Czytaj książkę: «The Housekeeper's Awakening»

CHAPTER ONE

CARLY’S FINGERS STILLED as the angry voice echoed through the house like a low rumble of thunder.

‘Carly!’

She stared at the cornstarch which had lodged itself under her fingernails.

Now what?

She supposed she could try ignoring him but what would be the point? When her fractious, brilliant, mercurial boss wanted something he wanted it ten minutes ago; preferably sooner. He was driven, committed and single-minded—even when operating at fifty per cent of his usual capacity. It was just that fifty per cent of Luis Martinez’s capacity would be full throttle for most men.

She pulled a face. Hadn’t he already disrupted the peace enough times over the last few weeks with his incessant orders and his bad temper? She supposed that he’d had a pretty good reason to be more demanding than usual, but even so... She had lost count of the times she’d been forced to bite her tongue, when he’d snapped out yet another arrogant command. Maybe that quicksilver mind of his would focus on something else if she pretended she hadn’t heard him. Maybe if she wished hard enough, he might just go away and leave her alone.

Preferably for ever.

‘Carly!’

Maybe not. The shout had grown even more impatient now, so she took off her apron and shook her ponytail free. Quickly washing her hands, she set off towards the gym complex at the back of the house, where Luis Enrique Gabriel Martinez was currently undergoing another rehabilitation session with his physiotherapist.

Or rather, rehabilitation was what he was supposed to be doing, following the car crash which everyone said he’d been lucky to survive. Lately, Carly had wondered if the daily sessions had slipped over the boundary from the professional to the personal. Which might explain why the previously cool physiotherapist had started adding significant amounts of make-up before her visits, and spraying herself with a cloud of gingery-lemon scent just before she rang the doorbell. But that was par for the course, wasn’t it? Luis had something special when it came to women. Something to do with those rugged South American looks and an unquenchable appetite for life which frequently courted danger.

Luis came, saw and conquered—though not necessarily in that order. He had an unerring ability to turn women into puddles of meek surrender, even if he happened to be lying stricken on a hospital bed at the time. Hadn’t half the nurses who had treated him turned up here after he’d discharged himself? They had trooped through the door, bearing nervous smiles and sad little bunches of grapes—along with some pretty flimsy excuses about why they were visiting. But Carly had known exactly why they were visiting. A bed-bound and very sexy billionaire was an irresistible target, though to her surprise he’d given them all short shrift—even the platinum blonde with the legs which seemed to go all the way up to her armpits.

Carly was just grateful to be one of the few women immune to the Argentinian’s careless charm, even if the truth of it was that he’d never actually tried to charm her. Maybe that was one of the advantages of being known as a dedicated ‘plain Jane’—that your sex god of a boss would inevitably look through you as if you were part of the wallpaper. Which left her free to do her job and work towards a brighter future. And to remind herself of Luis’s many negative qualities: his selfishness, restlessness and disregard for his own safety—as well as his annoying habit of leaving tiny espresso cups all around the house, which she was always finding in the most unexpected places.

She reached the gym complex and hesitated for a moment, wondering if it might be better to wait until he had finished his massage.

‘Carly!’

Had he heard her approaching, even though in these old sneakers her footsteps were practically silent? She knew it was said of Luis Martinez that his senses were as finely tuned as his cars and one of the reasons why he had dominated the racing scene for so long.

Still she hesitated.

‘Carly, will you stop skulking around outside the door and get yourself in here!’

His raised tone was arrogant and peremptory and she guessed that some people would have found it offensive to be spoken to in such a way, but Carly was used to Luis Martinez by now. She knew what his entourage said about him. That his bark was worse than his bite. Though she wasn’t sure if that bit was strictly true. His last but one girlfriend had seemed rather fond of his bite. Why else would she have kept appearing at breakfast during her brief tenure as his lover sporting bruises on her neck with a kind of joyful pride, as if she’d spent the night with some obliging vampire?

Knowing that she couldn’t put it off any longer, Carly opened the gym door and walked into the room where her famous employer was lying on his back on the narrow massage table. His dark head was pillowed on his clasped hands and his golden-olive body was outlined against the white sheet. His gaze alighted on her and his black eyes narrowed with something which looked like relief.

