“You’ll help with meal prep,” he says, showing me around the massive kitchen with its ivory cabinetry and gleaming quartz countertops. He opens several drawers and cupboards, pointing out where to find everything from pots and pans to spices. “Mr. Bordeaux doesn’t eat until lunchtime, so your kitchen duties won’t start until eleven.”
We stop at the center island, and Loren goes over the menu for the coming week before touching on my cleaning duties. “After lunch prep, you’ll do some light housekeeping until it’s time to prepare for dinner.” He pauses, assessing me. “Do you have experience with any of this?”
“Domestic tasks weren’t high on my uncle’s list of priorities.”
Because he taught me to behave like an obedient queen—not an obedient servant. But I don’t share that thought with Loren for fear of sounding like an elitist brat.
“That’s understandable. The good news is with Master Bordeaux gone for the next few days, you’ll have plenty of time to practice some skills in the kitchen.”
“Does he go away on business often?” I ask as Loren shows me an adjacent supply closet five times bigger than the wardrobe in my room.
“Twice a month, sometimes more when luck favors him.”
According to Loren, Mr. Bordeaux buys and sells precious stones at auction, and with that knowledge I send out a prayer that my keeper will be especially prosperous in his hunt, requiring frequent trips during the coming weeks.
We come upon a set of double doors, and Loren uses his master key to let us inside. “This room is off-limits unless I allow you in here to clean.”
The space is a cavernous vault of fine art and jewelry displays, but the life-sized paintings of gorgeous women wearing nothing but precious stones draw my focus.
“Who are these women?” I ask before thinking the question through. My cheeks burn with embarrassment at my forwardness.
“They’re models Mr. Bordeaux hired to wear his rarest acquisitions.”
The poses are similar and surprisingly tasteful, featuring women lounging in chairs, their legs crossed and long hair cascading over their breasts—a real life canvas for sparkling jewels.
I zero in on the initials in the bottom right-hand corner of each portrait. “SAS?” I ask.
“Sebastian Stone, from the House of Leo. You’ll have to ask him what the middle initial stands for,” Loren says, gesturing at the painting. “He does all of Master Bordeaux’s portraits.”
Sexy as sin comes to mind when thinking of what those initials stand for.
Just the thought of Sebastian sends a warm tingle down my back, and I wonder what it would be like to sit before him like the women in the paintings, sensual and seductive?
The idea isn’t unpleasant.
Loren ushers me out of the forbidden room that houses Mr. Bordeaux’s collection, and we continue the tour as he gives me a crash course on daily chores.
“Can I ask you something, Loren?”
We come full circle in the great room, and he stalls, sensuous lips sliding into a frown. “You aren’t required to silence your voice with me. You can ask me anything.”
“Am I allowed to leave the residence? You know…to go outside or to the library on the first floor?”
A glint of sympathy passes through his eyes. “Unfortunately, no. Master Bordeaux requires that you stay in your quarters when you’re not busy with chores.”
“Why?” The strained tone of my voice gives away my despair. “Does he hate me?”
Taking my hand, Loren leads me to a leather couch, and we sit together, side by side. He doesn’t let go of my hand. “Master Bordeaux is a very demanding and complicated man. He has no reason to hate you, but you’ll have to earn his trust and respect before he gives back the liberties we all take for granted.”
“Like the freedom to go outside?” I wince at my caustic tone.
Instead of taking offense, the dry question makes Loren smile. “It’s the little things in life we miss, isn’t it?”
“Do you mind if I ask why you work for him?”
Loren contemplates whether to answer—I can pinpoint the second his openness shuts down and he withdraws, letting my hand slip out of his.
“I’m sorry,” I say, backing away from that thread of conversation. “It’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay. Master Bordeaux wants the two of us to get to know each other.” He clears his throat, and I can’t tell if he’s nervous, or suffering from a sudden case of springtime allergies. “So it’s important you know I don’t work for him. He’s my master in every sense of the word, Novalee.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I serve and obey him, and in return, he takes care of me.” Loren stands. “In time, you’ll understand.” He holds out a hand, urging me to follow his lead. “But we’ve only got a few days before he returns, so how about we start in the kitchen and I teach you a few basics?”