Caroline Anderson – Housekeeper at His Command: The Spaniard's Virgin Housekeeper / His Pregnant Housekeeper / The Maid and the Millionaire (страница 16)

Held by him, this close to him, their combined body heat seemed to ignite into a violent sexual conflagration, turning her mind to mush and her body to a quivering, needy wreck. She expelled a shaky moan, wound her arms around his neck and snuggled her head into his hard-muscled shoulder, wallowing in illicit sensational excitement, almost exploding with it as they reached the sun-drenched lawns.

He said, with an intensity that scorched what little was left of her brain, ‘I’ll get someone to look at that ankle.’ And then, coming out of nowhere, ‘And then I’ll kiss it better myself. Would you like that?’

Kiss it better? Would she like that?

Would she like to win the Lottery and as a bonus discover the secret of eternal youth?

She knew to her everlasting shame that she would like him—absolutely love him—to kiss every inch of her body. Her face flamed with acute mental discomfort. She who had never had any trouble holding on to her virginity, never given that state a thought, wanted him, this gorgeous man, to take it from her.

So what did that make her?

Incredibly stupid, she supplied with self-loathing. ‘Kiss it better’? Get real, girl! He’d said the sort of thing people the world over said to humour any child suffering some minor hurt.

So he was treating her like a child now, was he? An overweight child! He had the knack of making her so angry she wanted to throw things—straight at his arrogant, too-handsome head, preferably! He was the only person in the whole world who could turn her normally good-natured placid self into a seething, emotional wreck! Reduce her to wanting to boil him in oil and make mad, passionate love to him at the same time!

As far as she was concerned he was incredibly dangerous. How long would it be before she made a monumental fool of herself? Letting him know that she was so in lust with him she didn’t know what to do with herself?

He’d either laugh till his head dropped off or shoot her one look of grim distaste and make sure he never came within a hundred miles of her ever again!

True, he seemed to have changed his mind about her being a gold-digger without a moral worth mentioning. But that didn’t mean he’d be over the moon if he realised an overweight, poorly dressed domestic servant wanted to get up close and personal with an elevated being such as he.

The only thing to do was take herself off, pronto. She would insist Cayo took her back to his lofty luxurious castle and then explain to Miguel that she didn’t want to be a companion. If he decided to return to Cadiz at the end of the summer he’d have to find another housekeeper. It would, of course, mean failing at yet another job, she thought disconsolately as she stared at her bound ankle on the footstool.

At least there was no real damage there. Cayo had magicked a doctor out of thin air, seemingly. No surprise there, then. People jumped when he told them to, pausing only to tug at their forelocks and ask, Please, sir, how high, sir?

A slight sprain, that was all. The doctor had deftly bound the offending ankle, given instructions that she was to stay off it as much as possible for the remainder of the day, and then Cayo had slid the footstool beneath her foot and left with the elderly medic. Leaving her to stew in her self-declared mania. And fume.

Until: ‘We both missed breakfast.’

Izzy’s heart thumped wildly as Cayo entered the room, complete with loaded tray, and the simmering, sexy smile that increased her inner turmoil by rocket-propelled miles produced a self-protective snipe. ‘Do-it-yourself time, is it? No platoon of waiters and managers and fanfares—?’

‘Shut up.’

His dark eyes were liquid. Warm. Dressed now in a fresh, startlingly white shirt, and hip-hugging dark trousers that made his legs look endless, he was a menace to the female sex, Izzy accused mentally as she watched his lithe movements. He placed the tray on a low table by her side and swung a delicate gilded chair to place it within touching distance. There was a trite phrase, wasn’t there? ‘Poetry in motion’? Trite or not, it just about cut it.

She expelled a long sigh. One minute she’d been a bundle of fuming disgruntlement because he’d left her alone, and the moment he showed his face she went all unnecessary!

Pouring dark, fragrant coffee, Cayo handed her a cup. It rattled on the saucer as she took it. Poor scrap!

