Page 22 of The Billionaire's One-Night Stand Nanny
Ryan had takenhis suit jacket off. His tie, too, and the collar of his lavender dress shirt was unbuttoned. I sat at the marble-topped kitchen island on a stool, Ryan stood on the opposite side, and there was a distractingly bare triangle of skin right at my eye level. I watched the hollow of his throat as he took a sip of whiskey, then forced my gaze down into my own glass of the amber liquid.Don’t get distracted, Flora. He’s your boss.
“How is your job search going?” he asked.
Well, that’s one way to kill the mood.
I took a swallow of my drink. “Fine, I guess. I’ve been sending in applications, and I know my old school will say nice things about me. But there aren’t many openings.” I shrugged. It was still early, but I hadn’t heard back yet from anywhere.
“Even for an excellent teacher like you?” he asked. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a smile.
“You don’t know if I’m an excellent teacher or not,” I laughed.
“Maybe,” Ryan said, shrugging, “but I know you’re great with Maddie. Shelovesyou,” he added. My heart did an unexpected flip-flop.He didn’t sayheloves you,I reminded myself. And besides–what was I eventhinking? I didn’t need–or want–Ryan to love me. He was just my boss.Mr. Walker.“I expect that your students felt the same.”
“Well, I didn’t buy my students ice cream every Friday,” I deflected, thankful for the neutral topic of conversation. This was good. We could talk as adults. “And I made them do homework, so.”
He smiled into his glass. “Sure. It’s not you she likes, it’s just the rainbow sprinkles.”
“I’m not above a little bribery,” I said, raising my eyebrows at him. “And I didn’t say Ineverbought them ice cream.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. His brows were drawn together and his mouth set in a teasing smirk. “Your students love you. Really? Ice cream? I bet you dopizza parties, too.”
I laughed, the sound loud against the quiet backdrop of an after-bedtime house, and opened my mouth to defend myself, but the words died in my throat. Ryan was watching me, his eyes heavy on my skin.
“You’re so quick to laugh,” he said. His voice was gravelly, and he tossed back the rest of his bourbon.
“Sorry,” I said, for lack of anything better to say. “I–”
“Don’t apologize,” he cut me off. “I like it. You have a beautiful laugh, and I–” He rotated his glass on the counter with a faint swish of crystal against stone. “I like hearing it in my house.”
My belly warmed. I wasn’t convinced it was because of the whiskey I’d drank.
“I like havingyouin my house,” he said, and this time, I was sure: it was definitely not the whiskey. “Laughing.”
“I’m quick to laugh,” I said. My voice sounded shaky and his eyes dropped to my mouth.
“Reading those books,” he continued, and I flushed. I hadn’t meant for him to see me readingRavished by the Rake–again–but I had shoved it into my tote bag last week, seeking comfort in a familiar story, and then tonight, it had seemed the perfect thing to read under the twinkle lights in the back garden as the lingering heat of the day faded into cool summer evening…
“You like the steamy ones,” he said with a slow smirk.
I nodded, my breath caught in my throat. He leaned forward over the narrow kitchen island, and I stared helplessly at his lips. Would he kiss me? Would I kiss him? I would, I couldn’t deny it.
They parted, and then… “Tell me what’s happening.”
“In the book?” I asked. I knewexactlywhat was happening tome: my head was spinning from the closeness, my heartbeat racing, warmth building low in my core. He just nodded.
“Ravished by the Rake.I’m curious. Humor me.”
“I–” I blushed. I’d read this book a half-dozen times, but suddenly could remember absolutely zero plot points, only–Throbbing manhoods.Heaving bosoms.“I–”
“That’s right,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “It’s only for experienced readers. I had forgotten.”
He obviously hadn’t. I had been replaying that night in my mind for weeks now… but I hadn’t expected that Ryan had been doing the same. The knowledge felt dangerous.
Not as dangerous as the way his eyes fell from my eyes to my lips, then lower, to my breasts.Heaving bosoms,my brain supplied unhelpfully.
“I hadn’t,” I murmured. “Forgotten. Ihaven’t.” His eyes flashed, the same color as the whiskey in the bottom of my glass.I’ll take care of you, he’d told me. He had.
He leaned closer, until I could taste the alcohol on his breath, and I closed my eyes.