Which was weird. She thought that they tolerated each other pretty well, but there wasn’t what you’d call any real affection between them.

Or maybe it was not so weird after all. Quickly, she became aware of the tension in the room and of two things which couldn’t go unnoticed. That Mary Houghton, the physiotherapist, was standing on the far side of the room breathing rather heavily as she stared fixedly down at her shoes. And that Luis was completely naked, save for the trio of small white towels which were strategically placed at his groin.

A wave of colour swept into Carly’s face and suddenly she felt angry. Wouldn’t it have been polite for him to have covered up before she arrived? Surely he must have known that it simply wasn’t done to greet a member of your staff in such a way. That she might find it...embarrassing to see that rippling chest and broad shoulders on display. Or that it was arrogant to flaunt those long, bare legs, which were currently sprawled out in front of him?

She kept away from men and all their complications—and with good reason. Experience had made her wary; but for once, all her latent fears and hang-ups about the opposite sex were put on hold as she stared at her boss with reluctant fascination.

Looking at him now, it was easy to see why women adored him. Why the newspapers had nicknamed him The Love Machine, when he’d been at the peak of his powers, and motor-racing champion of the world. Before her time, of course, but Carly had heard of him, even then. Everyone had.

His face had been everywhere—on or off the track. When he hadn’t been standing on podiums, garlanded in the winner’s laurels and spraying champagne over the adoring crowds, he had been an advertiser’s dream. Magnified images of Luis Martinez wearing expensive watches, with that famously devil-may-care smile on his face, were regularly emblazoned over giant billboards. Off-duty, his fascination had been equally compelling. Hunky South American billionaires always provided good copy—especially as he was rarely seen without the requisite blonde clinging possessively to his arm. And if some perceptive journalist had once remarked that his jet-dark eyes looked almost empty—perhaps that only added to his appeal.

Because Luis Martinez wasn’t just good-looking—even Carly recognised that. There was something wild about him. Something untamed. He was the trophy which was always just out of reach. The desired object which no woman could hold onto for long. That mane of slightly too-long black hair gave him a reckless, buccaneering look and those black eyes were now studying her in a way which was making her feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Turning away from his scrutiny, she looked at Mary Houghton, who had been coming to his English mansion for weeks now. With her neat figure and shiny hair, the physiotherapist looked as pretty as she always did in her crisp white uniform, but Carly thought she could see a shadow of hurt clouding the other woman’s features.

‘So there you are, Carly,’ said Luis, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘At last. Did you fly in from the opposite side of the world to get here? You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.’

‘I was busy making alfajores,’ said Carly. ‘For you to have with your coffee later.’

‘Ah, yes.’ He gave her a grudging nod. ‘Your timekeeping may be abysmal, but nobody can deny that you’re an excellent cook. And your alfajores are as good as those which I used to eat when I was growing up.’

‘Was there something special you wanted?’ questioned Carly pointedly. ‘Because this particular kind of baking doesn’t lend itself kindly to interruptions.’

‘As the world’s worst timekeeper, I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me on time management,’ he snapped, turning his head to look at Mary Houghton, who for some reason had gone very red. ‘I sometimes think Carly forgets that a certain degree of submissiveness is a desirable quality in a housekeeper. But she is undoubtedly capable and so I am prepared to tolerate her occasional insubordination. Do you think she can do it, Mary—can someone like her get me back to my fighting best, now that you are intent on leaving me?’

By now, Carly had stopped thinking about the Argentinian cakes which were Luis’s favourites, or his arrogant sense of entitlement. She was too interested in the fraught atmosphere to even object to being talked about as if she were an inanimate object. She wanted to know why the previously cool physiotherapist was now chewing on her lip as if something awful had happened.

Had it?

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

Mary Houghton gave Carly a lukewarm smile accompanied by an awkward shrug of her shoulders. ‘Not exactly...wrong. But my professional association with Señor Martinez has...come to an end. He no longer requires the services of a physiotherapist,’ she said, and for a moment her voice sounded a little unsteady. ‘But he will continue to need massage and exercise for the next few weeks on a regular basis to ensure a complete recovery, and someone needs to oversee that.’

