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‘I hope you all have a great night, I wish I could come but…’ She lifted her slender shoulders in a regretful shrug; her babysitting arrangements had fallen through that morning.
‘You can…I know, just call me fairy godmother. You know how John’s mum is having Hannah? Well, she’s offered to have your two as well. John will pick up the twins on his way home and he’ll fetch them back in the morning.’
‘Oh, Chloe, that’s really kind but I couldn’t impose…’
‘It’s not imposing. Maud offered and they’ll have a great time, you know they will.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Yes but nothing, Cinders, you’re going to the ball and don’t forget the invite includes your utterly gorgeous boss…I tell you, if I was a few years younger I’d give you a bit of competition there.’
Zoe struggled to smile at the joke. ‘He’s not here, I’m afraid.’ She felt a guilty tug as her friend’s face fell.
‘I thought he was due back today. John’s going to be so disappointed—he wanted to thank him personally and return his hospitality. Half the people there only came because they wanted to take a look at the hall.’
Zoe’s unease increased. Short of admitting that the hospitality they wanted to return had not been given freely, she had no way of preventing the decision to treat the new lord of the manor as a community-minded philanthropist.
‘He was…is…due today,’ she admitted. ‘But when I left he hadn’t arrived.’
‘But he might do.’
‘Anything’s possible,’ Zoe admitted, but the thought of Isandro coming to a party where the glasses were borrowed and the food was provided by guests! Possible but not very likely, thank goodness!
‘Well, promise you’ll remind him if he does turn up? Tell him that we’d love to see him and he seemed very keen to come. He’s obviously making an effort to be part of the community.’
Zoe didn’t have the heart to shatter this illusion and explain that the man had only said yes to cut the scene short and get rid of them as quickly as possible.
‘If he does I will,’ Zoe promised, imagining with horror the admittedly unlikely scenario of Isandro putting in an appearance at the party. Him spending the entire evening with his lips curled contemptuously would suck the joy out of any occasion and Zoe wanted to save her friends that. On a less unselfish note she wanted to save herself from spending her precious off-duty time with a man who made her skin prickle with antagonism even before he opened his mouth and said something vile and unpleasant. The fact that half the vile things he said were actually the truth was neither here nor…Losing track of her train of thought, she shook her head slightly to banish the image of the lips that combined overt sensuality with an underlying hint of cruelty.
She was getting fixated on the man’s mouth when it was the things that came out if it that she ought to worry about.
‘John will be by around six to pick up the twins.’
Isandro did not get involved in other people’s lives. His charitable donations to selected good causes were made anonymously, and he never responded to any form of moral blackmail or sentimental sob stories, but the story of the little girl and her ‘last chance to walk’ trip to America continued to play in his mind.
Admit it, Isandro, the kid got to you.
This perceived weakness was responsible for putting the indent between his sable brows. His father had been a sentimental man, a kind, trusting man who was moved by the suffering of others. A man who taught his son the importance of charity, and led by example.
And where had that got him?
Universally liked and admired certainly—but at the end he had been a broken and disillusioned man.
Isandro had been forced to stand by helplessly and watch while the woman his father had married and her daughter had systematically robbed the family business, stealing not just from his father but from major clients. He had no intention of emulating his parent, had no room for sentimentality in his life, expected the worst from others and was rarely disappointed.
Experience had taught him that everyone had an angle and the most innocent of faces could hide a devious heart, like his stepmother and her daughter. Forced to brake hard to avoid a cat that shot across the road out of nowhere, he shook his head, banishing the thoughts of the pair of con artists who had with clinical efficiency isolated his father, alienating him not just from trusted friends and colleagues but his family, ensuring that when Isandro had passed on the concerns expressed by senior staff it had been treated as jealous spite.
Isandro would never be the man his father had been; he’d make sure of that. The possibility that his name was synonymous with cold and heartless was to his way of thinking infinitely preferable to being considered a mug.
A faint smile flickered across his face. According to the lovely Zara he was both cold and heartless among other things. She had lost it big time and reverted to her native Russian, a language Isandro had only a smattering of, so some of the choicer insults had been lost on him, before she swept majestically out of the restaurant on her designer heels.
