had sent about the first communion of her cousin Guillermo’s daughter in Spain this summer. But she wasn’t.
Why was Kingsley here?
Her door opened without a knock and she glanced up to see broad shoulders filling the doorway. She caught her breath. Of course she’d seen him on television in the past ten years—just occasionally—before she quickly changed the channel. But damn, time had been good to him.
His thick dark brown hair, longer on the top, was artfully styled; it must have had some sort of product in it to keep it in place. His eyes were still blue, but in her mind they seemed icier than they had been in college. His jaw was hard, square and stubbornly set, his beard neatly trimmed.
“Can I help you?”
“That’s why I’m here,” he said, walking into the room as if he owned it, closing the door behind him.
“I believe I asked Melissa to schedule you an appointment for later in the week. I’m booked solid.”
“Surely you can make time for an old friend,” he said.
But there was nothing friendly in his manner as he walked over to her desk and perched his hip on the edge of it. He did casual the way a tiger hunting its prey did it. She tried to convince herself she bore no resemblance to a mouse as she looked up at him.
Take control.
That was what she’d learned after years of dealing with recalcitrant parents and children.
She stood up and held her hand out to him. Time to put this on a business footing. She’d shake his hand and walk him back to the door and then gently tell him goodbye.
Solid plan.
She was a genius.
“It’s wonderful to see you again, Kingsley. But I’m afraid I really don’t have time this morning.”
He took her hand in his but didn’t shake it. He held it loosely, stroking his thumb over her knuckles and making goose bumps spread up her arm. His amused look as she pulled her hand free made her want to do something to jar him.
But she wasn’t young and impulsive. He’d been the one to show her that being impetuous was the path to disaster. She stepped away from him.
“Why are you here?” she asked at last. “I think we’ve said all that needed to be said.”
“I’m looking for a nanny,” he said.
“I’m afraid my business only caters to real children, not those stuck in men’s bodies.”
He gave a bark of laughter and shook his head. “I’d forgotten that there was always a little edge to you.”
He had no idea.
“You don’t know me,” she said carefully. “And really, I can see we have nothing further to discuss, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving.”
“But I would mind,” he said. “I’m not one of your naughty clients who you can firmly control with your calm tones.”
She tipped her head to the side to study him. How did he know about her techniques? She’d written those very words last month in her column. Why was he here?
“For the last time, Kingsley, why are you here?”
“I told you, Gabriella, I need you.”
The way he said her name, letting it roll off his tongue as his tone deepened, weakened her resolve to get him out of her office quickly. And he’d said he needed her...the words she’d been waiting ten years to hear.
“Too bad. I don’t want to give the impression of being a clingy woman who doesn’t know when a lover has had enough.”
* * *
Kingsley had known coming back to California would be difficult, but he’d never shied away from obstacles. Experience had taught him that anything that didn’t kill him made him stronger. He knew it was a cliché, but a decade ago he’d spent a rough six months being treated as a murderer before being cleared of charges. Rumors had swirled that his father had bought off the grand jury, but in the end there was no evidence and they’d had to let both him and the other suspect—his best friend, Hunter Carruthers—go. But that reputation had followed him into the NFL and he’d always been considered dangerous by his teammates and a publicity liability by his coaches and managers.
Over the years he’d learned to bury his emotions, beneath a layer of ice so that no one could rattle him. But all that seemed to be out the window now that he was in the same room as Gabi de la Cruz once again.
She’d grown into her beauty. Her caramel-colored hair was thick and long, falling past her shoulders in smooth waves. Her eyes were still deep brown, but instead of revealing every emotion she felt, they were cautious. She watched him warily—something he knew he deserved—as if he were about to pounce on her.
He’d be lying if he said she didn’t still turn him on.
She’d always been different from other women, which was why he’d been quick to distance himself from her after Stacia Krushnik had been found dead. But that was the past. A past that really didn’t concern Gabi, thanks to the heartless way he’d sent her from his life. He was back in California for revenge and he needed someone to keep his son protected from the shit storm that he suspected he and Hunter Carruthers were about to unleash.
“I’m not here for a lover, Gabi. I’m here because I need a nanny for my son.”
“Your son?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. He’d followed her through the years via newspaper articles and online social media; it was a hit to his ego that she hadn’t done the same. “Conner is three and desperately in need of a nanny.”
He’d confused her.
Good. Finally, he felt as though the advantage was swinging back toward him.
She brushed past him; the subtle scent of her flowery perfume surrounded him as she sat down behind her desk. She reached for a piece of monogrammed paper and drew it toward her.
“Conner is three?” she asked. “What kind of nanny are you looking for?”
“You. I have spoken to Mal and he said you were the best. And I’ve read your parenting articles—I like your theories on child rearing.”
“Thank you,” she said, bowing her head slightly. “Why don’t you have a seat while we discuss this?”
“I’m comfortable here,” he said.
She gave him a tight smile. He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling back. He was unnerving her. He liked it.
“Will your wife be part of the interview process for the nanny?” Gabi asked.
“She’s dead.”
“Oh,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Kingsley.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Conner doesn’t remember her at all. It happened when he was six months old.”
“What have you been doing for child care up to now?” she asked.
He’d been using his assistant, Peri, but she’d gotten married last month and was retiring. “My assistant. How soon can you start?”
“I can’t.”
“What?”
“I don’t nanny anymore. I have a couple of nannies that are coming off assignments in the next week or so. I can set up some interviews for you, and I’d like to meet your son myself. Where is he?”
“With Hunter,” Kingsley said. Hunter and he had been a great duo on the field in college, and after Stacia’s death, Hunter had stopped playing football, being the second son of a privileged family. Hunter hadn’t needed to work, so he had spent the past few