‘Sign for me, Luis?’
‘Want to come to a party later, Luis?’ asked one, boldly trying to shove a card into the top pocket of his denim shirt.
But despite his waving them away with an impatient hand, the girls simply took out their camera phones and started clicking frantically instead.
‘Does that happen very often?’ asked Carly as they climbed into the powerful car which was waiting for them outside the terminal.
‘Walking through an arrivals lounge when you get off a plane?’
‘There’s no need for sarcasm,’ she said tightly. ‘I meant, that kind of fan girl attention.’
He shrugged. ‘Everywhere I go.’
‘And does it get too much?’
He shot her a sardonic look. ‘What do you think?’
She hesitated. ‘I think that your life is...strange. That it manages to be both very public and very isolated at the same time.’
‘Ten out of ten for perception,’ he said mockingly.
She clipped her seat belt closed as the car began to pull away. ‘Yet you didn’t take any of those women up on their offers,’ she observed, ‘when many men in your position might have done.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘You don’t think that I’ve grown jaded with that kind of liaison? That those kinds of women are as interchangeable as the tyres I used to get through during a race?’
‘That’s a mean thing to say.’
‘But it’s true.’
The words came out more hotly than she had intended. ‘Funny how it’s never stopped you before.’
‘Why would it stop me?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘If a man is thirsty, he would be a fool not to drink. You think I should turn down some beautiful, beddable blonde because we have nothing in common other than the fact that our raging hormones seem hell-bent on collision?’
Carly shook her head. ‘You are outrageous.’
His lips curved into a smile and his dark eyes gleamed. ‘But you knew that already, Carly—I’m just answering your questions as honestly as I know how.’
Yes, he was, thought Carly. And didn’t she admire his honesty, even if it made her feel uncomfortable at times? He wasn’t pretending to be someone he wasn’t, was he? Maybe the emptiness in his eyes was an inevitable consequence of having your appetite jaded by being offered too much, too young.
‘So do you like being famous?’ she asked suddenly.
‘You make it sound as if I had choice in the matter, but I didn’t.’ He rested his palms on his denim-covered thighs and flexed his fingers. ‘I didn’t seek fame. All I wanted was to race and to be the best in the world— the acclamation was just an inevitable spin-off of that.’
But as he met her amber eyes he remembered that there had been other spin-offs, too. Success on the scale he’d known meant that you could write your own rules as you went along and he’d done exactly that, hadn’t he? Big time. He had turned his back on responsibility. He had taken from women but had never given anything back. He hadn’t needed to. He had known unbelievable wealth and adulation but nothing had ever filled the dark space deep inside him. Maybe that was the price you paid for fame.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have taken on as much advertising as I did,’ he said slowly. ‘But I was young and the success went to my head and it seemed crazy to turn down that kind of money. And my sponsors were keen for me to do it. Actually, that’s an understatement. They wanted someone to sex up the sport as much as possible and I was considered perfect for the role.’
And motor-racing was as sexy as it got, Carly realised. Even she could see that. All that power and testosterone and money—and Luis had exemplified it all with those show-stopping good looks and hard, sexy body. No wonder beautiful strangers thrust their phone numbers at him at airports with innuendo in their voices and hunger in their eyes. No wonder that even women like her weren’t immune to his charm.
‘And once you’re famous, you can’t undo it,’ she said slowly. ‘You can’t go back to the person you were before.’
‘No. You can’t. The world has an image of you and there isn’t a thing you can do to change it.’
‘Well, that’s not quite true. You could...’ The words were out before she had time to think about them.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Could what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Tell me. I’m interested.’
She shrugged. ‘You kind of bring publicity on yourself by dating the sort of women who give tell-all interviews to glossy magazines after you dump them.’
‘You think I should have them sign a confidentiality clause before I take them to bed?’
‘I don’t know, Luis—I’m your housekeeper, not your counsellor.’
Turning her head, she peered out of the window as the car ascended a terrifyingly narrow road which spiralled its way up a dizzyingly high, green mountain. ‘Gosh, it’s so beautiful out there,’ she said.
‘Are you deliberately changing the subject, Carly?’
‘I might be.’
He laughed. ‘Ever been to Europe before?’
She watched as a bright scarlet sports car squeezed past them in the opposite direction, screwing up her eyes as she wondered if it would make it. ‘Just a package holiday to Spain—two weeks in Benidorm in a hotel with my mother and my sister. It was fairly...basic.’
‘Then you may be in for something of a treat,’ he commented drily as his phone began to ring and, pulling it from his pocket, he answered in Spanish.
The rest of the journey passed quickly and Carly wondered what her sister would say if she could see her now, in a chauffeur driven car, travelling through some of the most expensive real estate in the world. She probably wouldn’t have believed it. Come to think of it, she was having a bit of difficulty believing it herself.
The car rounded a bend and she caught her first glimpse of Luis’s house—a belle-époque villa which he told her he’d bought from an Arabian prince, a friend of a friend, who just happened to be a sultan.
