Page 5 of Cinderella's Fling with the Off-Limits Billionaire

“Perhaps I’m in a drastic mood?”

His features had a harshness though that belied her last supposition. He didn’t seem like someone who’d just chill out in a bar. He seemed like someone wound tighter than a spring.

“This is a lot of carpet,” she pointed out. “Seems stupid to replace it when the stain is just a foot or so in diameter.” Her eyes widened at what she’d just said. “Not that I’m calling you stupid, sir.”

“Leandro,” he said, his name almost like a curse, so she didn’t understand it at first. “My name is Leandro,” he clarified. “Don’t call me sir.”

“Also, part of the job description,” she responded, a small smile on her pink lips. She was surprised. Not that she smiled, but to discover that she wanted him to smile back. It wasn’t her job to cheer him up, but she felt the ripples of his mood and knew—despite not knowing him at all—that something had happened to him, something bad.

“And what else?” He asked, pausing to move the towel aside, and replacing it with a fresh one. The stain was already looking a lot better. The doorbell rang and Skye jolted. She’d forgotten the cleaning kit.

She stood quickly, taking in the sight of the guest on his hands and knees, blotting up the stain, then moved to the food that had been left to cool on the kitchen bench.

“Sir, you need to stop now. Eat your dinner. Drink your whisky. I’ve got this.”

He tossed her a slightly dismissive glance then kept blotting.

When she opened the door, it was to see a housekeeping team with a bucket of supplies. She knew that she should let them in and allow them to deal with the stain, but she was strangely protective of this guest, and the vulnerability she sensed in him. It was ridiculous, because alongside that vulnerability she also felt a sense of command and strength that made him seem almost unbreakable.

He was a contradiction.

Instead of opening the door wider to admit the team, she took the bucket, thanked them, and closed the door.

Leandro lifted his eyes and watched her the whole way back across the carpet and there was something in the intensity of his gaze that made her pulse go haywire. Heat began to fizz in her toes and spread upwards, burning her from the inside out.

“Reinforcements,” she said a little shakily, holding the products aloft. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist you stop now, sir. I really can’t have a guest doing this kind of thing.”

“Are guests not allowed to get their hands dirty?”

“Definitely not.”

“Even with their own mess?”

“I’m not here to blame,” she said with a small shrug.

“And do you often have to clean up after people…” His eyes narrowed. “What is your name?”

Her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth. This was the most conversation she’d ever had with someone staying in the hotel. She usually interacted as little as possible; that’s how she liked it. But Leandro was different. There was something about him that seemed so human, so normal, despite his obvious wealth and stature.

“Skye,” she answered eventually, sinking back to her knees in a move that was a total miscalculation, because she aimed wrong and was way closer to him than she’d meant to be. “And yes. That’s my job.”

“You’re not a housekeeper.”

“No, but things like this happen more often than you can imagine. If I see them and can help, I do,” she responded with a wry twist of her lips. “I really don’t mind.”

They worked in silence, but it was not companionable. Skye was too aware of his closeness, of the fact that he didn’t move away from her, and she didn’t shift away from him. She was aware of the way his breath sounded as it emerged from his parted lips, of the way his hand moved in a rhythmic method over the floor, until each press of their hands ceased to bring up any more liquid.

“Okay, time for this,” she said, her voice emerging like a husk of its usual self. She reached into the bucket and removed the magical spray they kept for just such occasions. In Skye’s experience, this product had managed to remove just about anything from the carpet. She thought with distaste of the time a superstar actress had brought her toddler to stay and the toddler had decided to decorate the place with mommy’s collection of lipsticks and the actress had thought it was adorable so had allowed it to continue. Some things had been easier to replace than attempt to repair—like the plush white sofas—but by and large, this spray had worked wonders, even then.

Skye looked at the bottle with a frown. “You’d better stand back. I don’t know what’s in this, but going by how effective it is, it’s probably full of things like bleach. I’d rather not ruin your clothes.”

“Stop worrying about me,” he growled, reaching for the spray, his fingers brushing hers as he took it from her hand.

She gasped a little, surprised by his determination, surprised by the fireworks that had been set off in her bloodstream. Their eyes connected and the world seemed to tilt sideways, so much so she half-wondered if there was an earthquake trembling.

His lips tugged into a small frown, but he didn’t move.

“You’re very beautiful.” He said it conversationally, dispassionately, as though he was simply observing a fact, but nonetheless, her heart sped up.

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