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That's when I notice he's checking me out, just like I'm checking him out. My cheeks burn.
"What's your name? We'll start there," he says, with a hint of kindness in his voice, some of thatdouchey tennis-brovibe fading. I've met men like him before. Some of them are nice.
Most are not. Given that he'd called me a birthday surprise, the jury is out for me right now. But he did let me go that night at Shake's without a fight, and I had stumbled into him, not the other way around.
The fact he's asking me my name right now is a big step up though, and points in his favor.
"I'm Miss Evangeline Bell," I say, hating the way my voice has gone soft. I used to talk like that in Paris. Pathetic and not authoritative. I need to break away from the girl I used to be. That's how I got into trouble before.
And here, in this last salvation, I'm not going to get into it again.
"Pretty name," he says, eyeing me, before holding out his hand. I stay still for a moment and then lift mine to shake his. But his fingers close around my palm, and he pulls my arm toward him, bending down toward me.
His mouth brushes across the back of my hand and I gasp, the feeling immediately electric. My skin tingles. The rush of it races along my arm, echoing through my whole body. From just one stupid little kiss. His eyes never leave mine, those dark coffee curls of his tumbling over his forehead, and he gives me the most filthy, dirty smirk I've ever seen as he straightens.
"I'm assuming you're Maddie's new nanny," he says, and just the way he emphasizesnannythreatens to set me on fire. My thighs tighten together and I step back, to give myself space, breathing room that's desperately needed. It's so hot in here. Did the AC stop working?
"I am," I say, my throat tight. He smiles.
"I'm also guessing you've never worked in a great house like this before?" He ventures, glancing toward the window. Outside the property sprawls, racing up to the hill-top where the main house sits, a monument to wealth and the American nobility system.
"Not exactly," I say, which I immediately regret because he looks at me, his curiosity piqued.
"Not exactly?" He asks, amusement fading slowly.
"What am I supposed to call you, because I don't know," I blurt out.
"My Lord is fine," he says, distracted by my question and I'm grateful for it. Then his smile is back. "My Lord Marquisif I've been bad," each word sizzles, and that tight feeling between my thighs spirals hotter. Fuck.
Maybe if he were much older, it wouldn't be a problem. A promise is a promise after all. But he's near my age, and I never swore off my age bracket—
"I want to know what you were doing outside that shitty little bar," he murmurs, taking a step toward me. My breath catches. There's something about the way he looks at me that has me wanting to tell him the truth. But Gina had made me promise to hide my short stint at Erica's bar from my resume. Instead she'd vouched I'd been doing childcare for one of her many relations the last little while.
"Just seeing a friend," I say quickly, swallowing down the tightness from lying.
"A male friend?" He asks, eyebrows pulling together.
"Does it— does it matter, my lord?" I ask. His lips part, his tongue slipping out lightly as if he is hesitating to say what he's thinking.
He smiles, teeth coming together with a hungry click.
"I like the sound of that, my title, coming from your mouth," his voice is like liquid smoke again, curling around me, tugging me in.
"Um," is about the most intelligent thing I can manage. My face is so hot, it must be bright red, and I look away, toward the windows, and then move to them. There's fields beyond, beautiful vineyards. "So were you born here?"
Stupid. Of course he was.
He steps up beside me, looking out the windows as well.
"Yes. Specifically in the duchess's chambers. They had a doctor and nurse brought in to celebrate the occasion. No common hospital for my first moments on this planet," he says, shifting to gaze down at me. I stare steadily outside, not daring to look at him. I feel his presence close to me like the sun on my skin, sending a cascade of prickles all over me.
I've never felt like this near someone before. Not even—
"And where were you born? Evangeline?" He knows my first name. I try not to react.
"Miss Bell," I correct him, because it's beyond inappropriate, in a house like this, for him to address me with such familiarity. If I stay here for six months, or longer, it wouldn't be right. Even I know that.
I glance up at him.
