Maid for Montero

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘There is an excellent security system in place, and security guards.’

  He heard the nervousness in her voice, saw the sudden alarmed dilation of her pupils and smiled slowly, without feeling any sympathy. Well might she be worried, he thought grimly. The odds were that some of his valuables were even now in the pockets of light-fingered visitors. His security team would be lucky to come out of this with jobs.

  ‘So I couldn’t just pick up…’ He made a show of looking around the room, then reached out and picked up a gilt-framed miniature from its stand. It was one of a pair he had outbid a Russian oligarch for six months earlier. He did not begrudge the inflated price, as he liked the sense of continuity—the miniatures were coming back to where they had been painted. ‘This?’

  The casual action made her tummy muscles flip. When she had first arrived she had literally tiptoed around the place, seriously intimidated by the value of the treasures it housed and scared witless of damaging anything. Though she had relaxed a bit now, seeing this valuable item treated so casually was alarming.

  She gave a nervous laugh and thought, Calm down—no genuine thief would be this obvious…would they?

  ‘No, you couldn’t…’ She sucked in an alarmed breath and fought the impractical urge to rush forward and snatch it from him. She didn’t have a hope in hell of taking anything away from six feet five inches of solid muscle. She looked at his chest and swallowed, her tummy giving a nervous quiver as she pressed a hand to her middle where butterflies continued to flutter wildly.

  ‘Is it genuine?’ he asked, holding the delicate gilt frame between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘A clever copy,’ she lied, nervousness making her voice high pitched. ‘All the valuable stuff is locked away in the bank.’ I wish!

  ‘So that’s why you’re not concerned about stray visitors putting a souvenir in their pocket and walking out.’

  Zoe swallowed as she watched the miniature vanish into the pocket of his well-cut jeans, but was able to maintain an air of amused calm as she returned his wolfish grin with a shaky smile of bravado and shook her head. What did it say about her that even at a moment like this she had noticed how rather incredible his muscular thighs were?

  ‘We’re not actively encouraging it, but if anyone’s tempted we have a very strong security presence.’ She saw no need to explain that this presence was at the moment helping out with directing people in and out of the parking areas. She felt extra bad about that because she had pretty shamelessly taken advantage of the absence of the head of the security team to persuade his deputy to relax the rules. She had used every weapon, including moral blackmail and some mild but effective eyelash fluttering.

  ‘So I would be stopped before I left the building…?’

  Even though she positioned herself strategically in the doorway, Zoe was well aware that he would find her no obstacle to escape if he wanted. Though she was not sure he wanted to—he seemed just as happy taunting her as making good his escape.

  Zoe placed her hands on her hips, lifted her chin to a don’t-mess-with-me angle and resisted the temptation to return an ‘over my dead body’ response. He might decide to take it too literally. Instead she said calmly, ‘Definitely not. I’ll have to ask you to return the miniature. It’s very valuable.’

  ‘Yes, it was quite a find.’ The blue eyes he held blinked and a small furrow appeared between her dark feathery brows. He experienced a stab of guilt. She was obviously scared stiff and he did not enjoy scaring women even if on this occasion she deserved it.

  ‘Find?’

  He tilted his head in acknowledgement of her bewildered echo. ‘The lady here was considered a great beauty of the day, but she was trade—the daughter of a wealthy mill owner. The marriage caused quite a scandal when Percy there brought her home.’ He glanced at the twin of the portrait he held still sitting in its stand. ‘It turns out that old Percy started a trend in the family, though I’m afraid the other heiresses that subsequent male heirs married were not always so easy on the eye as Henrietta here.’ He studied the painting, taking a moment’s pleasure from the masterful brush strokes and eye for detail shown by the artist. ‘He really caught her…Such a sensual mouth, don’t you think? Personally I think this is better than the Reynolds on the staircase.’