‘Right,’ said Carly uncertainly, because she couldn’t see where all this was leading.

Luis fixed her with a piercing look, his black eyes boring into her like twin lasers. ‘You wouldn’t have a problem taking over from Mary for a while, would you, Carly? You’re pretty good with your hands, aren’t you?’

‘Me?’ The word came out as a horrified croak.

‘Why not?’

Carly’s eyes widened, because suddenly all her fears didn’t seem so latent any more. The thought of going anywhere near a half-naked man was making her skin crawl—even if that man was Luis Martinez. She swallowed. ‘You mean, I’d be expected to massage you?’

Now there was a definite glint in his eyes and she couldn’t work out if it was displeasure or amusement. ‘Why, is that such an abhorrent thought to you, Carly?’

‘No, no, of course not.’ But it was. Of course it was. Wouldn’t he laugh out loud if he realised how little she knew about men? Wouldn’t she be the last person he’d choose as his temporary masseuse, if he knew what a naïve innocent she was? So should she tell him the truth—if not all of it, then at least some?

Of course she should tell him!

She shrugged her shoulders, aware of the heightened rush of colour to her cheeks as she mumbled out the words. ‘It’s just that I’ve...well, I’ve never actually given anyone a massage before.’

‘Oh, that won’t be a problem.’ Mary Houghton’s cool accent cut through Carly’s stumbled explanation. ‘I can show you the basic technique—it isn’t difficult. If you’re good with your hands, you won’t have a problem with it. The exercises—ditto. They’re easy enough to pick up and Señor Martinez already knows how to do them properly. The most important thing you can do is to ensure he keeps to a regular schedule.’

‘Think you can do it, Carly?’

The silky South American voice filtered through the air and as Carly turned, the intensity of his gaze suddenly made her feel dizzy. And uncomfortable. It was as if he’d never really looked at her properly before. Or at least, not like that. She got the feeling that he had always regarded her as one of the fixtures and fittings—like one of the squashy velvet sofas which he sometimes lay on in the evenings if he’d brought a woman back here. But now his eyes were almost...calculating and she felt a stab of alarm as he assessed her. Was he thinking what countless men had doubtless thought before? That she was plain and awkward and didn’t make the best of herself. Would it surprise him to know that she liked it that way? That she liked to fade into the background? Because life was safer that way. Safer and more predictable.

Pushing away the nudge of dark memories with an efficiency born of years of practice, she considered his question. Of course she could learn how to massage him because—as he’d just said—she was very good with her hands. She ran his English home like clockwork, didn’t she? She cooked and cleaned and made sure the Egyptian cotton sheets were softly ironed whenever he was in residence. She arranged for caterers to arrive if he was hosting a big party, or for prize-winning chefs to be ferried down from London if he was holding a more intimate gathering. She had florists on speed dial, ready to deck his house with fragrant blooms at the drop of a hat or to float candle-topped lilies in his outdoor pool, if the weather remained fine enough.

What she wished she had the courage to say was that she didn’t want to do it. That the thought of going anywhere near his body was making her feel...peculiar. And even though her dream of being a doctor was what kept her in this fairly mundane job—she didn’t want her first experience of the therapeutic to be with a man with the reputation of Luis Martinez.

Imagine having to touch his skin, especially if he was barely covered by a few meagre towels, as he was at the moment. Imagine being closeted alone in the massage room with him, day after day. Having to put up with his short fuse and bad temper in such an intimate setting. Luis Martinez she could cope with, yes, but preferably with as much distance between them as possible.

‘Surely there must be somebody else who could do it?’ she said.

‘But I don’t want anyone else doing it—I want you,’ he said. ‘Or do you have other things which are occupying you, Carly? Things which are making too many demands on your time and which will prevent you from spending time doing what I am asking you to do? Is there something I should know about? After all, I am the one paying your salary, aren’t I?’

Carly’s hands balled into two fists, because now he had her in a corner and they both knew it. He paid her a staggeringly generous amount of money, most of which she squirrelled away towards her goal of getting to med school.

