Hard to Hold (3 page)

“Yeah, right,” he said, opening the door for her. “When hell freezes.” But when she looked up at him, he gave her a warm grin. “Listen, thanks again.”

“Don't mention it. And Logan? Next time you are with a girl, they have this new thing called protection? You might want to check into that, too.”

She shut the door behind her before he could comment.

“Oh, God, not another spoiled athlete!”

Isabella Bennett groaned on Monday morning as Patty Smith, owner of P.S. Nanny, smiled through the phone.

“Soccer player. Football, but at least he's not in the NFL,” she continued, ignoring Isabella's outburst. “MLS. Apparently he is a single father with a baby, looking for a nanny.”

“How old?” Isabella put the call on speaker phone and turned on her PC.

“Three months. It's all in the application I sent you.”

Reluctantly, Isabella pulled up her email, clicked the attachment, and scanned the document. Logan Hart. Professional soccer player with the New Jersey Hurricanes. Live-in nanny required. One day a week off. No housekeeping.
A plus there.

“That's odd. It's usually a single mother with a baby that young!” she continued. “How did he wind up alone with her?”

“Apparently the mother showed up at a restaurant and gave him the child. He didn't share the gory details, but it sounds as if he had very little relationship with this woman. She's filed a paternity suit naming him as the father, but didn't wait to go to court before leaving the baby on his doorstep like last week's trash. He needs help ASAP. Like today.”

“Wow. That's harsh.” Isabella shuddered, and then glanced at the picture attached to the email. Her heart softened. “Is this her? With the red hair?”

“Yep,” Patty said. “Cute little thing, isn't she?”

“She really is.” Isabella took in the rosebud mouth, the ivory complexion, and the ginger-colored thatch of hair that sprung from her little head. Something about the look in the baby's eyes seemed sad, as if she knew her mother didn't want her.

Maybe no one did.

“So what do you really know about this guy?” Isabella focused once more on the application.

“He seems like he's decent enough,” Patty postured, and when the phone went silent, she sighed. “Okay, he's gorgeous, and a bit of a womanizer. Lived in Europe for quite some time, recently back in the States. Not currently involved with anyone. Just—”

“Happens to engage in unprotected sex that results in unwanted children?” Isabella asked shrewdly.

Patty chuckled. “I don't think he makes a habit out of it since he has no other love children that I am aware of. In any case, the man is clueless when it comes to kids. Called his sister in a panic when he got the baby. She recommended my agency.” She paused for a moment. “You know, he could have taken the easy way out and given the baby up. It says something for him that he's trying to do the right thing.”

“So does he really plan to keep her?” Isabella's gaze flickered back to the soccer player's photo. Patty was right. He was tall, blond, and good-looking.

And had trouble written all over him.

“He thinks once he finds the mother, he will work something out. But you and I both know if she was willing to abandon her child, no way in hell is she going to take her back. I don't think the enormity of this has hit him yet.”

“God, you know how to reel me in.” Isabella sighed, her gaze returning to the photo of the baby. This little girl was innocent in all this, yet her fate was up for grabs. She was worth more than that.

They all were.

“I need someone really good for this job, someone who can handle a high level of responsibility. You have a master's in child education and specialize in infant care. This guy will need to learn everything, soup to nuts.”

“I swore after taking care of that golf pro's children, professional athletes were off the table,” Isabella said, turning away from the computer screen. “That man propositioned me every time his wife was away.”

“He wasn't as bad as the female scientist,” Patty reminded her. “The one who insisted her children grow up on a gluten-free vegan diet? And wanted you to prepare all those weird meals?”

“Yeah, while she and her husband ate everything in sight.” Isabella laughed. “Pizza, fast food, and vodka. Or remember that couple who insisted that their toddler was a genius, and that I had to read him the stock reports in the
Wall Street Journal
at bedtime?”

Patty laughed. “You have to admit it had the desired results. I remember you said that poor kid fell asleep before you could get out of the A's.”

“Kind of makes me wonder why I still do this for a living,” Isabella said. But she knew why. Her eyes shifted back to the little redhead looking up at her from her computer screen.

