Nikos felt his conscience prick. Which was rare for him.
An innate sense of fairness made him admit, ‘You have kept the house pristine. Look, can we start over?’
He walked over to where she stood in the doorway. Suddenly she didn’t look so confident. He could see a pulse throbbing in her neck. Not as spiky as she looked. Or behaved.
He held out his hand. ‘I’m Nikos Marchetti—owner of this house. Sorry for the lack of notice about my arrival and thank you for keeping it so beautifully. Clearly you are doing an amazing job.’
He congratulated himself on keeping any mocking tone out of his voice.
His housekeeper looked at him suspiciously, but eventually she slipped her hand into his. Immediately Nikos felt the slightly rough skin of her palm, and the desire he felt turned into full-on arousal. Hot and pulsing through every vein. Instinctively he closed his hand around hers.
Maggie couldn’t breathe again. What had this man just said? Her brain felt fuzzy. All she was aware of was how big his hand felt around hers, dwarfing it completely. Dwarfing her, actually. She was tall, and she’d got used to being described by various people throughout her life as a big, strong girl, but Nikos Marchetti towered over her, and for the first time in her life she felt...delicate.
Even in heels she’d barely graze his jaw—a fact which, though she hated to admit it, was a little intoxicating. It was rare for her to have to look up at a man. Not that she’d ever had much opportunity. A lifetime of moving around with her mother hadn’t been conducive to forming a core group of close friends, and the few dates she’d embarked upon in a bid to broaden her social circle had invariably ended with a limp handshake when the men had turned out to be several inches smaller than her. Every single time.
So for that and a myriad other reasons—including her general mistrust of men, bred into her by her mother—she’d shied away from intimacy. But here...now...it felt very intimate.
She pulled her hand free. ‘Have you eaten this evening? There’s some leftover chicken stew. I can’t remember if it’s on your list of preferred foods, but you’re welcome to some if you’d like me to heat it up?’
She was babbling—a habit when she was ne
rvous and one she hated. She took a few steps back, putting some much-needed space between her and this man who was making her think about all sorts of things and...intimacy. He was her boss.
He shrugged minutely. ‘Sure. I need to take a shower and change. I’ll be down shortly.’
Maggie said, ‘Your walk-in dressing room is stocked with a full wardrobe, should you need anything.’
She went downstairs and cursed herself for being so affected by him. He was undeniably gorgeous and sexy, yes, but he probably had the same effect on everyone he encountered. It was just proof that she wasn’t immune to his very potent brand of sexuality.
She stopped in the hallway when she spied his overnight bag. It looked expensive. As she’d told him, he had a fully stocked wardrobe in his suite, but she should probably take his bag up too. Wasn’t that part of the job spec of a housekeeper?
She went back upstairs and halted at his door, suddenly uncertain. It was half closed. She couldn’t hear anything, so she knocked lightly and cleared her throat. It felt weird, after having had the house to herself.
There was no response, so she pushed the door open. Then she saw the door leading to the en suite bathroom was half open. There was the sound of running water, and tendrils of steam drifted out. He was in the shower.
Maggie crept forward and put the bag on the bed, turning to make a hasty retreat. Before she did, though, she looked in the direction of the bathroom and saw a tall, dark shape. The water wasn’t running any more. And she stood, transfixed, as Nikos Marchetti’s body was revealed in the sliver of space at the open doorway as the steam evaporated.
She couldn’t move. There was a roaring in her head. He was naked and he was...magnificent. Breathtaking. Long, lean limbs. Hard-muscled torso. Every inch of olive skin gleamed and rippled. The hair on his chest led in a line down to the curling hair between his legs where—Maggie’s face flamed—she could see the evidence of just how potent his body was.
And then he stilled.
Maggie’s gaze moved up and she was caught in the beam of those dark gold and green eyes. Totally unperturbed, Nikos Marchetti reached for a towel and slung it around his narrow hips, covering his body. He didn’t say a word.
As if someone had come along and slapped her across the face, to break her out of her stasis, Maggie got out a garbled, ‘Sorry... I thought you might need...something...your bag...’
Then she turned and fled from the room, body and face burning.
Nikos drained his glass of the white wine that had accompanied a surprisingly delicious chicken stew. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until Maggie had placed it in front of him in the less formal of the dining rooms and the smell had made his stomach rumble. Food was rarely more than a means to keep going in his world.
He sat back now, ruminating on the fact that everything about this evening had been surprising.
Such as arriving here to find his housekeeper at least twenty years younger than he’d expected. And beautiful. And sexy in a way that caught at Nikos deep inside, where most women didn’t impact on him. He liked to keep things superficial. Light. He wasn’t in the market for anything deeper after a lifetime’s learning that his emotional needs wouldn’t ever be met. He focused on transitory pleasures and amassing his fortune—staking his claim on the family business.
Maggie reappeared in the doorway. She’d changed her clothes since that explosive moment when he’d looked up and caught her staring at him as if she’d never seen a naked man before. Like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Her huge blue eyes big and round and fixated on that part of him that had refused to cool down in spite of turning his shower to cold for several long seconds at the end.
It was a good thing she’d left when she had or she’d have seen just how potent her effect on him was. He’d had to get back into the shower and turn it to cold for long minutes, resisting the urge to take the edge off his acute desire. He wasn’t at the mercy of his body and hormones—no matter how tempting his housekeeper was.
She now wore a white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. Flat black brogues. Hair pulled back into a bun at the back of her head. And, bizzarely, even though she was conforming exactly to the way he would have expected his housekeeper to behave, it irritated him intensely.