A Prince of a Guy

by Jill Shalvis

  Truth was, she was completely, hopelessly in love with the little girl. She hadn’t counted on that.

  It was supposed to be temporary.

  So what was this serious longing pulsing through her? A longing for a husband and a precious child of her own? And an even more secret longing…that her family could be as wonderful as Sean and Melissa.

  When Sean’s car drove up, Carlyne fought the urge to run to him and tell him everything. But it was too late for that. Far too late.

  Melissa went racing toward him, bounding into his arms, which he’d opened for her. He settled her into her car seat, then turned and sought out Carlyne.

  As Carly.

  Carlyne suddenly couldn’t tell the difference between the two personas. Which one was she?

  Carlyne?

  Carly?

  Who did she want to be?

  Across the yard, their gazes met. Hers was hesitant, but his wasn’t. He looked sure and confident, and he was smiling.

  Carly, she thought. Definitely, she wanted to be Carly.

  “See that?” Mrs. Trykowski whispered in her ear. “He’s thinking impure thoughts about you right this very second.”

  “Mrs. Trykowski!”

  “Well, he is. Don’t waste them now, you hear?”

  If anyone was thinking impure thoughts, it was Carlyne as Sean came toward her. He was fully dressed, of course, but she could see him as he looked at night, getting out of his pool, wearing only wet trunks clinging to his hard, toned body.

  “Coming?” he asked.

  “Well, I—” She forced the image of his sleek, drenched body out of her head. “I don’t— You and Melissa—” Sighing, she shut her mouth. Since when wasn’t her delivery smooth and articulate? She’d spoken in front of hundreds of people at a time. She’d been keeping her cool since she could walk.

  But somehow, Sean O’Mara threatened her entire facade with a look.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.

  The question seemed loaded, but his eyes were dark, unreadable. He wore his office attire. Khakis and a polo shirt. Simple clothes, but not a simple man. Intelligence blared from his eyes and expression. His body was tenser than he’d let on, and beneath the smooth cotton of his shirt, every muscle was delineated and defined.

  Trouble. He was trouble personified. At least in terms of her mental health.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Get in the car, Carly.”

  Surprised at herself, she did. When he’d driven away from the curb, she asked, “Did you call my new references?”

  He looked at her, then turned his head and watched the road. His jaw was tight. “Yes.”

  “Did they check out?”

  “Didn’t you expect them to?”

  He met her gaze again briefly, but this time she looked away first. “Yes. Sean…” She glanced at Melissa in the back seat. She was busy sucking on her fingers. Carlyne lowered her voice. “Despite the kitchen fiasco and the fact I don’t really cook—”

  He made a noise that sounded like a snort of agreement.

  “Despite the fact that maybe I’m not your typical nanny, I really am a good caretaker for Melissa.”

  “We agreed on that fact last night, or you wouldn’t still be here.”

  “So you do trust me that much, at least.”

  Again he flicked her a glance. “That much, yes. But I’d like to know more about you. You haven’t volunteered an ounce of information.”

  “Neither have you.”

  He fell silent.

  The radio wasn’t on. Melissa was oddly quiet. Which left Carlyne with nothing to distract her from the way Sean’s long legs flexed every time he braked or clutched. His hand worked the gearshift with a natural ease that had her mind drifting to other things.

  Such as what else he could do with those hands.

  What he could do to a woman’s body. To her body.

  She was pretty desperate if her mind had wandered in that direction about this man. “How’s work?” she asked, desperate for a diversion.

  “Busy.”

  “Nikki good?”

  “Yep.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “Work.”

  Subject clearly closed. Well, too bad. She needed to talk before the silence killed her. “Busy with your designs?”

  He lifted a surprised brow.

  “I do know what an architect does.”

  “It’s not the actual work I’m too busy with,” he admitted. “I love that part. It’s the other. The dealing with rich, spoiled clients. Soothing ruffled egos. Attending silly cocktail parties to promote my work.”