She could make a difference in this life, and that was worth everything: The annoying parents. The hands-off mothers. The jealous siblings. The change in living circumstances every couple of years. The sense that you were seen as second best, like a modern-day Jane Eyre.

Yet when she succeeded in helping a difficult baby sleep, a toddler take her first steps, a truly gifted boy to find the right program to nurture him…that made it all worthwhile.

“By the way, that reminds me,” Patty continued. “You won't have to worry about compensation. I told Logan I needed thirty thousand upfront to find someone good. He didn't blink. Wired the money immediately.”

“Really?” Isabella let out the breath she was holding.
Thirty thousand!
She would only get a cut of that, of course, but the money would come in handy. She was between jobs, had a credit card past due, and her landlord wanted to raise her rent. Again. She tried to eat healthily, but organic cost more, and she was helping her elderly mother with some of her bills.

And then there were those suede leather lace-up boots she'd been eyeing online at Saks…

“Okay, you can stop selling,” Isabella said. “I'll head right over. But I'm not doing it for him, but for her. That poor baby deserves a whole lot better than a mother who doesn't want her and a clueless jock for a father. You owe me. Big time.”

She hung up the phone as Patty laughed. Point made.

Still, how bad could it be? As long as she kept her distance from the sexy Logan Hart, all would be well.

Easy peasy.

The baby was crying. Screaming bloody murder was more like it.

Logan paced the room, becoming frantic.

He had tried everything: a bottle. A diaper change. He even put a ticking alarm clock wrapped in a blanket in the bassinet that Jessica had purchased. He'd heard that helped with puppies and thought it was worth a shot. But nothing.

He stared at the baby in desperation.
Fuck! What? What?

Little Cinnamon took a big gulp of air, drew her knees up to her belly, and then let out a miserable wail.

He had no choice. He had to call his sister again. She had come over Saturday and Sunday, but he was too sleep-deprived to try to figure anything else out. Hating the sense of vulnerability that coursed through him, he picked up the baby, slinging her under one arm like a soccer ball, and fumbled for his cellphone.

“Jess?” He could barely hear her. “Hold on one second.” He put the baby back in the bassinet, eliciting another series of wails.

“She just keeps screaming. She's been doing it all goddamned night.”

“Did you try feeding her?” Jessica asked.

“Yeah. I did everything you showed me. Even Googled crying babies, for Christ's sake! I'm out of options here. Do you think she's sick? Should I take her to the hospital? Maybe something is really wrong…”

There was a knock on the door. “Hang on,” Logan said as he left the crying baby and made his way to the entrance of the condo.

Christ.
He was actually sweating.

A woman stood outside, and he recognized her immediately from the photograph the agency had emailed him. The nanny. Relief flooded through him as he opened the door.

“Mr. Hart?” she asked, her eyes flickering from the soccer player to the noise in the next room.

“Yeah, that's me. Logan.”

“Isabella Bennett,” she confirmed, thrusting out her hand and clasping his. “I'm your nanny.”

Her grip was surprisingly strong, and Logan had the sense that he was dealing with a no-nonsense, ballsy, confident woman.

That was his first impression.

His second had to do with her appearance. He was tired, but not
that
tired. Her photograph hadn't done her justice. She was gorgeous in an uptight, classy way. Her honey blond hair was pulled back into some kind of braid, but a strand escaped next to her throat, and his fingers actually itched to touch it. Her skin was the color of rich cream, a startling contrast to her full red mouth that begged to be kissed…

He became aware that she was staring back at him, her brows arched over a pair of green eyes that seemed to look through him. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but she was no Mary Fucking Poppins. This woman was stunning.

“Is that her crying?” She let his hand go, shot him a look as if she knew exactly what he'd been thinking, and reached for her suitcase.

Logan nodded his head. What the hell was he thinking, checking out this woman who would be working for him? Making eyes at a nanny was so cliché it was embarrassing.

And Logan wasn't the kind of guy to shit where he ate.

