Rebecca.
Desire continued to rip through him after his latest encounter with her. He’d hoped that working on his barn would ease it. Instead, a bone-deep hunger gnawed at him, warning that this wasn’t an emotion he could expunge from his system through sweat and determination. It would require far more than that. Even so, his labors had clarified one thing.
Sebastian Huntington would pay for what he’d done. And Rebecca was going to end up back in his bed—but not in order to settle her father’s debt.
“You’ve got company,” one of his hands said, inclining his head toward the gravel drive.
Sure enough, a faint plume of dust rose in the distance. A few minutes later, a sporty convertible pulled into the sweeping circle fronting the ranch house. It didn’t take much guesswork to figure out who sat behind the steering wheel.
He took his time joining Rebecca. She stood with casual elegance beside the door of her Cabriolet and waited him out. She wore a sexy little dress in a stunning bronze that made the most of her figure and showcased a pair of legs that were among the prettiest he’d ever seen. The setting sun caught in her hair, turning the rich red to a halo of vibrant color around her face. She wasn’t wearing sunglasses and the vividness of her green eyes hit like a shock as he approached. She stared at him, as proud and indomitable and self-assured as ever. Well, that made two of them, both too headstrong for their own good.
He shoved his Stetson to the back of his head. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what are you doing here, Becca?”
She straightened, facing him with a determination that made him instantly wary. “I’ve come to solve two of our most pressing problems.”
Hell. “If this is about your father—”
“It’s about my father’s debt, to be exact.”
“By all means, let’s be exact.”
He might as well have saved the sarcasm. She brushed it aside the way she would a pesky mosquito. “Alicia came into my shop today and mentioned that you’ve been without a housekeeper ever since the fire.”
He took the odd turn of conversation in stride, merely folding his arms across his chest and cocking an eyebrow. “So?”
“So, you’ll be relieved to know that won’t be an issue any longer.”
The comment caught him by surprise. In order to give himself time, he stripped off his gloves and hooked them in his belt. Then he leveled the playing field by closing the short distance between them and tipping her face up to his. “What are you up to, dulzura?”
If he hadn’t been near enough to see the hint of alarm flashing through her gaze or to hear the slight hitch in her breathing, he’d have thought her unaffected by his touch. “Meet your new housekeeper,” she informed him. “I’ll accept whatever wages you were paying your former live-in and I’ll stay until my father’s debt is paid off.”
He couldn’t help himself. His mouth twitched into a broad smile. “You’re joking.”
She pulled free of his grasp and reached inside the car to push the trunk release. “I’m also giving you my car. That should put a small dent in what’s owed. I bought an old pickup as a replacement since I’ll still need to get to the boutique.” She circled to the rear of the car and wrestled the first suitcase free, dumping it on the gravel drive. “I’m afraid I’ll have to spend part of each day at Sweet Nothings, but my assistant is well-trained and I can arrange my hours to suit your convenience. I’ll also get up early to take care of the main housekeeping duties and then finish them off after work and whenever the store is closed.”
“Enough, Rebecca,” he insisted with a hint of impatience. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not amused.”
She whipped around with a ferocity that shocked him. “This isn’t a game. Nor is it funny. In fact, I find nothing about the events of the last twenty-four hours the least bit amusing.”
“I’m not hiring you.”
She must have anticipated that small hurdle, because she had her counterargument already lined up. “You won’t be able to resist, Alex. Just think how delicious it’ll be, telling everyone that Rebecca Huntington is your new housekeeper. Where once your mother was housekeeper to the Huntingtons, now the last of the Huntingtons is housekeeper to you.” Turning her back on him, she hauled out the rest of her possessions, stacking them neatly on the ground. “Now, if you’ll show me to my quarters and give me a rough idea of my duties, I’ll get some dinner on the table for you.”
She bent to gather up the first load and he snatched the suitcases from her hands. Son of a bitch! They weighed a ton. What the hell had she filled them with, rocks? “You’re not staying, and you damn well aren’t going to play at being my new housekeeper.”
She stepped in front of him to prevent him from returning her suitcases to her trunk. “I intend to pay off my father’s debt one way or another. I’m going to hand over every spare penny from the shop and work the rest of it off here, Montoya, one day at a time, until the debt is paid in full.”
“That’s Mr. Montoya,” he shot back. “My employees address me as Mister or Señor, or even Alex. But they all address me with the proper respect or they find a job elsewhere.”
She inclined her head with a dignity and grace that was an innate part of her. The fact that it also filled him with a bizarre combination of pride and desire left him at a loss for words. “You’re right. I apologize, Mr. Montoya.”
He swore in Spanish. “This is ridiculous.” She’d realize just how ridiculous if she knew the full extent of the debt. “I can’t have you working for me, Becca. You must see how it’ll look. What people will say?”
“Let them talk,” she retorted fiercely. “They’re going to, no matter what I do. As you’ve already pointed out, my reputation is in tatters. And I don’t see how my presence can possibly hurt yours.”
Didn’t she get it? He spelled it out for her. “People will say you’re my mistress, not my housekeeper.”
