by Donna Alward
He never finished the sentence. Their mouths fused again, more urgent now, and when his hand pressed to the back of her head, controlling and guiding, she acquiesced. At this moment, the world didn’t exist outside this room.
Their lips parted, somewhat reluctantly, Rose thought, her heart still pounding. Diego moved his hand from her hair to her face, tracing his fingers down her cheek.
He was Diego Navarro, she realized, still dazed but aware enough to know that what had just happened was surreal at best and both unadvised and potentially jeopardizing to her employment.
He was a world-class playboy with loads of experience. She was a British nanny who’d had exactly one lover.
God, she was so outmatched.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That shouldn’t have happened. We just . . . I just . . . got caught up in the emotion of the moment.” She slid out of his embrace. She’d been in his arms, her mind shouted at her. Kissing him. Hearing him say her name . . .
“Don’t back away,” he replied, grabbing at her hand before she could get away. “Please. You’re the only one who has ever understood. And don’t point out our differences,” he said, halting her contradiction before it could get out of her mouth.
“You have to know we can’t do this,” she said, slightly breathless. They absolutely couldn’t. If she lost this job . . . if they ended up in the tabloids or something she’d never be hired again, and people depended on her for so much. “If anyone found out . . .”
“I know. It’s a mess.” He went from running his hand over his hair to rubbing his face. “Why couldn’t you have been an heiress or aristocracy or something?”
She laughed a little. “Well, you can trace ancestors on my mum’s side back as far as King Charles the Second. Of course, that doesn’t say much for legitimacy . . .”
He rolled his eyes. “I know this is hard for you. And I don’t want to make it more difficult. I really don’t. And yet . . . being with you right now is the only thing that really makes sense. You see me, Rose.”
But he didn’t see her. Not really. He didn’t understand what drove her, what her fears were, what her longings were. He was, she realized, focused on the children’s needs, and focused on his own. But not focused on hers. And it wasn’t that he was wrong in those priorities. It just gave her a dollop of perspective and the realization that she had to protect herself as well.
“We can be friends,” she said firmly. “I think we’ve gone beyond the ‘strictly business’ distinction, despite my best efforts. But no more kissing, Diego. I can’t. Please don’t put me in that position.” No matter how desperately she’d like to be in that position—and others—with him. She couldn’t be that selfish. “This can’t be a palace affair.” She emphasized it with the one point she knew would hit home. “I can’t lose this job. Emilia and Max need stability and consistency.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“Raoul has the final say in their care, Diego. You wouldn’t be able to stop it.”
He frowned. “I hate it when you’re right. And I hate it even more when it goes against what I want.”
She laughed. “That’s because you’re used to getting your own way. In some things, anyway,” she added, in deference to his earlier confidence.
“I’m not sorry,” he said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. “Not for the talk and not for the kiss.”
“Me either,” she admitted, though she knew she probably shouldn’t.
Emilia came out of the bedroom, stretching and yawning loudly enough that Diego immediately dropped Rose’s hand.
“Tio Diego?”
“Si, Emilia?”
She came over and crawled up on his lap. She looked at Rose, then back at her uncle. “The girl today,” she said, choosing English. “She was very nice. No one mentions Mama or Mariana. Sometimes I want to talk about them.”
Diego met Rose’s gaze, and she smiled back at him. She was glad they’d talked. Maybe now he was better equipped to talk to Emilia about this. The distraction of the trip to the city was over, and real conversations had to happen.
“I miss them too, chiquita,” he answered, snuggling her close.
“Papa won’t talk about Mama. But I don’t want to forget about her. She . . .” Emilia’s lip quivered and she started to cry a little.
“You will never forget her,” Diego assured her. “Your Papa misses her a lot too. It hurts him to talk about her, but it won’t always. And you can talk to me or Miss Rose whenever you like.”
“But you always go away,” she answered, picking at a fingernail and sniffling.
“Not now,” he said firmly. “I’m doing everything I need to from here, so I can spend more time with you and Max.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
She hesitated for a moment, as if deliberating if she should speak or not. When she did, it was in Spanish, and Rose picked out Mariana’s name, and her own, and amo—the Spanish word for love.
Whatever she’d said, Diego kissed the top of her head and smiled as he answered her back. To Rose’s surprise, Emilia crawled off Diego’s lap and stepped over to Rose and hugged her.
“Gracias, Emilia,” Rose said, squeezing her in return.
“May I watch a movie?” Emilia asked.
Rose agreed. “Tea will be here soon, too.”
Emilia found a DVD and, in the way of all young children, knew how to turn everything on and set it up to play. Diego stood, preparing to leave, and Max came tottering out of the bedroom at the sound of the movie.
“You don’t want to stay for tea?” Rose asked Diego, following him to the door.
“I’ve got work to do tonight. I’ve had to start delegating with some of the charity duties. I can’t put off travel indefinitely, but for now I’m managing.”
Rose paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Do they know how hard you work? Or do they think you just play?”
He raised an eyebrow and grinned, and she knew the answer. Diego the playboy. She felt annoyed on his behalf, but this wasn’t her battle to fight.
