When her boss was well enough to go back to Buenos Aires, or New York, or France or wherever he was planning to take up residence next? When he put some natural distance between them, so that all these stupid feelings would fade away? When she could go back to the quiet, studious life she had forged for herself here and put him out of her mind.
And sitting playing card games wasn’t going to help, was it? Not on top of all the increasingly intimate massage sessions and those long and distracting sessions in the pool. She needed to spend less time with him, not more.
‘I don’t think we have any cards,’ she said.
‘Yes, we do. In my bedroom,’ he said. ‘In the desk. Second drawer, on the left. Go and get them, will you, Carly?’
She raised her eyebrows.
He sighed. ‘Please.’
‘What if I told you that I don’t particularly want to play cards.’
‘Then I might be forced to pull rank.’
‘So it’s an order?’
He slanted her an arrogant smile. ‘Most definitely it is.’
Carly turned and left the room without another word but her footsteps felt heavy as she mounted the stairs. She felt trapped—like a fly caught in the sticky temptation of a spider’s web. The weather had effectively kept them prisoners in this big house so that sometimes it felt as if they were the only two people in the world. And meanwhile, her dilemma was compounded by her growing feelings for him. Because even she recognised that something had changed.
In the past she had thought of him as a distant and demanding figure, but hadn’t that been preferable to thi
s? To finding that she was actually enjoying his company in a perverse sort of way. Just her and him and the worst summer rains the country had known for a decade. Cooped up and going stir-crazy, with the lanes around the estate thick with mud and puddles. Luis couldn’t drive and he didn’t want to take the train to London. And he told her that he didn’t want people coming over, drinking his wine and eating his food, and taunting him with all the things he found himself unable to do.
The most disturbing thing of all was that Carly was discovering how much she liked having him all to herself.
Pushing open the door to his bedroom, she entered the oak-panelled suite which took up almost all the first floor of the stately home. She’d been up here earlier, making his bed as she always did, changing his expensive Egyptian sheets, which were inevitably tangled—even when he slept alone.
Walking over to his desk, she found her gaze drawn to the two photos standing at either end of the gleaming surface. One was of his mother with her sad eyes and raven hair and the other an iconic shot of Luis, taken the first time he’d become world champion. His hair was wet with the spray of champagne and he was holding a massive silver trophy aloft.
It was funny, she’d seen these photos countless times and most days she dusted around their heavy silver frames without really noticing them. But today she felt like an intruder snooping around. As if her role in this house had subtly changed and she wasn’t sure how to deal with it.
‘Carly!’
Luis’s impatient voice rang through the house, and quickly she found the pack of cards and ran back downstairs to find him sitting where she’d left him.
He glared at her. ‘What kept you?’
‘I didn’t realise I was being timed. I was just daydreaming.’
‘And what were you daydreaming about?’ he questioned silkily.
She could feel the hot lick of colour to her cheeks, terrified he might guess. ‘Nothing,’ she said quickly and walked over to the card table.
Wincing a little, Luis levered himself to his feet before joining her and, for some reason, he became aware of the lamplight making intriguing shadows on her rather square face. He noticed the way her breasts moved as she fidgeted with the cards. And he wondered what she’d say if she knew that he’d been sitting here wondering what she would look like naked. He pulled out a chair and sat down, wondering how long this madness was going to continue, and his mouth hardened. Because he had never slept with anyone on his payroll—and he didn’t intend to start, not with Carly.
He held out his hand for the pack.
‘So what are we going to play?’ she questioned.
It was unfortunate that her innocent question only fuelled his frustration, and suddenly all he could think about was the brush of her skin against his as he took the cards from her and he wanted more of it. He wanted to play a game which had nothing to do with hearts or clubs or diamonds. He wanted to play a very grown-up game which involved baring those intriguing curves and feasting his mouth and his hands on them, until he had sated his inconvenient hunger.
He shook his head, trying to clear the powerful images from his mind. ‘Do you want to try learning poker?’ he asked.
‘Is it easy?’
‘Not really.’