The Nanny Who Saved Christmas

by Michelle Douglas

  Her face crumpled and he held his arms open. She walked into them and he held her close—felt every breath she took as she fought for composure. He couldn’t believe how right it felt to have her there.

  Not that he had any intention of getting used to it—he was being a friend, that was all—but as the scent of strawberry jam drifted around him, all he could remember was the warmth of her lips as they’d touched his this afternoon, and the rush of sweetness that had stolen through him.

  Long before he was ready to let her go she stepped back, forcing him to drop his arms. ‘You didn’t have to wait up for me.’

  ‘Thought you could use a friend.’ He held up two beers. ‘And I thought you could use one of these.’

  She eyed the beer hungrily. ‘Bad for the diet,’ she murmured.

  ‘To hell with the diet.’ He grabbed her hand and hauled her through the nearest set of French windows and outside into the almost cool of the night. Not that it was ever properly cool out here in December.

  ‘Sit.’ He pointed to the front step and handed her a beer. ‘Drink and enjoy.’

  A laugh gurgled out of her. ‘Aye, aye, Captain.’

  He planted himself on the step beside her. They cracked their beers open at exactly the same moment, touched them in a silent toast and then drank deeply.

  With a sigh, Nicola stretched her legs out and stared up at the night sky, her face pensive. He dragged his gaze from her lips and took another pull on his beer. ‘So it was a bit rough, huh?’

  ‘She cried. She accused me of wanting to ruin her big day. Once she got over the initial shock she apologised, said she understood, but...’

  His beer halted halfway to his mouth. ‘But?’

  She glanced at him. ‘It just cemented that our friendship will never be the same again.’

  Her sadness tugged at the sore spaces inside him. ‘Maybe not, but it doesn’t mean you can’t still be good friends, that you can’t enjoy each other’s company. It’ll just be different. And I promise it will get easier with time.’

  She stared at her beer. ‘I guess you’re right.’

  From the light that spilled from the house and the light from the stars, he could see her face clearly. The plump full promise of her lips made things inside him clench up. The question that had been burning through him since she’d landed her punch this afternoon burst free from suddenly dry lips. ‘What about Brad?’

  She turned to him. ‘What about him? I didn’t speak to him, if that’s what you mean.’

  But had she wanted to? Had she hoped Brad might answer the phone? Did she secretly yearn that more than her friendship with Diane could be salvaged? Did she want Brad back?

  Bile rose in his throat. ‘Do you still love him?’

  ‘I...I still care for him as a friend. He was a big part of my life for two years.’

  ‘But if he came to you now and said he’d made a mistake and wanted to get back together with you, would you rush back into his arms?’

  ‘I used to think that’s what I wanted.’

  ‘But?’

  She turned those glorious eyes of hers on him and everything inside him tightened up. She opened her mouth. She closed it again. And then she blinked as if she’d just realised something stupendous. ‘Heavens! It seems the sad fact of the matter is...’ she tilted her beer at him in a kind of salute ‘...is that I miss Diane more than I miss Brad.’

  He stared at her.

  She stared back.

  Then she snorted.

  He couldn’t help it. Suddenly his shoulders started to shake, and then they were both flat on their backs on the veranda laughing so hard he thought they’d wake the dead, or at the very least the rest of his family—and he knew exactly what his mother and Dee would make of this—but not even that thought could get his mirth back under control. Every time he thought he had it, she’d snigger, or he would, and they’d be off again.

  Somewhere along the way her hand had found its way into his, but he didn’t know if she had initiated the contact or if he had.

  He remembered the way her lips had felt on his this afternoon. His lips ached. His groin ached. Damn it, even his skin ached.

  Grinning, Nicola pushed up into a sitting position. All of the reserved hardness that she’d stepped off the plane with gone. He remained where he was, his grip around her hand tightening. He wanted a repeat performance of this afternoon, craved her kiss, her touch. All he’d have to do was tug and she’d fall sprawled across his chest.

  He craved to taste the laughter on her lips. He hungered to sample her sweetness once more. He ached to have the full sweet temptation of her pressed up against him.

  She glanced down at him and slowly the sparkle left her eyes, the generous smile faltered and disappeared. She pulled her hand free.

  Disappointment flushed through him, and something darker and more insistent. He pushed up into a sitting position too. ‘Scared?’ he taunted, though he knew that was hardly fair.

  She tilted her head back and took another swig of her beer. ‘How long is it since you’ve been with a woman?’

  The question took him off guard. He scowled. ‘That’s none of your damn business.’

  ‘And yet you’re inviting me to share your bed and your body.’

  ‘And you’re going to refuse and turn me down.’ He could read her as well as it seemed she could read him.

  ‘Sleeping with me won’t prove you’re over Fran.’

  He blinked, stiffened. What the hell...?

  Her eyes flashed. ‘How about you answer your own question? If Fran turned up here tomorrow and wanted to give your marriage another try, what would you do?’

