“I like The Little Mernaid,” Harper said as the movie finished and they turned the TV off.

Mari smiled at her mispronunciation. “I like it too.”

“Do you like The Little Mernaid, Daddy?”

Hank tugged her into his arms and tickled her. “You’re my little mermaid.”

Harper giggled, her feet kicking in the air. “I’m not a mernaid.”

“You looked like a mermaid when you were swimming today.”

Her giggles only grew louder, but after several moments, Hank sat her up. “Okay. Time for bed, my little princess.” Then he turned to Mari, the laughter suddenly gone from his eyes. “I’ll tuck her in once she’s ready for bed.”

His tone was different. More…not formal exactly…but there seemed to be a less casual air to it. Like he barely knew her. Like she was just an employee.

Idiot. That’s what you are.

She may not be his employee, but she was still the hired help. Why had she ever thought things could be different?

Then again, why had he touched her like he had during the movie? Looked at her the way he had? Acted the way he had when they’d played pool several days earlier?

Fresh confusion descended upon her, but she ignored it, instead taking Harper’s hand and leading her up the stairs and into her room.

* * *

Hank was nervous. He’d read Harper a story and tucked her in, and now, as he closed the door to her room, his gaze shot to the next door in the hallway. The door to Mari’s room. He needed to talk to her, to clear the air. To apologize for stepping out of line.

What would she say? What would she do?

Sucking in a breath, he reminded himself that he was Hank Parson, star running back in the NFL, accomplished athlete. More importantly, he was Harper’s father. He could do this. He could handle whatever came.

Slowly exhaling, he strode to Mari’s door and firmly rapped his fist against the wood.

Keep this professional. That will tone down the awkwardness.

At least he hoped it would.

The door opened and there she stood, wearing shorts and a tank top, her hair pulled into a messy bun, her face scrubbed clean. Her eyes wide and questioning as her lips parted.

He battled the nearly overwhelming need to drag her into his arms and kiss that luscious mouth.

“I need to talk to you.” Huskiness scratched his throat.

* * *

Mari hadn’t expected to see Hank tonight. And she especially hadn’t expected to see him standing in her doorway demanding a conversation. But seeing him now—towering over her, his eyes intense, his body ripped and powerful, his face beyond handsome—there was no way she would tell him no.

No warm smile accompanied his request, and she wondered if he had bad news to deliver. Had he talked to London? Had she told him to fire her? Would she be packing her bags and leaving that very night?

Her heart thumped with dread.

“Come with me,” he said, then he turned and walked down the hallway and toward the stairs.

Mari hurried to follow, and when Hank reached the sitting room, he paused at the French doors, turning to look at her, then he held the door open for her and she stepped onto the tiled patio. The sun had set, but the evening was pleasant.

“Are you warm enough?” Hank asked her.

She nodded, and when he motioned to the pair of cushioned chairs, Mari sat.

Hank sat in the adjacent chair, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his gaze on the ground.

He looked tense, which made Mari tense, but she held her tongue, waiting for him to take the lead.

After several moments he straightened and turned to her, his face grim. “I owe you an apology.”

Her eyebrows flew together. This wasn’t what she was expecting. And what was he apologizing for? Did he know she’d overheard his conversation with Simone? Or at least the part of it where he’d said the less-than-flattering things about her? Is that what this was all about?

Tightly coiled, she waited for him to go on.

“I made an assumption,” he continued. “I was wrong to do that and I’m sorry.”

An assumption? What assumption? Anxious to figure out what this was really about, she said, “What are you talking about?”

A muscle worked in his jaw and he looked away before meeting her gaze. “I assumed you were…well, that you were…interested in me. Romantically.”

Her mouth fell open and she sharply inhaled.

His assumption was right. One hundred percent right. What if she told him he was right? What would happen then? And was he interested in her? How could that be, after what she’d heard him tell Simone? Was he playing with her, taking advantage of her?

Mentally flailing, Mari stared at him.

“Sometimes,” he said, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Sometimes my ego’s a little too big, I guess.”

His handsome face, his mouth, was only inches away. What were the possibilities here?

Boldness flared inside her. Maybe she should take a chance. “I’m…I’m not saying you were right in your assumption, but…what if you were? What then?”

His eyebrows shot up, then he rubbed a finger across his upper lip. “I don’t know.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you? Interested, I mean.”

Dare she admit it? After what she’d heard him say to Simone that very day?

Wanting to know why he’d said those things, but not wanting to admit she’d heard him say them, she said, “I don’t think I’m your type.” Remembering what he’d said, she added, “You’re not really into art, right? Football’s more your thing. Plus…I’m a lot younger than you.”

* * *

Hank cocked his head. Why did those words sound familiar? Then it hit him. Those were the things he’d said to Simone. Had Mari heard him? Embarrassed and ashamed for saying things about her that were untrue, Hank scrubbed his face with his hands.

“You heard what I said to Simone. Didn’t you?”

Mari stared at him a moment, then she nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just…I left my shoes outside.”

She was apologizing to him? That made him feel even worse.

It was time to come clean. “I had to tell her that.”

“Why?”

Mari had worked for London for several weeks now. Did she have any idea how vindictive the woman could be? He considered mentioning that to Mari, but didn’t like the idea of talking smack about his ex-wife. Especially because he wasn’t sure how Mari felt about him. He had to tread carefully.

His lips pursed. “Just trying to avoid a complication.”

She nodded. “With London.”

So she did know. Or at least had an idea. “Yeah.”

Wait. Did this mean she was interested in him? It was starting to come together now, the mixed signals he’d gotten, the interest he’d sensed, but the coolness she’d exhibited after Simone’s visit. After she’d overheard his idiotic comments.

All the same, he wasn’t certain how she felt. Maybe he was still misreading her. He had to find out. But would she admit it? It was time to put himself out there.

“Mari, can we be honest with each other?”