Single Father Seeks...
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Amy J. Fetzer
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12
One
Five years later Beaufort, South Carolina
Ciara needed to hide. To go deep under.
In a spot not even the CIA would think to look.
The world was a big place. She could be anywhere, right?
And this small southern town was just the right ticket. It was historical and touristy. If need be, she could blend in. A CIA safe house, a cabin in the wilderness would have been better, but she’d have to go through agency contacts to get one and Ciara wasn’t trusting anyone just yet.
She’d already trusted the wrong man, she thought with a cynical twist to her lips and a glance in the rearview mirror to see if she were being followed. And that’s the reason she was dropping out of sight.
She blamed most of that on herself. With the exception of a one-night affair five years ago, she’d been burned enough by men whose job it was to lie and deceive and gain crucial information. When did she get so clueless about them? When had she refused to believe a thing a man said? Gee, she thought. Maybe when her partner started showing up late for rendezvous and had more cash than they earned in a year. And the worst of this was, that two years ago they’d been lovers. Though it was long over, she’d let old feelings interfere with her judgment, and didn’t see what was really going on. And it had taken her a while to admit it. He’d used her emotionally and professionally, and that she’d allowed it to happen was too humiliating to swallow. She’d never make that mistake again. Not with any man.
Her hand slipped off the wheel and touched the flight tote with the videotape stashed inside. It was backup, and she thought of the man she’d caught betraying his country on the film. Her partner, Mark Faraday was six feet of slender male, with sun-bleached hair that told her he had more time off than she did. Good-looking, but not too good-looking to draw attention, Mark was born with a silver tongue. Now the laid back surfer spy was a national security risk by giving classified material away. A mole. And a risk to her.
She made a sour face and for the tenth time, called herself a fool. Then she’d called in a favor from her old college sorority sister, Katherine Davenport. First, Kat had been shocked to hear from her after all these years, and second, reluctant to give her a job. But Ciara would go nuts if she were stashed somewhere with nothing to do, waiting for the truth to come out and drag Mark to a high-security prison. She had to keep occupied, and her mind off her troubles. Caring for a one-year-old girl was going to be easy, like reliving her teen years. She’d practically raised her little sister Cassie after their parents had been killed in a jet crash over Scotland. Well, she and her older brothers. It hadn’t taken much to convince Kat she was qualified. Childcare was how she’d earned extra money during college. Ciara knew baby care about as well as she knew when and where the satellites were aligned to pick up the best frequencies and take aerial photos.
Ciara had to assure Kat she wasn’t putting anyone in danger. And the first thing she would do when she had a chance was mail the videotape to a neutral party. Then a carefully worded note that would take the heat off of her.
She wasn’t paying much attention to the beautiful landscape until she hit a rut in the road. She braked, gawking at the gnarled live oaks draped in Spanish moss and the so-green-it-hurt-her-eyes lawn. The scent of jasmine came through the car’s air conditioner, enveloping her. Throwing the car into park, she quickly climbed out, checking the address, then stared at the house.
House?
Heck, this was Tara revisited. Two stories with wraparound porches on both levels, the white house was magnificent—spreading across an acre and surrounded by about ten more, if she had to guess.
Did only a widower and a baby live in all this?
She hoped he had a maid.
Grabbing her tote, she slung it onto her shoulder and walked up the steps, taking a deep breath of the fragrances of jasmine and wisteria. An odd peace came with it, and the tension she’d carried for days flowed out of her muscles.
This wasn’t just isolation and safety, this was a dream.
Bryce felt warm slimy peaches slide off his face and plop on his chest. “Well,” he said tiredly, staring blankly at his eleven-month-old daughter. “I see we’re going to have to work on your table etiquette.”
She shrieked, twisting her head to the side when he offered her more. Bryce tossed the spoon aside and sagged into the chair, giving up this battle.
Carolina proceeded to play with the mess on the high chair tray.
Bryce looked around at the results of feeding his daughter and knew his late wife was laughing. Diana would say this was justice for not loving her like she needed. God knows he had tried. He’d done everything he could to make the marriage work. A marriage he hadn’t wanted. She’d loved him, but in the end, he knew she’d hated him.
Guilt swam through Bryce. He and Diana had been lovers briefly when he’d come home from the Secret Service for a visit. Those two nights produced the little girl in the high chair. And when Carolina had arrived, Diana’s life ended. He loved his baby more than his life, and he knew that marrying Diana because she was pregnant was the right thing to do then, but he hadn’t mourned her.
The guilt intensified and he pushed his fingers into his hair and pushed the thoughts out of his mind.
He swore he was never going to get involved with a woman again.
