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

to her side, leaning forward to scoop her effortlessly into his arms. Ignoring her spluttered protest, he strode through the open long windows, out of the air-conditioning and into the blaze of white heat on the wide balcony.

      Izzy, her heart beating so fast she felt giddy, pummelled his broad chest with ineffectual fists. Being swept up into his arms twice in one morning was seriously undermining her sanity, and making the secret feminine part of her throb, ache, turn moist and slick. She was so ashamed of herself that an anguished sob escaped her before she could swallow it.

      ‘You are overwrought.’ Cayo gentled her into a padded seat. ‘There really is no need.’ He adjusted the huge sun awning so that she was completely in shade, withdrew his mobile from a pocket at his narrow hips and issued rapidfire orders in his own language, smiling down at her.

      His black eyes were liquid with kindness, and Izzy looked quickly away, concentrating on the view out over the gardens until her eyes stung. Because meeting his gaze, holding it, would let him read what was there: desire, lust, need—the whole package. She wouldn’t let that happen.

      So she was overwrought! Whose fault was that? The sex-on-legs man who was now telling her, ‘Cold drinks will be with us in moments.’ That was who!

      He was also saying, ‘We must talk. But first I want to apologise. I accused you of trying to wheedle your way into Miguel’s affections with the intention of getting your hands on his wealth, of having no morals worth mentioning. I was wrong.’

      Izzy’s soft pink mouth dropped open, her huge eyes wide as she watched him move forward and join her on the padded seat, one arm disposed along the back. She wouldn’t have thought his inbred arrogance would permit him ever to admit to being in the wrong. She’d assumed that apologies would be a stranger to his tongue—he hadn’t apologised when she’d given him her version of the events that had led to her dismissal from her former job, so why was he saying sorry now?

      She angled her head to one side, gazing up at that compellingly handsome face, and Cayo caught his breath between his teeth.

      Her enchantingly tousled hair was tumbling forward in a tangle of shimmering silver-blond curls. His fingers ached to make exploratory contact. And her parted lips, lush, moist, rose-pink, were an invitation he was hard pushed to resist. And those clear, unbelievably blue eyes—

      He cleared his throat roughly, his tone husky and then flattening as he confessed, ‘I spoke to Augustin del Amo this morning.’ He thought it wise to admit the truth of what really happened. ‘Again, I can only apologise, and ask you to allow me to make some reparation.’

      His accent was more pronounced than she’d ever heard it, and a lock of silky black hair had fallen forward to brush his arched, expressive brows. He reached out and took her hands. Her ability to breathe vanished. The golden skin of his forearms was slightly roughened by fine dark hairs. So temptingly touchable …

      A great choking lump took residence in Izzy’s throat. A question burned her tongue. The electrifying touch of his hands on hers sent it flying out of her head.

      He repeated his request, ‘May I make reparation?’

      She could only gasp, ‘Such as?’

      His mobile mouth twitched. Izzy wanted to kiss it so much it made her insides fizz. Which was why she had come to the grown-up decision to leave as soon as humanly possible, she reminded herself. A decision that was founded on very shaky ground, she discovered, when his long tanned fingers tightened around hers and he supplied, ‘A billion sterling in a diamond-encrusted gold crate, perhaps?’

      Laughter lights in both dark velvet and sparkling blue eyes met and melded.

      ‘You remembered that!’

      ‘How could I forget? You are the only woman I know to let me feel the sharp edge of her tongue.’

      ‘I bet!’ She tugged her hands away from his. The fleeting moment of rapport had vanished. It had felt so very good. But now it might never have happened. She wished it hadn’t!

      Long, gold-tipped lashes swept down to veil her eyes, because it really hurt to translate what he meant. Hordes of beautiful, sexy, exquisitely dressed, sophisticated and suitable women flattering him outrageously and hanging on his every word. Not a single one with any reason or desire to even think about bad-mouthing him!

      Mental images of some nameless, long-legged lovely wrapped all around him, cooing sweet nothings and purring with pleasure, rose up to choke her, blinding her to the arrival of a waiter with the cold drinks Cayo had ordered.

      With a brief nod of thanks he leaned towards her, his eyes soft, and assured her, ‘That was a compliment, amada.’

      Stop it! she shrieked inside her head. When he was nice to her, her emotions went haywire! Her hand shaking, she lifted a glass, her fingers curling around the ice-cold surface. She drank the most refreshing grapefruit juice she’d ever tasted as if she were stranded in a desert and dying of thirst.

      Setting the empty glass back on the table with unnecessary vigour, Izzy wished she were impervious to Cayo’s charismatic good-looks, but she knew she never would be—not in a million years.

      She was thrown completely off-balance when he captured her hand and said, in that slow, sexy drawl, ‘Time to talk. As friends.’

      Her hand felt so small and delicate within his, her fingers curling in response. He had the unprecedented and urgent need to lift it to his mouth, plant kisses deep within her palm.

      He didn’t do soppy, romantic gestures!

      And he wasn’t going to start with Izzy. Izzy was out of bounds!

      Which was a pity!

      Scrub that thought!

      His features as impassive as only he could make them, he gently untwined her fingers from his and carefully replaced her hand back on her lap. ‘You up for it?’

      ‘For what?’ Her voice sounded funny, as if she were drunk, Izzy decided. Just because he’d briefly held her hand again. Time to get a grip.

      ‘I want to discuss your decision to leave Miguel’s employ.’

      ‘Oh. Right.’ Izzy perked up. At least she told herself she did. She’d made the perfectly sensible and correct decision to leave, and naturally Cayo would want to discuss the best way to go about getting her back to Las Palomas, as she’d requested, where she could pack the remainder of her gear and say her farewells to Miguel. ‘Go ahead.’

      ‘I understand your decision to leave,’ Cayo assured her gently, determined to prevent her taking off like a scalded cat. He wanted her to leave Las Palomas only when he had decided his guilt over his shockingly bad judgement had been relieved. ‘His work’s the only companion Tio Miguel needs, always has been, and as it’s my firm intention to get him to agree to make Las Palomas his permanent home he won’t need a housekeeper. Staying in his employ would make you feel like a spare part.’

      Izzy nodded her agreement, the sudden painful lump in her throat not allowing her to vocalise. He understood, and he would do everything in his considerable power to facilitate her removal from the lives of the super-elevated Garcias with all haste.

      Deflation hit her. A decision made in a blinding moment of unadulterated common sense was one thing. But being faced with the imminence of a very uncertain future, with the responsibility of a small puppy to add to her anxieties, was quite another. Perhaps common sense wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

      Sparkling dark eyes enhanced by incredibly thick black lashes rested on her slightly trembling pink mouth. ‘I won’t ask you to alter your decision, only to delay it.’

      He caught his breath as she lifted her eyes to his. So wide, so vulnerable. The thought of her, jobless, homeless, wandering Spain in the hope of picking up work, was inconceivable. He wouldn’t let it happen. He might be the tough nut described in the financial papers, but he wasn’t a monster.

      ‘Give it a couple of weeks or so—at