“This cook is a he,” Terry informed him.
“A he?... Ah.” There was a long pause. “Maybe you'd better let me speak to him.”
“Oh, no,” Terry said quickly. She still had a lot to prove—even to the cook. “I'll handle it myself.”
Just how she was going to do that, she didn't know, but she wouldn't involve her father in her own struggles. He was a sweet, dear man and he’d been treated unfairly at his last job. She was ready to move heaven and earth to keep this one for him.
They chatted for a few more minutes. He asked about the house, about the garden, if anyone on the staff was still there from the old days when he’d ruled the place like a sort of royalty—at least that was the way he remembered it.
She smiled with pure affection, hoping he wasn’t going to be disappointed when he healed enough to come take over and finally faced reality rather than fuzzy memories. How would Rick treat her father? Her smile faded as she wondered.
Rick was feeling restless. He had plenty of paper work he should be taking care of, but he couldn’t keep his mind on it right now. For some strange reason, he couldn’t keep his thoughts off the butler.
Just thinking of it made him swear. The situation was ridiculous. He was going to have to let her go. He could just imagine the talk in the rest of the family if this got out.
But the funny thing was, he didn’t really want her to leave. It was pretty obvious why—she was gorgeous and sexy and it made him feel all kinds of good things just looking at her. But he knew it was no good.
“Date her,” he muttered to himself. “Just don’t hire her.”
But that would just add her to the long line of women who’d come and gone in his life in recent years. For some reason, he didn’t want to do that, and he wasn’t sure just why. What did it matter, anyway? His feelings were all surface. Nothing seemed to penetrate anymore.
He walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and looked out at the morning. There were bunnies on the grass, eating furtively. Flowers were blooming. The ocean sparkled in the distance. Life was going on all around him, but it never seemed to touch him.
When was he going to feel as though he could attach himself to life again? When was he going to lose this numbness, this void? Did he still have a heart? Did he even have a real circulatory system—would he bleed? Sometimes he thought he might be turning into a zombie, all human contact cut off. Who did he love, anyway?
He’d loved Claire. He’d been insane in love with her at one point in time. And when they’d had the children, he’d thought he was the happiest man in the world.
What had happened to that? How could love just wither up and blow away? He stared hard at the rabbits and wondered if he should get a dog.
Turning back into the house, he sighed. Wasn’t it getting on toward the deadline he’d set? Weren’t he and Terry supposed to get together to asses things about now? He set off to find her, and he rounded a doorway into the library just in time to hear her signing off.
“Thanks so much, darling,” she was saying into her cell phone. “I love you too.”
He stopped, startled, hardly recognizing her. The woman he knew didn’t seem one to fling endearments around as though they came easily to her lips. He had no doubt she was talking to a man. To his complete surprise, a sudden and unexpected fury blazed through him. He stepped forward just as she was closing her phone, and his gaze wasn’t friendly.
“Who the hell was that?” he asked bluntly, his eyes cold.
She shook her head, caught off guard and not sure she was going to let him question her like that.
“Uh…no one you know,” she said coolly. “Why?”
“Just tell me the truth. Are you in a serious relationship?” He had the tone of an inquisitor.
She shook her head, eyes guarded. “I told you last night, I've just broken off with a man I'd been seeing for years. There's no one right now. What is this all about?”
His hard gaze searched hers and then he seemed to realize what he was doing. “I know what you told me.” He blinked and then stepped back feeling very foolish. “I'm just trying to establish the ground rules. I don't like poaching on other people's territory.”
She gaped at him, outraged. “You have no right...” she sputtered, but he stopped her with a wave of his hand, his expression pained.
“You're absolutely correct,” he muttered, turning away, disgusted with himself. He couldn't remember ever having acted so stupidly before in his life. “Forget I said anything.”
He swore softly under his breath as he strode from the room. What the hell was the matter with him, anyway? He'd never been the jealous type with any of his girlfriends. Easy come, easy go. That was the way to take it. One beautiful woman was interchangeable with any other. That was how it had always been, how he wanted it to stay. Even with Terry Yardley.
The one time he’d gone further, when he’d married Claire, he’d realized right away that he wasn’t the marrying type. Their marriage had its ups and downs. He’d been crazy about her at first. He’d thought she felt the same. And then he found out she didn’t, and the bottom fell out of his existence.
“Don’t get too close,” he muttered to himself warningly. “It never pays off.”
Terry watched him leave, frowning. She had no idea why Rick had made this silly display, but she did know one thing. The phone calls from her father were going to have to stop. He meant well, but she had to do this on her own. That was the only way she was going to get any respect.
The children were sent off to the zoo with Charles. Terry waved them off, then went back inside and took an inventory of the crystal collection.
At one point just before noon, she remembered again that it was Rick's birthday. She ran down to the kitchen to consult with Anatole.
“We must have something special for dinner tonight,” she told him. “Something Ri... Mr. Carrington especially likes.”
Anatole raised a dark eyebrow.
“It is Mr. Carrington's birthday, you know,” Terry explained expectantly.
He stared at her coolly. “What if it is?”