  He reared back as if she’d struck him. ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘That’s the exact same answer I could’ve given you about Brad.’

  She rose. His heart pounded. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The desire that had flooded him two seconds ago drained away.

  Fran was Ella and Holly’s mother. He owed them. If Fran came back, he’d owe it to his two daughters to give the marriage another shot.

  But...

  His hands clenched.

  ‘Thanks for the beer, Cade. Goodnight.’

  Nicola left and he couldn’t even manage to croak a goodnight after her.

  If Fran came back...

  He slashed a hand through the air. Fran was never coming back and he could taste the bitterness of that knowledge on his tongue. Ella and Holly no longer had a mother. He’d failed them.

  His hand clenched around his beer. He scowled into the night. He wouldn’t fail them again, though.

  He downed the rest of his beer and considered his intriguing nanny’s strategic retreat. She wasn’t immune to him. He’d felt it in her kiss. In both kisses they’d shared so far. He felt it in her gaze when she didn’t think he was paying her any heed. It arced between them, unspoken, whenever their eyes locked.

  He shook his head. Nicola was wrong. Things didn’t have to get complicated between them. Some uncomplicated adult Christmas fun could be exactly what the doctor ordered. It’d provide them—him—with a much-needed release, and he’d make damn sure that it restored her confidence. Win-win.

  He nodded once, hard. He had every intention of bringing Nicola around to his way of thinking as soon as he could. First, though, he’d give her some space.

  * * *

  Cade didn’t offer to give her a boxing lesson the next afternoon. Not that Nicola expec
ted him to. She went back to the treadmill, and to glaring at the rowing machine...and to lecturing herself.

  She had to remain strong.

  Sleeping with Cade... A betraying thrill shot through her. She increased the speed of the treadmill and gritted her teeth. Sleeping with Cade would undo all she’d accomplished so far. It would make a mockery of her growing sense of self-sufficiency and the realisation that she was responsible for her own happiness.

  She loved her friends, she needed them, but she could rely on herself too. If she made love with Cade she would be in danger of transferring all her misplaced need to him instead of learning to stand on her own two feet first.

  Developing her self-reliance and inner strength was more important than physical release and temporary pleasure.

  She gritted her teeth and increased the speed of the treadmill yet again.

  * * *

  Nicola’s eyes narrowed a couple of nights later as she watched Cade give Ella yet another sweet. She caught his eye and shook her head, but he ignored her.

  They hadn’t long finished a noisy game of charades and the children were buzzing and jumping, primarily due to Cade’s influence. It was beyond time that they started to quieten down and get ready for bed.

  He gave Ella yet another sweet. Nicola refused to let her gaze stray to the bowl of chocolate sultanas. ‘You’ll make her sick,’ she chided.

  ‘Nonsense! Just because you won’t relax and allow yourself a few chocolate sultanas doesn’t mean the rest of us have to abstain.’

  ‘Cade!’ his mother chided.

  Nicola shifted on her chair. How on earth did he know about her battle with those darn sultanas?

  With a giggle, Ella climbed up onto her father’s lap and requested, and was given, another sweet. She grinned in triumph at Nicola.

  Little monkey! But Nicola could hardly remonstrate with her. Besides, it wasn’t the child’s fault but Cade’s. ‘Bedtime soon,’ she said instead.

  ‘Nooooo,’ Ella wailed. ‘Daddy, Daddy, can’t we stay up a bit longer?’

  She was about to tell Ella that it was already an hour after her bedtime, but Cade merely said, ‘Sure, sweetheart. It’s Christmastime, of course you can stay up.’

  He broke into a rowdy Christmas carol. Ella promptly slid off his lap to dance with Jamie and Simon. Holly, who had started to fall asleep in Cade’s other arm, promptly woke up and squealed in excitement and demanded to join in...with two sweets—one for each hand.

  Nicola gritted her teeth and subsided into her chair. All of the children would be grumpy and out of sorts tomorrow. When Cade handed out more sweets and chocolates she had to get up and leave the room.

  One savage tug had the refrigerator door swinging open. She seized a jug of iced water and helped herself to a glass to cool off. Cade was trying to make this Christmas memorable for his children. He wasn’t flouting bedtime and mealtimes just to annoy her.

  She scowled and slouched against the counter. Not that he’d be the one to deal with the fallout. He’d leave that to the hired help.

  She snorted. Get over yourself, Nicola Ann. She used her mother’s moniker for her. You’re just grumpy because Cade has avoided you ever since that beer on the front steps.

  When what you want him to do is pursue you harder.

  She snapped upright. No, she didn’t!

  ‘I thought I’d find you sulking in here.’

  Cade.

  She turned. ‘What? Have you had enough of revving the kids up for one night and now you’re heading off to bed and leaving Dee, your mother and I to deal with four hyperactive children?’

  ‘Loosen up, Nicola, and give the kids a break. It’s Christmas. They’re allowed to have some fun and to enjoy the season.’

