Housekeeper at His Command: The Spaniard's Virgin Housekeeper / His Pregnant Housekeeper / The Maid and the Millionaire. Caroline Anderson

an answer he wouldn’t like, he lifted his proud dark head and ground out, ‘What is it? Did you forget to knock?’

      Sarcastic brute! There he stood, in all his male magnificence. Long legs planted firmly apart, his suit jacket shed, shirtsleeves rolled up to display the golden skin of his strong forearms, slightly roughened by fine dark hairs, with a lock of silky black hair falling forward to brush his arched, expressive brows.

      Haughtily disdainful eyes.

      She would never understand him in a million years! Nice as pie one moment; utterly vile the next. She had to be the world’s biggest fool to fancy him. So she wouldn’t, she told herself tipsily. She would say what she had come to say and then sweep out with dignity.

      Looking at a point beyond his left ear, because she always went peculiar when she looked directly at him, she dragged in a deep breath and blurted, at volume, ‘Send that stuff back! I’ll pick out something to wear for that dance—sale or return, because I may not be around that long—but the rest’s going back! I may not have two pennies to rub together, but I’m not on any registered charity list that I know about! And I’m not a freeloader, either!’

      Satisfied that he’d got the message, she twisted round, took a giant stride in her haste to reach the connecting door, caught her bare foot in the hem of the swamping robe and fell on her face.

      ‘Are you hurt?’

      Tears of frustration, anger and downright mortification pooled in her eyes as strong hands fastened on either side of her waist and Cayo lifted her back onto her feet. She’d meant to be so dignified and decisive, and all she’d done was fall flat on her face in a heap!

      Breath gathered in her lungs and stuck there, burning. Any minute now she was going to put the tin lid on it and burst into loud and messy tears—that was her chagrined thought as he turned her round to face him, repeating, ‘Have you hurt yourself?’

      His strong hands still steadied her, scorching through the silky fabric. He was so close—too close. She was stingingly aware of his lithe and powerful male body. An awareness that flooded her with tension.

      Her heart began to pound heavily and she couldn’t breathe. Against all common sense she lifted her eyes to his and felt exactly as if she were drowning in the soft dark depths.

      Panicking, her knees threatening to give way under her, she reached out to clasp the strength of his forearms for support—and almost cried out in shock as the touch of warm skin sent a jolt of electrified sensation right through her body. ‘I’m fine!’ she gasped, dropping her hands and making a futile attempt to move away from him.

      His hands tightening, Cayo held her still, his eyes surveying the downbent head with its mass of silky silver, and felt his heart jerk beneath his breastbone.

      Her explosive entry into his room, the way she’d shouted at him—something no one had had the temerity to do for as long as he could remember—had forced a crooked smile of unwilling admiration to his sensual lips.

      When she felt strongly about something—Tio Miguel, the scruffy mutt, a designer wardrobe most women would give their eye-teeth to be gifted—she stood up to him, waded in, fists metaphorically flying. It was refreshing after the immediate and simpering compliance of the sophisticated women who inhabited his social circle and bored him to distraction.

      Gently, he used a long, tanned forefinger to lift her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. Her full lower lip trembled ominously and the deep blue of her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Hurt eyes, as clear and innocent as a child’s.

      Physically she was unharmed. But she was hurting. Self-contempt tightened his gut. He had wronged her, believed lies, dismissed her version of events out of hand, harbouring the unjust opinion that she had set out to weasel herself into his uncle’s affections in order to get her hands on his fortune.

      In all honour he had to make amends.

      ‘We will sit and talk calmly—clear the air between us,’ he announced, dropping his hand and taking one of hers in his. He led her through to the suite she was using, noting the untouched food and the opened bottle of wine. The scruffy puppy snuffling in the padded dog bed was beginning to wake.

      Swallowing a sigh, he excused himself momentarily and picked up the house phone, his orders terse and clipped. His brows clenched together when he turned and saw that Izzy had squeezed herself into the corner of one of the sofas, her legs tucked up beneath her, her arms wrapped around her body, as if she were trying to make herself invisible. Her lovely face was troubled.

      She was always putting her foot in it, Izzy thought wretchedly. Blindly charging in, all guns blazing, acting without thought—sensible or otherwise—making a great big fool of herself!

      Small hands twisting in her lap, she wished she could become invisible. The unaccustomed intake of alcohol and the emotion of the day had heightened her crusading tendencies, and in the aftermath she could see that her wildly inappropriate response to the arrival of a load of horrendously expensive clothes that she would never have been able to afford for herself in a million years had been totally crass.

      She should have done nothing, said nothing until the morning. And then informed Cayo—calmly and with dignity—that the gift was unacceptable. Left it at that, without all these diva-like histrionics.

      There followed the prompt arrival of two uniformed members of staff—one bearing a loaded coffee tray and a plate of what looked like small crusty filled rolls, the other waiting for orders from Cayo, delivered in rapidfire Spanish. He lifted Benji from his basket, attaching the collar and lead to his scrawny neck.

      ‘What’s he doing?’ Snapped out of her miserable introspection, and forgetting her lecture to herself, Izzy scrambled to her feet as the puppy was borne away.

      In receipt of that suspicious reaction Cayo lowered his brows in annoyance. ‘I think you should begin to trust me. The animal will be perfectly safe,’ he informed her, with an extreme dryness that brought a bright flush of colour to Izzy’s face. ‘It is to be walked in the gardens of the hotel, to avoid accidents, and then taken to the housekeeper’s room, where it is to be fed before being brought back.’

      ‘Oh!’ Izzy flushed uncomfortably and flopped back on the sofa. ‘Sorry.’

      ‘You jump to conclusions that do not flatter,’ he imparted wryly as he lowered his lithe frame beside her. ‘Why is that?’

      ‘Why do you think?’ He actually had the gall to look mystified, Izzy decided. It was enough to make a cat laugh! But then, in his opinion, he could do no wrong. ‘You said I should leave him where he was, and then you threatened to have him sent to a vet—probably to be put down. You didn’t exactly encourage me to bring Benji back here, did you?’

      ‘But I didn’t prevent you,’ he pointed out, the corners of his mouth twitching.

      His statement floored Izzy, as she had to admit that since she’d refused to abandon the puppy he had done everything to ensure its comfort and wellbeing—even though he was clearly not a fan of small animals with mangy-looking hair and stubby legs.

      ‘Enough of that. We have other, more important things to discuss.’ A lean, tanned and beautifully crafted hand sliced dismissively. ‘The dog is yours.’

      Izzy instinctively turned to thank him, to look directly at him, and her tummy flipped. He was so handsome he took her breath away. She wished quite desperately that he’d take himself off to his own suite, because she so wanted to move closer than the scant inch or two that separated them, to reach up and pull that handsome head down, to feel his beautiful mouth against hers … And if she wasn’t very careful she’d find herself doing just that, making a monumental fool of herself …

      Cayo shifted uneasily, unable to take his eyes from her lovely face. The beautiful blue eyes no longer looked innocent and childlike but sultry, the dark, gold-tipped lashes lowered. Her soft full lips parted, pink and inviting. The ache at his groin intensified. His pulses went into overdrive. He raised an unsteady hand to brush aside the tendril of silky silver