by Kim Lawrence
She stiffened as she shot to her feet, every muscle in her body clenched and defensive, refusing to acknowledge the cold fear in her belly. Clasping her hands together, she blew out her breath slowly and flicked back her wet hair.
‘What did you say?’ Her tone was conversational. She had obviously misheard him—nobody would be that brutal, that totally…totally vile.
‘You’re sacked.’
Desperation overcame her anger and she crumbled. ‘I’m really trying—’
‘Do not beg, Zoe. This is not open for discussion.’ She bit her lip.
‘It doesn’t matter how much you try. You’re uniquely unsuited to the role of housekeeper. I think it’ll be easier all around if we cut our losses rather than drag this out. You are not the sort of housekeeper I need.’ You’re the sort of sex I need.
Panic made her voice shrill as she came back, ‘I could be. It’s just I can’t relax around you…’ She caught his look and added quickly, ‘Because you’re my employer.’
Quite suddenly he was tired of this pretence. Sensual mouth compressed, his chiselled cheekbones jutting hard against his golden skin, he silenced her with a sharp jerk of his head as he rose to his feet. ‘That situation has got nothing to do with the fact I pay your wages. A strong sexual connection makes all our encounters less than relaxing, especially when you work so hard trying to pretend it doesn’t exist.’
Zoe turned her head, her mouth open to produce a strong rebuttal, her eyes connected with his glowing dark gaze. Her biggest fear had been him guessing the way she felt, and now he had. So what, she thought despairingly, was the point denying it?
‘Don’t you find it exhausting, Zoe?’ he asked softly.
She stood there mutely staring at him. Inside she was dying of sheer mortification. This was her boss saying he knew she secretly lusted after him. What was she meant to say to that?
For a split second his resolve wavered. She looked so pale, so vulnerable. But it only wavered briefly. Another month like this one and he’d be a basket case.
‘I can only assume you’ve had some problems in the past with female staff and…crushes, but I promise you’re safe from me.’
He didn’t want to be safe from her.
‘Good to know, but you’re still sacked.’
She flinched. The bastard had said it the way someone remarked on the weather. Somewhere deep inside her, rage stirred. ‘Because I don’t fancy you.’
‘If that were true, there would be no problem.’
Her chest swelled as she flung him a look of withering contempt. ‘Even if you were right I have my own rules, too. And the first one is that I never have sex with a man I don’t respect. Believe you me, that rules you out, you contemptuous little snake!’
He gave a low throaty chuckle.
‘Why didn’t you just sack me on that first day?’ That would have been bad but this was worse. Thinking her job was secure, she’d allowed herself to relax, she’d allowed herself to sit here thinking stupid ridiculous thoughts about him, imagining that they might even…Stupid…stupid…stupid! She was so angry with herself she wanted to scream. She took a deep breath and slung a look of loathing his way.
‘I didn’t sack you at that point because my company is in the middle of some sensitive negotiations which could mean a lot of…’ He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘You are not interested in the whys, but the success of this deal will mean something in the region of a thousand jobs over a five-year period.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘It’s about protecting my company’s brand. Any negative publicity would send the clients running for the hills, and the story of me sacking a woman because she used my property to host a charity fund-raiser would be the worst-possible PR.’
Trying to think beyond the static buzz in her head, a combination of anger and panic, she only really processed one word in two of what he was saying. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Because you are an innocent.’
How long would her savings last…a month, two…? After that what was she going to do?
‘I really hate you.’ Her snarl was shaky but filled with venom and her eyes gleamed with loathing as she glared up at him. She grabbed at a side table, afraid that her shaking knees were about to give way. This body blow on top of the events of that afternoon had taken a physical as well as mental toll.
‘Calm down. There’s no need to react this way. It’s not as though you enjoy the job.’
Calm down? What planet did this man live on?
‘We can’t all do jobs we enjoy. Some of us do jobs because we need to survive.’ This job had been her plan A, and she didn’t have a plan B. She wiped her brow as she felt the panic crowding in on her again.
‘Will you stop acting as though you’re a heroine in a Victorian melodrama and I’m the villain?’
She flashed him a look of sheer incredulity and shook her head. He made it sound as though she was overreacting. ‘If the black hat fits…?’
With an exaggerated roll of his eyes he placed his hands on her shoulders, exerting enough pressure to force her back down onto the sofa. ‘If you’d stop for a minute and let me explain. I’m not throwing you out anywhere. I’m suggesting that you move to the end of the drive, that’s all.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The gatehouse.’ The solution had been staring him in the face all along! Now that he had had his eureka moment, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thought about it earlier.
‘The one you’ve just decorated?’
The building in question had not been included in the initial refurbishment of the estate because there had apparently been some planning dispute over a proposed extension, but this had recently been resolved. Zoe had not been involved with the renovation but the builders had packed up and left a couple of weeks ago and the team of decorators had literally finished the previous day.
‘If I’m not working for you how can—?’
‘I’m suggesting you and the children move into the gatehouse, pay a nominal rent…’
‘With what?’ No job meant no money, which meant…Oh, God, she couldn’t think what it meant. She was no longer in a position to sleep on a friend’s couch until she sorted things. The twins needed a home and stability—they needed a guardian who didn’t go around losing her job!
