Page 28 of Marrying the Nanny

There were never satisfying answers to those questions. Solutions never arose. Pushback was futile.

And this, taking care of Storm, had been inevitable. He could see that now.

She chewed her fingers and stared at him. The blanket was tangled around her, and she continued to kick the air.

It was basic physics that holding her closer would make her feel lighter. It still felt odd to draw her small, warm body into his chest. She turned herself into him, clinging like a little monkey as she bounced herself against his arm.

Holding such a tiny creature stirred something primal in him. He had never held a baby before. He liked his personal space, but she was so unthreatening and vulnerable, he couldn’t help cradling her more securely.

She pushed against his shoulder and slapped her spit-soaked hand against his chin.

“Rude,” he pointed out, speaking softly so Emma wouldn’t hear him as she shut off the running water.

Storm’s free hand curled into his collar, and she twisted, bobbling in his hold. He set his other hand behind her back. Her little muscles seemed strong for her size, yet laughable. Nothing about this was funny, though.

She let out a squawk, looking toward the bathroom.

Emma came back. Storm began kicking her legs and Emma chuckled.

“You heard the water, didn’t you? She likes bath time.” Emma set a clean diaper and lamb-covered pajamas on the changing table. “I like to have everything at the ready for afterward. Otherwise, you’re wandering around with a baby in a towel and she will pee on you. Are you okay with that shirt getting wet?”

“Depends on the liquid.”

“If you want to change, do it now.” She took the baby.

“It’s fine.” He rolled up his sleeves and left his smart watch on the dresser.

“I close the doors to keep it warm in here,” Emma said as they entered the humid bathroom. She had a pile of clean towels on the closed lid of the toilet. A bright pink plastic tub was in the bottom of the big tub. It held a couple inches of water. Lotions and a little plastic fish stood on the rim.

Storm made throaty noises, blew spit bubbles, and kicked herself straight as a board when Emma gently set her on a clean towel on the floor.

“Make sure the water isn’t too hot. Use your elbow or the back of your wrist. Your hand isn’t sensitive enough.” She leaned over the rim to demonstrate.

Did he take a fresh gander at her backside? He couldn’t help it, but cursed himself for giving in.

He didn’t understand why he was reacting like this. It hadn’t been that long since he’d gotten laid. Things hadn’t become serious with the woman in question and probably wouldn’t, given the way his life had taken such a hard left turn, but it wasn’t as if he’d been going without. He shouldn’t be panting to get into Emma’s pants.

His libido ambushed him with certain thoughts at odd moments, though. Emma wasn’t as plain as he’d initially judged her. He was used to seeing women in full makeup so it had taken a few days to realize how simply pretty her clean face was. She tended to keep her hair knotted up on top of her head, but one morning he’d bumped into her in the kitchen, and she’d had it loose around her face. It had fallen past her shoulders in fine waves with ashen streaks and little wisps that curled against her sleep-flushed cheeks.

She had nice hands, too. It was a strange thing to notice, especially when they weren’t accented with flashy rings or long, polished nails. No, her hands were pale and slender and graceful as a dancer’s as she played a brief game of peekaboo with Storm before chuckling and handing her the dry facecloth to bunch in her little fists.

“All right.” She rose and moved to sit on the tub above Storm’s head, nodding at the place by Storm’s feet. “You can undress her.”

“Yeah, this is the part I don’t know how to get past.” He squeezed the back of his neck, not moving. “I don’t want to see a little girl naked.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him. “Did your dad change all your diapers so your mother wouldn’t feel like a pervert?”

“Did Glenda tell you to say that?” It sounded just like her.

“My brother tried to get out of changing his daughter. His wife said fine, but if the next one was a boy, she wasn’t changing a single nappy.”

“I would bet you real money that my father never changed a diaper in his life,” Reid muttered as he dropped to his knees. “Did he change her?”

“Not that I ever saw. Tiffany barely did.” Emma held up her hand to indicate who had done the lion’s share.

“What was she like?” he asked, gently pinching the toe of a sock and giving it a tug. He had to take hold of her kicking leg with the other hand.

“Get your thumb under it and peel it around her heel—There you go.”

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