Rika's mouth falls open. I freeze mid-breath. Matthew looks confused, gaze darting between the adults.
Zoe shrugs, already turning toward the stairs. She pauses on the bottom step, glancing back over her shoulder.
"Just saying."
And then she's gone, climbing the stairs with Matthew trailing behind her, leaving Rika and me standing alone in the sudden, thick quiet.
Chapter 15
Rika
Istareatmyphone for the seventeenth time this hour.
Yes, I'm counting. Because that's what rational, well-adjusted adults do at eleven forty-seven at night when they can't sleepbecause they're obsessing over their children's incredibly hot nanny who also happens to be the best lover they've ever had.
I groan and press my palms against my eyes, willing my brain to shut up and let me sleep.
It doesn't work.
The house is dark and quiet around me, filled with familiar nighttime sounds, the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the occasional hoot of an owl outside, the soft creak of old wood settling. My bedroom feels too big and too empty, the sheets cool against my bare legs where my oversized t-shirt has ridden up.
It's one of my old college t-shirts, actually. One of the few things I have from my life before Mitchell Lark. It's also damned comfortable and I love it.
I roll onto my side, then my back, then my other side. My wings rustle against the mattress with each movement, adding to my agitation.
This is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman. A business owner. A mother of two. I should not be lying here in the dark, thinking about Noah Mercer's hands on my body, his mouth between my thighs, the way he looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Except I am thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about it.
It was the best sex of my life, hands down. Not even close. Mitchell never—
Nope. Not going there. Not comparing. That's not fair to anyone, least of all myself.
But the truth is undeniable: what happened between Noah and me in this very bed was transcendent. Earth-shattering. The kind of pleasure I didn't even know existed outside of smutty romance novels.
And then I spent two days treating him like the help.
Shame burns hot in my chest, and I have no idea what to do about it. I've been a complete chickenshit, shutting Noah outlike that. The truth is I panicked. Because Mitchell's cruel words burrowed under my skin like splinters, and I couldn't figure out how to pull them free.
Frigid. Ice queen. No man would want you unless you paid him.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of Mitchell's voice, dripping with contempt as he stood in my driveway and eviscerated me in front of Noah and my children.
The worst part? Some pathetic, broken part of me believes him.
Not the rational part. The rational part knows Mitchell Lark is a vindictive asshole who cheated on me with a string of women and then with my best friend. Then had the audacity to make it my fault. The rational part knows I deserve better.
But there's another part, smaller, quieter, more insidious, that whispers in my ear that maybe he's right. Maybe Iamcold. Maybe Iamtoo much work. Maybe Noah will realize it soon enough and leave just like Mitchell did.
I grab my phone again, the screen brightness making me wince in the darkness. My thumb hovers over Noah's contact name.
I should apologize, at least. Especially after what he did for Zoe this afternoon. It was like a dam breaking and I was finally able to sit down and talk with my daughter openheartedly.
She told me everything that was on her mind, all her pain and all her anger. And I just listened. At the end of the night, she hugged me, told me she loved me, and went to bed. She looked a hundred pounds lighter as she disappeared into her room after our talk.
Noah deserves an apology, if only because he's the only adult who was able to reach her.
But what if he doesn't want to hear from me? What if I've already ruined everything?