For Carly, it was yet another illustration of his rarefied life, a life which she’d seen only fragments of before. But suddenly it was being pieced together in front of her eyes, like some kind of rich and lavish jigsaw puzzle. He knew sultans and kings. Supermodels and politicians converged on his houses like flocks of glamorous butterflies. But he had no real base, she realised. He flitted from gorgeous house to gorgeous house, but there was no place to call home. Despite all his expensive real estate, Luis Martinez was nothing but a rich and pampered gypsy.
She looked up at the villa as their car drove through the gates, thinking it was like some kind of sumptuous fortress. Dazzling white and shielded by tall dark cypress trees, it sat high in the hills overlooking little azure coves and inlets.
‘Are there many staff?’ she asked, suddenly nervous.
‘Just the usual. And your French counterpart is called Simone. You’ll like her.’
Simone was waiting to greet them in a vast reception area with corridors leading off in different directions, like the spokes of a wheel. Tall vases filled with orange roses and spears of eucalyptus were reflected back in large ornate mirrors. A classical statue of a young woman tipping water over herself stood in one corner.
Carly looked around, thinking that it was a bit like being in a museum and that his French housekeeper was scarily chic. Simone’s grey dress skated over her slim figure, her hair was cleverly tinted, and, though she must have been pushing fifty, Carly suddenly felt shabby in comparison.
‘I’m going straight to my study,’ said Luis. ‘To answer some of Diego’s increasingly hysterical emails, before he blows a fuse. Simone, this is Carly’s first time in France.’ He ran his finger thoughtfully over his broken nose. ‘I think we might put her in the blue room overlooking the bay.’
There was a split second of hesitation. ‘But might Mademoiselle Conner not disturb you, if your rooms are so close?’ Simone’s smile was fixed. ‘I have made up one of the guest houses in the grounds, which mi
ght be more...suitable.’
‘Carly hasn’t travelled in Europe very much before. We might as well give her a decent view.’ His eyes were as flat as hammered black metal. ‘That won’t be a problem, will it?’
‘Mais non!’ Simone gave a little wiggle of her hands. ‘Pas de problème.’
Carly realised that Luis was watching her and found her cheeks growing warm beneath that hard-eyed scrutiny. And suddenly she was conscious of something more than consideration in his dark eyes. Was he looking at her, rather than through her, or was she starting to imagine things? She felt her breasts growing heavy and her cheeks flushing, and she thought she saw his eyes gleam in response. As if he had guessed what she was thinking.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said awkwardly.
‘It’s nothing. Enjoy the view. I’ll see you later. Massage after lunch?’
‘As long as it’s not a heavy lunch.’
‘You see how stern she can be, Simone?’ he questioned mockingly. ‘Don’t worry, Carly, I will allow you to police what I eat, if it makes you feel better.’
His words only increased Carly’s confused feelings. Was she misreading the signs again, thinking that he was flirting with her? Thinking that a man like him would be looking at someone like her with hunger in his eyes? But no matter how much the logical side of her brain tried to tell her that she was mistaken, her instincts were telling her that she was right. His eyes had grown smoky with something like desire and she wondered if Simone had picked up on it, too.
She watched as he walked off down the corridor, thinking how much he had improved. She doubted he would need that stick for much longer...soon he would be back to his fighting fit and glorious best.
She swallowed. And when he was? What then? She supposed she would just go back to ironing his sheets and keeping the house in a constant state of readiness for his infrequent visits. It would be as if this whole bizarre interlude had never happened.
And it would be better that way, she told herself fiercely. She wouldn’t have to run her hands over his oiled flesh any more, nor feel droplets of water splashing on her skin as he broke through the surface of the water to emerge beside her in the pool, like some dark sea lion. They could slip back into that other, infinitely less threatening relationship they’d had before. The one where she just faded into the background of his busy life and he barely noticed her. And this would all be like a distant dream....
‘I shall give you a quick tour,’ said Simone. ‘Though I warn you that the house can be a little overwhelming on a first visit. Don’t worry about your suitcase—someone will take it to your room.’
She followed the Frenchwoman along one of the long corridors, trying to remember what led where, but as Simone had said—the place was a little overwhelming. Doors led off into high rooms most of which overlooked the sea. Carly counted two dining rooms, one with a glass ceiling, which Simone told her could be retracted to open up to the sky. On the ground floor was a gym leading out onto a large pool area with terrace, and on the upper floor was another terrace offering a wrap-around view over the mountains which towered over the back of the house. She thought it was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.
When at last she was shown to her room, Carly stood open-mouthed trying to take in the Mediterranean view, and a bed made up with linen so white that she felt she’d have to scrub her skin before she dared climb in between the sheets.
‘And this,’ said Simone, ‘is where you’ll be staying.’
Suddenly, she could understand the Frenchwoman’s reservations about putting her here, because it was a room which was fit for a king. And Luis had given it to her. Carly could feel a stupid lump rising in her throat. ‘Here?’ she questioned, horrified to hear the crack in her voice. ‘You mean, I’m staying in here?’
‘Yes, here,’ said Simone, her voice now sounding almost gentle. ‘I will leave you to change. Lunch will be served on the smaller terrace, just after two. Can you remember how to find your way back there?’
‘I...think so.’
