Alien Architect Needs a Nanny (Alien Nanny Agency 1)

Ra’as

Ra’as heard the garage open and breathed a sigh of relief. She was back.

But that relief was followed by a surge of fury.

The front doors opened, and she tiptoed in, as if she thought she could get away with getting home so late it was practically morning, without anyone seeing her.

“Where the hell were you?” he demanded. “It’s late.”

“I’m not on the clock,” she whispered back angrily, gliding to the center of the foyer.

She had been drinking, he wouldn’t have been able to tell if he hadn’t made a study of her over the last few days. But it was the languid body movements that gave her away, her posture was usually so deliberate.

“Coming home tipsy in the middle of the night isn’t setting a good example for the kids,” he said icily.

“Where are the kids?” she asked in mock surprise. “Are they lurking around here in the dark like ninjas, too?”

“I was not lurking,” he retorted. “I was worried about you. You must know that going on a date with a stranger is risky on a planet with so few women.”

She blinked at him, looking stupefied, and something in his chest relaxed. Wherever she had been tonight, and whatever she had done, at least no one had taken advantage of her.

“You’re important to us, Emilia,” he said wearily. “If you have to do this again, I hope you’ll at least let me get a driver to take you. Now, how much have you had to drink?”

“Clearly not enough,” she replied tartly. But the fire was out of her voice.

Maybe she could finally see that he was genuinely worried about her. He found that he liked that idea.

“Are you asking me to have a drink with you, Emilia?” he asked her deliberately.

She locked eyes with him for a moment in the semi-darkness, then nodded once.

Electricity coursed through his veins, pushing away the anger and the worry.

There were about a million reasons why this was a bad idea, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck.

He took her hand and marched to the library in the back of the house.

Running his fingers along the light sensors, he programmed a dim romantic glow in the back of the library that wouldn’t be seen from under the door.

“Sit,” he told her, pointing at the leather sofa tucked behind the first two rows of bookshelves.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but obeyed, and an ancient instinct in him rejoiced at her show of submission.

In the soft light, he could see her better. The skimpy dress skimmed her curves, and revealed more of her delicate flesh than he had seen before. He had to work not to stare.

She flopped onto the sofa and leaned back, eyeing him.

“Nothing too strong,” she said warningly.

It took him a heartbeat to remember he was supposed to be making them drinks.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he told her.

Crossing the room to the small bar in the corner, he grabbed two glasses and poured an inch of aged Zublian into one, and two inches into another.

He turned to see she was watching him intently, like a tiny predator stalking larger prey.

“This is very special liquor,” he told her, smiling indulgently. “So take it slowly.”