Maid for the Billionaire(3)

He looked up and through her as he crossed the foyer. ―You can go now.‖

She considered following his weary command, but something held her immobile.

―Are you deaf? I said you can leave. Finish whatever you're doing tomorrow.‖

Mr. Armani sounded like an over-tired child, although she was fairly certain that he wouldn't appreciate the comparison. The wisest choice of action would have been to do as he said and leave before he had a chance to question her on her attire, but she couldn't.

He didn't look like someone who should be alone.

Was she simply projecting? Her friends often accused her of seeing good where there was none, but that was a hazard of her job. To be an effective middle school teacher, one had to see beyond the bravado. Abby taught English to non-native speakers, so she was often employed in the toughest schools in the city. She was used to defusing misdirected anger. Profanity was a cry for help. Harsh words often hid fear. Her patience paid off. Students returned, year after year, to thank her for believing in them. For some, she knew she‘d been the only one who had. But this wasn‘t her classroom and, in reality, she had no idea who this man was.

She could almost hear Lil‘s voice telling her that some things were simply not her business and she‘d be right. This man wouldn‘t welcome her nurturing any more than her sister did, but that didn‘t stop Abby‘s heart from going out to him.

She put the sheets on a table on one side of the hallway and said, ―There are fresh towels upstairs. Why don't you go take a shower and I'll get some basic groceries from the corner store for you.‖

His back straightened and she caught her breath, reeling from the full impact of his attention.

God, he‘s beautiful. His dark gray eyes raked over her, flashing with irritation and then something else. He cut the distance between them in a few short strides. A hint of alcohol reached her as he stopped mere inches from her. She tipped her head back to look up at him.

―Did Jake send you?‖ He asked as he assessed her. ―You don't look like a model.‖

She blinked a few times in surprise as some of her sympathy for him faded. ―And you don't smell like a man who should be wearing an Armani, but I wasn't going to mention it,‖ she answered in a huff.

Her words stirred something in him; his shoulders squared and his eyes narrowed. This was a man who was not accustomed to people speaking back to him, but if he was trying to intimidate her, his nearness was creating the entirely wrong reaction in her body. Even in his rumpled suit, or maybe because of it, he was the sexiest man she'd ever seen in person. Men like this existed only on the large screen or in novels. She wanted to reach up and run a hand over the rough stubble on his cheek.

―I didn't say you were unattractive,‖ he growled. ―You're just not reed thin like the women I'm used to.‖

That’s it. She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows in a silent challenge.

Time suspended as their standoff continued. His look of annoyance was steeped with an expectation that she should try to appease him in some way. She simply met his glare with her own, giving him time to replay his choice of words in his mind. He looked away first, a slight flush reddening his neck

―Ok, that came out wrong.‖ He ran a frustrated hand through his thick black hair, leaving it slightly awry and sexier ...if that were even possible. He was already a twelve or thirteen on her one to ten scale, even after she deducted a few points for lack of social skills. A glint of fascination lit his dark eyes as something occurred to him. ―Did you just tell me that I stink?‖

There was nothing tired about the way he leaned down until their lips almost touched. The scent of him mixed with the dash of liquor and the combination was heady. He was all male, untamed and interested in more than her answer to his question. No man had ever looked at her with such intensity. His sexual energy demanded a response that her body seemed all too willing to deliver.

Abby fought down the urge to close the short distance between them. She‘d lost too much to believe in anything that felt this good. She took a half a step back and raised a placating hand.

―I wasn‘t quite that harsh.‖

The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. ―Do you have any idea who I am?‖ he asked, somehow making the question sound more curious than pompous.

Perhaps his tragedy had brought him a bit of notoriety, but Abby wasn't one to watch much TV and, as usual, Lill had given her just the information she absolutely needed in a brief, stilted conversation that typified how strained their relationship had become.

―I'm hoping you're the man who owns this brownstone, otherwise I'm going to get in trouble for letting you in,‖ she said with some forced humor.

He didn't laugh. ―You really don‘t know, do you?‖ His question sounded oddly hopeful.

Abby shrugged, but the hairs on the back of her neck tingled. What kind of man was relieved to not be recognized?

A criminal.

Crap.

Nice clothes meant nothing. His suit might have become disheveled during a tussle with the actual owner of it. She shook her head at the thought. ―You do own the place, don't you?‖

At his lack of a response, she scanned the area for something to toss at him if she needed to dash for the door. The closest object was a large, brass lamp. If he made any fast moves…

All coherent thought fled when he smiled down at her while lightly running his hands up both of her arms. ―Yes, I‘m the owner.‖