by Jennie Lucas
There was nothing wrong with adding a rose, she told herself. It was not the act of a lover, but of a housekeeper who cared about details. Nothing had changed. Nothing.
She summoned a maid. “Take this tray to Mr. Cruz, please.”
The newly hired maid shifted weight from one foot to the other as she picked up the tray. She looked nervous.
With an inward sigh, Louisa patted her on the shoulder encouragingly. “Do not be afraid. Mr. Cruz is…a kind man.” She was surprised a lightning bolt didn’t strike her dead for that lie. “He will not hurt you.” That, at least, was true. He liked his homes and businesses to run smoothly, so he did not ever seduce members of his staff—ever.
At least not until a month ago, when he’d thrown Louisa against his bed and ripped off her clothes. When she’d reached for him so urgently as he fell upon her naked body, and they both were devoured by their hunger and urgent need—
No! No!
“Please take it at once,” Louisa choked out.
With a nod, the maid took the tray and left the kitchen. But Louisa had barely started washing up the dishes when the girl returned, covered with ham and Dijon mustard smeared down her apron and the rose hanging precariously from her newly wet hair!
“What happened?” Louisa gasped.
The young maid looked close to tears. “He threw the tray at me!” She held the silver tray in one hand and a cracked plate in the other. The accent of her schoolgirl English thickened in her stress. “He says he’ll only have you serving him, miss!”
Louisa sucked in her breath.
“He threw the tray?” Louisa was shocked at the thought of her boss losing control. For heaven’s sake, what had happened? Had he lost a business deal? Lost a lot of money? What was wrong with him? For him to be so violent and uncivilized as to actually throw a tray—
Louisa’s eyes narrowed. Whatever had happened—even if he’d lost the entirety of his fortune—that gave him no excuse to be vicious to a member of her staff! “Give me the tray, Behiye. Then go home.”
“Oh, no, miss, please don’t sack me—”
“You have just been given the rest of the week off with full pay.” She gave a brief smile, covering up her internal rage. “A vacation courtesy of Mr. Cruz, who regrets his brutish behavior very much.”
“Thank you, miss.”
And if he doesn’t regret his behavior yet, Louisa thought furiously as the girl left, he soon will.
Louisa’s rage built to burning point as she tossed the ceramic plate, once a beautiful specimen of antique İznik blue-and-white porcelain, into the trash. She washed the silver tray and reassembled the entire meal on a new plate, grimly adding a fresh rose in a silver vase. She made another sandwich, exactly the same as the first, and carried it up the sweeping, curving stairs to the second floor.
She gave a single hard knock on his bedroom door.
“Enter,” his voice said harshly.
Still furious, Louisa pushed open the door. Then she stopped.
His bedroom was dark.
“Miss Grey.” She heard his low, sardonic voice unseen from the darkness. “So good of you to follow my orders.”
His voice was deep, combative. Hostile.
Peering into the darkness, Louisa saw him sitting on a chair in the shadows, in front of the cold fireplace. She set down the tray on a nearby table and, crossing the room in her sensible two-inch heels, she pulled down a switch to turn on the small lamp.
A circle of yellow light illuminated the darkness, revealing a bedroom that was masculine, Spartan and severe.
“Turn that off,” he growled, his gaze whirling on her. The blast of angry heat in his gaze nearly caused her to stagger back.
Then, straightening, Louisa clenched her hands into fists. “You won’t intimidate me like you did poor Behiye. How dare you attack a maid, Mr. Cruz? Throwing a tray at her? Have you quite lost your mind?”
His eyes narrowed as he slowly rose to his feet.
“It is none of your business.”
But she stood firm. “Oh, but it is. You pay me to oversee this household. How do you expect me to do that when you terrorize the staff?”
“I did not throw the tray at her,” he growled. “I knocked it out of her hand to the floor. She is the one who tried to catch it. Foolishly.”
Spoken like a man who’d never cleaned his own floor. “You frightened her!”
His gray eyes gleamed at her in the shadowy light. “An accident,” he bit out. “It was…careless of me.” Turning away, he set his jaw. “Give the girl the rest of the day off.”
She lifted her chin. “You already did, sir. In fact, you just gave her a week’s vacation with full pay.”
There was a pause in the darkness. “Miss Grey.” His voice sounded suddenly odd, almost wistful. “You seem to always know what I need. Sometimes even before I do.”
The look he gave her made her heart catch in her throat. As if he needed something very much right now and wished she knew what, without him saying a word.
She felt his look with a flood of heat. Against her will, she was reminded of how it had felt when he’d kissed her…No. She wouldn’t think about that night. Couldn’t!
“It’s my job to know what you’ll want,” she said evenly, folding her arms. “You pay me to know.”
The words you pay me hung between them, dividing them.
“Yes,” he said in a low voice. “I do.”
He turned away, but not before she caught the stark look in his eyes. The same look she’d seen on his face when he’d first come through the garden gate. It wasn’t anguish, exactly, but a flash of vulnerability. Of weariness. Loneliness. But that was ridiculous. How could the most ruthless playboy in Europe ever be lonely?