Heck, he was terrified of letting this tiny female down. Of ruining her life like he had her mother’s. He couldn’t trust himself not to destroy another woman’s life. Not to mention the damage it did to his soul.
His daughter flung the mushy beige food, a glob landing on his shirt. He didn’t bother to wipe it and thought of his former colleagues in the Secret Service seeing him now. A far cry from the man who lived dangerously, moment to moment protecting the first family. He was now Mr. Mom and a complete failure at it, he thought. There should be a school or something for dads who had to be moms, too.
Four days without a nanny and he was seeing exactly how useless he was at being a reliable father. He didn’t think he’d miss the skills of a woman more than he did right now. His sister had helped him a few times after Diana’s death, but she had her own family. His parents were retired, leaving him the family business and this monstrous house while they traveled the world. It was only right, but the shrimping business was taking off like a runaway train and he hadn’t been able to operate it from this house since before his daughter was born.
He looked at his baby. He’d had a nanny, but she’d refused to be a live-in. Carolina needed consistency, someone there for her when he couldn’t be. Someone who would be tender and loving. And almost a mother. What his baby didn’t need was a parade of strangers marching through her life now. She was so young and had a tendency to scream bloody murder when a stranger got close. Probably because all she ever saw was him and the nanny. The maid, well she was from a service, and all business. And rarely the same one each time.
The last nanny said Carolina was difficult. And when he’d found the woman lounging around, watching soap operas while his daughter cried in a playpen, Bryce had fired her. The next three nannies hadn’t been any better.
Neglecting his child was not an option, nor was putting her in a day-care center where she’d get sick and there were too many children. He wanted his daughter to have attention while he was at work. Lord, he didn’t think finding child care would be so difficult. Luckily, someone had recommended Wife Incorporated to him. He’d spoken with the owner, Katherine Davenport, and though she sounded nice, what mattered was that she’d come to his rescue. She was sending a nanny out today. Any minute.
Bryce prayed it was someone with a tender heart.
And he hoped she arrived soon.
Carolina shrieked, her lip curling down, and he left his chair to walk over to a cookie jar. He gave her one cookie. Instantly she quieted.
He would deal with the chocolate mess later.
Bribery, he thought as he dropped back into the chair, was acceptable in grave situations.
Bryce started to clean up the mess, bending down on his hands and knees to get the food spilled on the floor. He chased a piece of cereal and when Carolina burst into tears, he flinched and bumped his head on the table. He stood, staring down at her as she reared back in that squirm he’d come to know meant she was done and wanted down now. Then she started kicking and crying. Bryce rushed to finish cleaning up the mess, then handed his daughter a carrot to grind against her cutting teeth.
“Five minutes, princess,” he pleaded. “I just need five minutes.”
She threw the carrot and cried harder.
Then the doorbell rang.
Taking Carolina out of the high chair, Bryce struggled to keep a safe hold on her when she squirmed, refusing to be still. Since she was already climbing out of her crib and crawling away with amazing speed, he didn’t dare put her on the floor yet. Besides, he could tell how clean it wasn’t anyway.
“We have company, sweetie.” Carolina looked up at him, chocolate cookie smeared over her face and clothes. She worked the mush in her hand as if it would hurry it into her mouth. Then she stilled and offered him a bite, missing his mouth and jamming the soggy cookie somewhere near his ear.
“Well,” he said as he walked toward the door. “Guess it’s good that she sees us at our worst, huh?”
His hand on the door, Bryce tipped his head back. Please Lord, let it be some dowdy grandma type who can really help us.
He opened the door.
Her back to him, at first all he saw was a nicely rounded behind tucked inside jeans, a white blouse and a brown leather vest. And chestnut-brown hair pulled up in a ponytail.
Not exactly grandma, he thought.
The woman turned and her features slackened.
Bryce thought his knees would fold beneath him any second.
Staring him in the face was the one woman, the only woman, who’d rocked his world and set it on fire.
“I can’t believe this,” he said more to himself.
“Well, hey there, secret agent man,” she replied softly and the words held the echo of the one and only time they’d been together.
Bryce’s body seized with the memory. Naked and wild. The feel and taste of her rocketing through his mind. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m from Wife Incorporated.” Her brows knitted slightly. “Weren’t you expecting me?”
“I was expecting someone, certainly not you.”
“Life is full of little surprises, huh?”
Surprise, hell. This was a “knock him into next week” shock, he thought, holding her gaze and seeing much more in her cognac-brown eyes, the way they flared when he was inside her, the sly look she got when she knew she was giving him pleasure.
