Kate Carlisle - Pregnant By The Ceo

No! No!

“Please take it at once,” Louisa choked out.

With a nod, the maid took the tray and left the kitchen. But Louisa had barely started washing up the dishes when the girl returned, covered with ham and Dijon mustard smeared down her apron and the rose hanging precariously from her newly wet hair!

“What happened?” Louisa gasped.

The young maid looked close to tears. “He threw the tray at me!” She held the silver tray in one hand and a cracked plate in the other. The accent of her schoolgirl English thickened in her stress. “He says he’ll only have you serving him, miss!”

Louisa sucked in her breath.

“He threw the tray? ” Louisa was shocked at the thought of her boss losing control. For heaven’s sake, what had happened? Had he lost a business deal? Lost a lot of money? What was wrong with him? For him to be so violent and uncivilized as to actually throw a tray—

Louisa’s eyes narrowed. Whatever had happened—even if he’d lost the entirety of his fortune—that gave him no excuse to be vicious to a member of her staff! “Give me the tray, Behiye. Then go home.”

“Oh, no, miss, please don’t sack me—”

“You have just been given the rest of the week off with full pay.” She gave a brief smile, covering up her internal rage. “A vacation courtesy of Mr. Cruz, who regrets his brutish behavior very much.”

“Thank you, miss.”

And if he doesn’t regret his behavior yet, Louisa thought furiously as the girl left, he soon will.

Louisa’s rage built to burning point as she tossed the ceramic plate, once a beautiful specimen of antique İznik blue-and-white porcelain, into the trash. She washed the silver tray and reassembled the entire meal on a new plate, grimly adding a fresh rose in a silver vase. She made another sandwich, exactly the same as the first, and carried it up the sweeping, curving stairs to the second floor.

She gave a single hard knock on his bedroom door.

“Enter,” his voice said harshly.

Still furious, Louisa pushed open the door. Then she stopped.

His bedroom was dark.

“Miss Grey.” She heard his low, sardonic voice unseen from the darkness. “So good of you to follow my orders.”

His voice was deep, combative. Hostile.

Peering into the darkness, Louisa saw him sitting on a chair in the shadows, in front of the cold fireplace. She set down the tray on a nearby table and, crossing the room in her sensible two-inch heels, she pulled down a switch to turn on the small lamp.

A circle of yellow light illuminated the darkness, revealing a bedroom that was masculine, Spartan and severe.

“Turn that off,” he growled, his gaze whirling on her. The blast of angry heat in his gaze nearly caused her to stagger back.

Then, straightening, Louisa clenched her hands into fists. “You won’t intimidate me like you did poor Behiye. How dare you attack a maid, Mr. Cruz? Throwing a tray at her? Have you quite lost your mind?”

His eyes narrowed as he slowly rose to his feet.

“It is none of your business.”

But she stood firm. “Oh, but it is. You pay me to oversee this household. How do you expect me to do that when you terrorize the staff?”

“I did not throw the tray at her,” he growled. “I knocked it out of her hand to the floor. She is the one who tried to catch it. Foolishly.”

Spoken like a man who’d never cleaned his own floor. “You frightened her!”

His gray eyes gleamed at her in the shadowy light. “An accident,” he bit out. “It was…careless of me.” Turning away, he set his jaw. “Give the girl the rest of the day off.”

She lifted her chin. “You already did, sir. In fact, you just gave her a week’s vacation with full pay.”

There was a pause in the darkness. “Miss Grey.” His voice sounded suddenly odd, almost wistful. “You seem to always know what I need. Sometimes even before I do.”

The look he gave her made her heart catch in her throat. As if he needed something very much right now and wished she knew what, without him saying a word.

She felt his look with a flood of heat. Against her will, she was reminded of how it had felt when he’d kissed her…No. She wouldn’t think about that night. Couldn’t!

“It’s my job to know what you’ll want,” she said evenly, folding her arms. “You pay me to know.”

The words you pay me hung between them, dividing them.

“Yes,” he said in a low voice. “I do.”

He turned away, but not before she caught the stark look in his eyes. The same look she’d seen on his face when he’d first come through the garden gate. It wasn’t anguish, exactly, but a flash of vulnerability. Of weariness. Loneliness. But that was ridiculous. How could the most ruthless playboy in Europe ever be lonely?

“You never should have sent the maid,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I told you specifically I wished for you to bring me dinner. Not some maid. You.”

He wanted to be alone with her?

Exhilaration flooded through her. Then fear overwhelmed everything. She couldn’t allow herself to be seduced again, couldn’t!

She kept her expression unmoved, hiding her emotions behind layers of her training as she’d been taught. Formality was her strongest weapon. Her only weapon.

“I regret I did not correctly understand your request, sir,” she said stiffly. “I have brought up a newly prepared sandwich for your dinner.” She gave him a little bow. “Now, if you please, I will leave you to the peace and tranquility of your own company.”

“Stop.”

Something in his voice made her obey. Slowly she turned back to face him.

His face was dark. He came close to her, almost touching. “I never should have done it.”

“Thrown the tray?” she agreed.

His dark eyes seared through hers. “Made love to you in Paris.”

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

Her desire for her boss threatened everything she held dear. Her career. Her self-respect. Her soul.

She forced herself to straighten. “I don’t remember any such incident, sir.”

“Don’t you?” he said in a low voice. He reached down to stroke her cheek. His fingertips were featherlight as he turned her chin to meet his gaze, and she shivered at his touch, at the intensity of his dark eyes. “If you cannot remember it, then I must have been mistaken,” he whispered. “I didn’t kiss you, then. I didn’t feel your body trembling against mine.”

“No, you didn’t.” She could hear the rasp of her own breath, was choked by the frantic beating of her heart. “It never happened.”

He leaned forward. “Then why,” he said, “have I thought of nothing else?”

Her knees shook. She was so close to surrender. So close to acting like all the others, to flinging herself at him. But there could be only one end to that. She’d seen it played out too many times.

Rafael Cruz was ruthless. He broke women’s hearts with careless pleasure.

If she let herself want him—he would be the poison that killed her.

She shook her head desperately. “I don’t remember you so much as kissing me.”

“Perhaps,” he said softly, “this will remind you.”

Lowering his head, he kissed her.

His lips seared hers, scorching her entire body with that one point of contact. She felt his arms around her, pulling her close, closer still until his large, muscular body seemed to surround her on all sides. She was lost, lost in him. His tongue swept hers, causing every nerve ending from her nipples to her earlobes to her toes to sizzle and contract.

He kissed her, and against her will, she surrendered.