Susan Carlisle - One Summer At The Lake

Isandro sighed and picked up the almost empty glass he saw there. He dipped his finger in the contents and licked it. A lot of fruit juices and vodka. Not a lot, but it was there.

Behind him he heard Chloe and John approach.

‘Is that Zoe?’

‘Hi, guys…yes, it’s Zoe,’ Zoe said, waving her hand. ‘Chloe, you musht give me the recipe for that mocktail.’

‘Oh, God!’ Chloe gasped.

‘He’s not a monster, Chloe, he’s a hero—did you know that? A real-life hero. He doesn’t like me, though…sad.’

Isandro handed John the glass. ‘It’s pretty innocuous.’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s a metabolic thing with Zoe—she couldn’t have known. What are we going to do with her? We’ve got a full house tonight, not even a spare sofa.’

Isandro saw them both looking at him.

Isandro, who never did anything he did not want to, heard himself say, ‘I’ll take her home. Don’t worry, I’ve not been drinking.’

Once they got her in the car she immediately went to sleep curled up like a kitten, her mouth slightly open.

‘Will she remember when she sobers up?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Chloe, a wave of sadness crossing her face. ‘Or that’s what Laura always said.’

Isandro nodded. He was pleased with the reply. It only seemed fair that she would remember, because he surely would. It was hard to forget the extremely painful cost of being a hero; he was pretty sure that the resulting frustration would cost him a night’s sleep.

Zoe continued to sleep like a baby all the way back to the hall, which was good because he wasn’t sure his response would be quite so noble if she made another attempt to jump him.

When he opened the passenger door the cool night air woke her. He was amazed and relieved that she had recovered enough to make it up the stone steps to the flat without any assistance from him, but he followed behind just in case.

‘You’ll be all right?’

She looked at him blearily. ‘I think there was something in my drink.’

‘Vodka.’

‘Oh, God! I thought it…Sorry…’ She had no idea what she was apologising for, but it seemed safe to assume that there was something. ‘Goodnight, Mr Montero.’

Isandro watched the door close. He was quite pleased with his demotion back to monster. Monsters were not obliged to behave with honour—they could take what they wanted.

ROBBED OF HIS early morning ride after discovering his horse had pulled a shoe, Isandro returned to the house, leaving the stallion in the capable hands of his groom. An hour on a cross-trainer in the gym did not really touch his frustration levels.

Heading downstairs after his shower, he reached the galleried landing when he almost fell over her.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ If she appeared at all this morning he had imagined she would be nursing a hangover, not on her knees singing to herself.

Seemingly oblivious to his presence, she continued to bang the hand-held vacuum into a crevice under a console table, still humming along to the music playing in her ears. Her singing voice was totally flat but her behind was not. Isandro, who had opened his mouth to deliver his demand again, closed it as she reached further forward, the action causing her delightful bottom to tighten against the pair of jeans she was wearing.

Lust hit him like a hammer blow to the chest. Beside his sensual mouth a nerve quivered, beating out an erratic tattoo as in his head he saw himself dropping down beside her, tipping her onto her back…His chest lifted as he sucked in a deep breath and swore through gritted teeth. He had never experienced this degree of blind, relentless lust before. Not even in his teens had he felt so obsessed.

He swore under his breath and bellowed, ‘What the hell are you doing?’

One hand on the floor to steady herself, Zoe turned her head, a questioning furrow in her smooth brow. She saw Isandro and her half-smile faded with a speed that under other circumstances he might have found amusing.

‘It is always nice when people are glad to see me,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘Pardon…’ Zoe lowered her voice, murmuring a self-conscious, ‘Sorry.’ She pulled the earphones out of her ears and looked up at the figure who towered over her. ‘I didn’t see you there.’ She stopped herself from asking whether there was anything she could do for him, afraid that he might tell her—and even more afraid that she might deliver his request.

She was probably worrying over nothing. Last night he hadn’t even kissed her back.

It was the ultimate humiliation. She had offered herself up on a platter and he had said no, thank you, and she remembered every mortifying, cringeworthy detail. It had been about three a.m. when she’d sat bolt upright in bed and it had all come rushing back to her.

Unable to resist the masochistic compulsion to relive the scene over and over, by this morning she didn’t see how she could face him. And now it felt just as awful as she had imagined.

Should she mention last night? Wait for him to? Or should she pretend it never happened?

‘I said what the hell are you doing?’

‘I’m vacuuming the carpet.’ She held out the hand-held vacuum she was using to reach the crevices, flicking the switch into the on position to demonstrate as she got up from her knees.

‘I can see what you’re doing.’ He reached over and flicked the switch off. ‘What I want to know is why?’

‘Susie couldn’t come in this morning.’

‘That does not answer my question, and who the hell is Susie?’

‘Susie is one of the cleaning staff. She lives in the village.’

He folded his arms across his chest and looked unimpressed by her explanation. ‘Will you stop waving that thing at me?’

Zoe lowered the vacuum, but lifted her free hand to shade her eyes from the shaft of strong morning sun that shone in from the tall floor-length window behind Isandro, framing his tall figure in a golden haze of light. As if he needed any help to look as though he’d just stepped down from Mount Olympus! It was like a massive conspiracy to turn her into some sex-starved bimbo.

‘You’re really not a morning person, are you?’

A gleam flashed in his dark eyes. ‘I’ve never had any complaints.’

It took a few seconds, but when the penny dropped her face flamed. She brought down her lashes in a protective sweep to shield her eyes. Head down, she swept off the scarf she had tied over her hair. Ruffling it with her hand as it slipped down her back, she struggled to maintain a professional attitude given the reel of lurid images now playing in her head.

Isandro felt the hunger flare, his body hardening as he watched the river of glossy silk settle down her narrow back. The sexy little black outfit was gone and she was back in jeans, complete with a tear in one knee and belt loops he could have hooked his fingers into and jerked her…The effort to suppress his lustful imagination drew a short harsh rasp from his throat.

‘This still doesn’t tell me why I find you down on your hands and knees like some…’

Her head lifted; her blue eyes shone with anger. ‘Servant?’ she bit back. ‘Maybe because I am.’

‘You are the housekeeper.’

She shrugged, not sure why he was making such a big thing of this. It wasn’t as if the workings of a vacuum cleaner were alien to her. ‘Call it multitasking…’

‘I call it inappropriate. What sort of first impression would it give if I had walked in with a group of important guests and the first thing they see is the housekeeper down on her knees?’ He shook his head.

‘You didn’t walk in with…’

Isandro’s expression made her wish she had held her tongue.