Maid for the Billionaire(5)

"Forgot what?" she couldn't help but ask.

With unexpected tenderness, he slid one of her wayward curls behind her ear. "That you're exactly what I need." Before she could catch her breath, he stepped back and handed her far too much money, no matter what she ordered. "Order some food while I take a shower." His knock 'em dead sex appeal returned as he chuckled and sauntered away, tossing over his shoulder, "I've heard I need one."

Abby fanned her red face with the bills as she watched him climb the stairs two at a time. Not quite shaking herself free of the mental image of Mr. Armani naked beneath the steamy spray of the shower, Abby went in search of her purse and cell phone.

A man that sexy is just trouble.

Luckily it was highly unlikely that she would ever see him again after today. They would share one quick meal and then she'd head back to Lil and reality.

Back to the quiet, predictable life she'd built for herself.

That thought held less appeal than usual.





Chapter Three





The hot shower he'd taken in a bathroom that could easily have fit into one of the closets at any number of his other homes, had been invigorating and brief. As he toweled dry, he fought off teenage-like excitement. His blood surged each time he wondered what his housekeeper was doing … and that was about every ten seconds or so.



She wasn't the magazine cover type; he groaned as he remembered that he'd told her as much. Real smooth. He could attribute some of his uncouthness to fatigue, but he suspected that it had more to do with the way she filled out her jeans.

She was lushly rounded in the places women were meant to be rounded. Her light complexion, devoid of makeup, was sprinkled with freckles and those simple brown curls, which had escaped her attempt to bind them back, added to the guilelessness of her image. Nothing about her should have floored him, but when she'd pinned him down with those dark amber eyes, he'd almost stopped breathing.

She looked innocent and wholesome, exactly the kind of woman he normally avoided. Not too innocent, though, if the fire that leapt into her eyes at his approach was any indication.

Would she stay the night or leave while he was freshening up? The uncertainty was a novel and somewhat unpleasant experience for him. He ran an impatient comb through his hair, threw on khaki slacks, a white cotton button down shirt, and forced himself to walk calmly rather than bolt back downstairs to check if she was still there.

He knew he was attractive, but it had been a long time since a woman had looked through his reputation and his wealth and seen him. Not only had his housekeeper been unimpressed by his expensive clothing; she'd actually taken him to task for his behavior. Outside of Jake's recent outburst, he couldn't remember the last person who had.

And he liked it.

The woman downstairs either had no idea who he was or she was using this pretense to heighten his interest in her. Either way, it was working.

He forced himself to take the stairs one at a time. Tonight was not about rushing. No, he intended to savor every moment and every inch of his pony-tailed brunette.

She was kneeling on a cushion next to his old marble coffee table, opening take-out containers. At his approach, she looked up and for a moment appeared to reconsider her decision to stay. She stood quickly, but held her ground as he came to a deliberately close stop.

Damn, she smelled good.

Her eyes widened and darkened, exactly as he had predicted they would. He hoped her acquiescence wouldn't come too easily. It was probably nothing more than the thrill of a good chase that had him feeling alive for the first time in days. However, with little or no effort, this woman had done what an entire bottle of Jack Daniels had failed to do the night before; she'd silenced the questions that had been thrashing around his head relentlessly.

She pointed toward the informal meal before them. "Is this ok?"

The table was set with two glasses of water and the paper plates the restaurant had sent. He spoke before he weighed his words. "I don't think I've ever eaten on the floor."

She turned away and started to gather the boxes. "I thought so. A man like you would want to eat at the dining room table. I can move…"

He grabbed her arm to stop her from retrieving another container from the coffee table. "I didn't say I wouldn't like it. I just said I hadn't done it." Touching her felt good, too good. He slowly released her arm and took the boxes from her, replacing them on the table. "Sit," he ordered.

Her eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Do people always do what you tell them to?" she asked without sitting.

"Usually," he answered with an unrepentant, wide grin.

Fire flashed in those amber eyes. "I'm not sure I like you."