Читать книгу Housekeeper at His Command: The Spaniard's Virgin Housekeeper / His Pregnant Housekeeper / The Maid and the Millionaire - Caroline Anderson - Страница 14

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?

And why had the bellowed information immediately put him in direct opposition, just as diametrically determined to keep her around?

But wanting to see the back of her had been then. This was now, when he knew the truth, he rationalised. He had an international reputation for hard-nosed ruthlessness, but had always believed he was fair-minded. He didn’t want her to leave without some recompense for the hard time he’d given her when he’d taken the words of the banker and his wife at face value.

He couldn’t forget the way she’d set to and looked after Miguel, working hard for slave-labour wages just to see that an old man she thought was on the breadline was comfortable and cared for. That alone, in his book, demonstrated a rare generosity of spirit, and deserved reciprocal generosity on his part.

Relieved that he’d worked that out, and that his initial shattering reluctance to see her pack her bags and walk away had nothing to do with his regrettable difficulty in keeping his hands off her, he relaxed. Lust he could deal with. No problem. But his conscience wouldn’t let him see her leave before he’d made adequate recompense.

Swinging himself to his feet, he removed the breakfast tray. Neither of them had touched the fruit or the linen-wrapped hot crusty rolls. No matter. Eating was low on his list of priorities at the moment. She’d been loudly vehement in her stated desire to leave his uncle’s employ—‘now or sooner’.

He would change her mind. Tio Miguel would expect it of him. He would be vastly upset if she were to leave with no job to go to and nowhere to live, just her clothes bundled into a rucksack and a scruffy mutt on the end of a lead. Or so he excused his own bone-deep reluctance to wave her off at a bus stop.

‘There is surely no hurry?’ The words slid out like warm honey as he returned to her side, leaning forward to scoop her effortlessly into his arms. Ignoring her spluttered protest, he strode through the open long windows, out of the air-conditioning and into the blaze of white heat on the wide balcony.

Izzy, her heart beating so fast she felt giddy, pummelled his broad chest with ineffectual fists. Being swept up into his arms twice in one morning was seriously undermining her sanity, and making the secret feminine part of her throb, ache, turn moist and slick. She was so ashamed of herself that an anguished sob escaped her before she could swallow it.

‘You are overwrought.’ Cayo gentled her into a padded seat. ‘There really is no need.’ He adjusted the huge sun awning so that she was completely in shade, withdrew his mobile from a pocket at his narrow hips and issued rapidfire orders in his own language, smiling down at her.

His black eyes were liquid with kindness, and Izzy looked quickly away, concentrating on the view out over the gardens until her eyes stung. Because meeting his gaze, holding it, would let him read what was there: desire, lust, need—the whole package. She wouldn’t let that happen.

So she was overwrought! Whose fault was that? The sex-on-legs man who was now telling her, ‘Cold drinks will be with us in moments.’ That was who!

He was also saying, ‘We must talk. But first I want to apologise. I accused you of trying to wheedle your way into Miguel’s affections with the intention of getting your hands on his wealth, of having no morals worth mentioning. I was wrong.’

Izzy’s soft pink mouth dropped open, her huge eyes wide as she watched him move forward and join her on the padded seat, one arm disposed along the back. She wouldn’t have thought his inbred arrogance would permit him ever to admit to being in the wrong. She’d assumed that apologies would be a stranger to his tongue—he hadn’t apologised when she’d given him her version of the events that had led to her dismissal from her former job, so why was he saying sorry now?

She angled her head to one side, gazing up at that compellingly handsome face, and Cayo caught his breath between his teeth.

Her enchantingly tousled hair was tumbling forward in a tangle of shimmering silver-blond curls. His fingers ached to make exploratory contact. And her parted lips, lush, moist, rose-pink, were an invitation he was hard pushed to resist. And those clear, unbelievably blue eyes—

He cleared his throat roughly, his tone husky and then flattening as he confessed, ‘I spoke to Augustin del Amo this morning.’ He thought it wise to admit the truth of what really happened. ‘Again, I can only apologise, and ask you to allow me to make some reparation.’

