Button spent the ride to the garage attempting to catch Mat’s attention by alternately gurgling at him and shrieking. He determinedly ignored her. When they reached the garage, Nealy discovered the adjoining junk-yard was just as smelly as he’d indicated. She was relieved when they’d finished loading everything they needed into the car and set off for the Holiday Inn.

The desk clerk regarded Mat uncertainly when he asked for two rooms as far away from each other as possible. Nealy had no intention of taking sole responsibility for the girls, and she quickly stepped forward. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s a big kidder.”

They ended up with adjoining rooms.

As Nealy set her satchel on the bed, she tried to figure out what was missing. And then she realized it was the smell of fresh paint. Every hotel in the world wanted to put its best foot forward when the President or First Lady stayed there, and this nearly always meant redecorating the largest suite. Nealy had fallen asleep with a headache from paint fumes more times than she cared to remember.

She saw Lucy standing at the window, gazing at the pool below. “Why don’t you go swim?” She checked the floor for hazards, then set Button down on it.

“I don’t have a suit.”

“Wear what you have on. You can wash it out when you come in.”

“Maybe.”

Nealy realized Button had disappeared, and she rushed through the open door into the adjoining room, then stopped as she saw Mat standing on the other side of the king-sized bed with his head buried in the T-shirt he was pulling off. Why couldn’t he keep his clothes on?

He had exactly the sort of chest that she’d always found most attractive. Broad at the shoulder, narrow at the waist. A little dark hair. Muscles that were well defined but not bulky. She was very much enjoying the sight until she realized he was watching her.

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “See anything you like?”

She searched her mind to find a plausible excuse for staring at him. “Didn’t you just put that shirt on after your shower?”

“It got greasy when I was checking out Mabel. And why do you care?”

“Because . . . we all seem to be running out of clothes.”

“You can do our laundry tomorrow.”

“Me?” She’d never done laundry in her life. “Not part of my job description. I’m the nanny. Remember?”

“Da!”

He winced, then frowned down at the baby, who had a death grip on his jeans.

“She’s too young to know what that word means,” Nealy said. “Why don’t you just pick her up? I’m sure if you showed her a little attention, she’d be content to go off and play.”

“Forget it.”