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"Keep doing that, angel, and I'll have you down on your knees again. " Sensual promise gave his voice a husky tone.
She kept doing it. "Shorts. Just shorts. Please. "
Chapter Ten
He had a selection of racquets. Choosing an oversized Prince, she tested the strings to make sure it would perform up to her standards. It surprised her, his decision to do this instead of taking her to some dungeon he had hidden on his sprawling estate and spending the day at the same intensity level as last night. She wasn't ungrateful, since her system appeared to be working on overload now.
The sports bra was white, as was the skirt. Being a tennis skirt, it just made it past the cheeks of her ass. Maybe he thought it would distract her. He was in for a surprise.
When it came to winning, her focus was absolute.
When she stepped out of the room into the hallway, she found Sarah waiting for her. His house staff person looked in her fifties, with remarkably blonde hair tied back from her shoulders. She had hazel eyes and small interlocking silver heart earrings dangling from her lobes. A wedding band with a modest setting and a diamond anniversary band rested on a finger that, like the rest of her knuckles, displayed the swellings of early arthritis. Wearing a comfortable cotton blouse that rested at the swell of her hips over a neat pair of jeans, she appeared prepared to clean and cook, or step in as an appropriately casual hostess. The blouse was hand-embroidered with a floral design on the tips of the collar.
"Ma'am, Mr. Winterman asked me to show you the way to the tennis courts. He apologizes. He received a phone call in his office and had to take it. " Which explained the surprise of his sudden absence, when he hadn't given her room to breathe since she'd arrived. "Tell him to take as long as he likes. " Then, on a sudden impulse, she asked, "May I see his room?" When the woman hesitated, Marguerite put out a hand, summoning her most practiced proprietress smile. "With you, of course. The house is so beautifully decorated, I just want to see the pieces he's placed in his own space. And since I have a few moments before he can join me. . . "
"Of course. I'm sure that would be fine. " Reassured, the housekeeper changed direction, took her down the hall and across the landing. Outside the windows the sun was sparkling on the Gulf, the live oaks on the lawn framing it with imbalanced perfection, their gnarled branches shadowing a garden bench, a hammock. Marguerite glanced off the other side of the landing, toward the front entranceway, and saw a ficus tree adorned with fairy lights she hadn't noticed coming in the night before. There appeared to be a glittering of glass ornaments on it.
"Did. . . Tyler do that?"
"No, of course not. " Sarah chuckled. "Everyone wonders about that because it doesn't really match the rest of the house decor, does it? That was done by my grandchildren. Mr. Winterman let them come out for the day when they visited on Christmas break this year. They wanted to decorate it with some cheap little crystal ornaments we found in one of the storage sheds and a string or two of Christmas lights.
I was going to take it down after they left, for I certainly didn't think it matched all these pieces Mr. Winterman has so carefully chosen but he told me to leave it. That he liked it. And then informed me that he'd recently read in a Woman's Day article that such things were very fashionable, particularly when concerned with 'decorating on a dime'. "
Marguerite was amused at the woman's impression of Tyler's masculine voice. "So do you ever get the urge to slap him?"
"Constantly. Almost as much as I get the urge to mother him. I suppose they go hand in hand. " Sarah beamed. "Sometimes I come upon him here first thing in the morning. He'll have his coffee and be sitting on the landing in his pajamas, his feet between the railings dangling down like a little boy's while he watches the sun come up. Of course, once you get above those feet nothing else reminds you of a little boy. " She gave Marguerite a mischievous glance that made Marguerite bite her lips against a smile. 'Good morning, Sarah,' he'll say with a smile, as if it's the most normal thing in the world for him to be sitting there. Then again it'd be almost a sin to have that view in the morning and not take time to pay tribute to it. "
"You're obviously fond of him. "
"He's a gentleman, in a world where they're hard to come by. Both meanings, you know. Gentleman and gentle man. Like my Robert. " Sarah pushed open a door. "This is his room, Miss Perruquet. I'm sorry but I do feel like I should stay. "
"I enjoy your company," Marguerite reassured her, stepping in and appreciating the woman's sense of responsibility, her protectiveness. It was a rare commodity and one of the many reasons she valued Chloe and Gen so much.
Yes. This was his room. It was not just the simple, mission style bed of polished dark wood and matching armoire that looked as if it contained an entertainment center behind its doors. It was the more personal items her sharp eyes caught here that she'd missed in the other room. Several scripts piled on the bureau for review. Receipts from his wallet. A photograph showing a ballerina bent over in a graceful pose, accepting a bouquet of roses from the orchestra maestro while she was on stage.
"Who is the dancer?"
"Mr. Winterman's wife. "
Marguerite turned from the photograph, startled, and the housekeeper blanched, realizing the source of her consternation. "Oh, no, not his current wife. She's his ex-wife. Somewhat. Oh, dear, I'm not sure if that's the right description. "
"Somewhat?" Then Marguerite saw a small heart-shaped box next to the picture.
Through the crystal top, she could see three rings, the man's lying diagonally on top of the woman's wedding set, linking them.
"I shouldn't have brought you in here. I'm so sorry, Miss Perruquet. I. . . "
"You haven't abused his trust," Marguerite said firmly, facing her. "I won't abuse the knowledge, but if you don't feel it would jeopardize your position I would like to know what 'somewhat' means. "
Sarah pursed her lips, apparently mulling it over, and Marguerite gave her the time to do so with the patience that many a sub had both cursed and blessed her for.
At last, she spoke. "All right. I'll tell you. For the same reason I agreed to bring you here in the first place. Mr. Winterman gave us very specific instructions on Friday morning. He told me, 'Anything she asks for, other than to leave - '" a smile touched her lips, "'she's to have. ' He's different about you. " Marguerite tried to appear unaffected by that knowledge. "I'm sure Tyler often offers his hospitality to women. "
"His hospitality, but not that. Not an open door. " She shook her head. "I've raised my children, I have a husband. No matter the things that go on in this house, certain things remain the same. I know when a man is trying especially hard to make an impression on a woman. And I know enough about Mr. Winterman to know if he's trying so hard for you, then you must be extraordinary. "
"Now that I don't think he'd appreciate you telling me. "
"Perhaps not. " Sarah nodded. "But he's got so much charm, I thought you might appreciate having an edge on him. "
