Maid for Montero

by Kim Lawrence

  Before reaching him, her gaze swept over the low-slung powerful car parked the opposite side of the courtyard. It was a monster, low, silver and sleek. She hadn’t heard it arrive but then the noise of the running engine of John’s van had presumably drowned out the sound of the Spanish billionaire’s arrival. It had been the prickling of the hairs on the nape of her neck that had alerted her to the presence of the tall dynamic figure as she stood there saying goodbye to John.

  If she’d acknowledged him then she’d have had no choice but to introduce him to John, which was something she wanted to avoid if possible.

  She had promised Chloe she’d ask him about tonight and she would. This way she could sugar-coat his response—that it would be no was a given, that he wouldn’t go out of his way to frame his refusal nicely was an equally safe bet.

  ‘Good evening. I hope you had a good journey—’

  He cut across her, launching without preamble into blighting speech. ‘I do not find the sight of my housekeeper with her tongue down the throat of a tradesman a particularly edifying sight. In the future I would be grateful if you kept your love life or what passes for it behind closed doors and on your own time the next time you fancy a bit of rough.’

  For a second she was too startled, as much by the icy delivery as his interpretation of a simple goodbye hug, to respond to this ludicrous accusation. But when she did her voice shook with the effort to control her response. She took a deep breath and closed off her furious train of thought, tipping her head in an attitude she hoped suggested humility while she badly wanted to slap the look of smug contempt off his face.

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind when I feel the urge to force myself on some passing tradesman.’ Focusing her thoughts on the price of school sports kits helped her stay calm as she levelled a clear blue gaze at his dark lean face and finished her thought. ‘Though actually, for the record, on this occasion I was simply hugging a friend goodbye.’ Like it’s any of your business, you sanctimonious creep. ‘You’re right, he is a tradesman, but not rough at all,’ she added, unable to keep the note of shaky indignation out of her voice. ‘John is sweet.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And not the sort of man who judges people by appearances or what they do for a living.’

  Politely framed or not, it was impossible to miss the fact he was being called a snob. For a moment Isandro was too astonished to be angry. For a long time in his life now there had been no one who would presume to tell him if he was out of line.

  The moment passed and astonishment gave way to anger that caused the muscles along his angular jaw to tighten and quiver. ‘I do not care what the man does for a living!’

  She arched a feathery brow and said politely, ‘Of course not.’

  Isandro clenched his teeth, seriously tempted to give her her marching orders and to hell with the consequences, then he recalled the delicacy of the deal on the negotiating table and the outcome was by no means a given. Any hint of scandal now would make the old family firm walk away from the table.

  ‘What I care about is the man conducting his sex life on my doorstep!’

  She stared, her blue eyes widening to their widest before narrowing into angry sparkling slits. He made it sound as if he’d discovered her having an orgy! What she couldn’t understand was how could anyone have seen anything sordid in a perfectly innocent hug?

  He was madder than he had been when she had given him cause. His reaction to her using his house to raise funds without his permission had been clinical, but there was nothing at all clinical about his reaction to her imagined sin now.

  ‘The next time get a room.’ The snarled suggestion triggered a free-fall avalanche of images that made him lose his thread.

  ‘Get a room? John is married!’

  His nostrils flared. ‘All the more reason, I would have thought, to show a little more circumspection,’ he declared austerely.

  ‘I would not have an affair with a married man!’ She took a deep breath. It really hurt to have to explain herself to this man but what choice did she have? ‘What you witnessed, Mr Montero, was simply a goodbye hug between friends,’ she told him stiffly. ‘That was John, Chloe’s husband. You remember Chloe?’

  Taking his silence to be a yes, she explained further. ‘He was picking up the twins. They’re staying with his mother tonight. She’s babysitting, because John and Chloe are having a party…you remember?’

  He remembered.

  ‘I saw—’

  ‘You saw nothing, because there was nothing to see.’

