Page 32 of Fifth Avenue Fling

Seeing her half-naked in my bedroom gets under my skin just as much as that feminine Irish brogue that makes every sentence sound musical.

“That’sthe new Mrs. Dalton?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice low.

With her back to us, she flips through something on the bed, muttering to herself. Ah, the manual.

Connor leans forward to get a closer look. “Cute tattoos on her arm. Does she look as good from the front as behind?”

Yes.Better.

“You should pay for a streaming service. There’s plenty of premium nanny porn out there. Less chance of a lawsuit.”

“Shut it. She’s the hired help,” I bite out, not taking my eyes off Clodagh. “I don’t give a shit what she looks like. I’m paying her to look after my daughter and clean.” My jaw tightens. “She’s not right for the job.”

He chuckles, grabbing the screen remote from me. “Why haven’t you removed her then, like the last two? Oh wait, is it because it’s nice to have a pretty Irish lady fluff your pillows for you?”

I swallow my irritation, never taking my eyes off the screen. That is what I call an ass for spanking. “She’s not fired because Marcus convinced me to keep her while he looks for someone else.” I should have fired her just for stealing products from my hotel’s restroom.

Clodagh’s guttural lilt fills the room as Connor turns up the volume.

My hands tighten around the laptop.

His brows lift. “Northern Irish?”

“Close. Donegal.”

“Damn.” His voice is a low groan. “They sound angry even when they’re not. She can say whatever she wants. I might not understand it all, but I’ll still listen.”

My jaw locks tighter as she launches into a tirade of curses that would make a galley of sailors proud.

Connor’s eyes widen as he chuckles. “Did she just call you a motherfucker?”

“Yes, I believe she did,” I say through gritted teeth. And as pissed off as I am, hearing the woman insult me in her thick accent rouses something in my chest that rarely surfaces anymore.

Adrenaline.

“Fantastic.” Connor swings back in his chair, tipping on the two back legs. I hope he loses his balance. “Are you going to let her get away with that? I’m happy to help if she needs to be disciplined.”

“Pipe down,” I growl at the smart-ass, snatching the remote from him.

I’m about to kick him out of the boardroom when Clodagh turns with the manual in her hand and faces the camera, oblivious to the fact we’re watching her.

Her cheeks are flushed. Her brows are pulled together in a frown as she wipes sweat off her forehead. Silver glistens on her button nose. I squint, zooming in with the remote… what is that?

A silver ring in the shape of a horseshoe pierces her septum. She must take it out whenever I’m around.

Ridiculous. If Teagan got one of those, I’d hit the fucking roof.

I stiffen as my eyes scan down all five-foot-nothing of her body.

She has the visible tan lines of a tourist who doesn’t understand how strong the New York sun can get.

She’s not wearing a bra. Her chest glistens as beads of sweat disappear into creamy curves. Peaked nipples poke through her flimsy vest top exposing small, firm breasts that my hands would engulf. Arousal stirs unhelpfully inside me.

She’s tiny. A man like me would crush her.

I run my hand over my jaw agitatedly. I have two views of her now, one on the widescreen and one filling my laptop screen.

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