  His eyes were trained, not on the portrait in his hand as he spoke, but her own mouth. The effect of the dark-eyed stare was mesmerising. Zoe didn’t respond, mainly because she could barely breathe past the hammering of her heart against her ribcage, let alone speculate on how he knew so much about the history of the house and family.

  ‘Maybe they were in love?’ Her voice sounded as though it were coming from a long way away.

  He laughed. The throaty sound shivered across the surface of her skin, raising a rash of goosebumps. ‘A romantic.’

  The amused mockery in his voice made Zoe prickle with antagonism. What was she doing discussing love with a possible art thief? Was he? He certainly seemed to know more than she did about the artwork in the house.

  ‘Actually, no, I’m not.’ Her chin lifted. ‘But if I was I wouldn’t be ashamed of it. Now, Mr…I have things I need to attend to. If I could ask you to—’

  ‘Shame is a very personal thing,’ he mused, cutting across her. ‘I wonder if Percy was ashamed of his heiress? You call it love, but I call it symbiosis.’

  She compressed her lips. ‘I wasn’t calling it anything. I was simply not discounting the possibility.’

  He tilted his dark head in acknowledgement of her interruption. ‘Well, there is no doubt that she had money and he had social position, the ability to guarantee her acceptance into society, though maybe looking at that mouth there might have been other factors involved?’

  He levelled his obsidian gaze on Zoe.

  ‘Do you not think she has a sensual mouth?’

  Now there was a case of pot calling kettle, she thought, dragging her gaze from the firm sculpted outline of his own mouth.

  ‘I’m no expert on sensuality.’

  ‘I’m sure you are being modest.’ He arched a satiric brow and the speculation in his smoky stare sent a rush of embarrassed heat over her body. ‘Well, I shall continue to think that our Henrietta was a woman of passions…and that perhaps Percy was a lucky man? We will, I suppose, never know. What we do know is that when there were no more rich social-climbing heiresses, the family sold off treasures and land until finally there was nothing left. There is a certain sense of continuity in seeing this pair back where they started.’

  ‘That’s very interesting but…’ She stopped, the colour fading from her face. His manner, his accent, the fact he displayed no sign of discomfort being caught in the house…Of course he had acted as though he owned the place, because he did!

  How could she have been so stupid? Because he wasn’t what she had been expecting, of course—if she’d walked into a room and found a short, balding man using expensive tailoring to hide an affluent middle-aged spread she would immediately have considered the possibility that she was looking at her employer.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Small wonder the stable girl who had shown the double-page spread to her in the society magazine had looked at her oddly when she’d responded to the Welsh girl’s enthusiastic, ‘Isn’t he utterly unbelievably lush?’ with a polite but surprised response that he wasn’t really her type. He hadn’t been the man in the photo handing out the cup at the polo tournament—he’d been the one receiving it!

  She had left the stables that morning reflecting sadly on the number of people who saw a man’s bank balance before anything else. If the stout, balding man handing over the cup to the Latin-looking polo captain had not had the odd billion in the bank pretty Nia wouldn’t have looked twice, and there she was acting as if he were some sort of centrefold pin-up.

  My God, he was the centrefold!

  Struggling to accept the evidence of her own eyes and lose the invented image in her head, she watched the polo-playing captain put the p
ortrait back in its place.

  I just knew this job was too good to be true.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘MY NAME IS Zoe Grace.’ She lifted her chin and clung to a shaky façade of calm. ‘I’m your new housekeeper, Mr Montero. I’m sorry, we weren’t expecting you,’ she apologised stiffly.

  ‘So I was looking for Zoe after all.’ He met her confused blue stare before his glance fell to the hand extended to him and, ignoring it, he continued in the same conversational tone. ‘I think you’ll find you’re my ex-housekeeper. You may have managed to con Tom…’

  Zoe’s shock at the calculated insult was followed swiftly by anger that she couldn’t check. ‘I didn’t con anyone!’

