Nanny to the Billionaire's Son. Barbara McMahon
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to stay up.”
“Oh.” Sam had not expected something like this. “I thought you said you weren’t married,” she commented, suddenly wary.
“I’m not. My wife died three years ago. Today proved to be a hard day. Our longtime housekeeper is leaving in the morning and Tommy’s never known anyone else. I have a new person starting Monday, so for a few days we’ll be batching it ourselves.”
Sam nodded, her perception of Mac undergoing a subtle change. While he was still wildly attractive, any fantasy she might have had of them becoming a couple came to an abrupt end. She had her own baggage and couldn’t see herself taking on another’s. Not that children weren’t delightful and a blessing, but she was already tied down. She would never achieve her dream if she became entangled with children.
“How old is he?” she asked, curious despite her resolve.
“Just three. It’s a cute age.”
She smiled. She wouldn’t know; she didn’t have the occasion to be around many young children. Her work was with disabled adults, not kids.
The music was still playing, and he took her back into his arms and they moved onto the floor once again.
It wasn’t fair, Sam thought as she rested her head against him again. She wanted one fantasy evening and now that was no longer the same knowing Mac was a father and so involved with his son he’d answer a phone call in the middle of a dance.
But wouldn’t she if Charlene called?
Family came first. Sighing softly, she tried to capture the sparkle from earlier. It wasn’t hard being held in Mac’s arms. Soon she once again pretended it was just the two of them dancing on a cloud. The music was the perfect tempo; the feelings evoked were nostalgic and warm. Unlike the experience of being held in this man’s arms. She felt as if she were on the edge of a cliff—one step could send her flying, or crashing to the bottom.
When the song ended, she looked up as the countdown to the New Year began.
Ten, nine, eight…
People around the ballroom began the chant. Sam could feel Mac’s arms tighten slightly as the lights dimmed even more.
…five, four, three…two…one.
Balloons popped, confetti showered down and the band began the strains to the familiar “Auld Lang Syne.”
“Happy New Year, Samantha. May all your dreams come true,” Mac said and kissed her.
After the first second of surprise, she relaxed. His lips were warm and seeking. She closed her eyes and relished every nanosecond. She’d met him only a few hours earlier, but it seemed entirely right to return his kiss to bring in the New Year. Her heart pounded and her body quivered in anticipation. Heat swept through her. Was this the beginning of a great year? Would she ever see him again?
He ended the kiss when the band started to play a different tune. It took a moment for her to come down to earth. Once again he led and Sam tried to get her spinning senses under control. She never did things like this. She was practical, not given to girlish dreams and foolish hopes. Still, without thought, she smiled and snuggled just a little bit closer. She felt cherished, special, connected—as if they were a couple. A woman could dream once in a while, couldn’t she?
At the end of that song, the music tempo picked up and Sam pulled back. It was getting late. She should leave, however reluctantly.
“Another drink?” he asked as they walked from the dance floor.
“That would be lovely,” she said. This time the line at the bar wasn’t as long and in only moments they each had a glass of champagne. He touched his glass to hers.
“Make a wish,” he said.
She did, for the future to be brighter than the past. Sipping, she smiled at him.
“Is that a tradition I don’t know about?” she asked.
“In my family it has been. Weddings, christenings, whatever—when we serve champagne, we make wishes. Why not?”
She was charmed. If they had met in other circumstance, she would ask about his family, about other traditions they shared. But this was not her milieu. She was more the jeans-and-sweatshirt type, not one for designer clothes. Mac was perfectly at home, even speaking to people she only knew from the newspapers. Movers and shakers of Atlanta’s vibrant business community.
“Shall we sit this one out?” he asked.
“You needn’t spend the entire evening with me,” she said reluctantly. She didn’t want him to feel she was monopolizing him. And she had to leave. In a few more minutes. She’d claim just a bit more time before walking away.
“If not you, then who?”
She looked around. The only single woman she saw looked old enough to be his grandmother.
He caught her direction and laughed, leaning closer to speak softly. “She’s not my type. I like pretty brunettes with chocolate-brown eyes.”
Sam could scarcely breathe. He was too close. If she turned her face, her lips would brush his cheek. Suddenly she longed to kiss him again, to feel the stirring emotions his touch brought. Was he flirting with her?
She dare not take that for granted. Remember your real life, she admonished herself silently. Yet it seemed so far away this evening. In the normal course of events, she could never have spent five hundred dollars for a ticket to tonight’s ball. She didn’t move in these social circles. She was a working woman, with a dependent sister, an ancient house and no chance to change things in the near future.
He held out her chair and she sat, glad for the glass of champagne to hold on to, and to study to avoid looking at him. He couldn’t read minds, could he?
“I’m sorry your wife died. That must have been awful,” she said.
“It was.” He sat beside her, angling his chair slightly for more room. “Chris was only twenty-eight. Who’d expect anyone to die that young?”
“That’s tragic,” she replied sympathetically.
“She left me with Tommy. If it weren’t for him I don’t know if I would have made it. But he needed me as an infant, and he needs me even more now.”
The brief glimpse of Mac’s personal life touched her. He appeared successful and confident with everything going for him. Who would suspect such a tragedy had befallen him?
“Hey, Mac, I didn’t know you were coming. Thought you said you wouldn’t make it.” A couple stopped by the table and greeted him. He rose and shook hands with the man, kissing the woman on the cheek. “I changed my mind. It’s a nice event, and a good cause.”
The woman looked at Sam and then at Mac. “A change from your usual style?” she asked in a teasing tone.
Sam looked away. He was not seeing her, either. This was getting awkward. Maybe she should take this opportunity to leave, much as she hated for her special evening to end.
Another couple walked by and the first stopped them.
“Jerry, you wanted to meet Mac McAlheny, here’s your chance. Mac, this is Jerry Martin, head of Windsong Industries. I’m surprised you two haven’t met before.”
Samantha instantly went still. Oh, no! The CEO’s office of McAlheny Industries was where she’d found the ticket, crumpled in the trash. Her heart raced.
Ohmygod, she’d been dancing with the man! Talking with him. Kissing him.
She had spent the evening with Mac McAlheny!
She had to escape before he realized she’d taken the invitation from his office. She hadn’t exactly stolen it—it was trash after all. But she wasn’t sure the CEO of one of Atlanta’s fastest-growing high-tech firms would see it that way.