‘Nothing.’
‘Tell me. I’m interested.’
She shrugged. ‘You kind of bring publicity on yourself by dating the sort of women who give tell-all interviews to glossy magazines after you dump them.’
‘You think I should have them sign a confidentiality clause before I take them to bed?’
‘I don’t know, Luis—I’m your housekeeper, not your counsellor.’
Turning her head, she peered out of the window as the car ascended a terrifyingly narrow road which spiralled its way up a dizzyingly high, green mountain. ‘Gosh, it’s so beautiful out there,’ she said.
‘Are you deliberately changing the subject, Carly?’
‘I might be.’
He laughed. ‘Ever been to Europe before?’
She watched as a bright scarlet sports car squeezed past them in the opposite direction, screwing up her eyes as she wondered if it would make it. ‘Just a package holiday to Spain—two weeks in Benidorm in a hotel with my mother and my sister. It was fairly...basic.’
‘Then you may be in for something of a treat,’ he commented drily as his phone began to ring and, pulling it from his pocket, he answered in Spanish.
The rest of the journey passed quickly and Carly wondered what her sister would say if she could see her now, in a chauffeur driven car, travelling through some of the most expensive real estate in the world. She probably wouldn’t have believed it. Come to think of it, she was having a bit of difficulty believing it herself.
The car rounded a bend and she caught her first glimpse of Luis’s house—a belle-époque villa which he told her he’d bought from an Arabian prince, a friend of a friend, who just happened to be a sultan.
For Carly, it was yet another illustration of his rarefied life, a life which she’d seen only fragments of before. But suddenly it was being pieced together in front of her eyes, like some kind of rich and lavish jigsaw puzzle. He knew sultans and kings. Supermodels and politicians converged on his houses like flocks of glamorous butterflies. But he had no real base, she realised. He flitted from gorgeous house to gorgeous house, but there was no place to call home. Despite all his expensive real estate, Luis Martinez was nothing but a rich and pampered gypsy.
She looked up at the villa as their car drove through the gates, thinking it was like some kind of sumptuous fortress. Dazzling white and shielded by tall dark cypress trees, it sat high in the hills overlooking little azure coves and inlets.
‘Are there many staff?’ she asked, suddenly nervous.
‘Just the usual. And your French counterpart is called Simone. You’ll like her.’
Simone was waiting to greet them in a vast reception area with corridors leading off in different directions, like the spokes of a wheel. Tall vases filled with orange roses and spears of eucalyptus were reflected back in large ornate mirrors. A classical statue of a young woman tipping water over herself stood in one corner.
Carly looked around, thinking that it was a bit like being in a museum and that his French housekeeper was scarily chic. Simone’s grey dress skated over her slim figure, her hair was cleverly tinted, and, though she must have been pushing fifty, Carly suddenly felt shabby in comparison.
‘I’m going straight to my study,’ said Luis. ‘To answer some of Diego’s increasingly hysterical emails, before he blows a fuse. Simone, this is Carly’s first time in France.’ He ran his finger thoughtfully over his broken nose. ‘I think we might put her in the blue room overlooking the bay.’
There was a split second of hesitation. ‘But might Mademoiselle Conner not disturb you, if your rooms are so close?’ Simone’s smile was fixed. ‘I have made up one of the guest houses in the grounds, which mi
ght be more...suitable.’
‘Carly hasn’t travelled in Europe very much before. We might as well give her a decent view.’ His eyes were as flat as hammered black metal. ‘That won’t be a problem, will it?’
‘Mais non!’ Simone gave a little wiggle of her hands. ‘Pas de problème.’
Carly realised that Luis was watching her and found her cheeks growing warm beneath that hard-eyed scrutiny. And suddenly she was conscious of something more than consideration in his dark eyes. Was he looking at her, rather than through her, or was she starting to imagine things? She felt her breasts growing heavy and her cheeks flushing, and she thought she saw his eyes gleam in response. As if he had guessed what she was thinking.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said awkwardly.
‘It’s nothing. Enjoy the view. I’ll see you later. Massage after lunch?’
‘As long as it’s not a heavy lunch.’
‘You see how stern she can be, Simone?’ he questioned mockingly. ‘Don’t worry, Carly, I will allow you to police what I eat, if it makes you feel better.’
His words only increased Carly’s confused feelings. Was she misreading the signs again, thinking that he was flirting with her? Thinking that a man like him would be looking at someone like her with hunger in his eyes? But no matter how much the logical side of her brain tried to tell her that she was mistaken, her instincts were telling her that she was right. His eyes had grown smoky with something like desire and she wondered if Simone had picked up on it, too.