The Nanny Proposition. Rachel BaileyЧитать онлайн книгу.
midwife smiled in approval. “We’ll show you some basics, like how to feed her, then you’ll be on your way. She’s already had all her tests and passed everything with flying colors.”
Liam blinked. Now? Just like that? He knew next to nothing about babies....
Suddenly Rebecca’s mother was in front of them, making a grab for the baby. “I’ll take her,” she said, shooting Liam a defiant look. “We’re going home.”
Unperturbed, the midwife handed Bonnie to Liam. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Hawke is her father. Your daughter named him on the birth certificate. He has custody.”
Mr. Clancy came to stand beside his wife and narrowed reddened eyes at Liam. “We’ll see about that. He’s not fit to raise a baby and I’ll say that in court if I have to.”
Liam didn’t flinch. The Clancys could try whatever they liked. No one was taking his daughter from him.
* * *
As Jenna arranged the last of the weekly flower delivery—fragrant jasmine and sunshine-yellow lilies today—into a crystal vase, she heard her boss, Dylan Hawke, arrive home from an all-nighter. Judging by the voices coming from the penthouse foyer, his brother Liam was with him. Liam had a smooth, deep voice that always made her melt....
And that is a completely inappropriate way to think about your employer’s family. Or any man. It had been falling for a man and forgetting her duty that had put her in this position.
She gathered up the flower stems she’d trimmed and ducked into the hall before the men made it into the living room. One of the things she’d learned growing up in a royal palace was that housekeepers were expected to keep a low profile—like magic cleaning and cooking fairies who were rarely seen.
From the adjoining kitchen, she heard a baby’s cry and she stilled. It sounded like the cry of a newborn. Her arms ached for her own little Meg, but she was in day care, and at eight months old, her cry was different. Her boss, Dylan, and his two brothers, Liam and Adam, were all bachelors, and none of Dylan’s friends had been expecting as far as she knew. She’d been pregnant herself for part of the time she’d worked here, so an expectant mother would have caught her attention.
Footsteps sounded down the hall, and then Dylan’s face appeared around the corner. “Jenna, we could use your help with a slight baby problem.”
“Sure,” she said, wiping her hands and following him back out. The Santa Monica penthouse apartment’s large living room was decorated in whites and neutrals so the only spots of color were the flowers she’d just arranged and the two men who stood in the center, one awkwardly holding the tiny bundle that was now crying loudly. Jenna breathed an “ohhh,” her arms aching with the need to comfort the little thing.
As they approached, Liam glanced up at his brother, then back to the baby he was gently jiggling. Even as her heart sighed at the sight of the six-foot-plus man with the tiny pink bundle, Jenna frowned. Who would leave their new baby with two clueless men? Despite being respected and feared businessmen, they were clearly out of their depth.
“Liam,” Dylan said. “You remember Jenna. She’ll know what to do.”
Jenna glanced at her boss and asked in an undertone, “What to do about what, exactly?”
He stared blankly at her and then shrugged. “About the baby,” he whispered.
Right. Well, maybe if she could calm the baby, she could find out what she needed to do.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes on the little person nestled in Liam’s strong arms. “Maybe I can help?”
Liam regarded her with an assessing gaze—he was less certain of her ability. He needed help—that was evident from the baby’s cries becoming more desperate and the awkward way he was holding her—but his eyes held a fierce protectiveness. He wasn’t handing this baby over to just anyone. She respected that—in fact, the sight of a man being so protective brought a lump of emotion to her throat. She’d have to lay his fears to rest if she was going to help.
“Hi, Mr. Hawke,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’m not sure you remember me, but I’m Jenna Peters.” She generally tried to stay out of the way when Dylan had guests, so she and Liam had never had a conversation, but she hoped he might at least recognize her.
He nodded in acknowledgment, but he then turned his attention back to the tiny, squirming girl he held.
“I have an eight-month-old daughter, Meg, and she cried like this when I first brought her home. Would you like me to try some of the tricks I learned with Meg on this little girl?”
Liam looked down at the baby, stroked a fingertip softly down her cheek, took a deep breath and oh-so-carefully placed the baby in Jenna’s arms.
“Bonnie,” he said, his voice rough. “Her name is Bonnie.”
As he said the name, his dark green eyes softened and Jenna’s stomach looped. He was still standing close, as if not wanting to be too far from the baby. Jenna shivered. She could feel the heat from his body, see the day’s growth of dark beard, smell the masculine scent of his skin....
She stepped back, away from this man’s aura. The priority here was Bonnie.
Jenna pulled the pale pink blanket a bit more firmly around the little girl, laid her across her heart so the baby could feel the beat and began to pace and rock, crooning as she went. The cries gradually quieted until a wet-faced Bonnie peered up at her.
“Hello, little one,” Jenna murmured, unable to stop the smile spreading across her face.
Dylan crept across to look over Jenna’s shoulder. “Good work, Jenna,” he whispered.
But Jenna’s gaze was drawn to Liam. He looked from the baby across to her, his features holding too many emotions to be easily deciphered, though gratitude was definitely one of them. He and this baby must have a strong link—perhaps they were related, or he was close to the parents.
He cleared his throat. “How did you do that?”
“I’ve laid her over my heart,” she said, smoothing the fine, dark hair on Bonnie’s head. “Babies like to feel the beat.”
“Thank you,” he said. His voice was low and full of sincerity.
She glanced up and opened her mouth to tell him he was welcome, but her throat suddenly refused to cooperate. She’d been around Dylan’s brothers before, enough to know that good looks and hair like dark, polished mahogany ran in the family, but she’d never before been exposed to the full force of Liam Hawke’s intensity. He looked like Dylan, yet nothing like him. Liam’s hair gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. His eyes didn’t sparkle like her boss’s; they simmered, a deep green maelstrom focused on her.
She swallowed and forced her mouth to work. “She’s lovely. Are you looking after her?”
“You could say that,” he said, his voice flat. “Her mother died.”
Her heart breaking for the little girl, Jenna stared down at the baby who was drifting off to sleep. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Is she yours?”
“Yes,” Liam said. A world of meaning was in that one word.
She lifted a hand to touch his forearm but thought better of it and laid it back around Bonnie. This man was still her boss’s brother.
Dylan moved closer and looked over Jenna’s shoulder. “Before we left the hospital, they showed Liam how to look after her. And while he was doing that, I ducked out and got a baby seat fitted to his Jeep. But once we hit the road, she started crying and nothing we did seemed to help. I suggested that when he dropped me off, he come up and see if you could get Bonnie settled before he drove home.”
She sneaked a glance at Liam, curious about the circumstances that had led to this situation. Curious about why he didn’t already have a car seat fitted when he went