“You never should have sent the maid,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I told you specifically I wished for you to bring me dinner. Not some maid. You.”
He wanted to be alone with her?
Exhilaration flooded through her. Then fear overwhelmed everything. She couldn’t allow herself to be seduced again, couldn’t!
She kept her expression unmoved, hiding her emotions behind layers of her training as she’d been taught. Formality was her strongest weapon. Her only weapon.
“I regret I did not correctly understand your request, sir,” she said stiffly. “I have brought up a newly prepared sandwich for your dinner.” She gave him a little bow. “Now, if you please, I will leave you to the peace and tranquility of your own company.”
“Stop.”
Something in his voice made her obey. Slowly she turned back to face him.
His face was dark. He came close to her, almost touching. “I never should have done it.”
“Thrown the tray?” she agreed.
His dark eyes seared through hers. “Made love to you in Paris.”
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.
Her desire for her boss threatened everything she held dear. Her career. Her self-respect. Her soul.
She forced herself to straighten. “I don’t remember any such incident, sir.”
“Don’t you?” he said in a low voice. He reached down to stroke her cheek. His fingertips were featherlight as he turned her chin to meet his gaze, and she shivered at his touch, at the intensity of his dark eyes. “If you cannot remember it, then I must have been mistaken,” he whispered. “I didn’t kiss you, then. I didn’t feel your body trembling against mine.”
“No, you didn’t.” She could hear the rasp of her own breath, was choked by the frantic beating of her heart. “It never happened.”
He leaned forward. “Then why,” he said, “have I thought of nothing else?”
Her knees shook. She was so close to surrender. So close to acting like all the others, to flinging herself at him. But there could be only one end to that. She’d seen it played out too many times.
Rafael Cruz was ruthless. He broke women’s hearts with careless pleasure.
If she let herself want him—he wou
ld be the poison that killed her.
She shook her head desperately. “I don’t remember you so much as kissing me.”
“Perhaps,” he said softly, “this will remind you.”
Lowering his head, he kissed her.
His lips seared hers, scorching her entire body with that one point of contact. She felt his arms around her, pulling her close, closer still until his large, muscular body seemed to surround her on all sides. She was lost, lost in him. His tongue swept hers, causing every nerve ending from her nipples to her earlobes to her toes to sizzle and contract.
He kissed her, and against her will, she surrendered.
Chapter Two
RAFAEL CRUZ had broken many hearts, and he did not feel particularly bad about it.
He wasn’t being arrogant. It was simply a fact.
Every woman he’d ever taken to his bed had objected when he’d inevitably ended the affair. They always wanted more. They turned from flirtatious, seductive, powerful women into clingy shrews sobbing for another chance. No wonder he so rarely slept with a woman more than once or twice. Because once he’d possessed them, the women inevitably changed and lost every quality that had originally attracted him in the first place.
He never lied to any of them. He always told them the truth—that their affair would not last long or be based on anything but physical attraction. If women surrendered their bodies and hearts in a way that ultimately caused them pain, well, that was not his fault. They were adults. They made their own choices. He was not to blame.
But he’d sworn long ago never to seduce an employee. Not out of any concern over a workplace harassment suit—he laughed at that idea—but because the fallout would have made his life inconvenient. And Rafael Cruz must never be inconvenienced.
The world was full of beautiful women to fill his bed. But good employees were hard to find.
Louisa Grey was not merely a competent employee; she was exceptional. She’d become indispensable in his life. She made all his homes run smoothly. After five years, he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
She’d never once tried to lure him. Unlike the often clumsy attempts of every woman from his elderly secretary to the cocktail waitress at the bar to gain his notice. Louisa had barely seemed to notice he was a man. That made him want her most of all. She was so mysterious. She never spoke of her feelings; never spoke of her past. She had a cool reserve, and hid her beauty beneath glasses and awful clothes.
Still, he’d promised himself he’d never seduce an employee, and he never had once been tempted to break that vow.
Until a month ago.
A mistake. His seduction of Miss Grey had been momentary lapse of willpower. From now on, he had promised himself he would have some self-control.
She was his lead house manager. She coordinated between all his homes around the world. He could not afford to lose her. And women always fell apart when he ended affairs—even previously independent, strong women always turned clingy, whining and desperate in the end. If their night together turned into a full-blown affair, the only end would be the termination of Louisa’s employment. Either she would quit, or he would be forced to fire her.
His only hope of keeping her where she belonged—directing his home and satisfying his needs before he was even half-aware of them—was to keep her at a distance.
But his resolve had disappeared from the moment he saw her today.
He’d had a horrible day. Arriving in Istanbul—too late, too late!—his whole body had been knotted up in tension and grief and fury.
Returning from his father’s funeral, the father he’d never known, he’d felt so tense his muscles had ached with his rage and failure. His chauffeur had opened the door, and as Rafael had gotten out beneath the drizzling rain, he’d loosened his tie and headed for his house, intending to seek a tall glass of whiskey and perhaps to send his private jet to Paris to collect his latest French flirtation and deliver her to Istanbul. He’d told himself his one-night-stand with his housekeeper had been a mistake that must never be repeated. It must be forgotten.
