The Playboy And The Nanny

A twenty-nine-year-old virgin who’d never felt the slightest tingle—not even from the kiss of the man she’d been engaged to for three years—had no business taking on a man who looked like he ate nuns for breakfast!

But she’d committed herself.

Mari didn’t see that she had any choice.

It wasn’t just the fact that she’d given her word—even if Stavros Costanides had fudged a little bit on his. It wasn’t just that it was a matter of honor. And pride. And integrity. And the fact that she was good at what she did.

It was that recently she’d felt incomplete. Unfinished. Inadequate somehow.

At least Ward had certainly thought she was!

“You want to know why I’m breaking it off?” her fiancе Ward Bishop had said last month when he’d come to tell her he’d had second thoughts about marrying her. “It’s because you’re a cold fish, Mari. I want to make love and you talk about the weather. I touch your breasts and you grab my hands. I kiss you and you don’t respond.”

“You mean I don’t tear your clothes off-or mine,” Mari had retorted scathingly, hurt beyond reason at her fiancе’s outspoken words.

“You don’t even unbutton them,” Ward snarled.

Later he’d apologized, had said he’d never meant to be so blunt. “You’re a fine person, Mari,” he’d said in a conciliatory, unctuous manner that made her want to wipe the floor with him. “It’s not your fault. You just aren’t...passionate.”

“I don’t remember you burning down any buildings either!” Mari retorted, stung.

“Not with you I haven’t,” he’d agreed readily enough. Which she supposed meant that he and the new love of his life, Shetley—the twenty-three-year-old he was dumping her for—were setting whole forests on fire!

Well, fine. Let him. Let him have Shelley! Let them burn up the world!

She didn’t care. Much.

But, as little as she wanted to admit it, long after Ward had gone his accusation still hurt. It hurt thinking there was something wrong with her, that other people had something she was lacking, some fire deep within that God had apparently forgotten to build.

And then this afternoon, completely unexpectedly, totally out of the blue, something had happened-something deep, strong, passionate. And all she could think was that God apparently hadn’t forgotten to build the fire at all.

It just wasn’t Ward who’d been given the match!

But...Nikos Costanides? A—

“How old are you?” she asked a glaring Nikos as she came back into the cottage with her luggage.

“Thirty-two,” he growled as he watched her come in with her luggage.

A thirty-two-year-old Greek playboy? Because she had no doubt now that a mindless frivolous playboy was exactly what he was.

Mari shook her head. What could God have been thinking about?

Nikos apparently wondered the same thing. He was sitting right where she had left him, scowling at her. While she’d been out finding Thomas the gardener, he had put on a pair of white shorts, and she supposed that was some concession. Still, he looked very adult, very masculine and very intimidating as he again sprawled bare-chested in the chair, watching like a sulky child as Thomas, laden down with suitcases, followed her in.

“How old are you?” he asked insolently.

She lifted her chin. “Twenty-nine.”

“You don’t kiss like you’re twenty-nine.”

Mari felt her cheeks flush. The feelings of inadequacy reared their head again. She wondered if that meant Nikos hadn’t felt what she’d felt.

At his impertinent words Thomas made a disapproving noise in his throat, and Mari knew she should be feeling more embarrassed than she was, but in fact she was mostly curious. Hadn’t he? She looked at Nikos closely.

Immediately his gaze shifted away.

Yes! He had felt it! Mari felt a twinge of triumph. Hugging herself inwardly, inadequacy vanquished for the moment, Mari said to Thomas as blithely as she could manage, “Don’t mind him. He’s just sulking.”

“I am not sulking!”

His outrage made Mari hide another smile. “You can take them through here,” she said to Thomas, ignoring Nikos. She started toward the hallway that led away from the small living room, then looked back. “I presume that’s where the bedrooms are?” she said over her shoulder.

Nikos grunted something. His dark gaze was brooding as he looked at her again.

“Did he kiss you, miss?” Thomas asked worriedly.

“Oh, yes.” She tried to sound blithe, matter-of-fact and indifferent, not at all as if, by doing so, he had turned her world upside down.

“She’s not any good at it,” Nikos said loudly.

“I can see why your father thinks you need a nanny,” Mari said pleasantly. “Someone needs to teach you how to behave.”

Then she sailed out of the room and down the hallway. A strategic exit after having the last word was always a nanny’s strength.

“A nanny?” Thomas’s eyes goggled.

“Mr. Costanides has a strange sense of humor apparently,” Mari said. It was all she was going to say.

“Didn’t know he had a sense of humor,” Thomas mumbled. Then, “Which room, miss?”

Behind her Nikos called, “She can sleep with me.”

“Mr. Nikos!” Thomas was clearly scandalized.

“She loves it when I talk dirty.” Nikos’s voice followed them.

Thomas sputtered.

“Children act up when they think we’re watching, Thomas,” she said firmly. “I advise you to ignore him. Come along. I’ll find my own room.”

Down the short hallway beyond the small living room and kitchen, Mari found three bedrooms. The biggest, with a view overlooking the garden, was clearly the one Nikos was inhabiting. The king-size bed was unmade. There was a laptop computer and a lot of boating magazines scattered on the desk. The better to choose his next yacht from, Mari thought.

The room itself was actually very Spartan-looking, done in whites and tans and browns with just a hint of black. Somber. Harsh.

Rather like its occupant, Mari thought.

“Like my bed?” Nikos called. “It’s plenty big enough to share.”