And Ciara saw it, in his expression, the memory of that one night. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her cool and not remember the only time she’d seen this man…when he had her up against a hotel wall and was devouring her. Greedy and primal. The instant their eyes met, her body had jumped to life. Now she felt her breathing increase, heat twisting through her. He was the only man who could do that to her. With just a look of those ice-blue eyes.
And now she was suppose to live in his house?
Her gaze swept him. He looked ragged, and far from the man she saw last. Baby food clung to his hair and T-shirt, and there was a dark brown streak hastily wiped off his cheek near his ear. His jeans were splattered with assorted bits of soggy cereal and spilled coffee. It was almost comical, except in his arms a dark haired infant was twisting like a slippery fish trying to get back in the water, and crying to be let down.
Ciara instantly dropped her bag and stepped closer. “Hey,” she said softly, tugging on the baby’s dress, which was in as bad a shape as her father’s shirt and slacks. “Hey there.”
The baby came upright sharply and stared at her with wide blue eyes. “Hello there, sweetie,” she said, her gaze on the child as she asked, “Are you going to introduce me, Mr. Bryce Ashland?”
Bryce blinked and followed her gaze to Carolina, who was still crying, but looking curious. His gaze shot back to her. “Maybe when I know your name.”
Smiling, she held out her hand. “Ciara. Ciara Stuart.”
Bryce grasped her hand and the pulse of her blood hummed through him. Oh God, he thought. It hasn’t changed one bit. One touch and his entire being jumped to life, his nerves jingling and leaving his heart thumping like a sledgehammer in his chest. Everything he remembered about her came back tenfold and Bryce realized in that moment that this woman had done more than leave an impression.
She’d branded him.
It was so strong that Hong Kong seemed like days ago, not five years.
Her memory was just as clear, and Ciara’s heart skipped into high gear, the warmth of his fingers around hers reminding her of how seductive they could be. How they felt on her skin, slipping inside her body. Suddenly she ached with a longing so deep she had trouble not groaning aloud. Just looking at him made her feel alive and hot. Her secret agent man. Her fantasy man. Oh, this was too weird. A shock, yes, a danger, maybe. How was she going to be around this man? Especially when all she could think of was that seductive night and that in those few short hours he’d made feel more alive and female and wicked than in her entire life. Or that the memory of him had kept her company when she was isolated and completely friendless.
Her fingers moved in his and his grip tightened warmly. For a moment she thought he’d lace his fingers with hers and pull her toward him like he’d done in the elevator that night. As if he understood, he gave her a sexy smile that made her toes curl, then pulled free.
Bryce inclined his head. “This is my daughter, Carolina.”
Ciara dragged her attention back to the baby and noticed the brown goo all over her. “Chocolate?” Her eyes went wide. “For a baby? Are you nuts? Oh, you do need help.” She lightly clapped her hands, then held them out to the child.
Carolina launched into her arms. The crying instantly stopped.
Ciara patted the baby’s back, and Bryce watched in complete amazement as his daughter nuzzled her dirty face against Ciara’s chest.
Bryce blinked. “It’s got to be a woman thing.”
“Not really, it’s a baby thing. I’m just not fighting with her.” She grinned at him, a little devilish and his heart choked. “Besides, she’s warm, messy, sticky and I can’t believe you gave her sugar.” She plucked the remains of the cookie from the baby and dropped it into his hand.
Carolina didn’t make a fuss. Then Ciara stepped inside the house, brushing past him. “Which way to the kitchen?” she said as she walked.
“Your next right.” He stood there for a moment, then grabbed her bag and her suitcases off the porch and brought them inside. Closing the door, he strode into the kitchen, tossing the cookie in the trash.
She had Carolina on the counter and was gently washing her face and hands, talking softly, smiling. “Well, darling, you need a bath and some fresh clothes.” She glanced at Bryce, then her gaze swept meaningfully to the mess on the kitchen table. “How much of that did she really eat?”
“Not much. She more or less made missiles of it all.”
Ciara nodded. “Does she use a bottle or a cup?”
“As of recently, one of these,” he said, holding up a tippy cup that rolled when he set it back down.
“Is she on a schedule?”
“A what?”
Lifting the child in her arms, she looked at him. He was washing his hands, and not more than two feet away from her. It set her nerves tingling again.
“A schedule. Nap time, bedtime, bath time.”
“No.”
“So she’s been ruling the roost.”
His shoulder sagged a little. “Pretty much.” Why did that embarrass him? Drying his hands on a towel, he eyed her. “You aren’t going to regiment Carolina into a routine, are you?”
