Housekeeper at His Command: The Spaniard's Virgin Housekeeper / His Pregnant Housekeeper / The Maid and the Millionaire

‘Are you hurt?’

Tears of frustration, anger and downright mortification pooled in her eyes as strong hands fastened on either side of her waist and Cayo lifted her back onto her feet. She’d meant to be so dignified and decisive, and all she’d done was fall flat on her face in a heap!

Breath gathered in her lungs and stuck there, burning. Any minute now she was going to put the tin lid on it and burst into loud and messy tears—that was her chagrined thought as he turned her round to face him, repeating, ‘Have you hurt yourself?’

His strong hands still steadied her, scorching through the silky fabric. He was so close—too close. She was stingingly aware of his lithe and powerful male body. An awareness that flooded her with tension.

Her heart began to pound heavily and she couldn’t breathe. Against all common sense she lifted her eyes to his and felt exactly as if she were drowning in the soft dark depths.

Panicking, her knees threatening to give way under her, she reached out to clasp the strength of his forearms for support—and almost cried out in shock as the touch of warm skin sent a jolt of electrified sensation right through her body. ‘I’m fine!’ she gasped, dropping her hands and making a futile attempt to move away from him.

His hands tightening, Cayo held her still, his eyes surveying the downbent head with its mass of silky silver, and felt his heart jerk beneath his breastbone.

Her explosive entry into his room, the way she’d shouted at him—something no one had had the temerity to do for as long as he could remember—had forced a crooked smile of unwilling admiration to his sensual lips.

When she felt strongly about something—Tio Miguel, the scruffy mutt, a designer wardrobe most women would give their eye-teeth to be gifted—she stood up to him, waded in, fists metaphorically flying. It was refreshing after the immediate and simpering compliance of the sophisticated women who inhabited his social circle and bored him to distraction.

Gently, he used a long, tanned forefinger to lift her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. Her full lower lip trembled ominously and the deep blue of her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Hurt eyes, as clear and innocent as a child’s.

Physically she was unharmed. But she was hurting. Self-contempt tightened his gut. He had wronged her, believed lies, dismissed her version of events out of hand, harbouring the unjust opinion that she had set out to weasel herself into his uncle’s affections in order to get her hands on his fortune.

In all honour he had to make amends.

‘We will sit and talk calmly—clear the air between us,’ he announced, dropping his hand and taking one of hers in his. He led her through to the suite she was using, noting the untouched food and the opened bottle of wine. The scruffy puppy snuffling in the padded dog bed was beginning to wake.

Swallowing a sigh, he excused himself momentarily and picked up the house phone, his orders terse and clipped. His brows clenched together when he turned and saw that Izzy had squeezed herself into the corner of one of the sofas, her legs tucked up beneath her, her arms wrapped around her body, as if she were trying to make herself invisible. Her lovely face was troubled.

She was always putting her foot in it, Izzy thought wretchedly. Blindly charging in, all guns blazing, acting without thought—sensible or otherwise—making a great big fool of herself!

Small hands twisting in her lap, she wished she could become invisible. The unaccustomed intake of alcohol and the emotion of the day had heightened her crusading tendencies, and in the aftermath she could see that her wildly inappropriate response to the arrival of a load of horrendously expensive clothes that she would never have been able to afford for herself in a million years had been totally crass.

She should have done nothing, said nothing until the morning. And then informed Cayo—calmly and with dignity—that the gift was unacceptable. Left it at that, without all these diva-like histrionics.

There followed the prompt arrival of two uniformed members of staff—one bearing a loaded coffee tray and a plate of what looked like small crusty filled rolls, the other waiting for orders from Cayo, delivered in rapidfire Spanish. He lifted Benji from his basket, attaching the collar and lead to his scrawny neck.

‘What’s he doing?’ Snapped out of her miserable introspection, and forgetting her lecture to herself, Izzy scrambled to her feet as the puppy was borne away.

In receipt of that suspicious reaction Cayo lowered his brows in annoyance. ‘I think you should begin to trust me. The animal will be perfectly safe,’ he informed her, with an extreme dryness that brought a bright flush of colour to Izzy’s face. ‘It is to be walked in the gardens of the hotel, to avoid accidents, and then taken to the housekeeper’s room, where it is to be fed before being brought back.’

‘Oh!’ Izzy flushed uncomfortably and flopped back on the sofa. ‘Sorry.’

‘You jump to conclusions that do not flatter,’ he imparted wryly as he lowered his lithe frame beside her. ‘Why is that?’