I am such a loser.
Well, if she was a loser, he was a total bastard!
‘I have a friend who has bought an art gallery. She is looking for someone to front it. I have spoken to her about you…’
Polly’s astonished response when he had explained that his unsuitable housekeeper’s domestic situation meant he couldn’t simply let her go without providing some sort of safety net was still fresh in his mind.
‘Since when did you worry about dismissing someone who wasn’t up to the job, Isandro? And why are you going to so much trouble to help find the girl a job?’
She had accepted his explanation without question.
‘So this is about avoiding bad PR. What a relief. For a moment there—’ she laughed ‘—I thought you’d become a bleeding heart!’
‘She is happy to offer you a trial,’ Isandro told Zoe.
‘What makes you think I’d be any less terrible at running an art gallery than I am running a house?’ Zoe asked bitterly.
‘You are artistic.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Had you not been accepted on a fine arts degree course before your sister and her husband died?’
In the middle of a miserable sniff, Zoe lifted her incredulous glance to his face. ‘How did you know that?’
He shrugged and dropped his gaze. ‘Tom might have mentioned it.’
‘But why would your friend give me this job?’
‘I asked her.’
‘A permanent job?’
‘Very few things in life are permanent, but there would be a very good severance package,’ he
told her smoothly. ‘Enough for you to pay your way through art college as you planned and employ childcare in the meantime. I understand they run an excellent foundation fine arts course on an evening basis at the local college.’
‘I don’t understand. Why would this woman pay me a—’ her nose wrinkled; what had he called it? ‘—severance package?’
‘She wouldn’t.’
Zoe shook her head as the confusion deepened.
‘I would.’
‘But I wouldn’t be working for you.’
‘Not as such,’ he conceded. ‘The point is, Zoe, the attraction is not one-sided. I want you in my bed and I am a man in a position to make my fantasies come true. You are my fantasy, Zoe.’
Things fell into place in her head with an almost audible clunk. She shot to her feet—no longer shaking, no longer terrified, just furious.
‘Let me get this straight. This job you’re talking about, it’s as…your mistress?’
He shrugged. ‘That’s an old-fashioned term.’
She stuck out her chin, her blue eyes sparkling with wrathful contempt. ‘I’m an old-fashioned girl.’ He had no idea how old-fashioned. ‘Though I suppose you think I should be flattered. Isn’t it a bit of a risk, though? We’ve never even slept together. How would you know that I’d be…any good in the bedroom?’
‘It takes two, and I think when a woman literally shakes with lust when I look at her I’m willing to take the risk on a sight-unseen basis—’
‘My God!’ she gasped. ‘You really think I’m shallow enough to want to sleep with a man who is obviously deeply in love with himself. A man whose only redeeming feature as far as I can tell is a pretty face and a moderately all right body.’
Fingers crossed, because that was a lie. He had the body of an Adonis. She gave a derisive sniff and arched a brow before laughing.
‘Yes, I do.’ His sloe-dark eyes drifted over her lush sinuous curves shrouded beneath the robe, and his mouth grew dry at the thought of slipping the loose knot of the belt looped around her narrow waist.
It was an uphill struggle to act as though his slow, sexy smile was doing nothing to her. She knew that sex appeal wasn’t just about looks, but the idea that she was any man’s erotic fantasy—let alone a man like Isandro—was shocking. She swallowed and pressed both hands to her stomach, shamefully aware that the deep quivers that rippled low in her pelvis were not caused by shock. What he was suggesting was wrong on more levels than she could count, it went against every principle she held dear, yet she was excited…What does that say about me?
‘Besides, we don’t have to wait. This is the perfect opportunity to find out if it’s as good as I think it will be.’ The sweep of his hand took in the big bed piled with cushions, the open French door against which the light curtains fluttered in the breeze.
In the distance Zoe could hear a flock of geese landing on the water. She went hot, cold, then hot again.
‘I’m not selling my body.’
‘That’s good, because I’ve never paid for sex.’
‘What do you call what you’re suggesting?’
‘I’m suggesting we remove the barrier that is preventing us both doing what we want to. If you are no longer on my payroll we can be equal.’
‘I’ll never be equal to you. I’ll always be superior!’
‘Bravo!’ he drawled.
Her lips tightened. ‘Don’t you dare patronise me! And why make up that stupid story about your friend?’
‘That is not invented. It is real. I do have a friend who owns a gallery.’
Zoe felt a stab of something she didn’t immediately recognise as jealousy. ‘A female friend?’
Could you sound more jealous if you tried?
‘Her name is Polly Warrender. She inherited a theatre from her husband.’ Zoe had heard of the Warrender theatre, but then pretty much everyone had. ‘When she diversified and bought into an art gallery she came to me for advice.’
She stifled a theatrical yawn, but the gesture unwittingly drew his eyes to the soft full curve of her rosy lips. ‘So, let me guess, she listened to you and made a fortune,’ she inserted with a roll of her eyes.
‘Actually she ignored my advice and bought it and, yes, made a fortune.’ He gave a faint smile. ‘A smallish one.’
