Page 30 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

“He’ll be fine.” Rhys shrugged off his windbreaker and tossed it over the back of the couch. “If it gets too rough, he’ll bunk with one of his bowling buddies.”

“If he can go on the boat, why can’t I go to Mommy’s beach and see the waves?” Oliver whined, throwing in a foot stomp at the last second for extra emphasis.

“Because he’s a grown man who knows what he’s doing, and you’re a four-year-old boy who’s not allowed outside without supervision.” Rhys unzipped his son’s jacket and peeled it off.

“I’m almost five. And you said I was a big boy. So did she.” Oliver pointed at Mallory.

If they hadn’t been in crisis prep mode, she would have laughed at the standoff. Two peas in a pod. The wide stance. The crossed arms. The stubborn chin.

“I gave you my answer, and my answer is no.” The bigger of the two peas narrowed his eyes, not giving an inch. “I don’t want you anywhere near that storm surge.”

“Your father’s right.” Mallory jumped in. “We’re safest indoors. How about I make some of that white chocolate confetti popcorn you like and we watch a movie on DVD?”

Oliver cocked his head to one side and scrunched up his nose, weighing her offer with a gravity more fitting for a politician than a preschooler. “Can I pick the movie?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

“Any one I want?”

“As long as it’s rated G.”

“Nemo,” Oliver announced as authoritatively as his four-year-old voice would allow, practically daring her to disagree.

“Again?” They’d seen it at least ten times. She wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that, like him, the title character had no mother and a father who didn’t want him to stray too far from home.

He nodded.

“ThenNemoit is.”

Oliver gave an exaggerated, melodramatic sigh worthy of an Academy Award. “I guess that would be okay.”

“Why don’t you go upstairs and pick up your room while I make the popcorn? I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“All right.” He started out of the room, then stopped and turned. “But watchingNemowon’t be as much fun as watching the waves. Even with confetti popcorn.”

He clomped out of sight, leaving Mallory to chuckle at his retreating back. “So much for the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach.”

“I don’t know about that.” Rhys’s throaty baritone sent shivers of desire dancing up and down her spine, reminding her he was still there. And that they were alone for the first time since THE KISS. “I’m pretty sure your fried chicken could stop ships and start wars.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever want to stop a ship or start a war.” She took a covered saucepan from one of the cabinets. No air-popped, cardboard crap for her.

“Thanks for stepping in with Oliver.” Rhys pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat. She didn’t know whether to cheer or curse. Didn’t he have something more important to do than watch her pop popcorn?

“The tag team approach. Highly effective.” She assembled her ingredients and placed them on the counter next to the commercial stove that was as good as—if not better than—the one she’d cooked on at the Worthington. Peanut oil. Popcorn kernels. Almond bark. Candy sprinkles. “Is there anything else I can do before the storm hits? Make some meals while we’ve still got power?”

That should keep her mind—and her hands—busy.

“What we’ve done already is probably overkill.” Rhys removed his Ray-Bans and set them down on the table in front of him, revealing those melancholy dark eyes that had the capacity to reduce her to mush. “And the generator will kick in if the power goes out.”

“I should have known you’d have thought of everything.” The oil crackled in the pan, and she threw in the kernels. “I’ll bet you were a Boy Scout.”

“Guilty as charged. Got my Eagle in tenth grade.”

“That’s early, isn’t it?” She covered the pan and shook it over the gas flame, the somersaults in her stomach starting to subside. Maybe things between them didn’t have to be awkward. Pithy banter she could handle. “Not that I’m surprised. I’ll bet you were always an overachiever.”

“In some ways,” he remarked wryly over the intermittentpop-pop-popof the popcorn. “Not so much in others.”

“I can’t imagine you being anything other than remarkably adept at everything you attempted.”