  ‘Then I can only assume you’re sleeping with him because I can’t think of any other reason why Tom would employ someone so stupendously unsuited to this or, as far as I can see, any other position of trust. And before you waste your time fluttering your eyelashes at me I have to tell you I’m not Tom. I enjoy a good body and—’ he paused, his eyes making a cynical sweep of her face before he delivered a crushing assessment ‘—passably pretty face, but when it comes to staff I prefer to keep the lines firmly drawn. It cuts down on confusion and time-consuming, messy litigation.’

  Zoe hated him before he was halfway through the scathing tirade.

  Dismay widened her blue eyes. He was already turning away. In the grip of panic she surged after him, catching hold of his arm. ‘You can’t sack me!’

  He arched a brow and looked down at her hand.

  Zoe let it go, biting down on her full under lip as she backed away, shaking her head.

  ‘I mean, you can, obviously you can, but don’t…’ She swallowed and bit her lip. Unable to meet his eyes, she lifted her chin, a note of sheer desperation creeping into her voice as she added huskily, ‘Please.’

  There were times when a person had to swallow her pride and this was one of those occasions.

  Of course, if it had been just her she would have told him where to stuff his awful job. In fact if there had been just herself to consider she wouldn’t be doing the job to begin with.

  But there was more than herself to consider now.

  Even if she could get some sort of job locally that would enable the twins to continue going to their school—they’d had enough disruption in their lives without being snatched away from everything that was familiar—Zoe couldn’t have afforded the rent on a property within the catchment area. As for buying—she would have been laughed out of any bank.

  The property prices were inflated in the village because of the number of affluent parents eager to move into the area due to the success of the local state school. Laura and Dan had frequently joked that they were sitting on a fortune, but their lovely little thatched cottage had been taken by her brother-in-law’s creditors along with everything else they had.

  Though his expression did not soften, Isandro did after a short pause turn and face her.

  ‘I need this job, Mr Montero,’ she said, wringing her white hands in anxiety at the prospect of being jobless and homeless.

  His expression held no hint of sympathy as he read the earnest appeal in her blue eyes.

  ‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you turned my home into a circus. Unless this is all someone else’s fault…?’

  Zoe didn’t even consider passing the buck. She lifted her chin and thought, You got yourself into this, Zoe, now get yourself out—crawl, grovel, whatever it takes. ‘No, this was all me.’

  ‘And you’re not even sharing the profits of this little enterprise…?’

  Anger made Zoe momentarily forget her determination to grovel. ‘Are you calling me a…?’ She lowered her gaze and added quietly, ‘I’m not making money from this. Nobody is!’

  He arched a sceptical brow. ‘No…?’

  ‘All the money goes to a good cause a—’

  He lifted an imperative hand. ‘Please spare me the sob stories. I have heard them all before. And as for appealing to my community spirit, don’t waste your breath. I don’t have any.’

  Or a heart, either, Zoe thought, trying to keep her growing sense of desperation and panic under control.

  She bit her lip. ‘I know I overstepped my authority but I didn’t see how a coffee morning could do much harm.’

  His ebony brows hit his hairline. ‘A coffee morning?’

  She flushed and lowered her gaze. ‘I know, I know…things got out of hand. It’s just they were so enthusiastic and—’ she lifted her eyes in appeal to his ‘—it was such a good cause that it was hard to say no.’

  A flash of irritation crossed his lean features. If this woman expected he would react to a combination of emotional blackmail and big blue eyes she was in for a disappointment. ‘It is always a good cause,’ he drawled carelessly.

  Zoe had to bite her lip to stop herself reacting to his contempt.

  She bowed her head. If he wanted humble, fine, she could do that…She had to do that. ‘We weren’t expecting you.’

  ‘How inconsiderate of me to arrive unannounced.’ The sarcasm brought a flush to her cheeks. ‘I admit I’m curious—what part of your designated role as someone responsible for the smooth running of this establishment did you think you were providing when you decided to turn my home into a cheap sideshow?’

