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Taut as coiled wire, curled up in a ball, she pushed a hand up against her quivering lips and closed her eyes tightly, working very hard to make sure he did not feel the tremors shaking the bed. She would get up in a minute, she told herself. She would wait until the rotten, faithless, cruel brute had fallen asleep, then she would go back to the other bedroom and this time lock the door so he couldn’t get in …
She dreamed of locked doors and the helpless constraints of imprisonment as if someone had locked her in. Anxious, restless, she had no idea that she was whispering little pleas into the darkness, begging to be set free. When she uttered a small sob, Roque gave up on lying there watching her, removed the pillow from between them, and gently drew her into the middle of the bed. She curled into him as if she was hunting for safety, and whispered his name against his throat.
Angie slept straight through until morning, when she came awake with a jittery start as if something or someone had woken her up. Remembering exactly where she was arrived half a second later, launching her into a sitting position as full recall of the night’s events flooded into her head.
Pushing her hair back from her face, she swivelled a wary glance at the other side of the bed. It was empty. Relief quivered through her—followed by a burst of fury aimed entirely at herself, for falling asleep here when she’d meant to hot-foot it out of this bedroom and lock herself into the other one.
What time was it?
A glance at her watch sent her diving out of bed. She should have been walking into work as of now! Rushing out of the room and down the mezzanine landing to the other bedroom, she headed directly for the bathroom, and only thought about Roque’s meeting with her brother when she was standing beneath the shower.
Had he already left?
Quickly drying herself, she grabbed the bathrobe hanging up behind the door and dragged it on as her bare feet took her back out onto the landing and down the stairs. Last night’s dinner things had been cleared away, she saw as she crossed to the kitchen—then came to a thoroughly disconcerted halt.
A complete stranger stood elbow-deep in washing up suds—a long, tall, curvy-shaped stranger, with short floppy blonde hair, wearing jeans and bright pink sneakers to match her bright pink tight, stretchy top. When she turned around Angie saw she had big baby blue eyes and a lush heart-shaped mouth.
‘Oh, good morning, Mrs de Calvhos.’ The lush mouth broke into a melting smile. ‘I’m Molly Stewart,’ she introduced herself. ‘I come in here each day to clean up.’
Roque employed a blonde bombshell as a daily cleaner? Suspicion as to Molly’s real role here slunk like poison through Angie’s blood. What had happened to old Mrs Grant?
‘Do you know where my husband is? ‘ Angie asked, stunned to hear herself use that possessive title as if she was sending out a warning to the blonde.
‘He left about half an hour ago,’ Molly Stewart told her. ‘He said for me to let you sleep.’ Picking up a towel, she began drying her hands on it. ‘Can I get you some breakfast? Cereal and juice? Some toast and a pot of coffee or tea?’
‘No—thank you,’ Angie answered with polite cool. ‘I’ll—I’ll just grab a bottle of water from the fridge.’
Why was she behaving so awfully? she asked herself. Because you don’t like the thought of this sexy creature polishing Roque’s floors and making his bed, Angie answered her own question, frowning as she crossed the kitchen towards the fridge, with the blonde watching her every step of the way.
It all felt just so weird—as if she was an intruder here. A one-night stand left behind to sort herself out while the great Latin lover disappeared out of the firing line of an awkward morning-after scene.
Then she wondered just how many one-night stands Molly the daily had greeted with offers of breakfast. Had Molly Stewart been one of them? Was Roque into seducing the cleaning lady on her days off?
Not liking the ugly path her mind was taking her along, she tugged open the fridge door and selected a small bottle of water, then pushed the door shut again, turning to find Molly staring at her pensively, as if she had something she wanted to say.
‘Your husband said I was to make sure you ate something, Mrs de Calvhos,’ Molly murmured anxiously. ‘In fact he was very specific—’
‘That is not his decision to make,’ Angie responded, with a snap she would have preferred had not been there. But she was struggling with hearing herself referred to as ‘Mrs de Calvhos’ now, because she didn’t feel like a Mrs anyone. She didn’t want to feel like a wife at all.
Especially so after last night’s humiliating fiasco in Roque’s bed.
Great will power you have, Angie, she thought grimly, then glanced up sharply as Molly suddenly rushed into speech.
‘You’re Angie Hastings, aren’t you? Gosh, you’re even more beautiful in the flesh than you look in the magazines.’
Thoroughly startled by this unexpected compliment, Angie just stared, and Molly started blushing as if she’d made some terrible gaffe. Angie suddenly saw h
ow young she was—and actually kind of cute. Despite possessing the sexiest curves she’d seen in a long time, being in the industry Angie was in, Molly Stewart had a natural warmth about her that made Angie feel mean for being so cool with her.
‘Let’s start again,’ she offered with a ruefully apologetic smile. ‘I was surprised to find you here, and I’m cross with my … just cross,’ she edited, unwilling to use that husband word again. ‘I should have been at work by now, and—’
‘I wish I had your hair,’ Molly cut in breathlessly. ‘The colour is fabulous …’
‘Trust me, you don’t.’ Angie gave in and just laughed. ‘It’s hell to manage, and you can’t hide the fact that you’re a genuine ginger-head. Did my …?’ There it was again—the word she didn’t want to utter. Avoidance is futile, Angie, she told herself whimsically. ‘Did my husband leave a message for me other than that I am supposed to eat?’
‘Oh.’ Molly jumped. ‘He wrote you a note …’ Walking across the kitchen, she picked up an envelope, then released a giggly laugh. ‘He also said that if you tried to leave the apartment I was to barricade you in, but I don’t think I was supposed to pass that detail on.’
Frowning again, because Angie was picking up on a definite air of friendly intimacy being passed around between Roque and Molly, she asked as casually as she could, ‘How long have you worked here?’