His accent was more pronounced than she’d ever heard it, and a lock of silky black hair had fallen forward to brush his arched, expressive brows. He reached out and took her hands. Her ability to breathe vanished. The golden skin of his forearms was slightly roughened by fine dark hairs. So temptingly touchable …

A great choking lump took residence in Izzy’s throat. A question burned her tongue. The electrifying touch of his hands on hers sent it flying out of her head.

He repeated his request, ‘May I make reparation?’

She could only gasp, ‘Such as?’

His mobile mouth twitched. Izzy wanted to kiss it so much it made her insides fizz. Which was why she had come to the grown-up decision to leave as soon as humanly possible, she reminded herself. A decision that was founded on very shaky ground, she discovered, when his long tanned fingers tightened around hers and he supplied, ‘A billion sterling in a diamond-encrusted gold crate, perhaps?’

Laughter lights in both dark velvet and sparkling blue eyes met and melded.

‘You remembered that!’

‘How could I forget? You are the only woman I know to let me feel the sharp edge of her tongue.’

‘I bet!’ She tugged her hands away from his. The fleeting moment of rapport had vanished. It had felt so very good. But now it might never have happened. She wished it hadn’t!

Long, gold-tipped lashes swept down to veil her eyes, because it really hurt to translate what he meant. Hordes of beautiful, sexy, exquisitely dressed, sophisticated and suitable women flattering him outrageously and hanging on his every word. Not a single one with any reason or desire to even think about bad-mouthing him!

Mental images of some nameless, long-legged lovely wrapped all around him, cooing sweet nothings and purring with pleasure, rose up to choke her, blinding her to the arrival of a waiter with the cold drinks Cayo had ordered.

With a brief nod of thanks he leaned towards her, his eyes soft, and assured her, ‘That was a compliment, amada.’

Stop it! she shrieked inside her head. When he was nice to her, her emotions went haywire! Her hand shaking, she lifted a glass, her fingers curling around the ice-cold surface. She drank the most refreshing grapefruit juice she’d ever tasted as if she were stranded in a desert and dying of thirst.

Setting the empty glass back on the table with unnecessary vigour, Izzy wished she were impervious to Cayo’s charismatic good-looks, but she knew she never would be—not in a million years.

She was thrown completely off-balance when he captured her hand and said, in that slow, sexy drawl, ‘Time to talk. As friends.’

Her hand felt so small and delicate within his, her fingers curling in response. He had the unprecedented and urgent need to lift it to his mouth, plant kisses deep within her palm.

He didn’t do soppy, romantic gestures!

And he wasn’t going to start with Izzy. Izzy was out of bounds!

Which was a pity!

Scrub that thought!

His features as impassive as only he could make them, he gently untwined her fingers from his and carefully replaced her hand back on her lap. ‘You up for it?’

‘For what?’ Her voice sounded funny, as if she were drunk, Izzy decided. Just because he’d briefly held her hand again. Time to get a grip.

‘I want to discuss your decision to leave Miguel’s employ.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Izzy perked up. At least she told herself she did. She’d made the perfectly sensible and correct decision to leave, and naturally Cayo would want to discuss the best way to go about getting her back to Las Palomas, as she’d requested, where she could pack the remainder of her gear and say her farewells to Miguel. ‘Go ahead.’

‘I understand your decision to leave,’ Cayo assured her gently, determined to prevent her taking off like a scalded cat. He wanted her to leave Las Palomas only when he had decided his guilt over his shockingly bad judgement had been relieved. ‘His work’s the only companion Tio Miguel needs, always has been, and as it’s my firm intention to get him to agree to make Las Palomas his permanent home he won’t need a housekeeper. Staying in his employ would make you feel like a spare part.’

Izzy nodded her agreement, the sudden painful lump in her throat not allowing her to vocalise. He understood, and he would do everything in his considerable power to facilitate her removal from the lives of the super-elevated Garcias with all haste.

Deflation hit her. A decision made in a blinding moment of unadulterated common sense was one thing. But being faced with the imminence of a very uncertain future, with the responsibility of a small puppy to add to her anxieties, was quite another. Perhaps common sense wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Sparkling dark eyes enhanced by incredibly thick black lashes rested on her slightly trembling pink mouth. ‘I won’t ask you to alter your decision, only to delay it.’

