A Nanny For The Professor

“What? No!” Camilla could barely keep her expression neutral, biting back her laughter. “Camilla, not Cruella. Rynn, I love puppies, but I promise I don’t steal them.”

The little girl slowly narrowed her eyes, mulling it over. Finally, she nodded as though she’d come to some sort of conclusion. “Okay, then. You can come and watch 101 Dalmatians with me.” The little girl reached out for her hand and tugged her toward the living room, her mind made up.

Camilla glanced up at Brock. It was her turn for her eyes to be wide. But Brock didn’t look alarmed at all. In fact, the corners of his mouth had curled up and he was pressing his lips together, amused.

“Looks like you’ve passed the test,” he joked, mumbling to her as his daughter pulled her past him.

“I have a funny feeling I’m going to be owned by this little girl before the day’s done,” she chuckled under her breath.

She couldn’t be sure because Rynn was pulling her away from him, but Camilla thought she heard him mutter, “Welcome to the club.”

Chapter Three

Brock

Whatever Brock expected when he opened that door, Camilla Benton wasn’t it. Her eyes were chocolate and dark-lashed, and her hair was such a rich shade of auburn that he hadn’t known such a color existed. The slender frame of her body dressed in casual linen-blend pants and a deep purple shirt was thin, but her outfit was fitted enough to show the shapeliness of her arms and thighs. The woman was athletic, maybe a runner or a fan of yoga.

And she was sexy as sin. Naturally beautiful, her eyes held the hint of makeup—maybe mascara, but he didn’t know one pencil or tube of the stuff from the next—but it wasn’t needed. Camilla exuded beauty in a quiet way.

But it was a very, very real way, and it had Brock’s body humming with the appreciation of it.

Then, he had watched Rynn assess the w

oman with the narrowed eyes of a seasoned negotiator, like she had a mental checklist she was checking off as her eyes roamed up the woman and then back down to her sock-covered toes in the kitchen. Whatever his daughter saw in Camilla Benton, she liked it.

So did Brock. And that worried him a bit. At least, it did until he spent the rest of the morning grading essays at the kitchen table, coffee cup cradled beside him, listening to the woman and child discussing the television show that was on but they were only half-watching, Camilla prompting Rynn to count along with the cartoon characters and Rynn proudly proving that she could. They wound up in a magical, make-believe world of their own, transforming into Princess Rynn and Queen Cam—as Rynn quickly shortened her name to—and Brock actually felt bad for having to interrupt them when he pulled his briefcase into his hand and headed for the door to teach his evening class.

“Everything good here?” he asked, amused at seeing Camilla with a plastic tiara on her head, one that matched Rynn’s to a tee.

“Everything is wonderful,” Camilla chuckled, standing to her full height. “Time for work?”

“I’ve got a three-hour lecture until ten o’clock,” he explained. “There’s a list on the fridge of the approximate times and activities Rynn is used to in the evenings. If you have any questions, my cellphone number is on it, too.” His eyes met hers. “Use it any time, Queen Cam.”

It could have been the trick of the light, but he thought he saw Camilla’s cheeks redden. And he might have known for sure if he hadn’t been so enamored by the way her eyes darkened when he spoke.

She heard the innuendo in his voice, the promise.

He kissed her daughter on the forehead and told her he loved her, then strode out the front door, fully aware that Camilla wasn’t the only one whose body was coming alive at that very same unspoken promise.

***

After Monday’s late afternoon lecture, Brock broke a few speed limits wanting to get home. He couldn’t wait to hear about the evening Rynn and Camilla had enjoyed together, but he wanted to hear it from the nanny’s mouth. That way, the next morning he could compare her story with Rynn’s own version.

He could always count on his daughter to be brutally honest, and while he might have liked the way Camilla interacted with Rynn, seeming to hit it off straight away, the real test came after he was no longer in the vicinity. Rynn would be sure to spell it out for him whether Camilla was someone Rynn liked to be around.

God, Brock hoped she did. Not just because she seemed the perfect match for Rynn’s level of excitement and energy, but because he couldn’t quite put a finger on his own immediate reaction to the woman. The mere sight of her had done something to him, making him race home and want to see, not only Rynn as usual, but Camilla as well. It was a foreign feeling he didn’t quite understand after three years of avoiding anything of the romantic sort.

Not that this was anything of that sort, he told himself.

Not yet, anyway.

He unlocked the front door and slipped inside. Silence welcomed him. The television was in darkness, no light at all coming from the living room. The kitchen had only the dim light above the oven on to guide his way as he passed through and down the hallway. Another golden stream of soft light cascaded out onto the wooden hallway floor.

It was late, well past ten-thirty, so Brock had expected Rynn to be fast asleep.

He hadn’t expected to see Camilla curled up on the bed with his daughter, laying on top of the covers while Rynn snuggled in underneath, one arm slipped over Rynn’s little body protectively. Both sleeping forms looked about as comfortable and peaceful as a person could.

Brock’s heart squeezed tightly at the sight. Something was happening, something different. Rynn had loved Anna, but never in the six months of Anna being her nanny had the woman snuggled into bed with her until she fell asleep, a small pile of children’s books scattered at the foot of the bed. Anna had been all business.