  His mind replayed the image that had caused him to jump to conclusions and he realised he had not seen anything beyond two people close. His expression froze, his discomfiture revealing itself in the faintest deepening of colour along the slashing angles of his sybaritic cheekbones. Isandro cleared his throat. Embarrassment was a foreign sensation and one he did not enjoy.

  He stopped his jaw tightening. ‘I apologise. I made a mistake.’

  Zoe fought a smile. Clearly every syllable of his apology had hurt. ‘Apology accepted. I left your mail on your desk. I wasn’t sure if you wanted it forwarded. If you let me know what time is convenient I’ll let the maid know when she can clean your study. Oh, and shall I let your chef know what time you’ll want dinner, sir?’ She took a breath and thought, Wow, I’m good.

  His brows lifted. ‘I assumed that we would be dining out.’

  Zoe shook her head, losing control of her ‘perfect housekeeper’ smile. ‘Dining?’

  ‘What time did your friend say—seven?’

  She gave a little laugh, her face clearing. ‘The party! Oh, goodness, you don’t have to come.’

  ‘Then the invitation is not genuine?’

  ‘Yes, it’s genuine—Chloe and John are very genuine people. I just thought that under the circumstances…’

  He arched a questioning brow. ‘Circumstances?’

  This deliberate display of obtuseness brought her full lips together in a pursing line of annoyance. ‘They are going to want to thank you, and I’d assumed that you’d find that embarrassing.’

  Of course her analysis was dead on, but it turned out his reluctance to attend this party was not as strong as his enthusiasm to not follow the script she clearly wanted him to.

  Where women were concerned Isandro did not consider himself complacent, but neither did he anticipate rejection. It was his male pride responding, rather than common sense, as he bared his white teeth in a smile that did not reach his dark eyes and framed his silky response.

  ‘It is always pleasant when people are grateful.’ Some women would be grateful to be offered the chance of sharing an evening with him. ‘You will find I’m not easily embarrassed.’

  Zoe struggled to hide her dismay. ‘Does that mean you want to come?’

  While he knew it was illogical to put himself through what would be an uncomfortable and almost certainly boring evening, the dismay in her voice that she didn’t have either the skill or the good manners to disguise hardened his stubborn resolve to attend the damned party with her at his side—and she’d damned well enjoy it! he thought.

  ‘It’s not a matter of want. I gave my word.’

  She struggled to read the expression on his lean sardonic face and faltered. ‘They’d understand if you…’

  ‘What time will you pick me up?’

  Zoe’s heart sank to her boots and she shook her head, feigning incomprehension.

  Isandro smiled. She was a very bad actress—an actress with the most incredible mouth he had ever seen.

  ‘Was that not the arrangement—you take me…?’ he asked, utilising his much more polished acting skills. ‘Of course, I can arrange a driver if you have other plans.’

  Her only plan at that moment was to retreat to her little flat and bang her head on a brick wall! Inevitably he would be a back-seat driver. The sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as she thought of being forced to share such a small space with him raised goosebumps over her body, but she cheered herself with th
e mental image of his elegant length folded into the not at all elegant confines of her Beetle that had seen better days. She squared her slender shoulders and ran her tongue across the surface of her dry lips.

  Time to accept the inevitable and make the best of the situation. She was still mystified why he would want to come. Perhaps he just enjoyed having people tell him what a great guy he was, she thought scornfully, but the reality was it was going to happen so she’d better stop fighting it and make the best of the situation. It was one evening of her life, and she was probably worrying unnecessarily—his social skills were probably not nearly as bad as she feared.

  ‘No, that’s fine. I thought I’d leave around seven, if that suits you?’

  He lifted his shoulders in a fluid shrug. ‘I will be waiting.’

  Her brave smile tipped his emotions over into amusement tinged with determination. He had always found it hard to resist a challenge. By the time this evening was over he would have Miss Zoe Grace eating out of his hand.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  GIVEN THE LIMITED storage space in the flat it was lucky Zoe didn’t have a lot of clothes. Those that didn’t fit into the cupboard in the hallway she kept in a case under the twins’ bed.

