Page 67 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

“And you’ll give Mallory my drawing?”

Rhys patted his chest, where Oliver’s picture was tucked safely away in the inside pocket of his jacket. “It’s right here.”

Mallory’s eyes darted from him to Oliver, then back again. “You’re okay with Brooke watching him?”

“She’s your sister, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought…”

“You thought wrong.” Rhys ruffled his son’s hair and gave him a pat on the back, nudging him toward Mallory’s sister. “Have fun, buddy. And be good. Pay attention to Brooke. We’ll be back soon.”

“Okay. And Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to mess up the ’pology.”

Rhys chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”

“Don’t worry about us.” Brooke put an arm around Oliver. “We’ll be fine. By the time you two have patched things up, we’ll be riding a sugar high.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Mallory protested. Rhys made a mental note of the fact that she didn’t contradict her sister’s assumption they’d be able to patch things up. The band around his heart loosened a bit more. “It’s your wedding reception.”

“Are you kidding?” Brooke squeezed Oliver’s shoulder. “I’d rather hang with this little dude than most of the people on the guest list.”

Mallory’s mother cleared her throat accusingly.

“Fine. Half then,” Brooke amended, leading Oliver across the room, her husband at her elbow. “All right, men. Forward march. That chocolate’s not going to eat itself.”

Rhys motioned with his head to the door. “Shall we?”

Mallory’s mother started to object, but her father cut her off with a raised hand. “Go. We’ll hold down the fort here.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Mallory gave her father a grateful smile and turned to Rhys. “Come on. I know somewhere we won’t be disturbed.”

“Good.” Rhys followed her out of the ballroom and into the hotel lobby.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Upstairs. My mother rented a suite for the wedding party.” She stopped in front of a bank of elevators and punched the up button. “I’m not doing this in the hallway. Too many prying eyes.”

They rode the short distance to the third floor in silence. Once there, she led him a few feet down the hall, stopped in front of one of the rooms, and pulled a plastic key card from a cleverly hidden pocket in her fancy dress.

He took a minute to drink in his fill of her as she fumbled with the key card. Her blue-green dress was simple but stunning, hugging her curves like a jealous lover until it ended above the knee, leaving her smooth, shapely legs bare to the straps of her spiky heels. She was everything he wanted, everything he needed, and more. Smart. Sensitive. Strong. And adorably nervous as she struggled with the key.

He swallowed. Hard. Oliver was right. He’d better not mess this up.

After a few tries, she unlocked the door and ushered him inside. She went straight for the minibar, grabbing two bottles of wine and holding them aloft, what looked like a malbec in her right hand and a chardonnay in her left. “Red or white?”

He shook his head. He needed to be totally lucid for this conversation. Anything less increased the fuckup factor exponentially. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“White it is.” She screwed the top off, removed the frilly paper covers from two hotel tumblers, and poured.

He took the glass she handed him but set it down on a side table without drinking. “Thanks for agreeing to hear me out.”

Way to start strong, Romeo.Maybe he should have that drink after all. His game couldn’t get much worse.

“It’s the least I can do. You came all this way. Left Flamingo Key. Brought Oliver with you. After everything you said…” Mallory sipped her chardonnay. Even across the room, Rhys could see her pulse beat at the hollow of her throat. The rapid, irregular rhythm matched his. “I don’t understand.”