A Prince of a Guy. Jill Shalvis

“Stace? What’s really the matter here?”

      She ignored the question, put her hands on her hips, blew a tuft of hair from her eyes and surveyed the mountain of gear she’d deposited. “Portable bed. Sipper cups. Clothes for an assortment of weather and activities. Car seat. Booster chair. Life vest for the beach. Humidifier, just in case.”

      In case of what? “Stacy—”

      “Yep, I think that’s everything. Oh, and here’s a list of numbers you might need.” She handed him a stack of business cards. “Doctor, hospital, dentist, insurance company, insurance agent—”

      Good God. But beyond his panic, hers had taken root, and it stopped him cold. “Hey.” He took her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “What’s going on?”

      She tried to smile. “I’ve already told you.”

      “Just work?”

      “Really.” Lifting two fingers, she smiled. “Scout’s honor.”

      “Then there’s got to be someone else Melissa could stay with, a friend maybe, or—” Even as his words trailed off, he knew the truth. It was all over his sister’s face.

      She had no one else to ask, no one else to go to.

      Their parents had been gone for three years now. His dad of a heart attack, probably from a combination of working eighteen-hour shifts, smoking two packs a day and eating fast food at every turn. His mother had died the same year from pneumonia.

      As for friends, Stacy had plenty, just not the responsible kind, as Sean knew all too well, since he’d spent the past few years getting her on the straight and narrow path again.

      Dammit, he knew she had no one else. Her old friends couldn’t be trusted, her new friends were too new. Melissa’s father was long gone.

      She had no one but him.

      Stacy’s eyes were solemn, her smile gone. She was trying so hard to be brave, to get past her tromped on, damaged heart and make it on her own without too much help from her big brother, and what was he doing?

      Trying to turn her away.

      He couldn’t, not after all she’d been through. And since he loved her with all his own damaged heart, he sighed. “It’s okay.” He managed a smile. “I’ll do it.”

      “Really?” Her entire face beamed with happiness and a good amount of relief as she flung herself into his arms. “I owe you,” she whispered, then blew a kiss to her daughter as she took off toward the door. “Love you, Melissa! Love you, too, Sean!”

      And just like that, he was on his own.

      He watched her drive off, listening to Melissa’s gales of giggles as she did God-only-knew-what to his kitchen. “Love you, too,” he said to the quickly disappearing car.

      Slowly, dreadfully, he headed into his kitchen.

      Melissa smiled and held up her empty juice cup. “More.”

      Sean rubbed his eyes, then got a sponge and his first life lesson for the day—grape juice stains. Everything. Permanently.

      TWO DAYS LATER, Sean’s eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. He hadn’t touched a razor or done laundry, and his house looked like a cyclone had hit it. Unable to go into his downtown office and baby-sit at the same time, he’d had another phone line installed and was doing what he could from home.

      Which amounted to nothing other than chasing a certain four-year-old nightmare.

      At the moment, his fax line was ringing, as well as both the regular phones, along with his head. Melissa had insisted on crawling into his bed every hour or so. All night long. Every night.

      He suddenly realized that, in sharp contrast to the ringing, the kid was far too quiet.

      “Melissa?” he called as he headed toward the phone.

      Silence.

      The last time she’d been this quiet, she’d been busy pouring liquid bubbles on his hardwood hallway floors, because it made them pretty. He’d hit the hall at a run and went skating on his butt, which had put Melissa into hysterics.

      He hoped against hope that his ad in the paper—desperately seeking two-week nanny—worked. He hoped today’s nanny interviewee showed. He doubted it.

      No one else had.

      “Melissa” he called again, grabbing the first phone line. It was his harassed secretary, Nikki.

      “Well, look at that. He lives,” she said into his ear. “Look, I have three contracts for you to go over, five new sets of plans to review and—”

      “Hold on.” Ignoring her exasperated sigh, he clicked to the second ringing line, which was his latest client, Sam Snider.

      As he did this, the fax came alive. Nikki, ever so creative, was faxing the first page of one of the contracts that needed his attention. Sean greeted Sam, skimmed the contract and cocked his free ear for any sign of Melissa, of which there was none.

      He’d become the master of multitasking.

      “Your design?” he said to Sam. “I should have it ready by—”

      “Uncle Sean!” This from the bathroom. Melissa had surfaced.

      Hastily covering the phone with his palm, he called, “I’ll be right there!”

      “Come now, Uncle Sean!”

      “I’ll be right there,” he repeated and uncovered the receiver to continue talking to his client. “As I was saying—”

      “But Uncle Sean! I’m done!”

      Great. She was done. He tried to put Sam on hold, but the man was long-winded, so he ended up with the man talking in one year and Melissa shouting in the other.

      The fax machine continued to spout his contract.

      “Uncle Sean!”

      Because apparently he wasn’t overwhelmed enough, the doorbell rang.

      He needed a clone.

      Or a wife.

      Just two years ago, he’d come close to that with Tina. He’d never regretted not walking down the aisle, not once.

      Until now.

      Sam kept talking.

      “Wipe me!” yelled Melissa, loud enough for the entire county to hear.

      “I’ll wipe you in a sec!”

      Sam sputtered, then said, “Excuse me?”

      Sean dropped his head and thunked it on the counter, but even a near concussion didn’t change facts. He was failing, pathetically. And failing was the one thing he couldn’t handle. Slowly, he counted to ten, but yep, his life was still in the throes of hell.

      He politely hung up on his very wealthy client. Then, mourning the loss of that income, he headed into the bathroom and handled Melissa’s paperwork.

      Together they headed toward the front door. “I hope it’s my mommy,” Melissa said, bounding in front of him like an eager puppy, her blond curls wild and neglected. She hadn’t let Sean near her with a brush since she’d arrived.

      He had, however, made her brush her teeth. That must count for something.

      “I really want my mommy.”

      “I know.” Sean missed her mommy too. Big time. “But she’s not coming home for two weeks. The person at the door wants to be your nanny during the day.” Please, God.

      Melissa stopped short. “How long is two weeks?”

      “Fourteen days.”

      She tilted her head at him, piercing him with huge, baleful eyes. “That’s