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“Well, find out, Jones, or I will cut out your still beating heart and hand it to you in a basket that you can carry down to hell with you. Are. We. On. The. Same. Page?”
The last few words are definitely said with a clenched jaw. He is furious. That threat sounds more like a promise, and I gulp. Idly threatening to kill someone is one thing, but that was… chilling.
Hearing what sounds like a punch to a wall, I start to tremble and try to get my feet to move, but I’m rooted to the spot.
“Isla?”
The growl sends a spike of terror through my blood. Pressing my lips together so I don’t whimper and let on that I’m actually standing here like a dumbfuck when I should be running out of the front door and as far away from this man and this house as I can, he says again, “Isla. I know you’re there.”
By its own accord, my hand reaches out and pushes the door open. Plastering a bright, fake smile on my face, I clutch my hand into a fist and drop it, scrambling for an excuse.
“How much of that did you hear?” he asks with a raised eyebrow when he sees me hovering.
“Nothing,” I lie and then inwardly cringe.
“How many times do I have to tell you, you are a terrible liar?”
“Okay, I heard about handing a basket to someone to take down to hell with them. Would that be a handbasket by any chance?”
He snorts with mirth before his face goes dark again. “What else?”
“Nothing. I swear.”Please don’t see that I’m lying.
“What did you want?”
“Dessert is ready.”
He turns to me fully, his gaze raking over me, head to toe, lingering on my breasts, which are pressed against the white blouse I felt was appropriate first day on the job wear with my smart black pants and ballet flats. He looks like he wants to devour me, and it sends a jolt of lust straight to my pussy as I stand there being appraised by this elusive, reclusive billionaire spy, or whatever he is.
“What is it?”
Licking my lips, I frown. “What is what?”
“Dessert.”
Cheeks aflame, I mutter, “Ah-apple pie and custard. Not homemade. I found it in the freezer.”
“Maybe later.”
His gaze is unwavering, and it is making me so nervous I want to cry while peeing myself.
“Okay, then, if you don’t need anything else…”
“What about my laundry?”
“Oh, uhm… sure.”
“My bedroom is the one at the end of the corridor.” He points upwards, indicating directly above us.
“You want me to go into your bedroom?” I ask tentatively. That seems invasive. Although, I suppose I have to clean and tidy up at some point, that is to say, tomorrow… probably.
“That is where my laundry basket is.”
“Do you want to join me?” I ask and then realise how that sounded.
Eyes wide as he raises an eyebrow at me again, he smiles sexily. “Is that an offer, Ms Harding?”
“No!” I exclaim. “No. I meant so you can make sure I don’t go snooping.”