  “Parties?” They happened to be her forte, parties. Not that she missed wearing heels and stockings, but there was something to be said for the excitement of pulling it all together. “You have to go to a lot of them?”

  “One in particular. This Saturday night,” he added in a voice that told her he’d rather have an impacted wisdom tooth removed without novocaine.

  “It isn’t so bad, really,” she told him. “Just hold a drink in your hand and keep moving. Oh, and keep smiling.”

  He flicked her an interested glance. “You sound like you know what you’re doing.”

  “Well…”

  “You can come with me, then.”

  “What?”

  She didn’t know who was more surprised. Sean, that he’d asked, or her. “But what about Melissa?” she asked. “She’ll—”

  “She’ll be fine with Mrs. Trykowski for the night. Hey, it’s your own fault,” he said, sounding grumpy. “You looked interested. You can keep me in line.”

  Yes, but who would keep her in line?

  They didn’t talk again until they were seated in the noisy, bustling fast-food restaurant. They sat in front of the kiddie area, where Melissa had vanished. The small table was shaped like a hamburger. Their knees bumped. Their feet touched. And when they reached for their drinks at the same time, their hands brushed.

  Overly sensitized to his touch, Carlyne drew back abruptly, knocking all her French fries to the floor.

  “Here.” Sean reached into his bag and grabbed a fry. He dipped it in ketchup and lifted it to her lips.

  His eyes were full of challenge and something else entirely, something that made her skin feel itchy and hot.

  He waved the fry beneath her nose. It smelled heavenly.

  But then again, so did Sean. “Sean, what are you doing?”

  “Feeding you.”

  “But—”

  “Open.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Open,” he said again, touching her lower lip with the fry, dabbing a drop of ketchup there, which she sucked off. The little sucking noise seemed exorbitantly loud.

  SEAN FELT that noise to the depth of his toes, but mostly right between his thighs. And when Carly sunk her teeth into the French fry, he nearly moaned. “Good?” he asked in a voice gone thick with unexpected desire.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Eat, Carly.”

  “But you don’t even like me,” she reminded him.

  “I’m just feeding you.” Just looking at you. Just wanting you.

  She drew the rest of the fry into her mouth. When she licked the remaining salt off her lower lip, he tore his gaze from hers and watched her mouth. It was a fascinating mouth. Wet, with a little bit of ketchup right…

  She made a sound when he touched her lips. And when he dragged his finger across her lower lip, she made that sound again, an almost helplessly aroused noise that came from deep in the back of her throat.

  “You have some…” His finger made the pass again, and when her tongue darted out to hit the spot, finger and tongue collided.

  He let out a rough groan. “Carly—”

  Her eyes closed as if the name somehow bothered her, but that was silly, it was her name, and then her tongue touched his finger again and he had to stop thinking because he lost all the blood in his head for parts sou
th.

  “You missed it,” he whispered hoarsely, and he bent forward, still holding her gaze until the last possible second, until their lips were nearly touching, until her long lashes drifted down, hiding her expression.

  Until they were kissing.

  Softly. Tentatively. Sweetly. And then that gentle connection wasn’t enough. Sean pulled back and reached for her glasses. He wanted them off, wanted no barriers.

  “No, I want to see this,” Carly protested, her hands coming up, holding the glasses on.

  He wasn’t going to argue. Cupping her face, Sean shifted closer and—

  Nothing.

  Because there came a tug on his shirt. “Can I have ice cream now, Uncle Sean? I been good. Really, really, really good.”

  Melissa stood there, her eyes big and intent on her mission.

  Carly’s eyes were big, too, and they landed on him with the same question he had. How long had Melissa been standing there?

  Had she seen that impromptu—and totally inappropriate—kiss? And how had it happened? One moment he was teasing her with that French fry and the next…

  “Aren’t you done talking yet?” Melissa wanted to know.