  On her knees she dragged it into the middle of the room, then sat back on her heels and went through the contents. The choice did not take long as she only possessed two half-decent summer dresses. After a few moments of narrow-eyed contemplation, she chose the maxi, mainly because it had fewer creases. Putting it on a hanger she hung it over the bathroom door and turned on the shower, hoping the steam from it would smooth out the few there were in the light chiffon fabric that she was a bit nervous about pressing because she still hadn’t got around to replacing her iron with its dodgy thermostat.

  Fifteen minutes later, some light make-up applied, her hair loosened from the plait and brushed into silky submission in waves that almost reached her waist, she switched off the water in the bathroom and was pleased to see that it had worked—the creases had virtually all fallen out of the misty blue fabric.

  Slipping it over her head, she adjusted the shoe spaghetti straps and stooped down to get a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She hardly recognised the grave young woman who looked back at her, and allowed herself a complacent smile. When was the last time she’d dressed up? So long ago she couldn’t remember. It was a shame that on this occasion she had that terrible man along for the ride.

  With any luck he would get bored and leave early.

  Hugging this comforting thought to herself, she walked across the courtyard back to the big house and found him waiting outside the porticoed entrance.

  The sound of the fountain drowned out the noise her heels made on the cobbles, so she was able to study him unobserved for a few moments. He was wearing an open-necked shirt and dark tailored trousers. She was admiring the way he looked, hard not to, and reflecting that it was a shame that someone who had everything physically should be so lacking in the personality department when he turned suddenly, startling her enough to make her fall off the strappy wedge she was wearing.

  He was at her side supplying a steadying hand to her elbow with startling speed. Flustered, she lifted her face to his, the pupils of her dramatic cornflower-blue eyes dilating as they connected with his dark ebony burnished stare.

  She caught her breath sharply as a shimmy of sensation that slid down her spine made her shiver. The man had a sexual charisma that really was off the scale!

  ‘I’m not used to the heels.’ She pulled and his hand fell away from her elbow. ‘I’m afraid my car’s not very…’ Her voice faded as she picked her way with more care now across the cobbles.

  Isandro had been pierced by an arrow of sheer lust the moment he had seen her walking towards him. Walking behind her gave him the opportunity to admire her delicious bottom and the long elegant line of her seemingly endless legs, revealed rather than hidden by the long skirt that clung and flowed as she walked.

  ‘The seat belt’s a bit…’ She took the football he held and with a grimace slung it into the back seat on top of the motley collection of toys and turned the ignition. ‘It takes a few times before it…Sometimes…’

  ‘Will you stop apologising?’ He nodded towards the back seat. ‘Your nephew plays football?’ He spoke not out of any genuine interest but a desire to stop himself asking her if she had a boyfriend. It wouldn’t make a difference—she worked for him and some rules he did not break. Still, there was no rule against looking.

  ‘Harry?’ Zoe laughed and shook her head. ‘No, Harry hates sport. The ball is Georgie’s. Harry is…quieter.’ A man like Isandro Montero would never understand a sensitive boy like Harry. Her brow furrowed. Harry was a worry; he was such an easy child that he tended to be overlooked.

  She glanced towards her passenger, and her lips twitched at the thought of anyone overlooking the scorchingly handsome Spaniard. It should have been laughable to see him squashed into her Beetle, but Zoe was unable to raise even a smile. The fact they were virtually rubbing shoulders made her feel a lot less comfortable than he appeared to be.

  Being in this sort of enclosed space with him made Zoe want to crawl out of her own skin.

  ‘It’s not far.’ Thank God for small mercies.

  ‘I will sit back and admire the scenery,’ he said, studying her profile. He had thought she would scrub up well and he had been proved right—she was stunning.

  A few minutes later she crunched the gears and winced as she drew up outside the local convenience store.

  ‘Your friends live here?’

  ‘No, they live the other side of the village. I need to stop to get a bottle of wine.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t drink.’

  ‘I don’t, but other people do,’ she said shortly without looking at him.