She had the cushiest of positions here, which left her plenty of time to study. As jobs went, she would go so far as to say she loved working here. She loved it most when Luis was out of the country, which was most of the time. He had gorgeous homes in far-flung corners of the world, sited wherever he had business interests, and his English residence was usually bottom on his list of visits. She wasn’t even sure why he bothered keeping this vast, country house until one day she had summoned up the courage to ask his burly assistant, Diego. ‘Tax,’ had been the ex-wrestler’s terse reply.

Carly’s role was to keep the house in a constant state of readiness in case Luis should decide to pay an unexpected visit. In fact, he wouldn’t be here now were it not for the charity car race which she thought he’d been insane to enter and which had ended with him smashing his pelvis and spending weeks in hospital.

She looked at him—thinking about his general high-handedness and arrogance and whether she would be able to tolerate it on a far more intimate basis. How could she possibly massage him without giving into the temptation to sink her fingernails into that silken olive flesh of his and make him squirm? How on earth would she be able to touch such a notorious sex god, without making a complete and utter fool of herself?

‘I just wonder whether you might be better getting another professional in,’ she said stubbornly.

He flicked a glance at Mary Houghton, who was still standing in exactly the same position and Carly saw his mouth twist with undisguised irritation. ‘Can you give us a moment, please, Mary?’

‘Of course I can. I’ll...I’ll talk to you when you’ve finished in here, Carly.’ There was a pause, before Mary held her hand out. ‘Goodbye, Luis. It’s been...well, it’s been great.’

He nodded, but Carly thought how cold his face looked as he propped himself up on one elbow, before shaking the physiotherapist’s hand. Whatever Mary had said or done had not pleased him.

‘Goodbye, Mary,’ he said.

There was silence as she left the room and Luis sat up—impatiently gesturing for Carly to hand him the robe hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

She did as he wanted—quickly averting her eyes until he’d covered up with the black towelling robe, but when he spoke, he still sounded irritated.

‘Why are you so reluctant to do what I ask?’ he demanded. ‘Why are you being so damned stubborn?’

For a moment Carly didn’t answer. Would he scoff if he knew that his proposed intimacy scared her? Or would he just be shocked to learn that she had allowed one horrendous experience to colour her judgement—and she’d spent her life running away from the kind of personal contact which most women of her age considered perfectly natural? Someone like Luis would probably tell her to ‘move on’, in the way that people did—as if it were that easy.

And this was about more than what had happened to her, wasn’t it? She could see nothing but trouble if she agreed, because rich and powerful men like Luis were trouble. Hadn’t her own sister been chasing that kind of man ever since she’d first sprouted breasts, and didn’t she keep on going back for more—despite getting knocked back, time after time?

Thoughts of Bella’s inglorious escapades flitted through her mind as she met Luis’s luminous gaze. ‘I don’t want to neglect my housekeeping duties,’ she said.

‘Then get somebody else to do the cooking and the cleaning instead of you. How difficult can it be?’

Carly flushed. She knew that housekeeping wasn’t up there with being a lawyer or a doctor, but she still found it faintly humiliating to hear Luis dismiss her job quite so flippantly.

‘Or get in a professional masseuse who could do it better than I ever could?’ she suggested again.

‘No,’ he said, almost viciously. ‘I’m sick of strangers. Sick of people with different agendas, coming into my house and telling me what I must and mustn’t do.’ His mouth hardened into a forbidding line. ‘What’s the matter, Carly? Are you objecting on the basis that providing massage for your recuperating boss isn’t written into your contract?’

‘I haven’t got a contract,’ she said bluntly.

‘You haven’t?’

‘No. You told me when I interviewed for the job that if I didn’t trust you to give me your word, then you weren’t the kind of person you wanted working for you.’

An arrogant smile spread over his lips. ‘Did I really say that?’

‘Yes. You did.’ And she had accepted his terms, hadn’t she, even if the logical side of her brain had told her that she’d been a fool to do so? In fact, she’d practically bitten his hand off, because she had recognised that Luis Martinez was offering her the kind of opportunity which wasn’t going to come her way again. A place to live and a salary big enough to make substantial savings for her future.