He caught his breath as she lifted her eyes to his. So wide, so vulnerable. The thought of her, jobless, homeless, wandering Spain in the hope of picking up work, was inconceivable. He wouldn’t let it happen. He might be the tough nut described in the financial papers, but he wasn’t a monster.

‘Give it a couple of weeks or so—at least until after the Summer Ball. Leave straight away and Miguel’s feelings would be hurt—especially if you ungraciously refuse to accept the new wardrobe he specifically wanted you to have. I know he feels badly about the way he so grossly underpaid you, and I know he wants you to have a holiday. And as for me—’ he spread his finely made hands expressively ‘—I owe you. It’s not beyond my capabilities to find you suitable work and accommodation within one or other of my companies.’ Not a shadow of his ongoing loathing at the thought of seeing her walk off into the sunset with no visible form of support showed on his face as he invited, ‘Tell me of your life before you came to Spain.’ Miguel had told him what he knew, what she’d confided. He wanted to know more.

‘Why?’ Izzy swung her legs around and wriggled into a position where she was directly facing the man seated at her side. She caught her breath, mesmerised by the sheer brilliance of his eyes, horribly aware of the tightening tingle of awareness deep in her tummy. Was he, at last, actually interested in her as a human being? A woman?

It was a thought too sweet to be ousted by acknowledging its sheer stupidity—until he countered blandly, ‘Think of it as a job interview. If I’m to place you within one of my companies I need to know I’m not trying to push a round peg into a square hole.’

Extreme humiliation claimed her. No wonder her family was irritated by her, called her stupid. Of course he wasn’t interested in her as a flesh-and-blood woman. Why the heck should he be? She had none of the social graces, the dazzling beauty and sophistication that would raise a flicker of interest in a man such as he.

Squashing the desire to tell him to mind his own business, that she’d find work without his help, she glumly acknowledged that she couldn’t afford to be defiant just because her feelings had been hurt. Feelings she had had no right to have in the first place. Talk about cutting her nose off to spite her face! She needed work. He’d promised to place her.

‘My CV’s nothing to write home about,’ she mumbled, her hands twisting in her lap with sheer embarrassment.

Her family had always drummed it into her that unless she applied herself academically she would get nowhere. Wrongly, she decided with hindsight. Because she had always known she could never begin to approach the scholarly brilliance of her older, doted-upon brother, she hadn’t even tried. Now she was being obliged to spell it out.

‘No qualifications. A string of going-nowhere jobs. And then Dad found me work in his office—he was a solicitor. Just making the tea, really, and running errands. Then he retired—’

‘To New Zealand, to be with your doctor brother.’

‘James is a brilliant surgeon,’ Izzy corrected, knowing full well her brother would have insisted on that distinction. She pinkened because Miguel must have told him this stuff, which reminded her that Cayo would have been checking out his uncle’s new and—in his initial opinion—dodgy housekeeper. Miguel would have relayed what he knew about her because she’d confided heaps about her background to explain what she’d been doing in Spain in the first place.

‘And you took work in Spain, leaving your job and your home because you and the man you were in love with had a falling out.’

Cayo cut to the chase. It figured. She could be fiery-tempered, headstrong enough to act on impulse without calmly thinking out the consequences. But she was also warm-hearted, and hadn’t a mean or ungenerous bone in her delectable body.

‘Are you still in love with him?’ It was a struggle to keep his tone uninterested when he was illogically incensed by the possibility—for some reason he was totally at a loss to understand.

He was left clenching his teeth against some unwise and possibly ridiculous frustrated outburst when, her chin up, she came back with, ‘That is absolutely none of your business!’

Miguel obviously hadn’t relayed the whole story of her soppy crush on Marcus, the way he had used her and laughed at her behind her back, and she certainly wasn’t going to lay what amounted to her further stupidity and humiliation on the table for him to gloat over or pity her for.

‘I take that as a yes.’ The dismissive tone he could turn on at will was at odds with what he could only describe as his anger. Miguel had been short on details of the English love of his housekeeper’s life, and he hadn’t pressed, hadn’t been remotely interested, cynically deciding that any male Izzy Makepeace professed to be in love with had to be loaded, and that clearly the English guy had seen through her and given her the elbow—hence her removal to hunting pastures new.