  ‘Within limits,’ she shot back. ‘Kids thrive on routine. Too many late nights and too many sweets will—’

  ‘You mean that you thrive on routine, that you thrive on the safe option.’

  That was when she knew they were no longer talking about the children.

  ‘Seems to me you don’t have any room in this makeover plan of yours for any spontaneity whatsoever. You stick to the plan and refuse to deviate.’

  Cade was talking about what had almost happened between them and would be happening between them right now if she’d said yes instead of no the other night.

  ‘Funny.’ Her voice had gone tight and she had to swallow. ‘I never picked you for a sore loser.’

  The laugh he gave was harsh. ‘This is about you, not me. It’s about you refusing to let go and loosen up.’

  She leaned forward and poked him in the chest. ‘No, this is about you equating my loosening up, as you call it, with whether I’ll sleep with you or not.’

  ‘I’m not that pathetic.’

  ‘Really?’ She folded her arms. ‘That night you told me you thought I needed a friend—that’s the role you were playing—but you didn’t really mean it, did you?’ Her voice wobbled and she winced at the vulnerability that stretched through it. ‘A real friend wants what’s best for their friends. They don’t want to see them do something that will hurt them.’

  His hands clenched, his muscles stiffened and all she could think of was the way he’d held her when she’d cried, the concern in his eyes when she’d emerged from his study after her phone call to Diane.

  ‘Look at me, Cade,’ she insisted. ‘I’m a mess! You’re letting your frustration and your hormones override your judgement. You know all the reasons why we shouldn’t...’ She waved a hand to indicate what it was they shouldn’t be doing. ‘But you’re still crazy angry with me. Well, let me plant one seriously scary picture in your mind.’

  He’d gone still. She had to pause to drag in a breath. ‘I might’ve come to the conclusion that Brad and I are better off apart, but it doesn’t mean I’ve reconciled myself to the loss of the life I’d planned and dreamed about or to the children I dreamed of having.’

  She closed her eyes against a rush of pain. When she opened them again she saw that Cade’s shoulders had slumped. She had to swallow before she could continue. ‘I want children so bad that some days I can’t see straight. My head is not screwed on right at the moment.’ She hitched up her chin. ‘Say we do start an affair. What if that yearning takes me over? What if we’re not as careful as we might be one time and then we’re dealing with that? Do you want to be a part of that?’ she asked hoarsely.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  Neither of them moved. Neither of them said a word.

  ‘Can I put the children to bed now?’ she whispered.

  ‘Please.’ He nodded, his voice as hoarse as hers.

  She fled before she could do anything stupid like kiss him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CADE jerked awake from a dead sleep. What the...?

  Thump! Somebody whacked his feet. For the second time, he suspected.

  ‘Get up, Cade.’

  ‘Mum? What the hell...?’ He struggled upright and tried to blink sleep from his eyes. His room was in complete darkness.

  He clicked on the bedside light. The clock showed three a.m. He snapped into instant alertness. ‘Who’s ill?’ He shot out of bed, pulling a T-shirt on over his head. He didn’t bother with jeans over his boxers. This far from civilization, every second counted. If someone needed the Flying Doctor...

  An icy hand wrapped about his heart. ‘Ella? Holly?’ he croaked.

  Verity Hindmarsh folded he
r arms and glared at him. ‘It’s not serious but it’s certainly unpleasant and of your making. So you can haul your butt out there and help that poor girl.’

  He didn’t wait to hear more, but shot towards the children’s bedrooms. He stopped short in Ella’s doorway and his heart clenched. Nicola sat on Ella’s bed holding a bowl for the child as she was monumentally and comprehensively sick. There was evidence that Ella had been sick before Nicola had been able to reach her.

  To make Nicola’s task all the more difficult, Holly clung to her, grizzling into her neck. He could see that Holly had been sick all over herself and Nicola. Nicola’s cotton nightie clung to one breast, the wet material practically transparent.

  He turned his gaze away and pushed himself forward into the room. Nicola glanced up and relief lit her eyes. How long had she been struggling with this alone?

  Ella lifted her head, her eyes swimming with tears, her face a picture of misery. ‘Daddy, I did eat too many lollies and they made me vomit.’

  Only she pronounced it ‘bomit’, which would normally have made him smile, except...

  It’s not serious, but it’s...of your making.

  He’d created this mess? He’d made his children sick? Bile rose in his throat as he battled a cold, hard anger with himself. There’d be plenty of time for recriminations later. Recriminations wouldn’t help Ella and Holly at the moment. Or Nicola.

  He swallowed. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Holly needs to be cleaned up. Ella...’

  Her eyes told him that Ella wasn’t through with being sick yet.

  ‘Holly, honey, you want to go to Daddy?’

  Holly screamed and clung tighter to Nicola’s neck. Ella started to cry. ‘I want Daddy to stay here.’

  No further communication was needed. He took Nicola’s spot on the bed. She handed him a damp washcloth and a clean bowl. ‘I won’t be long.’