Maid for the Billionaire(6)

He shifted backwards, so she came up onto her tiptoes and rested more fully on his excitement. With a moan, she moved against him, exciting him more. Nothing mattered except this feeling, this woman, this evening.

―Stay tonight,‖ he whispered into her neck. ―If I had known that my maid was this sexy, I would have come back to Boston a long time ago.‖

She pulled back so abruptly that he dropped his arms.

―Crap,‖ she said and continued to back away from him.

He reached for her again, but she evaded him this time. Whatever connection they'd shared had clearly been broken by his mention of her career. He scolded himself for stupidly mentioning it.

―I have to go,‖ she sidestepped a wide circle around him, trying to get to the door before him.

―Stay. I know this is crazy. I‘ve always made sure to steer clear of…‖

―Dating the help?‖ she suggested, her tone full of the judgment it had held earlier.

―Yes, but only because I never wanted to put anyone in an awkward position…‖ he acknowledged the irony of his words as he tried to get between her and the door. Somehow this was different. She was different.

―How nice of you,‖ she spoke over him.

―I don‘t care that you‘re a maid. It doesn‘t matter.‖

―It matters to me.‖

He blocked her exit. She couldn't leave. Not like this.

―Stay.‖

―I can't. I really have to go.‖

―That's not what you want.‖

―What I want is for you to stop blocking the door,‖ she declared.

His hands fell to his side and he stepped out of her way. She couldn‘t mean that. ―Why deny it? You want me just as much as I want you.‖

She brushed past him and into the main foyer without so much as a glance back. Her voice sounded more flustered than angry. ―I told you that I had stayed to share a meal with you, nothing more.‖

Her attraction to him hadn't been in his imagination. She'd enjoyed that kiss as much as he had. First hot, then cold. Was it all a game? If so, it was one that he had no intention of losing.

He knew of one way to find out her real motivation.

―Would you stay for ten thousand dollars?‖ he asked.

He felt a stab of disappointment when she stopped before opening the door and turned back to face him. ―Do you think I'm for sale?‖

He hoped not.

―How about a hundred thousand?‖ He forced the words out.

―Is it because I'm a maid that you think you can talk to me this way?‖ Her hands were back on her hips, eyes flashing with fury, which only made her more beautiful.

The final test. ―You‘re a shrewd bargainer. A million. I've never met a woman who was worth that amount of money, but I suspect I won‘t regret tonight.‖

She opened the door with one hand and said, ―You're a pig, an egotistical pig. If you even have a million dollars, I suggest you roll it up and stick it up your...‖ the last word was lost beneath the sound of the door slamming behind her.

He had a pretty good idea where she'd suggested he put it.

His chuckle blossomed into a full, hearty laugh until he was wiping wetness from around his eyes. The release of tension felt good. Damn, that is one incredible woman. Looking back over the evening, he gave into more laughter as he settled back onto one of the cushions by the coffee table and filled his plate with fried rice.

She'd be back.

He'd make sure of that.



Chapter Four

The sound of that big oaf laughing made Abby want to reopen the door and throw a shoe at his smug face. She didn‘t, though. Instead, she made herself breathe deeply as she descended the stone stairs. A large part of her job consisted of extolling the virtues of non-violent responses to conflict. Mr. Armani evoked a strong rebuttal to that philosophy.

He‘d actually offered her money like a common prostitute. What kind of man does that?

The kind of man, she reminded herself, who looked like he slept in his car when he left bars.

Abby looked over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't following her out of the brownstone and told herself that she wasn't disappointed that he hadn't. The man was an arrogant ass. A big, gorgeous, sexy, arrogant ass.

A flashy, black car had parked carelessly close to the rear of her blue Saturn sedan. It had plenty of room behind it. Whoever owned the car had pinned her in out of indifference, rather than necessity. She inched her car forward, then back, but didn‘t have room to get out of her parallel parking spot.

What kind of…wait, it couldn’t be. The license plate had said New York. She‘d bet her last dollar that Mr. Armani had driven his trophy car up to Boston.

She set her car in reverse and acted on an impulse; slowly backing her car until it thumped the other. Both bumpers protested and her tires spun, but eventually the cars reversed a few inches. As she pulled forward and into traffic, she quickly looked back in her rearview mirror.

His bumper was scratched and slightly dented, but it was nothing more than he deserved and she didn‘t care if he knew she‘d done it. In fact, she would have gladly signed the masterpiece had she been able to.

Who’s laughing now? she thought and headed for home.

The triumph was short lived. What was she going to tell Lil? Had she set out to get her sister fired, she couldn‘t have been more thorough. Even if he didn‘t mention her general appearance or inappropriate behavior, there was always the chance that he‘d report her for damaging his vehicle.