She shrugged. “Don't you want to cook a meal to please him?”
No one could have looked more bored. “Let him ask me himself. He is the master.”
Terry retreated to lick her wounds. What an impossible man! Surely he didn't expect Rick to order up his own celebration. There had to be some way ...
There was a sound in the hall behind her and she turned. It was Rick, just as she'd expected, but he was glaringly, stupefyingly half naked, sporting swim trunks and a towel that was draped around his neck. There was a lot of hard male flesh showing. She found the words of greeting she'd prepared to utter stuck in her throat.
“I'm going out by the pool to catch up on some paperwork,” he said shortly, indicating the leather briefcase he was carrying. “Give me a shout if anyone calls.”
“Of course,” was all she could manage to say, and that came out thin and shaky.
His gaze was cool, assessing. She stared into his eyes, afraid to look anywhere else. Even so, she couldn't block the sight of him out completely. His shoulders were very large and his hips were slim. Anything else was a blur of tan skin and golden hair—but she wouldn't look.
He watched her confusion for a long moment, not giving away a thing with his own expression. Then he turned and walked slowly off while she pretended to straighten a painting on the wall until he was out of sight.
She sagged with relief as he went out the door. How could she have been so totally unprepared, so overwhelmed? And even worse, how could she have been such a fool as to let him know!
She went back to work, determined to forget he existed. She made herself busy with the cedar closets in the guest rooms, cleaning them out and checking for wear and damage of the wood. But her mind wouldn't stay on her work, and every time she passed a window she couldn't stop herself from glancing down at the swimming pool.
He had on nothing but a swatch
of blue cloth. Somehow it didn’t help that it was baggy. The sun glistened on his warm brown hair, giving it gold highlights. She was getting much too wrapped up in the man and his effect on her, and she knew it.
After finishing the closets, she made her way downstairs and went into the library to wash the glass panels in the bookcase doors. At least that was what she told herself she was there for. The library just happened to have an excellent view of the part of the pool where Rick was lying on the lounge chair. Irresistibly drawn, Terry walked quietly to the window and looked out.
He was the most devastating thing she'd ever seen. Muscle locked with muscle across his shoulders. A brush of brown hair darkened the tanned skin of his chest. His thighs were thick and strong, the hair on them burnished in the sunlight.
He moved, shifting his position, and every part of him rippled elegantly into place again with a masculine grace that defied description. There was power leashed inside that gorgeous body, and a seductive virility that nearly swept her away. She'd never been so affected by looking at a man's body before. Suddenly she realized she was holding her breath and she let it out with a sigh. She knew she could have that man in her arms—all she had to do was invite him.
Or maybe not. After all, look what had happened the night before. She would die before she would let him catch her so vulnerable again!
She was so wrapped up in that memory that she failed to hear someone come into the library behind her.
“Is that what you want?” Anatole's voice split her reverie and she swung around, gasping in surprise.
“Is that what you came for?” The cook gestured outside to where Rick was going over his papers. “You may as well forget that idea, young lady. Unless you fancy being used and discarded like all the women before you.”
Terry flushed with outraged embarrassment. “Now just one minute—” she began, but Anatole cut in.
“I have known him for years. I knew him when his grandfather caught him entertaining maids in his room and sent him to military school as a punishment.” He shook his head dourly. “You may think I am a meddling old man, but you would do well to listen to my advice. I was here when he married the Southern lady. That was different. That was to please his grandfather. And look how badly it went. You won't find him doing that again.”
“I'm not here to develop a relationship with Mr. Carrington. I'm here to work.” She drew herself up with as much pride as she could muster.
Anatole gazed at her doubtfully. “Strange occupation for a woman,” he sniffed. “You're not likely to marry the boss's son, you know.” He flashed a grin at her. “They don’t promote butlers to wife very often.” He chuckled at his own joke. “But if all you're looking for is a brief moment of pleasure ...” He shrugged and turned away. “Well, that is surely all you'll get.”
Watching him leave, she wasn't sure which emotion was stronger, embarrassment or anger. It doesn't matter, she tried to reassure herself. Who cares what Anatole thinks?
But she couldn't shake the suspicion that Anatole might be right.
She spent the next half hour working hard, not allowing herself to go anywhere near a window. When the intercom buzzed she jumped a foot in the air, then looked about wildly to see where the noise had come from. It was the first time anyone had used it since she'd arrived, but she finally located the little speaker in the wall of the pantry.
“Yes?” she spoke into the speaker.
“Can you come out here?” Rick asked. “I've got something I want you to do.”
Her heart sank. “I... I'm a bit busy at the moment—”
“This will take only a minute.” His voice was crisp and businesslike. “Please come right away.”
She stared at the speaker. He was the boss, wasn't he? And she was at his command.
“I’ll be right there.”
She regretted having agreed to come all the way out to the pool. There he was in all his golden glory, the sun burning down on his hot skin. She could hardly stand to think about it, much less look right at him.
“You sent for me?” she asked stiffly, standing away from the lounge chair where he was half lying, half sitting, and staring out at the blue water of the pool, a sheaf of papers in his hand.
