“I didn’t mean to sleep so late,” she apologized, and he swallowed as the husky tone teased his ears. “Whatever you’ve cooked smells wonderful.”
“It’s nothing fancy.” He turned back to her and steeled his features. He would not be swayed by a pretty face and a soft voice. Damn Carlos and Maria. If they were here, they could handle Miss Princess and he would be in the barn where he liked it. “I do not usually do the cooking.”
“I’m not used to a man cooking for me at all, so that in itself is a treat.” She blessed him with a shy smile.
His pulse leapt and he scowled. His physical response to her was aggravating. “I expect you’re more accustomed to five-course meals and staff to wait upon you, right?”
A look of hurt flashed across her face and he felt guilty for being snide. He was just about to apologize when the look disappeared and she furrowed her brow. “What makes you say that?”
“Oh, querida.” The apology he’d toyed with died on his lips and he reached into a drawer for cutlery. “You practically scream high maintenance. It is clear you are used to the best. Which makes your presence here alone all the more intriguing.”
“High maintenance?” A pretty blush infused her cheeks. She really was good, he thought. An intriguing combination of innocent ingénue and diva. Maybe a few days mucking around a ranch would be good for her. It had certainly done wonders for him.
She stepped forward, the soft, injured look gone. “I see,” she said. “You think I’m some sort of pampered creature who lives to be waited upon.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Not even close.”
“Oh, come on.” He finished setting the table and turned to face her. “Designer clothes, perfect hair… You expected to arrive at some retreat or spa, didn’t you? Not a working estancia. Admit it.”
Her cheeks blazed now, not with embarrassment but with temper. “Okay, fine. Yes, this is not what I expected. You are not what I expected.”
He smiled with satisfaction. “No, I am not. If you’re not up to it, say so now. I’ll arrange for you to return to Buenos Aires tomorrow.” There, he decided, he’d given her a perfectly legitimate out. The few hours it would take to drive her back to the city would be worth it to have the rest of the week free to work. Better yet, she’d be gone before Maria and Carlos got back. Maria would get ideas into her head. She’d been prodding lately about Tomas getting away more. That he needed to stop hiding. That he should find a nice girl.
Not that a woman like Sophia, on her solo honeymoon would qualify in Maria’s eyes, but it would be better all around if the potential were erased altogether. Tomas didn’t want a nice girl. He didn’t want to get away more. He wanted the life he’d chosen here on the pampas. Simple and uncomplicated. He’d chosen it to help him forget.
His insides twisted. Some days now he tried to remember. Forgetting seemed so very wrong. Disloyal.
“And you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”
Her saucy tone turned his head. “¿Perdón?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me, Mr. Mendoza? Get me out from under your feet? This wasn’t my mix-up. You think by threatening me with some honest work I’ll run and hide away somewhere where staff will wait on me hand and foot?”
“Isn’t that what you want?”
She paused for a moment, then leveled him with a definitive glare. “No.”
“No?” He raised an eyebrow.
“No. I want to stay.”
“I checked the books and spoke to Maria, by the way.”
“And?”
“And the refund isn’t notated in the regular spot and Maria doesn’t remember. She said she will straighten everything out when she comes back on Wednesday.”
“And then Wednesday you will see,” Sophia replied confidently.
“You realize what I’m saying, right? People who stay at the estancia participate in all kinds of activities. Working with the animals, in the barns. Even in the house. They become one of the family. With the hard work and the benefits, too.”
“You don’t think I can do it?”
He looked at her, all hairdo and perfect makeup and pedicured feet. “No, I don’t.”
“Then perhaps we’re in for a week of surprises.” She flashed him a superior smile. “Maybe now you can surprise me with what’s cooking in that pot. I’m starving.”