Page 74 of Marrying the Nanny

“I’m hurrying,” Emma told her, moving quickly to fill it and set it in the warmer. She held out her hands to take Storm.

Storm wasn’t having it. Emma had betrayed her by putting the bottle in the warmer instead of giving it to her. Storm turned her face into Reid’s shoulder and let out a wail of abject sorrow. Life as she knew it was over.

“Sweetheart, you see this happen every morning.” Reid smiled against the baby’s soft hair.

“I’m the villain today, aren’t I? Come on, Stormy-Storm. Don’t be mad at me,” Emma coaxed. “You know it breaks my heart.”

But like most mornings, Storm was determined to cry out the full four minutes until the bottle reappeared, punishing every pair of ears in the house as she registered the injustice being done to her.

Reid and Emma shared a look of amusement. As their gazes held, shyness edged into her fern-green eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep, either,” he said, enjoying the way color flushed into her cheeks.

“Don’t tease me.”

“You’re the one playing coy.” He caught a finger in her robe. “C’mere.”

She did, eyes wide and so defenseless it turned his heart on its edge. But when he kissed her, it was a cool drink on a hot day. The parched emptiness in him swelled with relief.

Storm picked up her head and stopped crying to look at them. They were inches from each other. Then Storm went to Emma with a fresh cry.

Emma caught her and they exchanged another rueful look. “Something we would have to get used to, I guess.” She meant their intimacy being interrupted.

“You want to back out?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head at how Storm was carrying on, but her smile was one of affectionate exasperation.

“Are you sure? Last chance,” he warned. “I’m going to talk to Logan and Trys as soon as they’re back.”

She pressed her lips together as though savoring their brief kiss. “I’m sure.”

*

An hour before he expected them, Reid glanced out the window of his office and saw the first of the sixty-foot Hatteras coming into the cove. He stood and pulled on his jacket, watching how the vessel moved even as he noted the white speck of the second one not far behind.

Logan was the motor head with a fetish for sailing. Trystan loved to be outside, land or sea. Reid wasn’t as enamored with engines or the water, but he did appreciate the finer things in life, and these yachts were meant to impress the most discerning of guests.

At nearly two million each, it was no wonder the marina had been bled dry and the entire resort soaked in red ink. If they could sell out the tours through the fifteen weeks of high season, though, the yachts would be paid for in five years, even with the operating costs. He had thought Wilf had lost his mind gambling on these, but there was a chance he was onto something.

Not that Reid would be around to see whether the venture succeeded or failed. Even so, he experienced a tingle of excitement as he left his office and headed down to the wharf to watch the Storm Front dock.

Given this wasn’t the Caribbean, the flybridge was enclosed. Reid had seen the plans and the optional wet bar and grill hadn’t been installed in the helm. Quarters for the captain had been shoehorned into that space to free up a stateroom for paying guests.

Trystan docked, and Reid grabbed a line to secure it. Trystan cut the engine as Reid was tying off the stern. Reid straightened to take in the flawless hull, the large windows, and teak accents.

“Well?” he asked Trys.

“Tiffany had expensive taste, but Dad made sure she got his money’s worth. Handled the rough stuff like a hot knife through butter. You want to take her out?”

Reid was tempted, but, “Just a peek for now. We have things to discuss.” He looked to where Logan was approaching.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Depends how you look at it.” His marrying Emma would solve problems for both his brothers, but they were still bound to be shocked. Reid moved into the salon. “Boy howdy,” he said of the settee, armchair, and big-screen television arranged next to the island that separated the sitting area from the gallery. A spiral staircase led up to the flybridge.

Attention had been paid to the polish and upholstery. Forget old-world nautical brass and wood grain, this was taupe leather and chrome, recessed lighting and subtle luxury. Passengers would be extremely comfortable as they were ferried up inlets and into coves to view whales, eagles, wolves, and bears.

Reid eyeballed the U-shaped booth for dining that could be converted into an extra bunk and examined the galley. It was sleek stainless steel and flush lines. The stovetop was induction, the oven convection. There was a microwave, a wine fridge, an ice maker, and a dishwasher. He opened a door expecting a head and found a stacked washer dryer.

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