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

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?

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.