‘Why do you think?’ He actually had the gall to look mystified, Izzy decided. It was enough to make a cat laugh! But then, in his opinion, he could do no wrong. ‘You said I should leave him where he was, and then you threatened to have him sent to a vet—probably to be put down. You didn’t exactly encourage me to bring Benji back here, did you?’

‘But I didn’t prevent you,’ he pointed out, the corners of his mouth twitching.

His statement floored Izzy, as she had to admit that since she’d refused to abandon the puppy he had done everything to ensure its comfort and wellbeing—even though he was clearly not a fan of small animals with mangy-looking hair and stubby legs.

‘Enough of that. We have other, more important things to discuss.’ A lean, tanned and beautifully crafted hand sliced dismissively. ‘The dog is yours.’

Izzy instinctively turned to thank him, to look directly at him, and her tummy flipped. He was so handsome he took her breath away. She wished quite desperately that he’d take himself off to his own suite, because she so wanted to move closer than the scant inch or two that separated them, to reach up and pull that handsome head down, to feel his beautiful mouth against hers … And if she wasn’t very careful she’d find herself doing just that, making a monumental fool of herself …

Cayo shifted uneasily, unable to take his eyes from her lovely face. The beautiful blue eyes no longer looked innocent and childlike but sultry, the dark, gold-tipped lashes lowered. Her soft full lips parted, pink and inviting. The ache at his groin intensified. His pulses went into overdrive. He raised an unsteady hand to brush aside the tendril of silky silver hair that had tumbled over her wide forehead but, appalled by the thoughtless impulse, swiftly dropped it again.

Getting sharply to his feet, he incised, ‘As the meal was not to your liking and is now cold you must help yourself to coffee and rolls. I’ll see you in the morning. As I said, there are things to discuss.’ And he left with as much haste as his condition would allow to seek a long cold shower.

She had her wish, Izzy acknowledged, stunned by his abrupt and curt departure. He was seeking his own suite and no doubt locking the door! So why did it feel as if she’d been drenched with a bucket of freezing water?

He’d probably legged it because she’d been looking at him as if he were a juicy steak and she was starving, she admitted with deep embarrassment. Around him, especially when he was being okay and not calling her names or threatening her with goodness knew what because he thought she was after his uncle’s money, she couldn’t help herself.

Feeling drained and ridiculous, she wandered over to pour herself a cup of coffee, and sat to await the puppy’s return.

The only sensible thing to do was to take herself off, out of his orbit, and find work, hopefully with accommodation thrown in. Some place where a small puppy would be tolerated.

He’d said there were things they had to discuss. Well, her departure, as soon as possible, would be top of the list.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE second of his two tiresome but apparently necessary business calls returned and completed, Cayo crossed to the bank of tall windows and flung them wide open. At this time of year Madrid sweltered beneath an unforgiving brassy sun, sending those Madrileños who could heading for cooler coastal or mountain climes.

But this early in the morning the temperature was bearable, and he filled his lungs with the last of the cool air he could expect to enjoy today, looking with wry affection out over the rooftops of the uncompromisingly modern city. Big and busy, it offered its fair share of culture in the form of museums, theatres and opera. And the rare treasures of the Royal Palace and its elegant parks, and sophisticated entertainment such as nightclubs and restaurants were second to none.

A consumer’s paradise, and a rich feeding ground for the likes of gold-diggers—as he’d first named his uncle’s housekeeper.

Unfairly blackening her character?

Maybe.

Almost certainly.

The thought did nothing to make him feel good about himself.

A few days—a week if he stretched it—of allowing Izzy Makepeace to wallow in the best the city had to offer, showing her that at his side the world was her oyster, or could be, was now unthinkable. At least not for the reasons that had led to his initial plan.

But as a way of making amends it was doable. Right. That was if he had anything to make amends for.

He couldn’t remember a single time in all of his thirty-three years when he had fallen prey to indecision. He weighed up known facts and made up his mind. And that was that. No ifs and buts.

But in Izzy’s case he damn well wasn’t sure. He’d lain awake half the night reviewing the known and conflicting facts, and still, to his chagrin, he hadn’t reached a rock-solid unarguable conclusion.

Was she, as the events of the last twenty-four hours would appear to suggest, innocent of all he had mentally and verbally accused her of being? Or was she just diabolically clever and a remarkably fine actress into the bargain?

Only time would tell.

Despising himself for what in others he would have named a deplorable weakness of character—an unprecedented and decidedly uncomfortable emotion, and one he wasn’t prepared to live with for much longer—he flung open the connecting doors to her suite. They would continue the discussion he’d aborted the previous evening, and he would winkle out as many facts about her as he could.

He stood, straddle-legged, on the threshold of her suite. Of what looked like her empty suite, he noted scowlingly.