Feisty redhead Prudence Winslow is down to her last cent and cynical about finding Mr. Right, so she has sworn off men...for a year!
But then she meets Ryan Kaelan, and his delightful motherless children who need her nanny skills. Prudence takes the job, telling herself it wasn't Ryan's jaw-dropping sexiness that convinced her...or the fact that he is a real-life prince!
Will she be able to resist Ryan's royal command...to seal the deal with a kiss?
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March 13, 2007
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Excerpt from The Prince and the Nanny by Cara Colter
PRUDENCE WINSLOW was late. And for once it wasn't her
fault. Well, maybe a little her fault, but not entirely her fault.
She cast a quick look at her reflection in the doors that led her into the exquisite lobby of the Waldorf Towers, one of the grandest of the Manhattan hotels, though her father had always preferred to put up business guests in the St. Regis Club in Essex House right on the park.
She sighed at her own reflection. Disheveled. It was raining slightly, and humidity had a tendency to play havoc with hair that didn't like taming at the best of times. Coils of copper had sprung free from the bun Mrs. Smith insisted on. Mrs. Smith had also insisted on a skirt, hem below the knee dear, and the skirt had not stood up well to her travels, appar-ently disliking humidity as much as her hair.
Young Brian, clingy since the accident, and unhappy with the replacement nanny--without giving her a chance, natu-rally--had managed to spill butterscotch pudding on Prue's navy trench coat just as she was getting away. Despite her best--and time consuming--effort the smear had refused to be totally eradicated.
Still, she crossed the lobby with the haughtiness of a queen, and eyed the desk clerk.
Cute, she thought. Blonde. A poor girl's Brad Pitt. Then she reminded herself she was a reformed woman. Still, she had to fight the smallest urge to smile at him. Six months without so much as a date!
And six months to go, she warned herself sternly. Being as businesslike as one could be with a smear of butterscotch pudding on her lapel, and while fighting the temptation to just offer one little smile and see what happened, she announced, "I'm here to see, um, Kaelan Prince."
On the phone earlier, Mrs. Smith had been uncharacteris-tically chatty, and evasive at the same time. Prudence had gotten that a man wanted to meet her. Because of the news-paper story. Be on time, be presentable.
"A skirt," Mrs. Smith had specified sternly. "And, dear, do something with your hair!"
Well, she was in a skirt, not anything like the flirty little numbers she once would have worn. Mary Poppins approved. But she was not on time and not particularly presentable, either. Prue didn't want to meet a man because of all the silly attention of that newspaper story. So far, after the financial scandals surrounding her father's death, Prudence had managed to stay out of the relentless radar of the press. No connection had been made between Winslow, the-heroic-nanny, and Winslow-the-crumbled-empire.
She wanted it to stay that way, so she had tried to refuse this meeting, but Mrs. Smith had been adamant.
"For the good of the Academy, dear," she'd said. Prue had not needed to be reminded how much she owed Mrs. Smith, who had been there for her when so few others had been. "Kaelan Prince," she repeated to the clerk, who was looking baffled.
Suddenly a light came on for him. "Kaelan Prince? I think you must mean Prince Ryan Kaelan."
"Whatever," she said, thinking right, everyone's a rock star, and glancing at her watch. Ten minutes late. Shoot.
"Ah," he said, a trifle uncomfortably, "the young women over there are trying to catch a glimpse of him, as well."
Prue followed his gaze and frowned.A gaggle of young girls and women were clustered together by the elevators, giggling.