  ‘You should have said. There’s plenty of wine in the cellar.’ Good wine was always a sound inflation-proof investment.

  A small choking sound left her lips as she thought of the vintage stuff stacked in the hall’s cellar being served from borrowed glasses and drunk by people who in her hostess’s case preferred her wine mixed with lemonade.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll get this.’

  Inside the store she snatched two of the second-cheapest bottles off the shelves and took them to the checkout.

  ‘Nice stuff this, so they say,’ the man at the till approved, putting the bottles into a bag for her while she dug into her purse. It became embarrassingly clear pretty quickly that she was short of cash to pay and her plastic was at home in the drawer, which had seemed the safest way to avoid temptation while she adjusted to her new straitened circumstances.

  ‘Sorry, it’ll have to be the Spanish one—do you mind if I change them? Fifty pence short, I’m afraid.’ She nodded towards the stacked coins.

  ‘No problem, it’s very nice too, love.’

  Her hand had closed around the bottles on the counter when a big hand covered it. ‘Let me get those.’

  Looking from the warm hand covering her own to the face of the tall, sleek, exclusive-looking man who had moved to stand beside her, Zoe shook her head, struggling to recover her composure and painfully aware of the tingling pain in her peaked and aching nipples. She was shamed and embarrassed by her weakness.

  ‘No, really, I’m fine. I’m going to have the Spanish one…wine, that is…’ she corrected and promptly felt like a total idiot.

  ‘I hate to be disloyal, but take it from a Spaniard—that is not wine,’ he told her with a shudder.

  ‘It’s not a wine snob sort of party.’

  He was prepared to swallow the insult, but not the wine on the shelf. ‘No, I insist, the least I can do since you are being my taxi,’ he said, taking his wallet from his pocket and handing over the money.

  Short of having a fight right there in the shop, Zoe had no choice but to accept the offer with as much grace as possible.

  With his hand on the small of her back he guided her out of the
shop and back towards the car. She didn’t enjoy the light physical contact—actually any contact at all with this man made her feel uncomfortable—but she could tell that the natural courtesy came as second nature to him.

  He held the door open for her, then went around to the other side of the car. The entire vehicle shook as she slammed the door closed. ‘Do you not drink out of choice or because you have a drink problem?’

  Her lips tightened. Was the man worried that his new housekeeper was an alcoholic? ‘Neither, sir.’ She emphasised the title before adding factually, ‘I simply can’t metabolise alcohol. I get drunk on the smell.’

  ‘I rather think it might be more appropriate if you do not call me sir tonight.’

  She shrugged and steered her car past the others parked along one side of the narrow lane. ‘Is that an order, Mr Montero?’

  ‘If you like, and try Isandro. It is my name. Relax,’ he recommended. ‘This is a party. I will not cramp your style…’

  ‘It’s not that sort of party and be careful there’s a…’ She stopped and hid a smile, adding as he surveyed his muddy shoe, ‘A bit of a ditch that side.’

  Zoe had been concerned for her friends’ feelings, but slowly let down her guard as she realised that, far from looking down his nose at her friends, he was charming them. She could relax and enjoy herself; why not? Against all her expectations he was not being aloof or even icily polite. From the moment they had arrived and he had been swept away by Chloe, who had wanted to show him off, he had given the appearance of enjoying himself.

  Watching Isandro talk easily with John and the local vet—who, according to Chloe, had not worn low-cut blouses before her divorce—it was Zoe who found herself feeling like an outsider. She felt her resentment rise as the red-headed divorcee threw back her head and laughed throatily at something Isandro had said, giving him an excellent view of her cleavage. Zoe’s teeth clenched—and he looked, of course; he was a man!

  How predictable. Shaking her head in a combination of contempt and cynical amusement, she felt embarrassed for the woman who was being so obvious. And he wasn’t doing anything to discourage her, she thought. Her eyes narrowed as the woman’s hand came to rest on his arm and stayed there, her long nails showing as flashes of scarlet as they curved over his biceps.