  “Yes.” Carly surged to her feet. Careful to avoid Sean’s gaze, she grabbed Melissa’s hand. Her breathing wasn’t quite even, the only hint of any inner turmoil. “Let’s get that ice cream, kiddo.”

  7

  SHE WASN’T GOING to be able to sleep, so she didn’t even try. Instead, Carlyne slipped out of her bedroom through the sliding glass door.

  The back yard was silent. The pool empty.

  With a little sigh, she stretched out on a lounge chair, put her hands beneath her head, tipped up her chin and studied the sky.

  “Not tired?”

  Sean. He was sitting in the lounge chair right next to her, in the shadows, and she’d been so intent on the fact he hadn’t been swimming, she hadn’t even noticed him right beside her. She noticed him now, noticed every inch of his long, powerful legs, his gleaming broad shoulders. And that flat, hard belly…she could never get enough of looking at it.

  Then that belly tightened as he coiled, straightened and came to her side.

  “I was just thinking about you,” she whispered.

  “About how we kissed?”

  Trust him to be so blunt. “Yes.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, it was…good, for one.”

  His mouth curved.

  “And now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  Slowly, his eyes dark and solemn, he sat again—on her lounge. Their hips bumped, and when her glasses slipped, he reached out and fixed them with a gentle finger. “What else are you thinking about? For once, Carly, tell me what’s going on inside you. It’s not all about just a kiss.”

  “That was just a kiss?” She sat up, feeling exposed laying there beside him, but he leaned close with a hand on either side of her hips.

  “It was more than just a kiss, I’ll give you that,” he said quietly. “But what else, Carly? What else goes on inside that head of yours? I can’t stop wondering about you. Who you are, where you came from.”

  “It’s…not that important.”

  “Like hell. I can’t stop thinking about you, and then there’s how you make me feel when we kiss.” To show her, he did just that, leaned forward and put his mouth to hers.

  She felt it all the way to her toes and back up again. She felt it in every erogenous zone in her body.

  And she felt it to the bottom of her heart, which brought her back to her problem.

  At the restaurant, Sean had sunk his fingers into her hair, but it hadn’t been her hair, it had been the wig. One more second and he would have dislodged it, ruining her disguise and destroying any feelings he had toward her.

  It could happen again, right now. He’d learn the truth and it would be all over.

  Ironic, since in the beginning, she’d wanted only to immerse herself in the Carly persona and see how the other half lived. Unflattering as she found the term, she’d purposely gone slumming.

  Now it seemed wrong.

  She liked Carly. She liked Carly’s life. She liked the people in Carly’s life.

  And she didn’t know how to leave it.

  Sean deepened the kiss, and with a helpless little moan, she gave in. Just this one last time, she thought greedily. Then she’d stop him, though it would be the hardest thing she’d ever done. She felt his hand on her hip, gripping her close. Heard his deep moan.

  Dragging his open mouth along her jaw, he worked his way to her ear. “What is it about you?” he wondered roughly, his breath on her sensitive skin giving her a delicious shiver. “I can’t keep my hands or my mouth off you.” One hand stroked up her side. His mouth continued to explore her neck, her throat, nuzzling at the base of it, and Carly, melting, still shivering, tilted her head back to give him better access.

  She wasn’t a woman driven by lust. She’d kissed men before. She’d even slept with a few. All of it had been on her terms, at her convenience. She’d held the power and known it. She was decent looking, wealthy, and men liked that. They groveled for it.

  Here, with Sean, she felt that power shift. He held it. He drove her. Here, she wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t wealthy. She wasn’t an instant icon. She was merely Carly Fortune.

  And he still wanted her.

  It was both freeing and terrifying. “Sean…”

  His tongue stroked her skin, right where her neck and shoulder met, and her eyes crossed with lust. “Sean.”

  “Mmm. You taste good.” He tasted her again, and she heard her own moan. It was low and deep and throaty, and the pure need and hunger in the sound shocked her.

