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’s the 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.
Connor lets out a low whistle, eyes fixed on the widescreen. “Nice. This is what she wears to clean your house?”
That wasn’t in the fucking manual. When I said there was no dress code, I didn’t mean it literally. I’ll have to update it to say she needs to wear that hideous floral skirt.
My hands grip the remote tighter as Clodagh bends down to start the vacuum cleaner, giving us an eyeful of breasts.
Connor grins conspiratorially. “Funny how Marcus chose someone who would have been your type ten years ago. Pity she’s too young for you.”
“Hardly,” I growl. “She looks like an overgrown teenager with a bullring through her nose. And by the sounds of how much she talks to herself, she’s fucking crazy.”
“Uh-huh.” He smirks, pissing me off even further.
I might be getting aroused over the nanny, but attractive little redheads are a dime a dozen in Manhattan, and if I wanted one, I could pick one that was a tad more refined without shitting on my own doorstep.
“She’s not even qualified as a nanny. And she appears to have zero experience as a domestic assistant.” I pause, letting my eyes roam all over her body. “She’s a trained carpenter.”
“A carpenter? That’s cool. I don’t know any female carpenters.”
I have to agree with him; given a few more years and the proper guidance, Clodagh could have a decent little business.
We watch as she runs the vacuum back and forth across the carpet. It makes a grinding noise, like something is stuck in it.
No… no …
I exhale sharply as the vacuum smashes into the bedside table, knocking over the picture of Teagan and me.
Connor barks out a laugh, apparently believing the situation is more humorous than it is. “Maybe keep your valuables up high.”
Cursing loudly, she stops the vacuum with a kick and bends down to lift the picture, giving us a full view of her ass.
“Remind me why we’re spying on your hot young cleaner? I could watch her all day, but even I have morals sometimes.”
“I’m checking to ensure she can follow simple instructions and behave herself. I don’t trust her yet.” I clench my jaw.
As she puts the photo back, the nightstand drawer nudges open an inch. Indecision flickers across her face.
“Don’t fucking do it,” I snarl at the camera as her hand hovers over it.
She does it. She brazenly opens my damn drawer. Just another few inches, but it’s enough.
I swipe the speaker button. “Why are you looking in an off-limits area?”
Screaming pierces the boardroom’s speakers.
Connor and I wince as she turns in all directions to identify the source of the voice. It’s surround sound.
She shuts the drawer with such force the picture falls off the nightstand again, and this time, I hear the frame smash.