Picnics in Hyde Park. Nikki Moore

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Reilly,’ he barked. ‘Yes?’

      She forced her lips into a polite smile while she waited. It wobbled when she realised he was talking to the recruitment agency.

      ‘No, it’s not good enough. I’m completely dissatisfied with the level of service I’ve received. You know I need a new nanny urgently. You sent someone else along, but— What? Oh, never mind, forget it.’ He hung up, clenching the phone in his fist.

      Jeez, was he this grumpy all the time? He must have been a joy for her sister to live with. Or maybe he was just having a bad day. If that was the case, it wasn’t going to get any better with her arrival.

      ‘That was about another no-show. Incredibly, the third today.’ He paused, then shook his head, as if already regretting what he was about to say. ‘I’ve only got this afternoon set aside for interviews, I suppose as you’re here you may as well come in.’ Gesturing her over the threshold. ‘You can talk me through your experience and the agency can get me your details later if things go well,’ he bit, slamming the front door behind them.

      Gee thanks, don’t do me any favours. She stuck her tongue out crossly at his back as her eyes adjusted to the light inside the house, then blanked her expression as he moved past her.

      But he didn’t stop, striding off down the wooden parquet hallway so that she had to hurry after him. ‘This way.’

      She caught a flash of a staircase to her left and a dazzling though unlit chandelier overhead, but her focus was on following Matt. The scents of vanilla polish, flowers and some unnameable but appealing fresh male aftershave drifted over her as she caught up with him.

      ‘I’m presuming the agency will have up-to-date references for you, along with an enhanced DBS clearance,’ Matt threw open a door and lead her into a massive lounge filled with windows and light.

      Zoe made a non-committal mmmm sound, taking in her surroundings. The parquet flooring continued straight through from the hallway, but apart from that everything was white; the ceiling, the walls, the fireplace that looked like it had never been used. On the far side of the room two French doors opened onto some kind of outdoor space, with matching conifers in square black pots sat outside them. There was very little furniture and no paintings on the walls. She walked over and sat on one of the shiny black sofas that faced each other across a blocky glass coffee table. Hiding a grimace, she slung her handbag down on the floor. It was so impersonal, more like a show-home than a real one. She hated it. It was way too pristine. How on earth did kids live here? Where was the personality, the clutter, the colour? Perhaps the children were kept in a cupboard under the stairs like Harry Potter, she thought unkindly, tongue in cheek.

      She knew from her sister that Matt’s daughter Aimee was seven years old, didn’t talk much and was exceptionally bright, and that his son Jasper was nearly five and about to start school. Melody had described the little boy fondly but seeing her sister’s sometimes strained face on the laptop screen and listening to funny stories about what he’d got up to, Zoe had concluded he was a bit of a handful.

      ‘Anyone in there?’ a gravelly voice broke into her thoughts.

      Straightening, she lifted her chin and met Matt Reilly’s gaze properly for the first time. ‘I—’ Oh.

      Oh, man. The Americanism resounded in her head. Freezing, heart thudding, her mouth dropped open. Realising she must look like the village idiot, she shut it immediately, teeth clicking together. ‘Yes. Sorry.’

      ‘Good.’ Leaning forward, he grabbed a notepad and silver embossed pen, and made a few notes on the paper.

      She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. She’d seen blurred photos of Matt in the press, but he was always ducking his head away or wearing sunglasses, so there’d never been an opportunity to see what he really looked like.

      The reality was that he was outrageously, jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

      He shared his brother’s colouring, the green eyes and thick dark hair, but the similarity ended there. Stephen was tall and wiry, but with the long spread of his ridiculously muscular legs and the breadth of his shoulders Matt was far bigger and better built. In fact, he looked more like an international rugby player than some arty creative type who spent most days holed up in a dark studio.

      And though she could understand why Melody found Stephen attractive, Matt was far more appealing. His face was leaner, rugged with stubble and with a fierce intelligence shining in his gaze under thick dark eyebrows. James Marsden chiselled cheekbones and a stern mouth might have given him a rugged male beauty were it not for the two tiny imperfections she’d always been a sucker for. A sinking feeling tugged at her tummy as she stared at a bump on the ridge of his nose, perhaps from a break, and a small, inch long scar that ran down into his top lip.

      She’d had a thing about bad boys since a teenage crush on Harrison Ford in the Indiana Jones films, sparked by watching Christmas re-runs with Ruth. Their great aunt, who’d raised them since Mel was seven and Zoe was thirteen, loved adventure movies despite her appearance and stilted manner. Since then, the rebel characters in TV series and films had prolonged Zoe’s obsession with bad boys. It was unfortunate for her, because Matt definitely looked like the kind of guy who’d ride up on a motorbike wearing leathers and whisk a girl away for a dirty, dangerous weekend. The sinfully tight blue jeans and black t-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders reinforced the image.

      ‘Shall we get started?’ he asked, frowning.

      ‘Of course,’ she straightened in her seat, trying to reassert her professionalism.

      His phone pinged. ‘For the love of—’ putting the pad aside, he checked his mobile, reading something and scowling like it was telling him the end of the world was nigh. ‘The sooner my assistant is better, the sooner my sanity will return,’ he muttered absent-mindedly, touching the screen and typing a reply message.

      The deadpan delivery was unwittingly amusing and made him seem less grumpy. Zoe couldn’t help chuckling under her breath as she stared at him. A tingling awareness ran through her, a purely sexual heat beating between her legs and tightening her skin, raising bumps along it.

       No. You detest him. He hurt Melody.

       A pretty face and a toned body mean nothing.

       Men aren’t to be trusted.

       Get over it.

      It was easy to clamp a lid on her unruly hormones as she reminded herself of those facts. Plus the intense physical reaction was ridiculous and just too much. It had to be down to the jet lag and fury, as well as her spinning, conflicted emotions about coming home.

      Then she sighed, studying him as he tapped away on the phone. Damn. One thing she didn’t usually do was lie to herself and the truth was she’d never had such an overwhelming and immediate attraction to someone before. Fancied them, sure. Had flings, a few. Longer term boyfriends, yes…which unhappily lead her thoughts to Greg. What an awful waste of five years he’d turned out to be.

       Why didn’t I see it coming? Why didn’t I know?

      Rage swamped her, despair pulling her down. She was obviously no judge of character where men were concerned. She’d virtually abandoned Melody to follow Greg across the ocean, and in return he’d betrayed her.

      She straightened her shoulders, setting СКАЧАТЬ