  ‘I thought…well, actually…I’ve already said it did get a bit out of hand, but it’s not as if you are ever here.’

  ‘So this is a case of while the cat’s away. You have a novel way of pleading your cause, Miss Grace.’

  ‘I need this job.’ It went against every instinct to beg but what choice did she have? Speaking her mind was a luxury she could no longer afford. ‘I really need this job. If you give me a chance to prove myself you won’t regret it.’

  His lifted his magnificent shoulders in a shrug. ‘Like I said, you should have thought about that.’ He studied her white face and felt an unexpected flicker of something he refused to recognise as sympathy as he could almost taste her desperation. ‘Have you actually got any experience of being a housekeeper?’

  She was too stressed to give anything but an honest answer. ‘No.’

  ‘I think it might be better if I do not enquire too far into the reason my assistant saw fit to offer you this job.’

  ‘He knew I needed it.’

  Her reply drew a hard, incredulous laugh from him. Actually, he had some sympathy for his assistant. If her performance at interview had been half as good as the one she was delivering now, he would not have been surprised if the man had offered her more than a job.

  He would be having words with Tom.

  ‘If when I take an inventory there are any valuables missing you will be hearing from me. Other than that I shall expect you to have vacated your flat by the morning.’

  Zoe gave a wild little laugh. Short of falling to her knees, which might give him a kick but would obviously not change his mind, what was she meant to do? She had no skills, nothing to sell…The sheer hopelessness of her situation rushed in on her like a black choking cloud.

  Falling back on the charity of friends was her only option, and that was only temporary.

  She made one final attempt.

  ‘Please, Mr Montero.’

  His mouth thinned in distaste. ‘Your tears are very touching, but wasted on me.’

  She looked at him with tear-filled eyes. There was no longer anything to lose by telling him what she really thought. ‘You’re a monster!’

  He shrugged. Being considered a monster was to his way of thinking infinitely preferable to being a sucker.

  Zoe lifted her chin and, head high, walked towards the door, feeling the honeysuckle-scented breeze blowing through the open window stroke her cheek as she walked past him.

  She was so blinded by the tears she fought to hold back that she almost collided with the vicar who was entering the room.

  ‘Oops!’ he said, placing both his hands on her shoulders to steady her. ‘Zoe, dear, we wer
e looking for you.’ In the act of turning to include in this comment the woman who stood beside him with the child in a wheelchair he saw Isandro and paused, his good-natured face breaking into a beaming smile as he recognised him before surging forward.

  ‘Mr Montero, I can’t tell you how grateful we are…all of us.’

  Isandro, who had met the man on one previous occasion, acknowledged the gushing gratitude with a tilt of his head. ‘The work is finished on the new roof?’

  ‘New roof? Oh, yes, that’s marvellous but I am talking about today. This totally splendid turnout. It warms the heart to see the entire community pulling together.’

  He didn’t have a heart to warm, Zoe thought as she saw the hateful billionaire tip his dark head and hide his confusion behind an impassive mask of hauteur. Actually it wasn’t a mask; it was probably just him. Cold, cruel, vindictive, positively hateful!

  ‘Mr Montero, oh, thank you…Hannah, this is Mr Montero, darling. Come and say thank you.’

  Startled to find himself being hugged by a tearful woman, Isandro stood rigid in the embrace, his arms stiff at his side. Oblivious to the recipient’s discomfort, Chloe sobbed into his broad chest and told him he was marvellous.

  Zoe took a small degree of comfort from the discomfort etched on the Spaniard’s handsome face. She’d have preferred a job and a roof over her head but it was something.

  When Hannah propelled her wheelchair over, her little face wreathed in smiles, and informed the startled billionaire that he could have a puppy from the next litter, his expression almost made her smile…though that might have been hysteria.

  ‘Bella is the smartest dog, even though she was the runt, and everyone wanted her last puppies, though this time we think the father might be…Well, that’s all right, you’ve plenty of room here and you look like a dog person.’