Father Most Blessed

“Paula, good.” Alex strode into the bedroom from the bath, still buttoning his shirt. He stopped, looking at her. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” Nothing except that I didn’t anticipate how this much intimacy would affect me. She forced down the flutter in her stomach and lifted the tray slightly. “Where would you like this?”

Instead of telling her, he took the tray, his hands brushing hers briefly. Her skin seemed sensitized to his touch, reacting with awareness in every cell. For an instant his gaze held hers. Was there more than business-as-usual in his eyes? Before she could be sure, he turned away and set the tray on the mahogany bureau. He busied himself pouring out a cup of coffee, his back to her.

She’d like to beat a retreat back to the kitchen, but Maida had said Alex would give his daily orders now. Orders. Paula swallowed a lump of resentment. She didn’t take orders well; she never had. But she couldn’t argue with Alex the way she would have with her father or brothers. In this situation, he was the boss, just as he had been when she was Jason’s nanny. Their kiss hadn’t changed that.

She pulled a pad and pencil from her jeans pocket. She’d taken the precaution of coming prepared, and the sooner this was done, the sooner she could escape. But Alex didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

“Do you have some instructions for the day?” she prompted. Somehow “instructions” sounded fractionally better than “orders.”

He glanced toward her, the lines around his dark eyes crinkling a little as he gestured with his coffee cup. “Let me get some of this down first. Then I’ll be able to think.”

She nodded, glad he couldn’t know how dry her mouth felt at the moment. This was just too awkward—standing in Alex’s private sanctum, watching him drink his morning coffee, noticing the way his dark hair tumbled over his forehead before he’d smoothed it back for the day. But she didn’t have a choice.

She forced herself to stand still, glancing around the room to keep from staring at him. The heavy forest-green drapes and equally heavy mahogany furniture darkened the room, and the deep burgundy tones of the oriental carpet didn’t help to brighten it. The room looked like a period set, in a museum. In fact, it probably was a period piece, but in a private home. She doubted that the furniture had been changed in several generations.

Had Alex had a colorful little boy’s bedroom once, like Jason’s? She smiled at the thought. She’d have to ask Maida. Somehow the idea of Alex with a cowboy or astronaut bedspread made him seem more like a regular person, instead of the blue blood who always stood slightly apart from the crowd.

Alex’s cup clattered onto the tray, and he swung toward her. “Now, about the day’s schedule—” His tone was businesslike, and her image of a little-boy Alex vanished.

“You’ll need to see to Jason and the meals, of course. I won’t be home for lunch, but I expect him to have a balanced meal. I’m sure Maida’s talked to you about all that, hasn’t she?”