‘So you were wrong?’
He reached out and tangled a wet curl around one long brown finger and drawled, ‘You’ve discovered the chink in my infallible armour. Please do me a favour and keep it to yourself.’
As he released the curl his finger brushed her cheek. It barely made contact, but Zoe, who had been holding her breath, felt an electric tingle pass through her body all the way to her curling toes.
His voice was a soft attractive buzz. She could hear what he was saying, but over and above the words was a louder buzz—a combination of her own heartbeat and the thrum of the deep hunger that was coursing through her veins with each beat of her heart as she stared at the deep V of golden chest dark against the white towelling.
It took every ounce of her self-control to stop herself reaching out and touching him…She curled her hands into fists and tucked them behind her back.
‘I put her onto the decommissioned church that was up for sale in town as a possible site for a new gallery. She has wanted to expand into this area for some time, so she owes me a favour. She is genuinely looking for someone to run it, and you have an art background…So it is perfectly feasible for you to live here and commute to do the foundation course.’
‘And amuse you in bed.’ He acknowledged her bitter addition with a tilt of his head. ‘You have it all worked out.’
He gave a smile. ‘The secret of success is taking control of events and not allowing them to control you.’
Yeah, you carry on telling yourself that, Isandro, if it makes you feel any better. The fact was he had felt out of control since the moment he had met this woman. From day one she had managed to turn his well-ordered life into chaos.
She shook her head. ‘Don’t you dare smile. I’m not listening to a word you’re saying.’
He took the hands she had pressed to her ears and pressed them against his chest. Then holding her eyes with his, he brushed his lips across her cheek.
‘You’re not shouting, though,’ he murmured against her mouth.
She wasn’t. Zoe was barely breathing. Her body felt strange and tingly, as though it didn’t belong to her. Her arms and legs felt heavy as though a great weight were dragging her down. Dizzy, she clutched at the towelling of his robe. Somehow it parted and her hands were flat on his skin, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers, the heavy thud of his heartbeat mingling with the frantic clamour of her riotous pulse.
Common sense told her to push him away.
‘This isn’t going to happen.’ Why was she whispering? She should be shouting.
‘If you say so, querida.’ His big hand sank into her wet hair, cupping the back of her skull. His long fingers tangled in her hair while his thumb trailed tingling paths down her cheek. His breath was coming fast and hot against her neck.
Her knees gave out, but before she could slide to the floor his arms snaked around her waist. He was so close that his face was a dark blur. She could see the predatory glow of his beautiful eyes. Her own eyes burned but she couldn’t blink, she couldn’t look away, not until he tugged at the soft pink flesh of her lower lip, holding it between his teeth. Then her eyes squeezed tight closed as she released a soft sibilant sigh and opened her palms flat on his chest, pushing them under the thick fabric of the robe, up over his warm skin to his shoulders.
Still she didn’t push. Like someone in a dream she clung, and still he didn’t kiss her. The scent of his warm male body in her nostrils, she was desperate for the taste of him. The need consumed her utterly, so strong that it blotted every other thought from her mind. He radiated raw power, and it excited her unbearably, sent a primitive heat sweeping through her in waves crashing over her. She felt herself going under.
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br /> Need, primitive need, raw and all-consuming, blinding lust controlled his actions as he tilted her face up. Dios, but he had wanted to kiss her for…It felt like a lifetime.
His tongue slid between her parted lips and Zoe’s brain closed down as instinct took over. Her moan was lost in the warm recesses of his mouth as her lips parted to deepen the sensual invasion.
She kissed him back, greedily drinking in the taste of him, wanting more…wanting everything. He hauled her body into him. His hands slipped down to her bottom as, cupping it, he lifted her off the ground. Without thinking, she wrapped her long legs tight around his waist as she framed his face between her hands, gave a throaty sigh and whispered, ‘God, but you are so beautiful…the most beautiful man.’
With a deep groan that rose up in his throat he plundered Zoe’s mouth, kissing her with barely controlled desperation, stealing the breath from her lungs, lighting a passion that flared into violent life. As she kissed him back with a wild and unrestrained hunger, satisfying the mutual need between them, everything else ceased to exist.
Her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, her legs tightening around his waist as she fought to get closer to him, her strength fuelled by the primal desire to be joined with him…be one.
Joined with her that way still, he walked blindly towards the bed.
Zoe felt as if she were falling—and then she was really falling and he was falling on top of her. A pillow beneath her head, she barely noticed the weight of his body on top of her until he levered himself off.
Panting, her eyes as dark as midnight, she gave a small cry of protest, then she saw what he was doing. Kneeling over her, Isandro was shrugging off his robe.
‘Oh, my God!’
He was long and lean, his skin gleaming like burnished gold. Not an ounce of excess flesh blurred the perfect lines of his powerful body. Every bone and sinew of him was perfect, like a bronzed statue. A rampantly, fully aroused bronzed statue.
She bit down hard on her full lower lip as heat washed her skin with a warm rosy flush. Her initial shock at the earthy image was replaced by a stomach-clenching, incapacitating, lustful longing that closed down every logic circuit in her brain.
