking suspicion that Rowena had more than beauty in common with Annette.

      His cousin’s lady-in-waiting didn’t top the list of the hot palace buzz. The gossip was low-key and inconsistent. Still, Jake had made enough firsthand observations and gleaned enough information to piece together an unflattering picture.

      Rowena dated more than a few of the diplomats and officials who visited Edenbourg, never going out with the same man more than a few times. But what was more important, she never dated anyone who didn’t have a title.

      He’d learned too late that Annette had only married him because of his royal blood. Annette had learned too late that she wouldn’t benefit from his connections to the royal family of Edenbourg.

      He was American through and through, and didn’t give a damn about a country he’d never visited, or a family who’d never so much as sent him a birthday card.

      Rowena also had a flirtatious nature in common with Annette, which he’d witnessed on the few occasions she’d attended royal functions. She flitted around the palace rooms like a butterfly, bestowing her devastatingly bright, sweetly impish smile on every man there…except him. Because he didn’t have a title.

      Jake shoved aside the irritation that realization always brought. He was glad she didn’t come on to him. It made it easier to listen to his brain rather than his libido. He was definitely not interested in having a relationship with her.

      At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

      He’d all but panicked when Isabel had suggested Rowena as his nanny. But since the proposal came from his royal cousin, he knew it was yet another offer he couldn’t refuse.

      He’d been able to avoid close contact with the lovely lady-in-waiting for the month he’d been forced to stay in Edenbourg. And because he knew he couldn’t avoid her altogether if they lived in the same house, he’d planned to stay clear of her as much as possible when he was home.

      He certainly hadn’t planned to take a tumble with her on the parlor floor the minute he walked through the door. Or to be sitting here longing to drag her onto his lap. He would snake one arm around her tiny waist, then with the other he’d stroke back her thick, richly-hued auburn hair and kiss the soft skin of the small, curving neck—

      Damn.

      Jake dragged his eyes away from the lovely neck she joked about. What was wrong with him? Sammy was sitting right there on her lap.

      This was not starting out well.

      The smart thing would be to stand up—now—dust himself off and make some excuse about paperwork.

      Instead, he said, “Jake.”

      “Pardon me?”

      If he could’ve kicked himself in his traitorous mouth, he would’ve. His insistence on her calling him Jake had come in a moment of weakness…right after he’d agreed to accept her as Sammy’s nanny.

      He’d had to take Sammy along with him to the palace one day when the sitter didn’t show. Isabel had simply nodded to Rowena, who stepped forward and charmed Sammy so much he allowed her to lead him away, all smiles. And his son had returned the same way. Right then, he’d known Rowena was worth her weight in platinum and he’d offered her the nanny job on the spot.

      That was his excuse at the time. What was it now?

      But…he had to finish what his mouth started. Didn’t he?

      “When you agreed to stay here with Sammy, you also agreed to call me Jake, not Mr. Stanbury. We shook hands on it, remember?”

      “Oh. That’s right.” The faintest blush touched her cheek, and she forced a smile. “I’m sorry…Jake. I just…I guess I didn’t want to seem forward.”

      Her blush caught and held Jake’s attention. He’d never seen Annette blush. His ex-wife was so calculating that she was no longer capable of blushing.

      Damn. Why did Rowena have to go and do that?

      There’d been enough of these seemingly insignificant clues to keep him guessing. To keep him from believing—deep down—the conclusions he’d come to about Rowena. To keep him thinking that there was more to her than she wanted anyone to see.

      Jake wanted to peel back the layers and search for the real woman beneath.

      Unsettled by the revealing realization, Jake didn’t even try to keep sarcasm from his voice. “And you’re never forward, are you, Miss Wilde?”

      Her face registered mild shock at his rude comment. She started to say something, then pressed her lips together and used them to place a kiss on Sammy’s head. From that position, she said softly, “If I have to call you Jake, then you should call me Rowena.”

      Jake was too much a lawyer to be dragged from the subject so easily. “I—”

      Suddenly a bright ray of light struck Jake’s eye, catching his attention. Glancing around, he saw afternoon sunlight streaming into the west-facing bank of windows, lighting up the room.

      Then he saw why. The heavy velvet curtains had been taken down, though one at each window had been draped on the curtain rod as a swag. Not enough to get in the way, just enough to add a decorative touch.

      “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, a bit defensively. “I couldn’t bear to live here in all the gloom.”

      “Gwoom?”