“Thank you for today. We all needed it. It was a lot of fun.”
“Well, if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s have fun. Ask anybody.”
“Diego,” she chided softly.
She was gazing into his eyes again when a maid came down the hall bearing the tea tray. Rose backed off and Diego bid her a far more formal goodbye than he normally would have. So he too was worried about appearances, she thought.
Tea was served, and Rose sat on the sofa with two very mellow children, one on either side of her.
But what she was thinking about was the feel of Diego’s lips on hers, his fingers on her face, and how it was completely impossible.
CHAPTER SIX
Any hope of not being in the news was demolished by six o’clock the next morning, when the paper was delivered to the palace offices as well as to households and news outlets throughout Marazur.
Rose got a copy every day, using it to help reacquaint herself with the language. It was all in Spanish, but her stomach dropped to her feet and she didn’t need a translator to explain the half-page photo of her, Diego, and the children splashed across the front page.
It was taken while they were shopping in the market. Max was on Diego’s shoulders, and Emilia held Rose’s hand. To an outsider, they looked like a normal family out shopping, but there was nothing “normal” about it. They appeared far too familiar with each other. Maybe if she hadn’t been smiling up at them it would have been dismissed more easily. But she doubted it. An appearance of the playboy prince was news. So was an appearance of the children. And her?
She scanned the words below the picture. Even in her limited Spanish, she knew that it had gone beyond news into speculation territory. Perhaps even scandal. Something about a young and pretty nanny, and Diego’s reputation.
Thank God no one knew about that stupid kiss. The press would have had a field day with t
hat sort of photo!
She reached for her coffee, appreciating the strong brew this morning. The children were chatting at the table, munching on fruit and pastries, oblivious to the turmoil now swirling through her. Raoul would see this. It might even go beyond Marazur . . . damn, damn, damn! This job wouldn’t last forever, would it? And if she strayed from her official job description, it could hurt her future at the agency.
A knock at the door jerked her out of her thoughts, and she dropped the paper on a chair and went to answer it.
To her surprise, it was Raoul. On the few times he’d stopped by the nursery, he’d given a cursory knock and then came in with a “hello.” Her stomach plummeted. Did his serious face have something to do with today’s headline?
“Your Highness.” She managed to get the proper address out of her mouth without stuttering.
“Miss Walters.” He smiled, but she thought it looked rather grim.
“Please, come in. The children will be so happy to see you.” She stood aside to let him pass.
“Papa!” Max scrambled down from the table first, and came running. A little of the strain left Raoul’s face as he knelt down and scooped the boy into his arms. Emilia, on the other hand, got up, put her napkin on her chair, and came over quietly. Rose frowned. Manners were one thing, but Emilia struggled so hard to be proper these days that she didn’t smile very much. The biggest smile Rose had seen was yesterday at the market stall when Emilia’d been haggling with the vendor.
Raoul spent a few minutes with the children and then told them to return to their breakfast. Once they’d gone back to the table, he looked down at Rose. He wasn’t angry, she realized, with more than a little relief.
“You’ve seen the papers this morning?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He nodded. “It’s written all over your face. You look terrified. You’re not in trouble, Miss Walters.”
Miss Walters. He always called her that, as opposed to Diego, who only called her by her first name.
“I’m sorry that the children are in the paper, sir,” she apologized. She was sorry for far more, but she was a grown-up. The children were innocent.
“They’ve been in the paper before,” he said, shrugging. “When we’re out in public, we expect the press will follow. It’s how it is. But my late wife believed in taking them places and doing things with them.” There was an edge of pain to his words, though. One such outing was the reason they’d been in the limousine that fateful night.
He picked up the paper from the chair and looked at it. “The children look happy,” he remarked, then pinned his gaze on her. She had such a hard time reading his expressions, unlike his brother who seemed quite easy to figure out. “So does my brother.”
She willed herself not to blush—or break eye contact.
“He has been spending a lot of time with the children. He loves them and they love him. You did know of the excursion yesterday?”
“Of course. Diego cleared it with me. And I made sure you had adequate security. These things happen. Particularly when Diego is involved.” He shrugged. “He is a darling of the paparazzi.”
She fought back the instinct to stick up for Diego. It really wasn’t her place. But after yesterday, she was beginning to realize that Diego was often in that visible position because his family had put him there and didn’t expect anything different.
“I wanted to be sure you were okay. I don’t suppose you’re used to handling publicity of this sort.”
She wasn’t, but now that she knew he wasn’t angry, she was feeling slightly better, at least on the professional front. “I will be fine,” she assured him.
He turned to leave. “Did you want to stay and spend some time with the children?” she asked, startled he was going so soon. He’d barely been around at all lately.
“I have a meeting in ten minutes. I will stop by later, though. Perhaps around teatime. I’ll have Stephani check my schedule.” He went into the room though and made sure to kiss the children and wish them a good day.
After he was gone, Rose picked up the paper and stared at Diego, holding Max on his shoulders. It should be Raoul, she thought, with a little bit of bitterness and indignation. The fact that Diego saw the need and stepped in only made him more attractive in her eyes. A man who took on his own responsibilities and some that shouldn’t be his to bear. That his own family couldn’t see his value had to be frustrating. Not that he ever showed it.
