Ruling Sheikh, Unruly Mistress. Susan Stephens
Читать онлайн книгу.
wanted to stay with Lucy. He wanted to know why she was in such a hurry, and why, when she had just served another fantastic meal, she was still lacking in confidence. Lucy wasn’t good at her job, she was outstanding—so why the angst?
‘Don’t you want to go into town?’ she hinted.
‘I’m in no hurry.’
He didn’t have to give Lucy a reason for staying in a chalet he owned. If he had he might have said he didn’t want her bolting while he was gone. The last thing he wanted was to have to replace her with some sex-starved Seasonnaire. But that was only part of the truth. The novelty of a quiet, self-effacing girl attracted him. She tried so hard, and had overcome the problems quickly and efficiently. He wanted her to grow in self-belief. He wanted to hear this quiet girl scream with pleasure when she lost control in bed.
She’d never had this much scrutiny from anyone, but with her calm head on she could understand that Mac would want to be sure she could hold things together for the week—though he could ring head office and have her replaced at once if he wasn’t satisfied with her work. Would that be too easy for him? He didn’t look like a man who embraced easy.
Dragging her thoughts from Mac, Lucy turned with relief to rinsing plates. But he was still there in her head. Mac with his glossy black hair and fabulous emerald eyes—Mac steeped in pure, potent power—Mac who unnerved her—deliciously. Unnerved her? She was completely out of sync.
‘Lucy?’
‘Yes?’ Her guilty gaze flew to Mac’s face.
‘You seem…distracted?’ he probed.
‘Distracted?’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘No…I was just planning tonight’s meal.’
‘Do you like the uniform?’ Mac enquired as she fiddled with it.
‘Yes, I do.’ She met his gaze, determined not to be put off her stroke. She didn’t wear the uniform with the same flair as, say, Fiona, but at least it made her feel anonymous and safe. ‘I feel…like I belong,’ she added as an afterthought, undoing her apron now they’d finished clearing up.
She had turned away to hang her apron on the peg behind the door and so she didn’t see Mac frown.
Then Tom came back to have another go at persuading Mac to go with him into town.
‘I’ll leave Omar here should you need anything.’
‘No, take him too,’ Lucy told Mac, thinking the invisible presence of a bodyguard she might stumble across at any moment almost as alarming as having Omar’s boss scrutinise her every move. ‘There are people on call at the chalet company if I need anything.’
‘In that case, see you later, Lucy.’
‘My pleasure,’ she added to an already empty room. If she had needed a reality check on how vital she was to Mac’s existence, she just got it.
As the front door shut behind the men she sank down on the nearest chair. She was trembling. She felt as if she’d run a marathon. She had. She had just completed the most important race of her life—to keep her job, though she wasn’t foolish enough to think that couldn’t change at any moment if Mac changed his mind.
She had to get back to work. Dreaming didn’t clean floors—plus she had some eggs to beat for tonight’s meal before covering them and leaving them in the fridge…
Staring round the gleaming kitchen as she cracked eggs in a bowl on autopilot, Lucy mulled over what she had learned about her guests. Aside from an overload of testosterone in the chalet, there were a lot of heavy gold rings in evidence engraved with family crests. Theo didn’t wear one, but Tom’s crest, along with Sheridan’s and William’s, marked them out as members of the British aristocracy. That was simple enough to work out, but what was she supposed to make of the fierce lion and the scimitar engraved on Mac’s ring?
The vision of an awe-inspiring desert landscape came to mind. But where had the green eyes come from? And such eyes…eyes that spoke of billowing Bedouin tents and the pearly light of dawn on the oasis as lovers woke and stretched their pliant limbs before making love again and again and again…
It took remarkably little imagination to take the hunk in jeans and place him in flowing robes. Hmm. Whisk suspended. As the picture drew clearer the whisk picked up pace again. The silk sheets on their Bedouin cushions would cling tenaciously to Mac’s powerful limbs, hinting at the brute strength underneath. But the sheets were covering him.
So she’d throw them off.
‘Are you going to beat that egg to death?’
She nearly hit the ceiling as Mac stopped her hand. She hadn’t realised he’d come back.
‘What has that poor egg done to you?’ He held her gaze in the most disturbing fashion.
‘I was just surprised when you came back.’
‘Is there a curfew in operation?’
‘Sorry.’ Her brain was addled. Mac in cool black performance gear, ready for the snow, was even more alarming than Mac in jeans. And he was still holding on to her hand.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said, releasing her. ‘I’m not checking up on you.’
Then why was he here? Lucy nursed her hand. Mac’s touch was warm, firm and commanding—and he’d let go of her far too fast for her daydreams and not nearly fast enough for here and now.
‘So, what are you up to?’ he said, staring into her eyes.
She gazed around, desperate for an answer. ‘Something for tonight…cake.’
‘Cake?’ Mac prompted, staring pointedly at the array of cakes already laid out on the table.
‘Isn’t Tom waiting for you?’ Lucy said hopefully.
‘And if he is?’
‘Could you pass me the cake tin, please?’
He held it out. She took hold of it, but he didn’t let go, so now she was joined to Mac by an inflexible ring of tin.
‘Lucy?’
She blinked and returned to her customary kitchenconfident self. ‘If you’d like a piece of the cake I’ve already made, just sit down, and I’ll—’
‘Serve me?’ Mac suggested wickedly, releasing the tin.
‘I’ll cut the cake,’ Lucy said primly, reaching for a knife.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Mac told her, and with one last mocking stare, he left the room.
Mac might have left the room, but he hadn’t left her thoughts. He was very much part of them and doing things to her that were almost certainly forbidden by law in several countries. How not to long for that? Running through a list of ingredients for the next meal didn’t come close.
Chapter Four
LUCY spent the next hour in her small attic room, pacing up and down. If only plain girls could be born with a lust bypass, she reflected, pausing by the mirror to view her unchanged reflection, it would make life and rejection so much easier for her. Of course, she knew her relationship with Mac was purely professional, and she’d only known him five minutes, but it would have been nice if, only for a few moments of that time, the frisson she felt could have been a two-way connection. The best thing now was to have a long soak and try to forget him. But she couldn’t, because she had somewhere to be and there were jobs to do first—beds to turn down, bathrooms to clean, towels to check, fires to bank up…
She was running late by the time she finished all her remaining tasks and she still had to get ready—number one on the list was a quick bath, and then she’d have to run all the way to the club where her friends would be waiting for her.
Interest laced with concern for Lucy