His to Command: the Nanny: A Nanny for Keeps

She bit back her first thought, which was that, no, actually, she was quite happy to leave him without contact with the outside world and that she was sure the outside world would thank her.

No point in going out of her way to aggravate the man when she was doing such a good job of it without any effort at all, especially as she had a favour to ask him. For Maisie.

But not yet.

Phone call first.

If the news was good, he’d be in a better mood.

That was the theory, anyway. There was only one problem with it; she couldn’t find her cellphone.

Leaving Harry alone in his office, she checked her pocket, which was where her phone lived during the day. Then checked the bedside table, which was where it usually spent the night.

But yesterday hadn’t been usual in any sense of the word: witness the silver chain lying where her phone should be. She picked it up and fastened it around her wrist—just for safety—then checked beneath the bed in case it had fallen on the floor, before retracing all her moves without any luck.

It wasn’t in the kitchen either, and Maisie, enveloped in a huge apron and with smears of flour across her cheeks, just looked blank when asked if she’d seen it.

The office was the only place left and, since it was the last place she actually remembered having it, she had no choice but to enter the lion’s den for the second time that morning. This time she took the precaution of tapping on the door before opening it.

Harry looked up. ‘Well?’

‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ she said. ‘I can’t find my phone. If it isn’t in here I don’t know where else to look.’

‘I didn’t see it, but then I wasn’t looking.’ He indicated the mail spread across the desk—most of it of the junk variety and still apparently untouched. ‘Dig in. You might find anything under this lot.’

She picked up a handful of the stuff and went through it tossing most of it into the waste basket unopened—having brought it to the house, it was the least she could do—leaving personal mail and bills in separate piles to one side. When she looked up, she realised that he was watching her.

‘What?’

He shook his head. ‘Carry on, you’re doing a fine job.’

‘It’s good to know I’m useful for something, even if it is only getting rid of the rubbish.’ But she began to feel self-conscious as he continued to watch her. ‘You can put a block on most of this stuff, you know. It’s almost your duty, in fact. One phone call to save the planet…’ Then, as she binned the last of the circulars, straightened the papers on the desk, ‘All you need is a phone. It’s not on the desk, is it?’ Then, beginning to feel a touch desperate, ‘This is ridiculous. It’s got to be here somewhere. Would you mind standing up?’

She dug around the back and sides of a chair warmed by his body, totally aware that the taut backside and thighs just inches from her face were the source of that heat.

‘It’s not here,’ she said, backing off.

‘Maybe it fell on the floor.’

She’d already dropped to her knees before she realised that instead of standing aside and leaving her to it, he’d done the same. Looking up, expecting to be confronted by nothing more dangerous than his knees, she found herself looking straight into his eyes.

The cool thing would have been to smile, and carry on looking. She didn’t feel cool. This close, his tawny eyes generated enough heat to sear her entire body and she reared back, crashing against the edge of the desk and falling back to her knees with a whimper of pain.

The next thing she knew she was sitting in his chair and he was crouched in front of her, looking into her eyes. ‘Jacqui?’

‘It’s OK…’ she said, making a move to rise. ‘I’m OK.’

His hand on her shoulder kept her in the chair. ‘Don’t move for a minute. You took quite a knock.’

‘No, really.’ But her head felt as if it had just exploded and her legs were kitten-weak. Despite her protest, she stayed where she was. ‘I’ll be all right in a moment.’

‘Look at me.’ Oh, right. That was what had caused the trouble in the first place…‘How many fingers am I holding up?’

Having satisfied himself that she wasn’t seeing double, he stood up and began to gently part her hair, just above her forehead, taking a closer look at the damage.

‘Excuse me?’ she said, but nowhere near as in-your-face what-the-heck-do-you-think-you’re-doing as she’d intended. ‘Are you a doctor?’

‘Yes, and I can tell you that the prognosis is a headache and a lump the size of an egg.’

‘I could have told you that…’ Wince. Oooch. Too much talking…‘Are you really a doctor?’

‘I’m somewhat out of practice,’ he admitted, ‘but I think I can handle a minor bump on the head.’

‘Minor!’ she exclaimed.

‘See? You’re almost back to normal. I’ll go and get an ice-pack.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘You’re disputing my diagnosis? Are you a doctor, too?’

‘Sarcasm is so unattractive.’ Then, ‘Besides, you’ve read my CV. You know exactly what I am.’

‘I’ve got a fair idea, although I’d still like to know why you dropped out of your nursing course at university.’ She took a breath to speak but he raised a warning finger that didn’t quite touch her lips. ‘Save it. Keep quiet and don’t move. I’ll be right back.’

‘I was just going to tell you to mind your own business,’ she muttered rebelliously, but only after he’d left the room.

Obviously he knew what he was talking about when he’d advised her to keep quiet, because she wished she’d obeyed him.

‘Susan is making you a cup of tea,’ he said, returning a minute or two later with crushed ice wrapped in a cloth. He laid it gently against her forehead and said, ‘How’s that?’

‘Cold?’ she offered. Then, because that sounded ungrateful, ‘Wonderfully cold.’ It was certainly a lot better than the thought of tea, the very idea of which made her feel sick. She didn’t tell him that; Dr Harry Talbot would be diagnosing concussion and whisking her off to hospital before she could say Jack Robinson and wouldn’t that make him a happy bunny…? ‘Thank you,’ she added, reaching up to take over the job of holding the ice-pack in place, her fingers getting entangled in his as they changed over.

‘What’s Maisie doing?’ she asked, more as a distraction than out of any deep concern.

‘Being Maisie.’

Weirdly, she understood exactly what he meant, but, feeling guilty as well as stupid, she said, ‘Damn it! What have I done with my phone? I was sure I’d put it in my pocket.’

‘Maybe it’s fallen out somewhere. You’ll find it when it rings.’

‘But I want it now!’ Then, blushing—that sounded sooo like Maisie at her very worst—‘Sorry…I just need to know what’s happening. Maisie shouldn’t be left out on a limb like this.’

‘I thought you said she wanted to stay.’

‘That’s not the point.’ Then, leaning her elbows on the desk, both hands clutching the ice-pack as she rested her head against it and trying to think through the pain…‘But you’re right. She seems happy enough.’

‘But of course you want to get on with your own life.’