Whatever it was about this man, he’d lodged himself under her skin and she prickled all over. With awareness and something much more volatile.
He turned around. ‘Sure.’
He walked towards her, taking a sip of the whiskey and keeping the glass in his hand. He looked thoroughly dangerous and disreputable and a little shiver raced over Maggie’s skin.
Acutely aware of him, prowling behind her like a large, sensual jungle cat, she showed him the rooms leading off the circular hallway—more reception rooms, formal and informal, and a formal living room. At the back, overlooking the gardens, was a study, filled with state-of-the-art computers which had never been touched.
On the other side of the hall was a less formal living room, complete with media centre and projection screen for watching movies. It was possibly Maggie’s favourite room in the house. Floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books lined the walls. Books that she’d surmised had been chosen purely for show. The works of Shakespeare... Dickens...
Nikos Marchetti faced her. ‘Lead on.’
Maggie all but tripped over her own feet as she led him back through the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen. He barely glanced at that, clearly more interested in the gym and indoor lap pool on the same level. There were also rooms for massage or spa treatments. A sauna and a steam room.
He couldn’t have looked more insouciant, with his open shirt, dangling bowtie and the glass of whiskey in hand, inspecting a property he owned but had never even laid eyes on before. So far every judgement Maggie had ever made about rich, powerful men was being proved right.
He turned to face her and drained his glass, holding it carelessly between two fingers. Was it her imagination or did something in those mesmerising gold eyes flare for a second? She realised now that they weren’t entirely golden, there were green flecks too. And hazel.
To her shame and disgust, she felt a wave of heat rise up through her body from her core, and she turned quickly before it could reach her face. As pale as she was, every passing emotion registered on her skin—much to her embarrassment.
‘The bedrooms are on the first floor.’ Maggie led the way back up to
the main area of the house, not even checking to see if Nikos Marchetti was following her.
But he was. She could sense him—as if from the moment she’d seen him, she’d been plugged into a new awareness.
* * *
Nikos was finding it hard to notice much about the house when the tantalising vision of his housekeeper’s bottom and swaying hips filled his vision as she climbed the stairs in front of him. Not to mention those long bare legs.
Theos. He was usually far more sophisticated than this. He just hadn’t expected...her to answer the door of his country house in the middle of nowhere outside Dublin.
She was walking briskly down the corridor ahead of him now, opening doors and saying, ‘These are all spare bedroom suites. Yours is here at the end...’
She’d opened a door and was standing back. He noticed now that she was wearing flip-flops. And that she had pretty feet. Toenails painted a coral colour.
He gritted his jaw and went into the room—but not before he caught her scent again: crushed roses and something much earthier. Musky. It made him grit his jaw even harder.
He barely took in the luxurious room, with windows overlooking three sides of the house, its gardens barely visible now in the rapidly gathering night. He recognised it from the photos he’d been sent by the interior designer after it had been completed.
This was the first house he’d bought—his other properties were apartments in the hotels his company owned. And now he was here he felt a little exposed—as if his motives for buying the house on the basis of a picture that had caught at his gut were being laid bare for this stranger to see.
He could feel her watching him. This woman with a body built like a siren and those huge blue eyes.
He turned around. Maggie Taggart’s arms were folded across her chest again, which only pushed the generous swells of her breasts together under the thin material of her T-shirt.
The feeling of exposure was not welcome. Nikos didn’t do introspection.
He deflected the attention back to her. ‘Why are you dressed as if you’re attending a barbecue?’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘If I had been informed of your arrival you can be sure I would have dressed appropriately. However, considering the fact that it’s well past official hours, I don’t see why I have to justify dressing as I please. In light of the fact that your presence here is somewhat...irregular, I’ve taken the liberty of working the hours that suit me. I don’t think you can fault the state of the house. I work seven days a week and it has been kept in a permanent state of readiness for your arrival.’
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.’