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He reached for a glass. Glanced at the sectional sofa, the place he’d sat and chatted with Ella. On second thoughts he’d better snag the whole bottle. His next thought was for his daughter.

And put the bottle back.

*

In spite of everything, he must have dozed off, he frowned, trying to identify the sound that had woken him.

Running water? Somebody was showering. He glanced at the clock. Why was Ella showering at three in the morning? Was she unwell? His gut twisted at the thought, and rubbing a hand across his face, he threw back the covers and strode to the door. He should check on Ella, and then he’d look in on Mia.

The door to Ella’s room remained closed, and after pausing briefly to see if he could pick up any other sounds, he continued on past it, to Mia’s low-lit room.

He frowned when he realized that not only was Mia not in her crib, but the adjoining bathroom door was open, and from there came not only the sound of running water, but Ella’s soft sweet voice. Ella was singing? Where was his daughter?

“Ella?” His whisper elicited no response, and with his heart beating too fast, he stepped quietly into the bathroom, his eyes sweeping the space, fears and questions building—only to come to a sudden grinding, painful halt.

What the—

He tried to form a sentence, spit out words, but nothing was happening. It was a moment before his head comprehended what it was seeing, and when it did, his heart was suddenly too big for his chest, and a lump the size of Montana lodged itself tight in his throat.

Ella was in the shower, mindless of the fact the drenched tiny panties and strappy camisole she wore clung to her like a second skin, that her hair was plastered to her head, glued to her back.

Mia was clutched to her chest.

His daughter’s little head lay in the crook of her neck, and Ella rocked and crooned as the water gently trickled over them both.

When Ella finally looked up, there was only concern in her eyes, but as she ran her free hand across Mia’s brow, she smiled—a weary but relieved smile. “Her fever has finally broken.”

All he could do was stare. It was too much. This beautiful, warmhearted woman, her skin pebbled under water he knew would only be tepid, holding his child. Caring for her. Keeping her safe.

Nothing since he’d first met Mia had brought him to this level of emotion, but the sight before him almost brought him undone.

Perhaps sensing his presence, Mia raised her head, offering a sleepy little smile and softly called, “Dada,” before dropping back onto Ella’s shoulder.

His daughter really was okay.

Eyes back on Ella he could only stare, try to process the thoughts whirling around inside his head. He knew she was kind, that she’d take care of his daughter; of course she would. That was Ella…

His voice, strained as it pushed past the tightness in his throat, hurting as he rasped out, “I didn’t hear her. I—Is she’s okay? I’m so—”

She waved away his apology. “You gave me the wrong monitor,” she whispered. “But it’s fine, she’s much better now. Calmer. I truly didn’t mind.”

Leo grabbed a towel from the stack in the cabinet as Ella made to step out of the cubicle. “Here, let me take her.” Leo was no longer a stranger to fevers and babyhood ailments, and while he’d never be complacent, he’d learned not to panic. Well, not much, anyway.

Now though, he could probably have benefited from a bit more distracted panic—anything to keep his mind from straying to where it shouldn’t go. Reaching in to take his daughter took all his determined focus, careful of where he placed his hands, not allowing his eyes to move off his daughter’s face—but dammit—even as hard as he tried there was no way to avoid the sight of Ella’s top as it outlined the curve of her waist, let alone how it clung to her breasts, full and luscious, visible beneath the now transparent top.

He immediately looked away, but he knew there was no way to unsee what he’d just seen. His head went back to an earlier assertion. Perfect in every way.

Every way.

Every wrong way as well as every right way.

But it was all the right ways that had hit him hardest tonight, bringing with them a dose of reality that obliterated all those senseless thoughts about terminating her employment. His baby daughter was unwell, and Ella had stepped up. Above and beyond. Nights weren’t on her. That was his domain.

She could have batted this issue back to him.

She hadn’t.

And he’d be every kind of idiot known to mankind if he didn’t open his eyes and accept that unless he intended to be a full-time, twenty-four-hour-a-day, hands-on father—that Ella Staunton Hawes was the best thing he could offer Mia at the moment. Probably ever.