Free Prince Daddy & the Nanny by Brenda Harlen Page A

day.”
    â€œWell, I can assure you that you won’t find her in either the oven or the refrigerator.”
    He smiled, to show that he was teasing, and she felt her cheeks flush. She hadn’t yet figured out the prince or her feelings for him—aside from the jolt of lust she felt whenever he was in the same room. But as attracted as she was to Prince Michael, she was equally frustrated with the father in him. There were times he was so oblivious to his daughter and her needs that Hannah wanted to throttle him. And then there were other times, such as when he’d reached for his little girl’s hand on the beach or when he’d slip into his daughter’s room late at night just to watch over her while she slept—as she noticed he did almost every night—that his obvious love and affection for the princess made her heart melt. How could one man be both so distant and so devoted?
    And how, she wondered, could one man have her so completely tied up in knots? Because there was no doubt that he did, and Hannah had absolutely no idea how to cope with her feelings.
    She tried to ignore them, all too aware that Michael was completely out of her league, not just because he was her boss but because he was a prince. Her short-lived engagement to a British earl had forced her to accept that royals and commoners didn’t mix, at least for the long term. Unfortunately, ignoring her feelings for the prince hadn’t diminished them in the least.
    â€œShe and Estavan have weekends off,” Michael continuedhis response to her question about Caridad. “Unless I have formal plans for entertaining.”
    â€œOh,” Hannah replied inanely, thinking that was another check in the ‘good prince’ column. She also thought it was great for the housekeeper and her husband—and not so great for a woman whose kitchen expertise was limited to reheating frozen dinners.
    â€œYou don’t cook, do you?” the prince guessed.
    â€œNot very well,” she admitted.
    â€œThen it’s a good thing I’m in charge of dinner tonight.”
    She stared at him. “ You cook?”
    â€œWhy do you sound so surprised?”
    â€œI just can’t picture you standing over the stove with a slotted spoon in one hand and your BlackBerry in the other. Your Highness.”
    Rather than taking offense, he smiled. “You do that a lot, you know.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œTack my title on to the end of a reply, as if that might take the sting out of the personal commentary.”
    â€œI don’t mean to sound disrespectful, Your Highness.”
    â€œI’m sure you don’t,” he drawled. “But getting back to dinner, maybe you could try picturing the stove as a barbecue and the slotted spoon as a set of tongs.”
    â€œI should have realized that when you said you could cook what you really meant was that you could grill meat over fire.”
    â€œYou forgot the ‘Your Highness.’”
    She smiled sweetly. “Your Highness.”
    â€œAnd at the risk of spoiling your illusions, I will confess that I also make an exquisite alfredo sauce, a delicious stuffed pork loin and a mouthwatering quiche Lorraine.”
    â€œBut do you actually eat the quiche?” she teased.
    â€œYou can answer that question for yourself as it’s on the menu for brunch tomorrow.”
    â€œAnd what’s on the menu for dinner tonight?” she asked, as curious as she was hungry.
    â€œSteak, baked potato and tossed green salad,” he told her.
    Her mouth was already watering. “Can I help with anything?”
    â€œYou just said that you don’t cook.”
    â€œCan I help with anything that doesn’t involve preparing food over a heat source?” she clarified.
    He chuckled. “Do you know how to make a salad?”
    â€œI think I can figure it out.”
    Â 
    While Michael cooked potatoes and grilled steaks on the