Maid for the Billionaire
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.”
A jab of excitement shot through him. “I'm not sure you have to.”
Their eyes met and there was no hiding the attraction sizzling between them. She looked away first, busying herself by settling back onto her cushion and carefully opening a pair of chopsticks. He knelt on his own cushion without taking his eyes off her. When she reached for one of the boxes, an odd anticipation filled him. He knew next to nothing about her, but her preferences mattered to him.
Next to nothing? he chided himself. Hell, he didn't even know her name. He'd avoided asking for the same reason he hadn't offered his own. Just for tonight, he didn't want the outside world to intrude.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
Her hand jerked and she almost dropped the sweet and sour chicken she was spooning onto her plate. At the last second, she righted the box and placed it back on table with a shaky hand. “For what?”
He waited till she looked back up at him before he answered. “For staying.”
“Talk?” he scoffed. That wasn't what women normally offered him and certainly not what he was looking for this evening. He gave her his best suggestive smile. “Is that really what you think I need?”
Completely unexpectedly, she mocked instead of melted. “Wait. Don't tell me. You don't do that, either.”
He couldn't help it. He laughed. She had a dry wit that tickled his sense of humor. How long had it been since he'd found a woman anything more than tediously emotional or clingy? “You're nothing like the women I'm used to,” he said spontaneously. As she started to sputter a response, he spoke over her. “In a good way.”
She groaned and looked away. “Let's not go there again.”
He leaned over the table to cup her chin lightly with a finger, raising it until she looked at him again. “Obviously my charm is rusty.” He ran his thumb lightly over her lips, watched them part instinctively and fought back the desire to haul her up on the small table between them. “I'm trying to tell you that I find you very attractive.”
Swallowing nervously, she pulled her chin out of his grasp. In a dismissive manner, she picked up her chopsticks again. “If you want anything more than companionship over a meal, you've asked the wrong woman,” she said and quickly filled her mouth with rice as he digested her comment.
He sat back on his heels. “So prim and proper. Do you start all of your dates with such declarations?”
Between deliberately casual bites of food, she said, “This isn’t a date.”
“It could be.”
She choked on her food and reached for her glass of water. After a few gulps, she stood and said, “This was a mistake.”
He quickly stood and blocked her exit. He felt her breath quicken. “Tell me I’m not crazy. Tell me you’re just as tempted.” He pulled her slowly toward him, until her body was flush against his.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
He brushed his lips softly over hers, successfully silencing her protests. For a moment, she remained unresponsive, frozen in his arms. Then with a shudder, her lips began to move against his. As he deepened the kiss, she relaxed against him with a sigh and wrapped her previously rigid arms warmly around his neck.
He shifted backwards, so she came up onto her tiptoes and rested more fully on his excitement. With a moan, she moved against him, exciting him more. Nothing mattered except this feeling, this woman, this evening.
“Stay tonight,” he whispered into her neck. “If I had known that my maid was this sexy, I would have come back to Boston a long time ago.”
She pulled back so abruptly that he dropped his arms.
“Crap,” she said and continued to back away from him.
He reached for her again, but she evaded him this time. Whatever connection they'd shared had clearly been broken by his mention of her career. He scolded himself for stupidly mentioning it.
“Stay. I know this is crazy. I’ve always made sure to steer clear of…”
“Dating the help?” she suggested, her tone full of the judgment it had held earlier.
“Yes, but only because I never wanted to put anyone in an awkward position…” he acknowledged the irony of his words as he tried to get between her in the door. Somehow this was different. She was different.
“How nice of you,” she spoke over him.
“I don’t care that you’re a maid. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
He blocked her exit. She couldn't leave. Not like this.
“Stay.”
“I can't. I really have to go.”
“That's not what you want.”
“What I want is for you to stop blocking the door,” she declared.
His hands fell to his side and he stepped out of her way. She couldn’t mean that. “Why deny it? You want me just as much as I want you.”
She brushed past him and into the main foyer without so much as a glance back. Her voice sounded more flustered than angry. “I told you that I had stayed to share a meal with you, nothing more.”
Her attraction to him hadn't been in his imagination. She'd enjoyed that kiss as much as he had. First hot, then cold. Was it all a game? If so, it was one that he had no intention of losing.
He knew of one way to find out her real motivation.
“Would you stay for ten thousand dollars?” he asked.
He felt a stab of disappointment when she stopped before opening the door and turned back to face him. “Do you think I'm for sale?”
He hoped not.
“Is it because I'm a maid that you think you can talk to me this way?” Her hands were back on her hips, eyes flashing with fury, which only made her more beautiful.
The final test. “You’re a shrewd bargainer. A million. I've never met a woman who was worth that amount of money, but I suspect I won’t regret tonight.”
She opened the door with one hand and said, “You're a pig, an egotistical pig. If you even have a million dollars, I suggest you roll it up and stick it up your...” the last word was lost beneath the sound of the door slamming behind her.
He had a pretty good idea where she'd suggested he put it.
His chuckle blossomed into a full, hearty laugh until he was wiping wetness from around his eyes. The release of tension felt good. Damn, that is one incredible woman. Looking back over the evening, he gave into more laughter as he settled back onto one of the cushions by the coffee table and filled his plate with fried rice.
She'd be back.
He'd make sure of that.
Chapter Four
The sound of that big oaf laughing made Abby want to reopen the door and throw a shoe at his smug face. She didn’t, though. Instead, she made herself breathe deeply as she descended the stone stairs. A large part of her job consisted of extolling the virtues of non-violent responses to conflict. Mr. Armani evoked a strong rebuttal to that philosophy.
He’d actually offered her money like a common prostitute. What kind of man does that? The kind of man, she reminded herself, who looked like he slept in his car when he left bars.
Abby looked over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't following her out of the brownstone and told herself that she wasn't disappointed that he hadn't. The man was an arrogant ass. A big, gorgeous, sexy, arrogant ass.
A flashy, black car had parked carelessly close to the rear of her slightly rusted, blue Saturn sedan. It had plenty of room behind it. Whoever owned the car had pinned her in out of indifference, rather than necessity. She inched her car forward, then back, but didn’t have room to get out of her parallel parking spot.
What kind of…wait, it couldn’t be. The license plate had said New York. She’d bet her last dollar that Mr. Armani had driven his trophy car up to Boston.
She set her car in reverse and acted on an impulse; slowly backing her car until it thumped the other. Both bumpers protested and her tires spun, but eventually the cars reversed a few inches. As she pulled forward and into traffic, she quickly looked back in her rearview mirror. His bumper was scratched and slightly dented, but it was nothing more than he deserved and she didn’t care if he knew she’d done it. In fact, she would have gladly signed the masterpiece had she been able to.
Who’s laughing now? she thought and headed for home.
The triumph was short lived. What was she going to tell Lil? Had she set out to get her sister fired, she couldn’t have been more thorough. Even if he didn’t mention her general appearance or inappropriate behavior, there was always the chance that he’d report her for damaging his vehicle.
She should feel bad about that. In fact, she had every intention of deeply regretting that move when she was forced to explain it to Lil, but for now, it still felt right. She couldn’t suppress a smile as she imagined his expression when he saw what she’d done. He’d be furious!
The idea of making him angry was unexpectedly a turn on for Abby. A man like that wouldn’t stay angry. He’d yell at first then pull her against him and their mutual passion would take it from there. Would they make it as far as the bedroom or would the stairs have to suffice?