But he knew differently now. She wasn’t the avaricious slapper he had named her. She had loved the English guy. Still loved him.

He forced himself to unclench his jaw. As she had said, it was none of his business. So why did the pretty certain knowledge that Izzy would regret her impetuosity and return to her lover, or that he, like any red-blooded male, would track her down and claim her leave him feeling so sour?

Change the subject.

Cool, impersonal tone.

He didn’t do staff interviews. His personnel officer handled that. But he’d give it his best shot. It couldn’t be too difficult.

‘Having seen how you so brilliantly transformed the grotty hovel that was Miguel’s home under his unlamented former housekeeper’s tenure, I would say your talents lie with the domestic’

‘Talents?’ In spite of herself, Izzy went bright pink with pleasure. ‘No one’s ever linked that word with me before,’ she confessed. Praise coming from this elevated being would be pretty rare, and she knew she would always treasure it—which was horribly feeble, and a rather shameful fact that wild horses wouldn’t drag from her.

His heart, never the mushiest of organs, seemed to swell with sympathy. He recalled, now, something Miguel had said, that he’d ignored as would-be heart-tugging propaganda.

‘Reading between the lines, I’d say her family treated her appallingly. Forever comparing her unfavourably with her brother, making her feel third-rate.’

‘I believe you lived in the shadow of your brother, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have your own strengths. Different, but equal,’ he remarked gently.

That brought her head up, and a slight frown to mar the smooth perfection of her brow. Miguel had certainly been giving his tongue full rein! She shrugged, a slight, defeated gesture.

Quite unaccountably, it moved him to say, ‘You must have felt unloved. A lonely feeling, as I know. I was six years old when I overheard my father tell Tio Miguel, “If you feel so strongly, you spend time with the mocoso. By being born he cost me my adored wife’s life. I’ll see that my staff feed and clothe him, and he will be educated, but other than that I want nothing to do with him!”’ His eyes hardened at the memory, but his voice was still gentle as he admitted, ‘Until then I had tried every way I knew to make Papà notice me, love me. After that I stopped trying. I made my own life—with Tio Miguel to guide me when he was around.’

Appalled, Izzy opened her eyes very wide. They flooded with over-emotional tears. What a terrible thing for a lonely, motherless little boy to overhear! Her own nagged-at childhood didn’t come near such a truly dreadful trauma.

A frown scoring his brow, Cayo managed to stop his fingers from brushing away the silvery teardrops. ‘I’m not looking for sympathy,’ he denied shortly, genuinely perplexed by the way he’d opened up to her. He had never repeated what he’d overheard to a living soul—not even Tio Miguel. In fact he hadn’t even hung around to hear his uncle’s response, he remembered, just run to the stables and sobbed himself to sleep. It was not an episode he had ever wished to talk about. So he didn’t understand himself, and thoroughly loathed that state of affairs.

‘I am merely pointing out that, regardless of what others might think of you, you do have talents and it’s up to you to make something of your life. As I have done,’ he proffered on a bite.

Make something of her life—as he had done? Thanks, but no thanks! Her tender heart twisted. Sure, he was a massively successful, wildly wealthy business tycoon, but apart from his uncle he cared for no one. Not even his gloriously beautiful mistresses, whom Miguel had unguardedly described as ‘unemotional business arrangements’. His harsh, unloving father had been responsible for turning his son into a stranger to emotion, and that, in her book, made Cayo Angel Garcia a desperately poor man.

And she knew in that moment that she loved him.

Blinking back the annoyance of fresh tears, her heart hurting, she reached out a hand and touched the side of his extravagantly handsome face in an instinctive gesture of compassion.

She heard the catch of his breath. And then his lean, finely boned hands cupped her face, his long fingers splaying in her hair as he brought his dark head down to hers, his lips claiming hers with scorching demand, sending rivers of fire right down to her toes. The level of response she gave back to him as she greedily accepted the plundering of his tongue shocked her by its wild intensity.

His hands were on either side of her head, their hungry lips the only point of contact, and Izzy whimpered deep in her throat with the driving need for so very much more. She found her hands splayed against the breadth of his chest, touching him, and the erotic heat of him sent her out of her mind with need, with craving, with love …