“No, but I’ve learned from the best that setting times for meals and naps helps babies as much as it does the parents.” She cocked her head. “How do you think moms get anything done?”
“It’s a talent that has escaped me, obviously.” He cleared his throat and asked, “Are you a mother?”
“No, and never married.”
He nodded. “So how did you get experience with babies?”
“I have all the requirements you wanted, but I raised my younger sister and I earned money in college by being a nanny. Mostly on the weekends, though.”
“Made for dull college days.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” She looked at the baby in her arms, realizing that it had been a while since she’d cared for a child this young. Years. Since she’d joined the agency. Yet the memories of her college years swept through her like a warm, gentle breeze. Those other people’s children had been her saviors when she’d felt lonely and homesick. And though she never considered herself mom material, especially after years with the CIA, this child needed her. It was obvious with the chaos in this house. But could she be objective, walk away when everything in her career was back to normal?
“Ms. Stuart?”
Bryce’s tone warned her that he’d called her more than once and she blamed her inattention on the alias last name she’d given him. She met his gaze and smiled. “Call me Ciara. I think it’s a bit more appropriate.”
His features tightened, as if fighting a smile.
“She looks just like you,” Ciara said and somehow that pleased him.
He looked at his daughter and his entire body softened. He moved closer, touching Carolina’s hair. “You think so?”
“Yeah.”
He met her gaze and their close proximity made his thoughts skip and stall on her, made him imagine what she looked like naked. What she felt like in his arms. This was going to be tough if he couldn’t even look at her without remembering that night. He wanted to call Wife Incorporated and ask for someone less…beautiful and exotic. But he needed help now. Besides, he could handle this, he thought. He wasn’t going to get involved with the nanny, no matter who she was. However, just seeing his baby cuddled in her arms did something to him.
“So Mr. Ashland, are we going to stand in this tornado of a room all day or are you going to show me this house and tell me what I’ll be doing?”
Bryce watched her stroke Carolina’s arm, then press her lips to the top of his daughter’s head. As if she’d known his child from the day she was born. But household duties were not what he was thinking about right now. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ciara. She hadn’t changed. She was still a classic beauty, and though she looked a little thinner than before, she was still curved and womanly. The thought of putting his hands on her bare skin again made him hard, and he instantly knew he could get into real trouble with her around. He reminded himself she was his employee and old fantasies were just that. Old and buried. Well, he thought with a long look at her, not quite buried.
Before his imagination took off to parts unknown, he cleared his throat and gestured to the room. “The kitchen obviously,” he tossed a thumb back over his shoulder. “The garage, laundry room and back door are that way. There’s an old servants staircase there, too.”
Servant. That’s what she was to him. Even if he was looking at her like they’d made love last night instead of five years ago. And despite that and the fantasies floating through her mind when she looked at him, she had to keep that in mind, remember why she was here and that she’d be leaving soon. It wouldn’t take the agency long to nab Mark.
Needing a distraction, Ciara looked around the huge peach, green and white kitchen. It was decorated like something out of a magazine, with all the latest appliances and an island counter with a sink. A chef’s dream. She couldn’t wait to see the rest of this place.
“Can you cook?”
“Sure.” She frowned a bit. “With Wife Incorporated, it’s a requirement. Why would you ask?”
“Home cooking is the last thing I’d expect from you,” he said with a sly glance.
Ciara’s heart skipped an entire beat at the sound of his voice and she looked him over. “Being a dad is the last I’d have expected of you.”
He gave her a velvety look. “No expectations, remember?”
She smirked. How could she not remember?
Bryce walked ahead and with the baby in her arms, Ciara followed him into the living room. “Front parlor,” he said, then pointed out the dining room beyond before walking into the main hall. The foyer was wide, a staircase on the right sweeping to the second floor. He pointed to it. “Bedrooms and baths upstairs, den and library there,” he said, gesturing to the left as he walked down the hall.
Carolina made noises, adding her own input.
Now that she’d had the chance to really look, Ciara was floored. The carved ceiling panels and wainscoting were works of art. Paintings hung on the walls and the hall was wide enough to fit a settee. When she’d driven up the long oak tree-lined driveway and had first seen the two-story house with double porches, she wondered how she was supposed to take care of this place when it went on forever. White with green plantation shutters, it spoke of old charm and grace, and she admitted it gave her a strange sense of home.
Odd, when she hadn’t had a real home since joining the CIA.
He led her back through the kitchen, then into a large Carolina room banked with windows and filled with casual furniture, the TV, a stereo. He crossed to a pair of French doors and threw them open, letting her step out onto the back deck first.
And as she passed he whispered softly, “Welcome, Ciara, to River Bend.”