Her eyes blazed like emeralds. “But I’ll know the truth. My friends will know the truth. You’ll know the truth. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters.”
He hesitated.
When Rodriquez had left the previous night, he’d been furious. He’d also been determined to make Rebecca his. At Huntington Manor, she was vulnerable. Here, where he could keep an eye on her, she’d be safe, or reasonably so. Granted, she’d still have to go into town each day and work at her shop. But he didn’t think even Paulo would have the nerve to do anything to her in broad daylight within the confines of a busy store. And wasn’t her safety paramount?
As a rationalization, it barely passed muster. But he couldn’t quite get past the image of Paulo’s face when he’d spoken about Rebecca. There’d been no mistaking the man’s intentions, just as there was no mistaking one simple fact.
Alex would do anything to keep Rebecca out of Paulo’s hands.
He gave it two full seconds of careful consideration. “Fine. You’re hired.”
She didn’t bother to conceal her triumph, though that would be short-lived. The minute he explained the full extent of her duties, he expected her to pack up her overstuffed suitcases, chuck them into the trunk of her car and scurry off down the road as fast as her fancy little sports job would take her.
When she reached the steps leading to the front door, she paused and he caught the first hint of vulnerability. She turned toward him. “Maybe we should start the way we intend to go on,” she said.
“What are you talking about?” He shot her an impatient look. “Could we move this along? These suitcases aren’t getting any lighter.”
“I’m your housekeeper, Alex.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “I mean, Mr. Montoya.”
“Alex,” he said sharply.
“Housekeepers don’t usually enter through the front door,” she pointed out. “Your mother never did. Not after the day you first arrived.”
“Oh, for the love of—” He tromped up the steps, juggled the suitcases and managed to drop on
e on his toe. He practically kicked open the door. “In,” he ordered.
Beside him, Rebecca opened her mouth again, no doubt to argue some more. “But—”
“Madre de Dios! You don’t have the first clue how to be an obedient, respectful employee, do you? Is it your intention to argue over every single request I make?”
She stared at him, stricken. Then a hint of laughter crept into her eyes and her lips quivered into a full-blown smile. “Not if they’re requests.”
He dropped her suitcases in the foyer and succeeded in avoiding his toes this time. He slammed the door shut, sealing them in the dusky interior. Without a word, he swept Rebecca into his arms, intent on proving to her in the simplest, most straightforward manner available the sheer insanity of her idea.
“You know what they’ll call you, don’t you?” he warned.
She didn’t struggle. Nor did she sink against him. “I believe you said I’d be labeled the daughter of a thief.”
“Now they’ll call you Diablo’s mistress.”
She met the ferocity of his gaze with surprising equanimity. “We’ll know the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
She stood within the warmth of his embrace, their heated breaths mingling, their hearts beating as one, and said, “That I’m just your housekeeper, nothing more.”
He took her words as a challenge. And then he took her mouth, intent on proving her wrong. This was a mistake, Alex conceded an instant later. Rebecca had only been in his home for thirty seconds and already he had his hands on her. Hell, all over her. He was practically eating her alive. Not that she resisted. She should have slapped him. Instead, she slipped her fingers into his wind-ruffled hair, knocking his Stetson to the parquet floor, and secured him in place so that their mouths melded, one to the other.
He couldn’t get over the flavor of her, the delicious appeal that was so distinctly hers. His hands swept downward, sliding over territory he’d spent bitter, lonely years dreaming about. The shape of her had changed since those long-ago days. Subtle changes that had transformed the girl he’d once known into the woman he now held.
Her breasts still filled his palms, but her body had grown leaner, more honed and better defined. Her hips flared beneath the narrowest of waists and her backside had just the perfect amount of curve to it. He wanted to slip his hand beneath her skirt and discover whether she wore another sampling of the sweet nothings that gave her lingerie shop its distinctive name. Sultry black bits of nothing or maybe siren-red. Perhaps she’d chosen the same sort of dainty ivory scraps of sweetness he’d seen before. Silk and lace that melted against her creamy skin and set off the blazing nest of curls between her thighs.
The image his brain created threatened to unman him. He didn’t want to take her here in his foyer, though if they didn’t find a suitable arena for their activities, that was precisely what would happen. More than anything, he wanted to carry her to his room and spread her across his bed while he stripped her down to those delicate morsels of feminine finery and find out just what color she’d chosen to wear today.
Intent on turning thought into deed, he eased back in order to sweep her into his arms. Instead, he gave her just enough breathing room to come to her senses. With an exclamation of disbelief, she ripped free of his embrace.
It took her a moment to regain her breath enough to speak. “This has got to stop,” she informed him. “I’ll be your housekeeper and do the best job I know how. And I’ll even deal with any gossip that occurs as a result. But I’m damned if I’ll become your mistress in anything more than imagination.”
“Too late, dulzura. We’re both damned already.” He leaned in. “And you will become my mistress. It’s only a matter of when.”
