His voice is deep and smooth, with just a hint of humor that does nothing good to my brain function.
"Gahh," is all I can manage as I stare at his offered hand, at his long, strong fingers extended my way.
Mortifying. It's a wonder I'm still standing and not melted into a puddle on the hardwood floor.
He'stall. Like really tall, even for a human. For a pixie, he's towering over me like some kind of sexy savior. At least six-two, his broad shoulders fill out a marine-blue jacket over a clean white t-shirt in a way that should be illegal. His dark-brown hair is cut short on the sides with a slightly tousled top, and his hazel eyes are bright and warm as they meet mine.
He's smiling, and it's the kind of smile that makes you feel like you're the only person in the room.
And hisface.
Stubbled jaw, straight nose, full lips that curve up at the corners sinfully. He's so stunningly handsome that all I can do is gape at him, my mouth hanging open like a fish.
Then his smile wobbles and I blink repeatedly to dispel this strange spell he has me under.
I take his hand automatically, and his grip is firm but not aggressive. Respectful. It sends all kinds of butterflies buzzing into my stomach.
"Rika Lark," I say, then immediately shake my head. "I mean, Rika Everdeen. Sorry. My name is Rika Everdeen."
I cut myself off, feeling my face burn.
What is wrong with me? I'm never such a bumbling fool.
Great. I'm already making a fool of myself.
Noah's smile widens, and creases spread at the corners of his eyes. Adorable.
Shit. No. Not adorable.
"No worries," he says easily. "Nice to meet you, Rika."
I let go of his hand and step back, trying to pull myself together. I'm almost succeeding.
"Come in," I say, gesturing toward the living room.
He steps inside, and I watch as he shrugs out of his light jacket.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus.
The man isbuilt. His biceps strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt, and when he turns to hang his jacket on the coatrack, I get a full view of his back and shoulders.
And hisass.
Perfectly round, perfectly fitted in those well-worn jeans.
I'm staring. I know I'm staring.
Noah turns back toward me, and his eyebrows lift slightly, that easy smile still on his face. He caught me.
Oh God. Kill me right now.
My entire face burns hot enough to power a small city.
"So," I say quickly, my voice pitching up half an octave. "You're a nanny."
"Manny, like the kids call me," he says with a grin. "But yeah. That's me."
From the top of the stairs, a voice rings out.
