Page 122 of The Nanny and the Heartthrob

The child frowned. “You want me to play the piano?”

“No, I want you to play a water buffalo,” she tossed back and caught the hint of a smile on the girl’s chocolate-lined lips. “Yes, I want to see what you’ve got unless you’re too scared to play.”

“I’m not scared of anything,” Aria shot back, placing her fingers on the keys.

“Do you need me to teach you the notes?”

The kid pursed her lips. “I don’t need to know the notes. I can do whatever you do.”

“All right, let’s see if you can repeat this.” She banged out a tune—something light and hopping off the top of her head.

“Easy peasy, apple squeezy.” Aria cracked her knuckles, lifted her chin, and repeated the notes. And not only that. She’d caught the nuances of the tune.

The kid could play by ear.

“Not bad,” she replied, playing it close to the vest. “Can you play and sing at the same time?”

Aria turned away. “I don’t sing anymore.”

“Because you sound like a frog?”

When in doubt, revert to snark.

The child whipped around and scrunched her face. “No, I don’t sound like a frog.”

“Then let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Aria joined in on the piano, then inhaled a slow breath. “Uncle Landy doesn’t have candy, so he eats all the worms, eats all the worms.”

This kid wasn’t only a piano-playing savant. She was the whole musical package.

“You’ve got perfect pitch, girl,” she remarked, unable to disguise the amazement in her reply.

Aria smiled up at her, but as the girl drew a breath, another sound wove its way through the garage.

“What’s this I hear about eating all the worms, eating all the worms?” sang a sensual, soulful voice—accompanied by a guitar.

Landon.

Her jaw dropped as she peered over her shoulder at her insanely sexy pop star.

Her nipples tightened into pearls as she drank him in. Thank God she was swimming in his T-shirt. But it wasn’t only her horny boobs jonesing for the man. Her entire body buzzed electric.

Do not fall for the musician.

It wasn’t lost on her that the musician in question was her husband, but she couldn’t fall for him, for real. What they’d had on their wedding night was for one night only. It wasn’t who they were in the real world. She’d be wise to remember that. Yes, yes, she knew this. She’d been feeding herself this mantra. But who could remain reasonable with Landon Paige sauntering through the room, guitar in hand and bursting into song? It was a scene straight out of her teenage fantasies.

Somehow, she kept playing. It must have been the muscle memory in her fingers because her brain was about as useful as a bowl of oatmeal.

And then another teenage fantasy came true.

Like they’d been playing together for decades, he knitted in the guitar’s brassy tones with her melody as he continued toward them.

He was just walking while playing the guitar.

He was putting one foot in front of the other and moving his hands.

He wasn’t solving the climate crisis or even bringing her chocolate.

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