She flashed him a look of sheer incredulity and shook her head. He made it sound as though she was overreacting. ‘If the black hat fits…?’
With an exaggerated roll of his eyes he placed his hands on her shoulders, exerting enough pressure to force her back down onto the sofa. ‘If you’d stop for a minute and let me explain. I’m not throwing you out anywhere. I’m suggesting that you move to the end of the drive, that’s all.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The gatehouse.’ The solution had been staring him in the face all along! Now that he had had his eureka moment, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thought about it earlier.
‘The one you’ve just decorated?’
The building in question had not been included in the initial refurbishment of the estate because there had apparently been some planning dispute over a proposed extension, but this had recently been resolved. Zoe had not been involved with the renovation but the builders had packed up and left a couple of weeks ago and the team of decorators had literally finished the previous day.
‘If I’m not working for you how can—?’
‘I’m suggesting you and the children move into the gatehouse, pay a nominal rent…’
‘With what?’ No job meant no money, which meant…Oh, God, she couldn’t think what it meant. She was no longer in a position to sleep on a friend’s couch until she sorted things. The twins needed a home and stability—they needed a guardian who didn’t go around losing her job!
I am such a loser.
Well, if she was a loser, he was a total bastard!
‘I have a friend who has bought an art gallery. She is looking for someone to front it. I have spoken to her about you…’
Polly’s astonished response when he had explained that his unsuitable housekeeper’s domestic situation meant he couldn’t simply let her go without providing some sort of safety net was still fresh in his mind.
‘Since when did you worry about dismissing someone who wasn’t up to the job, Isandro? And why are you going to so much trouble to help find the girl a job?’
She had accepted his explanation without question.
‘So this is about avoiding bad PR. What a relief. For a moment there—’ she laughed ‘—I thought you’d become a bleeding heart!’
‘She is happy to offer you a trial,’ Isandro told Zoe.
‘What makes you think I’d be any less terrible at running an art gallery than I am running a house?’ Zoe asked bitterly.
‘You are artistic.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Had you not been accepted on a fine arts degree course before your sister and her husband died?’
In the middle of a miserable sniff, Zoe lifted her incredulous glance to his face. ‘How did you know that?’
He shrugged and dropped his gaze. ‘Tom might have mentioned it.’
‘But why would your friend give me this job?’
‘I asked her.’
‘A permanent job?’
‘Very few things in life are permanent, but there would be a very good severance package,’ he told her smoothly. ‘Enough for you to pay your way through art college as you planned and employ childcare in the meantime. I understand they run an excellent foundation fine arts course on an evening basis at the local college.’
‘I don’t understand. Why would this woman pay me a—’ her nose wrinkled; what had he called it? ‘—severance package?’
‘She wouldn’t.’
Zoe shook her head as the confusion deepened.
‘I would.’
‘But I wouldn’t be working for you.’
‘Not as such,’ he conceded. ‘The point is, Zoe, the attraction is not one-sided. I want you in my bed and I am a man in a position to make my fantasies come true. You are my fantasy, Zoe.’
Things fell into place in her head with an almost audible clunk. She shot to her feet—no longer shaking, no longer terrified, just furious.
‘Let me get this straight. This job you’re talking about, it’s as…your mistress?’
He shrugged. ‘That’s an old-fashioned term.’
She stuck out her chin, her blue eyes sparkling with wrathful contempt. ‘I’m an old-fashioned girl.’ He had no idea how old-fashioned. ‘Though I suppose you think I should be flattered. Isn’t it a bit of a risk, though? We’ve never even slept together. How would you know that I’d be…any good in the bedroom?’
‘It takes two, and I think when a woman literally shakes with lust when I look at her I’m willing to take the risk on a sight-unseen basis—’
‘My God!’ she gasped. ‘You really think I’m shallow enough to want to sleep with a man who is obviously deeply in love with himself. A man whose only redeeming feature as far as I can tell is a pretty face and a moderately all right body.’
Fingers crossed, because that was a lie. He had the body of an Adonis. She gave a derisive sniff and arched a brow before laughing.
‘Yes, I do.’ His sloe-dark eyes drifted over her lush sinuous curves shrouded beneath the robe, and his mouth grew dry at the thought of slipping the loose knot of the belt looped around her narrow waist.
It was an uphill struggle to act as though his slow, sexy smile was doing nothing to her. She knew that sex appeal wasn’t just about looks, but the idea that she was any man’s erotic fantasy—let alone a man like Isandro—was shocking. She swallowed and pressed both hands to her stomach, shamefully aware that the deep quivers that rippled low in her pelvis were not caused by shock. What he was suggesting was wrong on more levels than she could count, it went against every principle she held dear, yet she was excited…What does that say about me?
‘Besides, we don’t have to wait. This is the perfect opportunity to find out if it’s as good as I think it will be.’ The sweep of his hand took in the big bed piled with cushions, the open French door against which the light curtains fluttered in the breeze.
In the distance Zoe could hear a flock of geese landing on the water. She went hot, cold, then hot again.
‘I’m not selling my body.’
‘That’s good, because I’ve never paid for sex.’
‘What do you call what you’re suggesting?’
‘I’m suggesting we remove the barrier that is preventing us both doing what we want to. If you are no longer on my payroll we can be equal.’
‘I’ll never be equal to you. I’ll always be superior!’
‘Bravo!’ he drawled.
Her lips tightened. ‘Don’t you dare patronise me! And why make up that stupid story about your friend?’
‘That is not invented. It is real. I do have a friend who owns a gallery.’
Zoe felt a stab of something she didn’t immediately recognise as jealousy. ‘A female friend?’
Could you sound more jealous if you tried?
‘Her name is Polly Warrender. She inherited a theatre from her husband.’ Zoe had heard of the Warrender theatre, but then pretty much everyone had. ‘When she diversified and bought into an art gallery she came to me for advice.’
She stifled a theatrical yawn, but the gesture unwittingly drew his eyes to the soft full curve of her rosy lips.