on earth was she thinking? She couldn’t sleep in the same bed with a man she’d only met that day! It was crazy. Unimaginable. Wrong.
She hadn’t slept with any man since Keith’s death, or any man other than Keith, for that matter. Her hands flew up to her hot cheeks. She didn’t want to be that close to Mac, to be that vulnerable. These thoughts ran through her head, convincing her she should reverse her decision and try once again to talk Mac out of this, but when she heard Elly’s distressed whimper calling her name, she knew she had to do it.
Wondering how this whole situation had managed to go sideways on her, she went back down the hall to his room, reluctance dragging at her feet. When she reached it, she saw that both children were snuggled in the center of the bed and Elly was looking expectantly at her.
“Come on, Pris. Get in.”
Mac stood beside the bed, his arms folded across his chest and his dark gaze on her. If she’d thought him capable of smiling, she would have been suspicious of the twitch of his lips. His dark eyes traveled from her disheveled hair to her knees, which developed some kind of nervous tic that insisted they knock together beneath the hem of her robe. Mentally, Paris forced a little starch into them.
“Yeah,” he said at last. “Get in and let’s all settle down.”
Paris didn’t answer, but lifted her chin and gave him a direct look which managed to note and be thankful for the fact that he wore a pair of sweatpants. She intended to keep her robe on. Let him think what he would.
With a nod, she swept the covers back and lay down, though she couldn’t relax. He gave her stiff-as-a-board posture a sardonic look as he turned off the bedside lamp. The bed dipped and resettled, then all was quiet.
Paris felt some of the stiffness going out of her spine as Elly scooted in close. She put her arm around the little girl, then reached over to give Simon a reassuring pat. Instead of soft baby skin or a diapered bottom, she encountered the hair-dusted back of Mac’s hand which he’d placed over the baby.
Her fingers sprang away and she heard him sigh in annoyance. “Relax, Paris. You’re safe here.”
Oddly enough, she believed him.
CHAPTER THREE
MAC stood in the master bathroom doorway, rubbing his damp hair with a towel, and marveling at the three people occupying his bed. It had never seemed small before last night, though truthfully, he’d never shared it with anyone before. It had been the one thing he’d bought new when all his other furniture had disappeared along with his ex-fiancée.
The bed seemed crowded now with Paris teetering on one edge, as far from his side as possible and the two babies snuggled up against her, her arm around them in comfort, her bright hair spread over the pillow and hiding her face. Only her chin peeked out as if to lead her through sleep the way it forged her way through life. He had known her less than twenty-four hours, but he’d quickly discovered that he didn’t much like being on the receiving end when that chin thrust forward.
What snagged his attention again and again, though, was her hair. He couldn’t keep his eyes off it, spilling its red-gold curls against the white pillow slip as if someone had trapped sunshine there.
Mac gave a violent start. Trapped sunshine? When had he started becoming poetic? Annoyed with himself, Mac shut the bathroom door and finished getting ready for work. The lovely Mrs. Barbour’s hair was the last thing he needed to be thinking about right now. He wasn’t going to be thinking about her in any way other than as the children’s nanny. He was grateful that she’d been willing to accommodate them, and him, last night by settling in together. She could have fought him on it even harder than she had, but she’d eventually given in.
He doubted that his solution was the conventional way the problem of restless and distraught children was usually handled. However, he didn’t know much about being a daddy and, in spite of her years of baby-sitting, she didn’t know much about being a nanny. Whatever method they used to get the children to sleep through the night seemed okay with him. At least he’d slept seven hours, more than he’d managed since Elly and Simon had come to him.
Mac tucked in his shirt, threaded his worn leather belt through the loops on his jeans, then sat on the side of the wide Jacuzzi tub and began lacing up his heavy work boots.
He wondered if the kids had ever climbed into bed with anyone before. He couldn’t imagine Sheila allowing her children to get into bed with her. She wasn’t the most approachable of mothers. In fact, a better word would be uninterested. It bothered him to think about the children returning to her. No doubt, she would be no more interested in them in the future than she had been in the past. They couldn’t stay with him, though. He’d be even worse for them than Sheila. As careless as she was, she was still their mother.
Mac pulled his mind from that unproductive thought. There was no point in taking mental slaps at Sheila. She was what they’d all made her, him most of all because he’d wanted to protect their parents from knowledge of her fecklessness. It worried him deeply, though, because now there were two children to think of. It had been different when Sheila had been alone in her flighty behavior, but now she was dragging Elly and Simon along with her. Once she came back and got them, he wouldn’t see them again, probably for months, or until the next time she needed him to care for them. Maybe that wouldn’t happen, though. Maybe his little sister would settle down, take the trust fund his parents had set up for her and finish college, make a career for herself and a life for her children.
“Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly,” he thought cynically as he left the bathroom and approached the bed. He tried to keep his eyes strictly on the task of scooping up his change and keys from the nightstand and tucking his wallet into his pocket, but his attention strayed to the woman in his bed. He wondered if she’d ever had children. He doubted it because it hadn’t been on her resume, and she’d said most of her experience had been in baby-sitting, not raising her own kids.
His lips twitched at the memory of that resume. Damned if he knew why he’d hired her given her minimal experience, but she’d fallen in love with the children right away, her concern for them seeming to spring to life full-blown, unlike his sister who’d had years to nurture her mothering instincts but they were still dead on the vine. He had a good gut instinct and after they’d made it through their original awkwardness yesterday, he’d realized he could trust Paris with the kids.
He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him so that if Simon woke and started wandering, he wouldn’t be able to get out without waking Paris, as well. Mac was surprised that he even knew to do that. Before their arrival, he’d never given much thought to the kinds of things a dad needed to do to ensure the safety of his children. Not that he was truly a dad, he corrected himself, or ever would be. Once the kids were gone he’d go back to his solitary lifestyle. He’d learned the hard way that it was best for him and everyone else if he did.
Besides, things were simpler that way. Mac grabbed a jacket and headed out to his truck, locking the house as he went, and ignoring the voice that told him he should be substituting the word lonelier for simpler in his mind.
Paris woke with a start when a small hand landed on her cheek. Her eyes flew open. Then she relaxed when she realized it was only Simon who had managed to scoot up to the top of the bed and now lay with his head near hers and his arms spread wide. At least he didn’t pinch noses like his sister.
Over the months since she’d left Hadley, Paris had developed the habit of keeping her eyes closed for the first few minutes of wakefulness until she remembered exactly where she was.
She didn’t need to do that this morning because of the children in the bed beside her and because of the scent that drifted on the air. Mac’s aftershave lotion. She’d never smelled it before, but it couldn’t be anything else; somehow dark and woodsy overlaid with the tangy scent of the ocean. It was the essence of him.
He must have showered, shaved, and gone to work. It gave her a shiver of unease to realize she had been sleeping