Rika turns on her heel and starts walking toward the kitchen and I join in a second later, followed by the instigator of this disaster. That gets shut down fast by Rika, who raises her arm and points to the living room, giving her mother the kind of look that would have a schoolyard bully shrivel in place.
"Not you, Mom. Just Noah."
Belinda backs off with a dramatic little sigh, then she winks at me like we're co-conspirators. I absolutely notice. And I absolutely hate it.
Matchmaking isn't cute on the best of days. It's even less so when I'm facing a potential employer who now looks at me like I'm some foolish boy who isn't to be taken seriously.
Rika doesn't wait to see if I'll follow. She turns and walks into the kitchen. I trail after her anyway, trying very hard not to stare at her amazing figure as she walks in front of me. I know I'm not helping my case, but I'm unable to not stare at her ass.
She has curves that would make the best man falter. Round ass, small waist, and breasts for days. And those wings? Those wings flap behind her, enhancing the view like she's sin itself.
The kitchen is warm and lived-in, with white cabinets, ceramic countertops, and a large farmhouse table by the window. The refrigerator hums quietly, its surface covered in a collage of school notices, crayon drawings, and a calendar marked with color-coded appointments in Rika's precise handwriting.
Rika turns around and crosses her arms, her sharp, sapphire-blue eyes on me. Her full, round lips are bright red and pursed into the sexiest pout I've ever seen. For a moment, I forget whereI am or why. Then my gaze trails lower to her chest where her black blouse has a button unfastened, showing just the barest hint of a red lace bra.
For. Fuck’s. Sake. Look. Away.
I try, but it's like I'm in a trance or something. Rika frowns, then her eyes follow mine, and her cheeks turn the same shade as her full red lips.
"Oh, shit," Rika mutters, quickly buttoning the unfastened traitor.
As the spell dissipates, my embarrassment shoots through the roof. Not only am I in this incredibly sexy woman's house uninvited, but I've just shown myself to her as a creep who can't keep my eyes where they belong.
"So sorry," I mutter, looking so stubbornly into her eyes that I refrain from blinking.
"Never mind." Rika's voice is a bit high-pitched and her cheeks are still red, but she gestures at the table with the kind of authority that comes from someone who's used to telling other people what to do. "Sit."
Her beautiful, perfect, pouty-princess face is set in hard lines, which does nothing good for my sanity as my cock stirs to life in my jeans. I'm grateful to do as she says and I sit, folding my hands in front of me on the table.
"You're a man," she deadpans.
I inhale deeply, kind of grateful for this. I'm used to having to justify my choice of career to prospective employers. It's not unreasonable of them, after all.
"Good observation," I say with what I hope is an ice-breaking smile. "I am."
Rika lifts her brows, and I almost hear her think'Oh, a smart-ass. Wonderful.'
Well, so much for my charm. I clear my throat, then add, "Yeah, it's unusual for a man to be a nanny, but I'm not the only one, I can assure you."
That seems to work better on her as she slowly nods, her mesmerizing blue gaze still pinning me in place from across the table. It's pretty impressive for a woman who can't be much taller than five feet. I can totally see why she's a successful business owner.
I cannot see how a man would ever look at another woman when she's in his life, though. Her ex-husband must be all kinds of stupid to ever mess things up with a woman like that.
"So, tell me why I should hire you." She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes at me. Her voice is steady, but her pulse is right there in her throat, fast. "I'm assuming you know what happened to my last nannies, since you've been working for my mom."
There it is. The wall. The test.
I lean back a little, not casual, not cocky. Just enough to give her space. I open my hands in a surrender gesture I've used a thousand times with anxious parents and guarded kids.
"I'm aware that Zoe's been acting out, yes. It's not easy when kids go through a divorce," I say truthfully. "But I'm not worried about it. She wouldn't be the first kid I worked with who would rather have their parent at home than a nanny. Don't worry about it, I know how to handle it."
The smallest tremor of something crosses her expression before she locks it down again.
Fuck. Me.
She's beautiful. And she's tired. And she's trying so hard not to show either.
This is my kryptonite, if I ever had one. A damsel in distress who is dead set on refusing help.
