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“Thank you, miss.”
And if he doesn’t regret his behavior yet, Louisa thought furiously as the girl left, he soon will.
Louisa’s rage built to burning point as she tossed the ceramic plate, once a beautiful specimen of antique Iznik blue-and-white porcelain, into the trash. She washed the silver tray and reassembled the entire meal on a new plate, grimly adding a fresh rose in a silver vase. She made another sandwich, exactly the same as the first, and carried it up the sweeping, curving stairs to the second floor.
She gave a single hard knock on his bedroom door.
“Enter,” his voice said harshly.
Still furious, Louisa pushed open the door. Then she stopped.
His bedroom was dark.
“Miss Grey.” She heard his low, sardonic voice unseen from the darkness. “So good of you to follow my orders.”
His voice was deep, combative. Hostile.
Peering into the darkness, Louisa saw him sitting on a chair in the shadows, in front of the cold fireplace. She set down the tray on a nearby table and, crossing the room in her sensible two-inch heels, she pulled down a switch to turn on the small lamp.
A circle of yellow light illuminated the darkness, revealing a bedroom that was masculine, Spartan and severe.
“Turn that off,” he growled, his gaze whirling on her. The blast of angry heat in his gaze nearly caused her to stagger back.
Then, straightening, Louisa clenched her hands into fists. “You won’t intimidate me like you did poor Behiye. How dare you attack a maid, Mr. Cruz? Throwing a tray at her? Have you quite lost your mind?”
His eyes narrowed as he slowly rose to his feet.
“It is none of your business.”
But she stood firm. “Oh, but it is. You pay me to oversee this household. How do you expect me to do that when you terrorize the staff?”
“I did not throw the tray at her,” he growled. “I knocked it out of her hand to the floor. She is the one who tried to catch it. Foolishly.”
Spoken like a man who’d never cleaned his own floor. “You frightened her!”
His gray eyes gleamed at her in the shadowy light. “An accident,” he bit out. “It was…careless of me.” Turning away, he set his jaw. “Give the girl the rest of the day off.”
She lifted her chin. “You already did, sir. In fact, you just gave her a week’s vacation with full pay.”
There was a pause in the darkness. “Miss Grey.” His voice sounded suddenly odd, almost wistful. “You seem to always know what I need. Sometimes even before I do.”
The look he gave her made her heart catch in her throat. As if he needed something very much right now and wished she knew what, without him saying a word.
She felt his look with a flood of heat. Against her will, she was reminded of how it had felt when he’d kissed her…No. She wouldn’t think about that night. Couldn’t!
“It’s my job to know what you’ll want,” she said evenly, folding her arms. “You pay me to know.”
The words you pay me hung between them, dividing them.
“Yes,” he said in a low voice. “I do.”
He turned away, but not before she caught the stark look in his eyes. The same look she’d seen on his face when he’d first come through the garden gate. It wasn’t anguish, exactly, but a flash of vulnerability. Of weariness. Loneliness. But that was ridiculous. How could the most ruthless playboy in Europe ever be lonely?
“You never should have sent the maid,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I told you specifically I wished for you to bring me dinner. Not some maid. You.”
He wanted to be alone with her?
Exhilaration flooded through her. Then fear overwhelmed everything. She couldn’t allow herself to be seduced again, couldn’t!