He turned to look at her, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. “Yes.”
She gestured helplessly. “What is it you wanted?”
“Here.” He held out the papers toward her. “Would you please see that these are returned to my study? I'm going to roll over and tan my back and I don't want them to scatter around in the dirt.”
“Oh.” Now she felt silly for all her dread, She came close to his chair and took the papers from him. “Anything else?” she asked bravely.
“Yes. I'd like another beer when you have a moment.”
“Of course.” Her smile was sunny with relief. “I'll get it right away.” How suspicious she'd been!
“And one more thing.” He caught hold of her wrist as she started to walk past him. “Put suntan lotion on my back.”
“What?”
His hand tightened on her wrist and he lifted the sunglasses to the top of his head. “I'm not playing around, Terry,” he said, his voice hard and sure, his eyes dark and almost dangerous. “I need suntan lotion on my back. I can't do it. You can. I'm your employer. You're being paid to make my life easier. Do your job.”
His voice had an edge to it. She heard it with a sinking heart. He was quite serious, and used to getting his own way. This was no time for rebellion. If she refused to do this, he was capable of firing her on the spot.
Wordlessly, she took the bottle. His eyes darkened, but he didn't say anything, and he didn't smile. Releasing her wrist, he turned over on his stomach. She poured some of the white lotion into her palm, held her breath, and looked down at his gorgeous back.
Perhaps, she told herself a bit desperately, this really was only another job he needed to have done. Maybe she would be able to rub the lotion on quickly and get back to work without any trouble from him. But deep inside, she knew better.
She knelt beside him, hitching up her navy-blue skirt to keep it off the terra-cotta-tiled surface of the decking. Closing her eyes, she slapped her hand down between his shoulder blades and began to rub with furious intensity before she let herself open her eyes again.
“Easy does it,” he muttered.
“Sorry. Do you... want it all over? Or just on your shoulders?”
There was a fateful pause, and then he growled, “All over.”
All over. She gritted her teeth and tried to look away while she worked, struggling to get her mind on chores or supplies or anything else. But it was no use. His flesh felt heavenly beneath her hand, hot and hard and smooth.
Her stroke began to slow, the fingertips reaching out to cover all of him, to pull in the rich, seductive sense of his strength. He had the body of a champion swimmer, a football player, a Greek statue. He was all male. And the female in her was responding.
The lotion smelled of exotic tropical breezes. She drew in a deep breath and leaned across him, working the slick solution into his skin. Her hand rounded the curve of his shoulder and held for a moment, a furtive caress, the pulse of her palm beating against him. And then she looked at his face guiltily to see if he'd noticed.
His head was to the side and his eyes were closed. His breathing was slow and steady. He might be asleep for all she knew. She beat back an urge to lean down and kiss him, just to find out for sure.
She worked lotion into the base of his neck and then trailed it down the valley of his spine, working out across the width of him, moving more and more slowly. The sun was beating on her head and shoulders. The pool was glistening, blinding her with its silvery-blue light. A pair of sea gulls flew by, screaming their wild, raucous call, while the scent of the tropics mixed with the intangible scent of masculinity that lay beneath her hands, so smooth, so intoxicating. It was almost too much for her to bear.
Her fingers tingled and her breath was coming
more quickly. She felt excitement race through her as her hand nestled into the small of his back. And then she let her gaze slip lower to linger on his tight, firm bottom.
Her heart was in her throat. She was finished with his back. All she needed to do was to pull away, jump up, and make her way quickly to the house. But her gaze lingered and she could hardly believe how firm and desirable he was.
She was done. It was time to go. And for all she knew, he might be asleep. But he was irresistible. She made one more pass across the small of his back, just a few seconds longer.
And then he drew his breath in with a shudder that told her immediately he'd been awake all the time. She gasped and tried to pull her hand away, but she was too slow for his lightning response.
“Don't go away,” he murmured as he caught hold of her.
She yanked, but he had her imprisoned and he pulled her closer. His hands clasped behind her head, pulling her face down toward his.
“Rick!” she cried out, trying to push away with her one free hand.
“Come on, Miss Icicle,” he murmured huskily, his golden gaze burning into her, “let's see what it takes to make you melt.”
CHAPTER SIX:
At His Command
“Rick,” she whispered, struggling against him, “don’t.”
He released her hand, but he still had her captured.
“Terry, Terry,” he murmured, his hands cupping her face, “you know how I want you.” He searched her gaze, his eyes clouded with a dark male hunger. “Don't you feel the same way?”
Still slick with oil, her hands were on his chest. Somehow, what she’d just done, the way she’d learned the contours of his body, seemed to have rendered her slightly delirious. “I…I…,” she murmured, trying to collect her thoughts and finding it impossible. A sweet longing was filling her veins with lethargy and her brain with confusion.
“You want me, too, don't you?” he asked softly. “I can feel desire flowing through you. I can see it in your face. What are we waiting for?” he asked, his tension sizzling in his voice.
Promoted to Wife (Destiny Bay) Page 7