“Yeah.” Somehow he managed to get back on track. “I don't know what the hell is the matter with her. I tried—–”

To his utter astonishment, she brushed past him as if he were a nuisance and headed directly for the bedroom.

“When was the last time she was fed?” Isabella asked over her shoulder.

Logan had to move quickly to catch up with her. “An hour ago. I changed her, walked her, but nothing seems to help.”

“Is that you making all this noise?” Her voice changed immediately into a soft and calming tone. As she leaned over the bassinet, Logan had a good glimpse of her perfect, peach-shaped ass.

Christ, he had to get a fucking grip.

Forcing his attention back to the child, he saw Isabella pick her up with a calm efficiency that was impressive. The agency had been right. This woman was totally unintimidated by this baby who could outscream even the most ardent soccer fan.

“So what's going on with the baby girl?” Isabella continued her examination of the child as if Logan were forgotten. “Let's see. Diaper is dry. No fever. No other signs of illness.”

“But this can't be normal, is it?” Logan asked. That frantic feeling was beginning to leave him as he saw her comfort the screaming child.

“It depends,” the nanny said as she took a seat in the rocker and sat the baby on her lap. “Some babies cry to relax enough to sleep. Some are bored. Some are truly ill, but in this case, I think we have colic.”

“What the hell is that?” Logan looked at her in confusion. “Some kind of disease?”

Isabella actually laughed even as the baby continued to cry, getting redder by the moment.

“No, it means she has gas. Her abdomen is distended, and it's rock hard. Classic case.” She deftly used her fingers to massage the tiny belly. A few minutes went by, and then Logan heard the unmistakable sound of the baby belching, followed by a spit-up that the nanny deftly caught with a clean cloth.

“Was that it?” He grimaced at the sight of the spittle.

Cinnamon actually answered his question a moment later when she yawned and then began to actually smile.

“Looks like we found the problem,” Isabella said, getting to her feet and putting the baby back into the bassinet. To his surprise, she fell right to sleep.

“I don't suppose you burped her after you fed her?” Her eyes met his and Logan felt as if he had been skewered to the wall behind him.

“I thought I did. Jessica, I mean my sister, showed me how to pat her back and stuff…I don't know anything about this shit but I think it worked…”

He sounded like a fucking idiot. Why did he feel so inept? This wasn't his goddamned job, it was hers! She was the expert here, and he had every intention of passing the torch to where it obviously belonged.

But before he could set her straight, she continued. “So I will show you the proper technique the next time she eats. It's critical that she burps before you put her down. Colic is not serious, but it is very painful. If it continues, we may need to experiment with a different formula until we find something that she can more easily digest.”

Logan put his hands in the air, as if surrendering. “Whatever you want to do is fine with me. You are totally in charge here.”

Again he got that unnerving stare, only this time she put her hands on her curvy hips and faced him directly.

“Before you show me my room and I unpack, we need to get something straight. I am a nanny. I am not the baby's mother or father. You are.”

Before he could protest, she continued in the same lecturing schoolmarm tone. “I've heard about the circumstances, and it's none of my business who you decide to sleep with or what you do in your personal life. But I'm very concerned about that little girl in the next room. Her mother walked out on her. If anything, it's even more vital that she has one parent who gives a damn about her. You may think it doesn't matter because she's just a baby, but you'd be wrong. You won't be alone. I'll help you. But if you think you can just outsource raising your baby, that doesn't work for me. Are we clear?”

His mouth dropped. Logan was used to women adoring him. Even though he and his sister had fought as kids, she'd never spoken to him like that. Neither had anyone else.

Outrage filled him as he glared at the woman confronting him. His first impulse was to tell her to fuck off and go back to wherever she came from.

But he knew that wasn't a choice. He was desperate for help. He saw the bag waiting on the floor and understood if he didn't agree to her demands, she might leave. The thought of going through even another hour feeling helpless as the baby cried was unbearable.

“Okay.” He fought to get control of his temper, his eyes locking with hers. “Message received. Your room is straight through there, next to the baby's.”