Leaving with the doctor, he’d done what he should have done days ago. Put through a call to Augustin del Amo. His tone had held threats that hadn’t needed to be voiced—because no one who had a thought for his future peace of mind refused to co-operate when Cayo Angel Garcia demanded it. He had quickly obtained the truth that lay behind Izzy’s summary dismissal from the household.

A truth he had been increasingly convinced of himself.

Now all he had to do was try to make amends.

He hooked a chair closer to the one she was using. Sat.

‘I have something to tell you, Izzy. And something to ask you.’

CHAPTER NINE

GRITTILY determined not to let him get his word in first, to sidetrack her, Izzy gulped down her coffee without tasting it. One second in his company was enough to knock her common sense clear over the boundary and scatter her resolve to the four winds, so the sooner she made her intentions known the better.

‘I’m leaving—can you get me back to Las Palomas, please?’ She practically babbled in her haste to get her self-protective, set-in-concrete decision voiced.

She didn’t look at him in case she turned to jelly, as she always did. She kept her eyes glued to the puppy, who was lying on his back, snoring, hoping the gods would be kind and help her find a job and a place to live where pets would be welcome.

‘So soon?’ Cayo disposed of his empty cup with care, one flaring ebony eyebrow lifting. ‘But you’ve seen nothing of the city,’ he pointed out mildly, wondering what had brought this on. ‘Madrid has much to offer.’

His narrowed dark-as-midnight eyes searched what he could see of her averted features. He learned nothing beyond the obvious: something had rattled her cage. It was the first time he had encountered a female he couldn’t immediately read like a tediously boring book.

Unless, of course, her ankle was still painful. That might explain her grouchy mood. Though he had been assured that the sprain was slight. Or maybe she thought—wrongly—that she was to be incarcerated in this room, with her foot stuck on a stool, for the duration of her visit to the capital.

Satisfied that he had found the answer with his usual incisiveness, he imparted, with the smoothness of silk, ‘You don’t have to spend all your time cooped up in a hotel room. We’ll hit the town later. You won’t be up to sightseeing or dancing the night away—not for twenty-four hours, anyway—but a superb meal and a glass or two of fine champagne in one of the city’s premier restaurants might put a smile back on your face. And it will give you the opportunity to try out something from your new Fornier wardrobe.’ It was the least he could do after what he had learned from the sleazy apology for a man Augustin del Amo.

The smile in his voice curved his mouth as he waited for her response, fully expecting to enjoy the radiance of her gorgeous smile as she accepted that invitation. Of course he wasn’t smug! The satisfaction he felt was down to confirming that he hadn’t lost his touch. He’d always been able to second-guess what other people were thinking—a knack that had proved its worth in gold in his business dealings.

Had he been standing, he’d have been rocked back on his heels when she turned her head and gave him a look overflowing with frustration and loathing, and bawled, ‘How shallow can you get?’

Telltale patches of hectic colour adorned her cheeks. She felt so wound up she was in danger of exploding. Did he think all she wanted to do was to flounce around in designer dresses and swill champagne? ‘I wasn’t talking about leaving this room! I meant your uncle’s employ, and possibly even Spain! Like now, or sooner!’ Her deep blue eyes were sparkling with tears of rage.

She’d screwed herself up to the point of accepting that she had to do the sensible, properly adult thing and remove herself from his dangerous presence—even though knowing she’d never see him again made her feel sick and empty inside—and his only and no doubt predictable response was to react as though she were the idiotic, empty-headed child he obviously thought she was, easily placated by the offer of a treat!

But he didn’t know how she felt, she admitted, subsiding, always the first to see the other side of a story. He didn’t know—couldn’t know—that she only had to set eyes on him to be wanting to rip his clothes off. And her own!

‘I see.’ Cayo’s eyes narrowed as he swiftly recovered from the shock of having been proved wrong. An event as rare as finding a lap-dancing nun! There had to be some kind of witchery about this lady, because she’d done the unthinkable and proved him wrong all along the line.

So she was definitely planning to walk away from her job as Miguel’s housekeeper-cum-companion? So why was his brain already formulating objections when seeing the back of her was what he’d been so desperate to achieve since he’d learned she was working for his uncle?