Then he’d seen Louisa in the twilight of the garden behind the mansion. Standing beneath the cypress and fig trees, she’d been holding a basket of freshly cut roses. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered, more sensual and desirable than he could bear. Looking out at the dark waters of the Bosphorus toward Asia, she’d had an expression of wonderment and wistfulness.
Louisa Grey was an oasis of calm and comfort in this chaotic, cold world.
Rafael had promised himself he wouldn’t touch her. But when she’d turned to him with her wide, black-fringed eyes, he’d looked at her slender body beneath those shapeless, ugly clothes. He’d known from that moment that he would have her again, no matter what it cost him.
He’d ordered her to come up to his bedroom. Tense and pacing, he’d waited for her. Then he’d been surprised by the maid with the tray. Later, when Louisa had deigned to come up to his room, she’d defied him as no one else dared. She’d tormented him—provoked him. Finally, when she’d drawn up her shoulders and said in a voice full of bravado, I don’t remember you so much as kissing me, something inside him had snapped.
He’d seized her.
Now, kissing Louisa was heaven. Her lips were so soft and sweet and yielding beneath his. Her skin smelled like soap and spring flowers. His whole body tightened with the force of his desire.
It was more than desire. He knew this was wrong—forbidden—but he longed for her in a way he’d never felt for any woman. The elusive Miss Grey. When he felt her surrender in his arms, a growl rose in the back of his throat. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly and started to pull her back toward the bed.
With a gasp, Louisa wrenched away from him. “No!”
“Louisa—”
“No.” She stumbled back from him violently. “We can’t do this!”
He reached his arms out for her. “We must.”
She jumped back another two steps. With a shuddering intake of breath, she put her fingertips on her lips as if she could still feel him kissing her. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I work for you.”
He knew she was right. That just made him more angry, more determined to have her.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said fiercely.
“Oh, but it does. You have a rule, Mr. Cruz,” she said, lifting her chin. Her beautiful chocolate-colored eyes glittered. “You never seduce your employees. That’s the one line you don’t cross!”
He craved her desperately. She was the one tonic that would make him forget everything he’d lost today. But he could not tell her that. He must never appear vulnerable to anyone—not to any woman on earth, let alone one of his employees!
“It is my rule, not yours,” he said coolly. “I can choose to make an exception.”
But she stepped back, out of his reach.
“I choose differently,” she said. “What happened between us in Paris was a mistake. It will never happen again. I can’t lose my career, my reputation, my life,” she whispered. “Not again!”
He frowned, trying to read her expression.
“What do you mean, again?”
She blinked fast as she looked away. “Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.” He knew little about her past beyond what was spelled out on her résumé. She’d always deflected personal questions with cool, dignified reserve.
She turned to him sharply. “Paris,” she muttered. “I meant Paris.”
“You didn’t mean Paris.”
“What else?”
Another deflection. He narrowed his eyes. “There was another man before me,” he guessed.
“You know there wasn’t!”
“You were a virgin. That doesn’t mean there wasn’t another man.” The thought made his shoulders feel tighter still.
She set her jaw stubbornly. “You checked my references. You know all about me.”
Rafael didn’t know half what he wished he knew. He’
d been so impressed by her at the interview that he’d done only the barest measure of due diligence above and beyond what the exclusive employment agency had provided. He never liked to rely totally on underlings. He’d spoken to the wife of her last employer, and the woman had raved up and down the moon about Louisa Grey, calling her “amazing” and a “treasure.” It seemed very unlikely that she would have spoken so highly about Louisa if she’d suspected her husband of having an affair with her.
It didn’t make sense.
“What are you hiding?” Rafael said, his eyes searching her face. “You never mention family or friends back home. Why? Why do you never want to go home?”
He saw her eyes widen, heard her intake of breath. Then she smoothed her oversize gray woolen skirt beneath her trembling hands. “It doesn’t matter.” She turned away. “If there will be nothing else, sir, I will leave you now—”
“No, damn it.” He crossed the room in two steps, blocking the doorway so she could not leave. “I won’t let you go. Not until you answer me. I…” I need you, he almost said, but the words caught in his throat as sharply as a razorblade. He hadn’t said them to anyone for years. He’d created his whole life to avoid saying them.
Through the open window, he could see the lights of Istanbul flickering in the dusk. Black silhouettes of minarets plunged like daggers into the dying red sunset. He could hear a muezzin’s broadcasted call to prayers echo across the sea.
His eyes locked with hers in the shadowy room. The tension between them changed. Electrified. Desire for her swept through him, negating all else.
“Get out of my way, Mr. Cruz,” she whispered.
He could hear the quickness of her breath, see the rise and fall of her chest. “No.”
“You can’t keep me here!”
Rafael almost shook with the force of his need for her.
“Can’t I?” he said softly.
He wanted to bury himself in her so deeply that he would forget everything—everything that threatened to break him apart. He heard the quick pant of her breath. He took a deep breath of her, smelling her fragrance, soap and clean cotton and freshly cut roses.