If the tabloids were to be believed, Diego Navarro was a man who didn’t understand the meaning of “responsibility.” But the papers were very wrong. He knew what responsibility meant; he also knew about loyalty, compassion, and family.
In the photo, she was looking up at him and smiling. She could understand how it might be construed as something personal, because it was.
She liked him. She more than liked him. And that was starting to become a very real problem.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rose spent the day keeping to the regular schedule of meals, lessons, playtime, and naptime. When their tea arrived, she discovered a pot of blissfully hot English brew, a slice of orange cake for herself, and the regular light snack for the children. Not one of the staff had mentioned the newspaper, but Rose had noticed a few sidelong glances and looks of sympathy sent her way. She assumed it was because she’d suddenly turned from nanny to a subject of romantic speculation. To anyone on the “outside” it probably seemed dreamy. But the reality was that any dalliance could ultimately get her fired. And even if it didn’t, it could affect her credibility and her ability to get work.
The cake tasted like comfort and solace. She wondered if Senora Ortiz had sent it as a pick-me-up. Or perhaps Diego had suggested it, as a peace offering of sorts. But how would she know? He’d also been conspicuously absent today, not stopping by even once, though he normally spent a part of his afternoon with the children and . . . well, and with her.
She frowned. That shouldn’t matter in the least. So what if they’d become friends of a sort? It was only because of the children. And there was certainly no future in it. She’d do best to keep her feet firmly on the ground and her head out of the clouds. When Diego wasn’t around, she could see things in a much clearer light. Blurring professional and personal lines was a big mistake, and one she needed to rectify right away.
Teatime came and went with no sign of Raoul, either. Rose seethed inside as she got the children ready for dinner. Granted, he hadn’t actually promised to see them before dinner, but he’d said he’d try. At this rate the only time they saw their father, or indeed their grandfather, was at the evening meal. That was not parenting. She’d seen it before with other families she’d worked for, and it had never sat quite right with her. Why have children if you were going to put them in a corner and pretend they didn’t exist? Maybe her family had its fair share of dysfunction, but they at least knew each other and had memories to share over the contentious Christmas table each year.
She put a last touch on the bow of Emilia’s dress, combed down a stubborn piece of Max’s dark hair, and took their hands as she dutifully delivered them to the dining room.
Diego was in the salon off the dining room and stood as they approached. “Don’t you look lovely . . . Emilia.”
Rose’s chest deflated. She should not have assumed the compliment was for her. She’d chosen a plain black pencil skirt for today, but her customary white blouse was fitted and had a ruffle from collar to waist that she thought was exceedingly pretty. But of course he was talking to Emilia, who looked quite cute in her flowered dress and delicate shoes. Besides, a compliment would be very inappropriate. Particularly today.
He stepped closer to Rose and smiled. “How was your day?”
She shrugged and offered a polite smile in return. “Fine, sir. The paper had some interesting reading.”
She wasn’t sure if the look of consternation was brought on by her use of “sir” or if it was the mention of the story in the paper. Diego’s br
ows pulled together and his lips thinned. “I should have warned you. Pictures tend to happen.”
“I particularly liked the part about me being the new palace plaything,” she replied smoothly, watching Max and Emilia wander to the dining room door and peek inside. She’d taken some time later in the day to sit down with the article and work through anything that she didn’t understand right away. “Palace Plaything” had definitely stood out.
“You’re not a plaything.”
She looked up at him. “But the women you’re usually photographed with are, you see? I should have realized that it was a bad idea to go with you. I have my own reputation to worry about. The terms of my employment require me to be above reproach.”
“And you are. We were,” he insisted.
“Perception counts,” she replied coolly. “I like you, Diego, and I had fun. But I was right in the first place. I’m staff, you’re royalty, and never the twain shall meet.”
He frowned. “I’m not familiar with that expression.”
Her throat tightened. “It means we each know our place.”
Dinner was called, and she straightened her shoulders. “And now you are called to dinner and I’ll make my way down to the kitchen. Good night, sir.”
“Good night,” he echoed, but she felt his gaze on her back as she left the room and headed toward the stairs and the kitchen below. She’d drawn the invisible line, and it hadn’t been that difficult.
Not putting a toe across it would be more of a challenge. The papers tended to call him irresistible. She was just glad he still hadn’t put together their previous, rather inauspicious meeting on the train. For him, a handful of pounds to pay for a few baskets of flowers was nothing. But it had been a very big something for her. And right now she certainly didn’t need another reason to feel connected to him.
* * *
Diego sat through dinner wishing he was anywhere else. While he appreciated Raoul’s attempt to keep the children to a regular routine—Ceci had always insisted they join the adults for the evening meal—it was depressing and colorless for Emilia and Max. He could see it on their faces. They picked at their food, and Diego noticed Max swinging his legs beneath the table in absolute boredom. Ceci had always asked them about their day, and Raoul usually joined in. Now they ate in silence as the men conversed a little, usually about state business. Then they went back to the nursery.
