Page 14 of Catching Trouble

I shook my head. What was she talking about?

She ran her eyes from my face to my feet and back. “I have to say, you hardly look the part, either.”

“What part is that?”

She shrugged, batting her eyelashes. “Oh, I don’t know. Bored playboy needing help entertaining his child for the summer.”

I scowled. What the hell was she talking about? Who said I was a playboy?

I was about to ask, when something squeaked beneath a clump of flowers. We looked down just as two ears and a tiny black head popped through the leaves. The kitten let out a faint meow—and the woman squealed like she’d just inhaled a lungful of helium.

“Oh, my God!” she cried, bending down, her tiny towel straining at her thighs.

I prayed it wouldn’t come loose.

With a massive grin, she brought the animal up, turning it in her palm and examining it like precious treasure.

It was the stray kitten that lived in the garden. I’d seen it a few times and, despite my better judgment, left out some fish scraps. Still, it’d never come near.

My so-called nanny lifted the animal, turning it in the air like it was Simba fromThe Lion King. It gave a squeaky yowl.

She looked at me, eyes aglow. “Is it yours?”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t have time for…”

“Allo?” A voice called out near the garden gate.

Our gazes caught. Her expression shifted from joy to wide-eyed shock, like it had just hit her that she was in my garden, wrapped in a towel the size of a napkin, holding a kitten.

“Who’s that?” she whispered.

“Papa?” came the voice again.

By now, I swear my eye-size matched hers. “Sophie,” I murmured. “My daughter.”

She gaped, then seemed to come to her senses and gently placed the kitten on the ground. It scampered off into the bushes.

My heart thudded hard in my chest. I hadn’t seen my daughter for months, and this was how she’d see me? With a wet, half-naked woman fresh out of the shower?

I tossed the fish onto the table beside the deck chair andreached to rake a hand through my hair—then froze. The smell hit me like a wall. I couldn’t touch anything like this.

With my palms held out like evidence, I stepped toward the shower. The nanny just stared.

“Please?” I asked, not even sure what I needed.

She blinked, then snapped into action. Without a word, she stepped aside and turned on the water. I ducked in, hands under the spray, and felt her tap my shoulder. I jumped at her touch.

Meeting her eyes, I curled a brow.

She waved a shampoo bottle in front of me. “For your hands. Unless you want to spend the day smelling like low tide.”

“Like low…?”

She tutted, giving an eye roll. “Oh, never mind. Hold your hands out.”

I did as requested, and she squirted shampoo into my palms. When I didn’t move, she rubbed them, building bubbles, her fingers threading through mine. With her freshly washed hair and the suds on my hands, it was like spring flower overload, and I fought to steady my breath.

She was so close. Even in a towel, heat radiated off her body.