  “This is not rational,” he said. “It’s definitely not smart. You’re leaving, going back to your home, wherever that may be, and…” His fingers, his clever fingers stroked her belly, her ribs, dallied just below the curve of her breasts, which were already hard, already aching.

  “Sean…”

  “Where is that, Carly? Your home?”

  “I—”

  His mouth played with the corner of hers, nibbled and teased. His fingers danced across her ribs, even higher, and Carlyne nearly grabbed them and moved them up where she wanted them.

  He looked at her, eyes hot, breath coming fast, his thumbs stroking the bottom curves of her breasts.

  More, she almost cried. “I came here from my family’s summer home in Spain.”

  His tongue caressed hers in a deep, long, rewarding kiss. And he finally, finally cupped her breasts. Pleasure flooded her.

  “They must miss you.”

  She sank her fingers into his hair so he couldn’t pull back more because she wanted his mouth on her, not talking. “No.”

  “No?” Another kiss, a slow, long, wet, deep one that robbed her of thought. “I would miss you,” he said.

  “You’re nothing like them.” His thumbs were slowly gliding over her nipples, back and forth, making her gasp, making her writhe until her hips were undulating on the lounge.

  “I’m not?” He stretched out over her, giving her his warmth, his weight. She could thrust against him, and he could thrust back. Heaven.

  “Did they hurt you, Carly?” His hands slid beneath her sweater, his big, warm, work-roughened hands. “Is that why you don’t like to talk about them?”

  “What?” Was she supposed to be able to think with his hands on her?

  “Your family. Did they hurt you?”

  “No.” She was nearing the cusp of oblivion, thrilling to his body on hers, his hands on her skin.

  Then he tried to pull off her glasses.

  “No!”

  “It’s just a pair of glasses.”

  “Yes.” She wanted that oblivion! The promise in his body! “But—”

  “You use them like a shield.” He pushed up, bringing reality back with a cold dash, and looked at her with those dark, dark eyes. “You use the glasses and your clothes and your makeup. I f
eel like I don’t even know what you look like, Carly.”

  “I’m just as I appear.” God, it was almost true in a way. She’d nearly become Carly.

  And if she took off the disguise, she wouldn’t even know how to act.

  She’d forgotten how to be Carlyne.

  “Why don’t I believe you?” he asked softly.

  “I…don’t know.” Yes. Yes, she did know.

  “I want you,” he said with heart-wrenching sincerity. “I think you want me back. But this isn’t going to happen without honesty.”

  Regret washed through her because she couldn’t give him that honesty. She couldn’t give it to him, and in return, he wouldn’t give her what she wanted. Him.

  When she remained silent, he stood. For a long moment, he looked at her, all the longing and yearning so evident in his gaze a mirror of her own.

  Then he walked away.

  NEARLY TWO WEEKS to the day after Stacy had changed Sean’s life by leaving him Melissa, she called him long distance.

  She’d called every few days to talk to her daughter, sounding both homesick and elated at the way her job was going, but never had she called in the middle of the night.

  “You okay?” It was his first question. When she said yes, his second was, “When are you coming back?”

  Today or tomorrow, he knew. Melissa would be picked up. Carly would go back to whatever life it was that she was so mysterious about.

  His life would be back to normal.

  He could work late again.

  He could stop making sure there were vegetables and fruit at the house.

  He could sleep whenever he wanted. Not do dishes. Leave the toilet seat up.

  He couldn’t wait.

  But his sister hadn’t said anything. “Stace?”

  “Um, yeah. About that.” She spoke in the little voice that always used to melt him, but he was unmeltable at the moment.

  “Stacy. When are you coming back?”

  “Well…the job has been extended.”

  “Extended as in a couple of hours, right?”

  “Oh, Sean. I miss Melissa so much, I do, but they love my work here. My designs, the material, everything. And they want me to do an entire show. Me. They want me, Sean. I still can’t believe it. I’m pinching myself to wake up, but I’m not dreaming.”