Witchcraft and Babysitting

Chapter 2

A devilishly handsome man, looking to be about twenty-five, strolled in the room casually, looking right at me, and then at D's hand clutched in mine. His brow furrowed a little bit before looking down at the little girl tugging on his pants leg, demanding his attention.

            My eyes dragged involuntarily to his handsome features, drawing in a quick breath. He had the same bright hazel eyes as the kids, but his seemed to be filled with mischief and cunning. His jaw line was square and proud and I wanted to trace it, using only the tips of my fingers. His long, midnight black hair looked windswept and sexy and I had the sudden urge to push it back, to run my hands through the silky strands. He was clad in tight, black clothing that outlined every ridge of every muscle on his body. My jaw dropped. This man was absolutely, breath-takingly gorgeous.

            The little girl, Angie, began to speak in earnest, pulling on the bottom of his silk shirt with little hands. “Uncle Adrian! This is..umm...Lana!” Her smile brightened, growing even wider when I thought it couldn't. “She's going to be our new nanny! Remember?” She tugged on his shirt again.

            He raised his head to look at me, taking in my blue tank-top and cut denim shorts in a second. He smiled, flashing straight, white teeth, and I had to fight the urge to faint. He was beautiful, if that was even possible for a man.

            “Hello.” He spoke right to me and I knew I had to answer back, but the words seem to stick in my throat.

            I swallowed nervously and I hoped he thought it was only nerves from being interviewed for a nanny. “Hello.” I answered smoothly and I silently applauded myself.

            He smiled again, a little bit wickedly this time. “So you must be the Lana.” He smiled down at Angie in adoration quickly before returning his eyes to me.

            “I must be.” Angie ran over to me, taking my other hand and I noticed him look at D's hand clutched in my before glancing away and eyeing me again. Angie hopped up and down, smiling up at me before her whole chest expanded in a long, drawn-out gasp.

            I dropped to one knee, worried, but she wasn't hurt; she wasn't even scared. She was staring right into my eyes. “Your eyes,” she whispered, lifting up a hand to touch my cheek in wonder,” your eyes are purple!”

            I was used to this reaction; it happened all the time. My eyes really were purple, a deep purple that grew lighter and lighter the closer they got to my irises. They even had tiny flecks of electric yellow. It wasn't contacts. I had been born with them and they had always been a great burden to me because they were always a subject of great fascination to others. Always surprise, then questions, then the whining of girls who wanted them or the glares of the jealous.

            “Yup. They're purple,” I said with little enthusiasm. Angie wasn't done though and I couldn't really blame her; she was only six. She pulled D to her, turning him to face me. Her eyes were round with wonder and her reaction was hilarious.

            Apparently, the man, Adrian, thought it was funny too because he chuckled, stepped closer and knelt beside Angie. I was a bit uncomfortable now with his big emerald-green eyes gazing right into mine with unabashed flirting.

            We stayed like that for awhile, and I knew it could've only been about less than 30 seconds or so, but it seemed like forever. I wanted to stand up, to stretch out my muscles and get the interview over with. It wasn't until Adrian stood up, clearing his throat that Angie and D broke the spell of our eyes. Blinking rapidly as if clearing a haze, they left, to the urging of Adrian to go outside and play so he could meet the lovely Lana. I blushed, pink, at the last part and I knew he saw it.

            He took my small wrist in one of his large hands and pulled me after him, down a long hallway, going back through the grand house, until he came to a tall, wooden door. He opened it noiselessly, holding it open for me to enter, like  true gentleman, except this man looked like no gentleman. He looked like a womanizer. And he knew it too. I could tell from his mischievous eyes and the twisted smile on his curved lips.