But after the housekeeper had gone, Carly walked around like someone in a trance, running her fingertips over the billowing white drapes which framed the fabulous view. Out on the terrace, there was a table and chairs and even a lounger. She would be able to read her textbooks out here and get some sun.
In the bathroom toiletries were lined up, like in some upmarket department store. Lavender-infused bath salts stood next to a big old-fashioned tub. Thick, soft towels lay in neat piles, like drifts of clouds. There was even a little vase of white freesia perfuming the air. Carly buried her nose in the petals. Flowers in the bathroom—imagine that! Another wave of emotion hit her and, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to put the brakes on it.
Because for the first time in her life she didn’t feel like second best. Like the geeky child who always dressed in practical clothes while her sister floated around in pretty little dresses. That same geeky child was now staying in a billionaire’s home, in a fancy suite of rooms which had clearly been designed to accommodate his upmarket friends. She wondered what Bella and her mother would say if they could see her now.
But as she began to unpack the contents of her suitcase, she realised that this temporary change of circumstances didn’t really change anything. You couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. She remembered what her mother used to say: Oh, Carly’s got the brains, but Bella’s got the beauty. And to her mother, appearances had been everything.
Carly looked around. Everything here was top of the range—all sleek and clean and shining. Everything except her. The full-length mirror reflected back a woman with a hot face, crumpled clothes and untidy hair. Was she really insane enough to imagine that Luis had been looking at her with desire?
She glanced at her watch. Surely she could do something with her appearance. If she got a move on then at least she could wash her hair and change into something more presentable for lunch.
But she still felt like an alien as she stripped off and stood beneath the cool shower, self-consciously aware of her fleshy body as she applied creamy soap and shampoo. Afterwards, she blasted her hair dry and had just pulled on a clean set of bra and pants, when there was a knock on the door.
Perhaps it was Simone. Grabbing her discarded towel and holding it in front of her, she walked over to the door and pulled it open.
But it wasn’t Simone who stood there.
Carly felt as if someone had just pulled the rug from beneath her feet because suddenly her knees felt shaky.
It was Luis.
Luis, whose black hair was ruffled and damp—presumably because he was fresh out of the shower, just like her. Luis, whose fine linen shirt was clinging to his torso, outlining every hard sinew. And suddenly her perception of him underwent a dramatic shift. This was the man whose half-naked body had become almost normal to her. So why did the fully dressed version suddenly seem way too intimate? She wondered what it was about those faded jeans and damp hair which made her bones feel as if they had turned to jelly. As if she were in danger of melting at his feet.
Because wasn’t that what all women did around him? What she had sworn she would never do?
Her fingers dug into the soft towel held chastely against her breastbone. She should have felt embarrassed by her own near-naked state. She should tell him she wouldn’t be long and close the door on him.
Or he should have felt embarrassed at seeing her that way. Shouldn’t he apologise for disturbing her and tell her that he’d see her outside on the terrace?
But he didn’t.
And neither did she.
They just stood there staring at each other like two people who had just been introduced and she could hear her heart pounding like a drum. Her breasts felt heavy and there was a soft, molten ache between her legs and in the middle of this confusing state came anger, and fear. Because she didn’t do this kind of stuff. She didn’t feel desire any more. She didn’t want to. Because desire was unpredictable—and
, more importantly, it was dangerous.
She shook her head slightly. ‘I didn’t hear the bell,’ she said, licking her dry lips.
He frowned. ‘What bell?’
Act normal, she told herself. Pretend that nothing’s happening. Because nothing is. ‘The lunch bell.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘That’s because nobody’s rung it.’
‘Oh. Right. Did you...’ she shrugged her shoulders, telling herself this was crazy, but still she stayed rooted to the spot ‘...er...did you get all your emails answered?’
‘No.’
‘Diego won’t be very pleased.’
‘I imagine he won’t,’ he agreed drily. ‘But right now I’m not really thinking about Diego.’
‘Oh. R-right.’
Luis felt his throat grow as dry as sandpaper and even her stumbled response didn’t dissolve his growing hunger. He knew he should leave right now but he couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from her. Not because she looked particularly sexy, because she didn’t. Her pale legs and faded bra straps were unremarkable and, for him, it was no big deal to think that beneath that towel she was almost naked. He was used to naked women.
But this was Carly and, for once, her long hair was loose. Freed of the usual tight ponytail, it looked like silk and smelt of bay leaves and he found himself wanting to run his fingers through it. To twist one thick strand possessively around his wrist and to draw her head close enough to kiss her. He wondered what those unpainted lips would taste like. He wondered how the lush curves of her generous body would feel if they were moulded against him.
But it was more than that which drew him. More than the rampant and unexpected lust which was raging around inside him, and a sexual frustration which was making him ache.
She looked clean. That was it. Clean and pure. Her face was untouched by artifice and her iced-tea eyes were wide and dark. She looked like snow before it got trampled on. Before it became all grey and slushy.
And he was the kind of man who did the trampling, wasn’t he? He stamped on women’s hearts and hardly even noticed he was doing it. He was cruel and insensitive—that was what they said. And she was the last kind of woman he should be lusting after.
The Housekeeper's Awakening Page 6
