Marissa said, and sat back, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.
He scowled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“She’s very attractive, isn’t she?”
His scowl deepened.
“I should have guessed. Nothing ever flusters you—okay, nothing except anything to do with Riley,” she clarified. “But this woman has you completely flustered.”
“I am not flustered,” he denied.
“This is good,” Marissa continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And it’s time.”
“Mar—”
She put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. I won’t push for any details.”
“There are no details,” he insisted.
“Not yet,” she said, and smiled.
His sister always liked to get in the last word, and this time he let her. It would serve no purpose to tell her that he wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship with Riley’s temporary nanny—it only mattered that it was true.
And he would repeat it to himself as many times as necessary until he actually believed it.
With every mile that Hannah got closer to Cielo del Norte, her excitement and apprehension increased. If she’d been nervous before her previous meeting with the prince—simply at the thought of meeting him—that was nothing compared to the tension that filled her now. Because now she was actually going to live with him—and his daughter, of course.
She could tell herself that it was a temporary position, that she was only committing two months of her time. But two months was a heck of a long time to maintain her objectivity with respect to a man she’d fallen head over heels for when she was only twelve years old, and a little girl who had taken hold of her heart the very first time she’d met her.
Hannah cranked up the radio in the hope that the pulsing music would push the thoughts out of her head. It didn’t.
She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, her palms sliding over the smooth leather, and was reminded of the feel of his hand against hers. Warm. Strong. Solid.
She really was pathetic.
She really should have said no when her uncle first suggested that she could be anyone’s nanny. But as she drove through the gates toward the prince’s summer home, after showing her identification to the guard on duty, she knew that she’d passed the point of no return.
Cielo del Norte was even more impressive than the prince’s home in Verde Colinas. Of course, it had once been the royal family’s official summer residence, bequeathed to the princess royal by her father upon the occasion of her marriage to Gaetan Leandres.
Hannah had been advised that there were two full-time employees who lived in a guest cottage on the property, the groundskeeper and his wife. Hannah had been thrilled to hear that Caridad, the housekeeper, also cooked and served the meals, because she knew that if she’d been put in charge of food preparation as well as child care, they might all starve before the end of the summer.
She parked her aging little car beside a gleaming black Mercedes SUV and made her way to the door. An older woman in a neatly pressed uniform responded to the bell.
“Mrs. Fuentes?”
“Sí. Caridad Fuentes.” She bowed formally. “You are Miss Castillo?”
“Hannah,” she said, stepping into the foyer.
“The prince has been expecting you.” There was the slightest hint of disapproval beneath the words.
“I was a little late getting away this morning,” she explained. “And then traffic was heavier than I expected. Of course, taking a wrong turn at Highway Six didn’t help, either, but at least I didn’t travel too far out of my way.”
The housekeeper didn’t comment in any way except to ask, “Are your bags in the car?”
“Yes, I’ll get them later.”
“Estavan—my husband—will bring them in for you,” Mrs. Fuentes told her.
“Okay. That would be great. Thanks.” She paused, just taking a minute to absorb the scene.
She’d thought passing through the gates at Verde Colinas had been a culture shock, but now she felt even more like a country mouse set loose in the big city. The house, probably three times the size of the prince’s primary residence in Port Augustine, almost seemed as big as a city—a very prosperous and exquisite one.
“There’s a powder room down the hall, if you would like to freshen up before meeting with Prince Michael,” the housekeeper told her.
Hannah nodded. “I would.”
“First door on the right.”
“And the prince’s office?”
“The third door on the left down the west corridor.”
Michael sensed her presence even before he saw her standing in the open doorway. When he looked up, he noticed that she’d dressed less formally today than at their first meeting, and that the jeans and T-shirt she wore made her look even younger than he’d originally guessed. He’d told her that casual attire was acceptable, and there was nothing inappropriate about what she was wearing. But he couldn’t help noticing how the denim hugged her thighs and molded to her slim hips. The V-neck of her T-shirt wasn’t low enough to give even a glimpse of cleavage, but the soft cotton clung to undeniably feminine curves. She wore silver hoops in her ears, and her hair was in a loose ponytail rather than a tight knot, making her look more approachable and even more beautiful, and he felt the distinct hum of sexual attraction through his veins.
Uncomfortable with the stirring of feelings so long dormant, his voice was a little harsher than he’d intended when he said, “You’re late.”
Still, his tone didn’t seem to faze her. “I told you that I would come as soon as possible, and I did.”
“I had a conference call at 8:00 a.m. this morning that I had to reschedule because you weren’t here.”
He expected that she would apologize or show some sign of remorse. Instead she surprised him by asking, “Why on earth would you schedule a conference call so early on the first morning of your vacation?”
“I told you that I would be conducting business from here,” he reminded her. “And your job is to take care of my daughter so that I can focus on doing so.”
“A job I’m looking forward to,” she assured him.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” he said. “I would expect that someone who spends ten months out of the year with kids would want a break.”
“Spending the summer with a four-year-old is a welcome break from senior advanced English and history,” she told him.
Senior English and history? The implications of her statement left him momentarily speechless. “You’re a high school teacher?” he finally said.
Now it was her turn to frown. “I thought you knew that.”
He shook his head. “Phillip said you would be perfect for the job because you were a teacher—I assumed he meant elementary school.”
“Well, you assumed wrong.” She shrugged, the casual gesture drawing his attention to the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her T-shirt and very nearly making him forget the reason for his concern.
“So what kind of experience do you have with preschool children, Miss Castillo?” he asked, forcing his gaze back to her face.
“Other than the fact that I was one?” she asked lightly.
“Other than that,” he agreed.