Page 10 of The Millionaire's Baby

Sophie, she discovered, could say lots of compre­hensible words, most of them loudly. The loudest of which was 'Horn!' which became positively stento­rian until they'd up-ended the toy box and found, right at the bottom, a squashy, lop-eared blue velvet rabbit.

'Horn!' Sophie bellowed happily, clutching the floppy rabbit to her tiny chest, her huge brown eyes bright with mischief.

Caro sat back on her heels, making herself nearer to child-height. 'Time to get dressed. And I guess you should have a bath. Am I right?'

'No, no, no, naughty!' The bright head shook vig­orously, setting blonde curls bouncing. 'Bears. Do bears!'

Caro gave up as the toddler squirmed out of her gentle grasp and set off through the suite on all fours, dragging Horn behind her.

The nanny bit would have to wait and Sophie's giggles and squeals were infectious. Caro gave pursuit on her hands and knees, making growly noises, mak­ing the squeals and giggles coming from her charge ever louder; she couldn't remember when she'd had this much fun!

'Do you have to make quite so much noise?' The dark voice, coming from right behind her, was like a bucketful of ice-cold water.

Caro scrambled to her feet, tugging the soft fabric of the T-shirt as far down her thighs as it would go, conscious of his deep irritation and the wild sight she had to present, face red from doing growly noises, her body barely decently covered...

'Sophie should be dressed by now,' he grated, his dark brows lowered as he watched his daughter crawl under the cot at the speed of light, chortling merrily. 'Breakfast will arrive in five minutes. Have you packed? I said we'd be making an early start, remem­ber?'

Caroline Farr felt inexpressibly silly. It swamped her, making her skin burn with embarrassed humilia­tion. Where was the cool businesswoman now, the one who had been coldly intent on revenge?

And where was the laid-back charmer? Not a sign of him in this mean and moody-looking male, clad in an ensemble of long-sleeved black cotton shirt and hip-hugging dark jeans that made him look definitely dangerous.

She took a tentative step towards the cot but Finn's harsh voice cut in, 'I'll see to her. We'll be lucky if she doesn't have a tantrum. You appear to have got her wildly over-excited.'

He reached down and extracted the wriggling little body from beneath the cot, taking charge, leaving Caro in no doubt at all that he believed that total may­hem would ensue if the apology for a nanny had any­thing more to do with his daughter.

'Get dressed and packed,' he instructed tersely as, the squirming baby tucked safely under one arm, he moved around the room selecting everything he'd need. Then he exited, presumably to use his own en suite again, and left Caro standing there feeling strangely breathless and utterly, utterly useless.

But, true to form, she soon had her brain back into gear, packed methodically, making sure Horn went in with Sophie's things, and then showered briefly. She put on a straight-cut navy cotton skirt and a short-sleeved white shirt, brushed her hair until it was ex­actly as neat as it should be and dabbed on moisturiser and the minimum of pale pink lipstick.

She looked capable and sensible, even if Finn Helliar thought she wasn't. Last night she had had the definite impression that he was flirting with her, test­ing the water so to speak. But if she'd got it wrong—and she could have done—and the sultry tone in his voice, the intimate gleam in his eyes had been all in her imagination, then he would surely sack her for gross incompetence and ask the agency to supply another temporary nanny.

She had proved herself to be spectacularly useless and by now any other employer would have been giv­ing her her marching orders. For the next few days he would have no need of a nanny in any case.

He was good with the baby, knew what he was doing, and stuck in a country cottage he wouldn't be around for heavy dates with the sultry Sandra, so hav­ing someone on hand to child-mind wouldn't be a factor.

If he was a caring, responsible husband and father he would tell her to get lost.

If he was Finn Helliar, user of women, betrayer and deceiver, and fancied a bit of a fling with the new nanny, he would do no such thing.

The next half an hour or so would tell.

It did. An hour later the gleaming new off-roader had left the city behind, heading up the motorway, the baby safely strapped in her seat.

She'd had everything she meant to say to him about his immoral treatment of Katie ready to trip off her tongue the moment he told her to take her packed bags and get out. But she'd had to swallow them. Because the moment she'd stepped out of her room the easy charm of his smile had told her his black mood had gone.

'Ready?' His silver eyes had been sultrily hooded, thick dark lashes hiding his true expression as he'd submitted her suddenly quivering body to a long, lazy scrutiny. And when his eyes had at last made contact with hers there had been a gleam in them she defi­nitely hadn't liked.

'There was no need to go to such stark lengths to make amends for your earlier hoydenish behav­iour... and appearance...'

His voice had lingered over the last two words, as if he was recalling every detail, savouring with hind­sight the way she must have looked, crawling over the floor clad only in a faded old T-shirt that had probably exposed more essentials than it had covered.

He'd been referring to the way she was dressed now, of course, and she couldn't think how to answer him, much less quell him. It had been difficult to think at all when the inside of her head was in such a mess, brains scrambled, trying to decide what was best to do.

He didn't seem about to sack her for gross incom­petence, which proved her earlier theories right, which, in turn, meant that spending a few days alone with him in some cosy little rustic retreat would be like walking into the lion's den!

So maybe, she' d thought, it would be best to come right out with it all now, tell him exactly what she thought of him, make him see the damage he'd done, make him understand that if David Parker, her grand­mother's head gardener, hadn't been young and fit, and coincidentally on hand, Katie would have been successful in her broken-hearted attempt to drown herself in the deep black waters of that isolated lake on the family estate.

And then she could walk out, get on with her real life, and never have to have anything to do with the pernicious Casanova again, the anger and outrage at what he'd done finally vented from her system.

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