He exhaled, feeling a fleeting spasm of regret. The woman looked magnificent even when she was spitting fury, and the sex had been excellent.
Great sex had been about the only thing they had going for them, and it had been pretty much the perfect relationship while Zara’s demands had stayed in the bedroom, but recently…He shook his head. He was not into post-mortems but if he’d lived last night again he might not have replied so honestly when Zara had pouted and asked, ‘Have you listened to a word I’ve been saying all night?’
If he’d contented himself with an honest, no frills ‘no’ he might have cajoled her out of her sulks and things might not have escalated so noisily, but he hadn’t. He’d irritably gone into more detail, rather unwisely revealing that he had minimal interest in shoes, the latest way to remove a skin blemish, or minor royals.
To Zara’s frigid, ‘I’m so sorry if I’m keeping you awake,’ he had responded with an inflammatory:
‘Barely.’
Zara’s wrathful intake of breath had caused heads to turn and half the room had heard her hissing, ‘Do you want to split up?’
The ensuing scene could have been avoided. His error of judgement had been assuming she expected to hear him say yes.
He still wasn’t sure why he’d said it. It wasn’t as if Zara had ever been anything but shallow, but that had never been a problem. In fact it had always suited him. It wasn’t her fault that her beauty budget for a month could have paid for a disabled child’s medical treatment.
Dios, but the child had really got to him, he thought, seeing not the child’s face but the disapproval and contempt etched on the beautiful face of his new housekeeper.
There were no balloons along the driveway, just a peacock who sauntered across the road at a leisurely pace, forcing him to wait, then one of the team of gardeners at the wheel of a lawnmower on the now empty lawn as he drove past. Superficially at least everything was back to normal.
It wasn’t until he drove into the courtyard that he realised how hard he had been searching for a legitimate cause for complaint. Frowning as much at the flash of insight as at the beat-up Transit van parked beside one of the estate Land Rovers, he opened the door and peeled out of the low-slung sports car he was driving.
He had taken a couple of steps across the cobbles when he saw a denim-clad bearded figure he assumed was the driver of the eyesore vehicle, who up to that point had been concealed from Isandro by his van.
He wasn’t alone. He held in his arms a tall slender figure. Isandro stopped dead at the sight. The woman wrapped in the circle of another man’s arms had her face hidden from him but the slim body was that of his housekeeper.
Anger flooded into his body, the speed and strength of the flood of emotion leaching the colour from the sculpted bones of his strong features. For the space of several heartbeats his ability to think was obliterated by pure fury as he stood with his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
As the woman emerged from the embrace, pulling away from the man’s chest, he kept hold of her upper arms, saying something that made her laugh before jumping into the van and closing the door behind him with a bang.
It was the musical sound of her laughter and not the reverberating sound of the door being slammed that shook him from his fugue.
Isandro inhaled and loosened his clenched fingers. His temper had been a problem when he was a boy but he was no longer a boy—he was a man who was known for his control and objectivity.
And he had objectively wanted to drag that guy off her. It wasn’t an overreaction, but a perfectly legitimate response to having his trust abused. This wasn’t about a public kiss—though you had to wonder at the woman’s taste. The point was this was not only his home, it was her workplace. This little scene represented a total lack of professionalism. He had given her a second chance, hoping that she would blow it, and she had not disappointed.
Feeling more comfortable having a satisfactory explanation for his moment of visceral rage, he began to walk towards her, the sound of his footsteps drowned out by the van’s engine as it vanished through the arch. He knew for a fact that he did not do jealousy, especially when the woman concerned was his employee. A jealous man would not have been amused rather than angry when his lover of the moment had been caught on camera by the paparazzi being as friendly as a person could be in public without being arrested.
Waving as John’s van drove away, Zoe held up her hand even after the van had vanished. Then taking a deep sustaining breath, she dropped it and turned around to face the figure she had been aware of in the periphery of her vision as John had given her a goodbye hug.
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 the 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 (#ulink_a5ac4a50-d6c1-5edb-ae46-b8888a104975)
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.
