Page 20 of Singing For His Kiss

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I already told you. You don’t want me as a nanny.”

His eyes pinned her with intelligence and determination. If she didn’t have a care in the world, this offer was manna from heaven. A gift. What she wouldn’t give to be Madeline’s nanny, but he didn’t know the truth. Couldn’t know the truth.

“You’re under the impression I don’t know what I’m looking for. I have hired other women to be Madeline’s nanny, but she didn’t gel with any of them. You, she has. Very quickly.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “You don’t understand…”

He cut her off. “I understand you said you haven’t had much experience with children. But from what I’ve seen, you handle yourself pretty well. In any case, it works for my daughter, and that’s all I care about.”

“I don’t mean that.” She clenched her fists. She didn’t tell people about her history. Didn’t like to bring it up, but she could see no way around not telling him. Maybe the truth would deter him. People tended to back off once they knew about her history. “I didn’t have parents. I don’t know how to be one. What to expect. How to discipline. Anything. I’m not a person who should be looking after anyone. Sometimes I feel I can’t even look after myself.”

Wasn’t that statement of the century?

There was a pause right before he narrowed his eyes, as though he didn’t really believe her, just like everyone else did. That’s why she didn’t like telling people about her childhood. She didn’t want the sympathy, the declaration of understanding that had no chance of understanding, the conciliatory comments to try and make her feel better. Been there, heard those.

“What do you mean, you didn’t have parents?”

Elizabeth sighed. She didn’t like revisiting anything to do with her childhood, what few years there were of it anyway. Maybe if she explained, he'd have to know how unsuitable she really was and he’d stop pressing.

“I had foster parents. A new set every few months, in fact.”

“I’m…sorry.”

Elizabeth shrugged, ignoring the real hurt she detected in his voice. “I don’t need your sympathy. Hopefully, now you see I know what I’m trying to tell you. You don’t want me. I won’t be good for Madeline.”

A shadow passed deep in his eyes. “I don’t care what your childhood was. It has no bearing on why I want you for this job. It’s what you do now that counts.”

She stared at him a few moments, disconcerted. “That’s not what most people say.”

Those serious, keen eyes searched her face before he said, “I don’t care what most people say.”

She watched him. No. She didn’t believe he did.

“Any other reason you can think of not to accept my offer?”

No. There was no reason — not if she ignored the fact that she was a criminal. On the run. Not just from David Logan, but also what she’d done for David Logan.

She had no right to involve an innocent child. Or an innocent father. Not to mention the fact that it was harder and harder to ignore the dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. Staying in the same house was not going to help.

She ignored how aware she was of him. His mannerisms, his spicy, masculine scent, his intelligence. The way he cared so much about his daughter, he was practically begging someone he had to know was no good to be a nanny for his daughter because the little girl liked her. There was no doubt he was a good man – and she couldn’t offer the same goodness in return.

Madeline glanced at her, and a smile touched her perfect little mouth. The child looked up at her with such happy trust in her eyes. Right at that moment, she knew she couldn’t tarnish her childhood by staying. She would go, and she would be forgotten.

It was just where she’d stay in the meantime she'd yet to work out. Surely, there had to be a back road out of here. She’d stay and ask the waitress after James left.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

The words seemed to sink like lead to her feet. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say she’d love to look after Madeline. She wanted to live in luxury and pretend she had a child of her own. But she knew better than to give in to all of those things. Outside, the thunder rumbled, as deep and dark as the pit of her stomach.

“You…can’t?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Can’t.”

James reached across the table, capturing her downturned hand in his. In shock, she stared at his hand, the thumb that stroked over the back of her hand in soothing circles, his warm skin, firm grip. Gentle. Caring. She wanted to snatch her hand away, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. His touch was…intoxicating.

“Would you consider a trial, then? Until the roads are clear? You’ll have somewhere to stay, and I’ll have a nanny. Besides, it would relieve my guilt.”

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