The smile had now left his lips.

‘I am growing bored with this discussion,’ he snapped. ‘Are you prepared to help me out or not?’

She recognised the implicit threat behind his words. Help me out or else.

Or else what?

Go out and find a new job? One which wouldn’t leave her with so much free time to study for her exams? She frowned as she thought about the champagne bill from his last party and a new resolve filled her.

‘I’d be prepared to do it, if you were prepared to give me some sort of bonus,’ she said suddenly.

‘Danger money, you mean?’ he mocked. With a grimace he swung his long legs over the side of the massage bed, but not before Carly had seen a peek of hair-roughened thigh as the robe flapped open.

‘Yes, that’s right. Danger money,’ she croaked, quickly averting her gaze once more. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Funny. I never really had you down as a negotiator, Carly.’

‘Oh? And why’s that?’

Luis didn’t answer immediately, just concentrated on stretching his hips, the way that Mary had shown him. He wouldn’t bother telling his plain little housekeeper that she had merely confirmed his belief that everyone had a price, because that might upset her, and there was no point in upsetting a woman if it could possibly be avoided. Often, of course, it couldn’t. Usually because they weren’t listening to what you were saying, or they thought they could change your mind for you.

Or they started falling in love with you, even though you hadn’t given them the slightest encouragement to do so. His mouth hardened. That had been Mary Houghton’s mistake. He’d seen it growing day by day, until in the end she could barely look at him without blushing. She’d made it clear that she was keen for a...liaison and, yes, he’d been tempted. Of course he had. She was a good-looking woman and hadn’t he read somewhere that physiotherapists made great lovers because they knew how the body worked? But it had been highly unprofessional of her, and some deep-rooted and rather old-fashioned prejudice against such things had appalled him.

He turned his attention back to Carly. At least in her he had nothing to fear because sexual attraction was unlikely to rear its head. He found himself wondering if she bothered keeping a mirror in her bedroom, or whether she just didn’t see what the rest of the world saw.

Her thick brown hair was tugged back from her face in a ponytail and she wore no make-up. He’d never seen mascara on those pale lashes which framed eyes the colour of iced tea, nor lipstick on her sometimes disapproving lips. A little blusher would have added some much-needed colour to her pale skin, and he’d often wondered why she insisted on wearing a plain blue overall during working hours. To protect her clothes, she said—though, from the glimpses he’d caught of them, hers were not the kind of clothes which looked as if they needed much in the way of protection. Weren’t man-made fabrics notoriously hard-wearing? They were also very unflattering when stretched tightly over unfashionably curvy bodies like hers.

Luis was used to women who turned femininity into an art form. Who invested vast amounts of time and money making themselves look beautiful, then spent the rest of their lives trying to preserve that state of being. But not this one. Oh, no. Definitely not this one.

His lips flattened into a wry smile. What was it that the English said? Never to judge a book by its cover. And the old adage did have some truth in it—because despite her plainness and total lack of adornment, nobody could deny that Carly Conner had spirit. He could think of no other woman who would have hesitated for more than a second at the thought of—literally—getting their hands on him. Which of course was precisely the reason why he wanted her for the job. He needed to get fit, and he needed to do it as quickly as possible—because this inactivity was driving him crazy.

All he wanted was to feel normal again. He loathed the world passing him by, so that all he could do was watch it. Because inactivity left you with time to think. It left you feeling as if something was missing. He wanted to get back on the ski slopes. He wanted to pilot a plane again. He wanted the challenge of dangerous sports to fill him with adrenaline and make him feel alive again.

His mouth twisted as he levered himself off the bed.

‘Hand me my crutches, will you, Carly?’

She raised her eyebrows.

He gave a small growl. ‘Please.’

Silently, Carly handed them over and watched as he grasped them, straightening up to his full and impressive height. It still seemed strange to see a man as powerful as Luis needing crutches, but at least he was well on the road to recovery now. Almost unscathed, he had come through an accident the doctors said he’d been lucky to survive.