God help him, but she was beautiful, especially when angry. She glared at him with those witch-green eyes. The deep, lustrous red of her hair spilled around her face, emphasizing the creaminess of her skin and underscoring the flush that rode the sweeping arch of her aristocratic cheekbones.
“If you’ll show me to my room?” she asked in her best lady-of-the-manor voice. “I’d like to unpack before I start dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said in his driest tone. “This way.”
He headed for the back of the sizable ranch house. Near the kitchen, he opened the door to the suite of rooms that had belonged to his former housekeeper. He carried her suitcases through to the bedroom and set them on the floor near the bed. He glanced up in time to see an odd look on her face.
“What?” he asked warily.
“This can’t possibly be the housekeeper’s quarters,” she said.
“That’s exactly what they are.”
Her expression turned unreadable as she walked through the pair of bedrooms, each with its own bath, and then into the generous-size living area. When she finished, she looked at him with eyes gone dark with pain. “These rooms weren’t at El Diablo before you moved in, were they?”
“No.”
“You had them built specifically with a housekeeper and…and whatever family she might have in mind.” She didn’t wait for his confirmation. “This is because of Huntington Manor.”
He flashed back on the single room that her father had grudgingly split in two so that he, his mother and sister wouldn’t all have to share a single bedroom. There’d also been a living area, but it had been so tiny there’d barely been space for one, let alone two teenagers and their exhausted mother.
It hadn’t taken long to figure out that the only reason Huntington had accommodated them with even that much was to avoid any whisper of gossip. Image was everything with Sebastian Huntington. Image. Reputation. Appearances. It wouldn’t do to have someone accuse him of mistreating the hired help, particularly since Alex’s mother had cleaned most of the homes in Somerset at one point or another and was well-liked by all. But that didn’t change the fact that the spaciousness of Huntington Manor stopped short at the servants’ quarters.
Another flush swept across her face, this one deeper than before and having nothing whatsoever to do with passion. “I’m sorry, Alex,” she said. “I’m sorry for what my father did to you and to your sister because of our affair. But I’m most sorry for what he did to Carmen. It was wrong.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m surprised you’re not defending him, or at the very least offering a string of excuses. Isn’t that part of your role as his daughter?”
She sighed, revealing a hint of weariness. “Not in this case.”
Now that he looked closer, he could see the exhaustion in the paleness of her skin. Dark smudges underscored her eyes, intensifying the color. It gave her a vulnerability that made him long to take her in his arms again. But he didn’t dare. Not here. Not when her father’s actions still stood between them.
“Take the night to get situated. You can start work in the morning.”
Her shoulders straightened and her spine snapped into an unrelenting line. “That’s not necessary. Just tell me what you want.”
He took a single step in her direction. “You already know what I want.”
Alarm flared for a brief instant before a hint of humor replaced it. “I’ll be happy to check in the refrigerator, but I can say with some degree of confidence that that particular item isn’t on tonight’s menu.”
“Put it on the menu,” he advised. “Soon.”
He exited the room before he put it there for her. He forced himself to keep walking, to stride out of his home and return to the barn. Once there, he’d put in another solid hour or so of hard physical labor. Maybe then he’d be too exhausted to think about what awaited him back at El Diablo and what he’d like to do to and with her when he returned. His mouth compressed. Who was he kidding?
He’d never be that exhausted.
The evening rapidly went from hideous to total nightmare in the space of two short hours.
Rebecca stood in the monstrous kitchen of El Diablo and faced facts. The few cooking skills Carmen had t
aught her during her teen years had totally deserted her. Lack of practice, no doubt. She’d aimed to serve Alex a simple but filling dinner of Texas-size steak, charbroiled on the outside and still mooing when sliced. A large salad. Baked potato. And homegrown beans with almond slivers. The only part of what ended up hitting the table that remotely resembled her game plan was the salad.
The steak hadn’t been charbroiled, but crispy-crittered. The potato was stone-cold in the middle, and hard as a rock. And the beans were great alps of green mush with almond chunks clinging to the mountaintop like jaw-breaking boulders. Alex had taken one look, closed his eyes and muttered a prayer beneath his breath before digging in. Five minutes later, she noticed that he’d added a generous serving of whiskey to the menu to help wash the mess down.
Rebecca surveyed the endless stack of dishes still to be scoured and fought an overwhelming urge to weep. Enough of that! She’d chosen to do this and she’d succeed no matter how difficult. She refused to quit. She refused to back down. And she absolutely, positively refused to fall into any bed but her own.
Searching through the various drawers and cupboards, she located an apron and rubber gloves and set to work. She’d check with Alex once she finished and get a list of the chores his previous housekeeper had covered. In order to get them all done and still arrive at her shop by nine in time to open the doors, she’d have to get up early. Very early.
She was just loading the final dish into the dishwasher when Alex appeared in the doorway. “Thanks for the meal,” he offered.
She sighed. “That’s generous of you, all things considered.” She turned to face him and tugged off gloves. “Do you have a minute to give me a list of my duties?”
“Won’t take even a minute. Clean the house. Keep up with the laundry. Fix breakfast and dinner. Don’t worry about lunch. I usually eat out.”
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