Page 28 of Castaway Whirlwind
Tiny robe.
Bare thighs.
It’s strange attire for a maid, but I won’t complain because my darlin’ is finally here, in our house, looking like a snack. No, a whole meal. Dessert, too. One I desperately want to lick and savor and swallow.
She stares up at the high ceilings and exposed wood beams that cross the length of the house, ending at the back wall of glass bi-fold doors in black frames, all of which slide open to allow free movement out onto the covered stone patio and the long rectangular pool. To the right of the doors is the opening that leads to the primary bedroom with another gorgeous view of the pool and more of the property.
“Wow, Russell. You’re living in my dream home,” she says, turning in a circle.
“I know,” I croak.
The bottom of Layla’s short robe bounces with each step, the backs of her thighs luring me closer as she walks out of the foyer, slowing when the space opens up to the kitchen on the left. She goes to the island topped with butcher block, wide enough to seat six people at the overhang on the swiveling, brown leather and wrought iron bar stools, though the matching table in the dining area seats a dozen to fit all our friends. Wandering the kitchen, she skims her hands along the surfaces in awe, opening random cabinets and drawers.
“I’ve never seen an all-black kitchen in person, though I’ve always wanted one. It’s so much brighter in here than I expected. And this copper sink!” She turns the tap on and off. “It’s gorgeous. I think I have a picture of one pinned online for my future house if I’m ever lucky enough to afford one.”
I trail behind her. “I know.”Wow. Brilliant, Russell. A real conversationalist.
She gives me a curious look, her brows briefly creasing, then opens another cabinet. “Why are so many of them empty? Did you just move in?”
“No.”
She waits for more. Finding none, she says, “The house looks new. When was it built?”
“I started construction three years ago.”Less than a month after meeting you, I add silently. “Finished it and moved in almost a year later.”
“A minimalist, then. Who knew?” She smiles, poking fun at my mess at BT.
I’m different at home, which is my sanctuary, taking better care of it than I do the warehouse. It’s easy since I don’t have fifty men walking through here every day. Only two, actually—Elliott and Paul—have been allowed in, but that’s only because they’re family. No one else has stepped foot in here since the last piece of furniture was delivered after moving in. I wanted Layla to be the first one to see it.
She leaves the kitchen, glancing toward the curved staircase leading to the four bedrooms upstairs, then steadily moves across the living room opposite the kitchen, the furniture a blend of traditional wood and modern metals, arranged around the stone fireplace.
Her smile fades. “What am I doing here, Russell? The placeis spotless.”
You’re touring the house I built for you, darlin’. ‘Course, I can’t say that without scaring her off, seeing as she keeps comparing me to her father and wouldn’t look twice at me like a lover.
With my throat closing in on me when she moves back toward the entrance, I have to force my words out. “I don’t spend a lot of time here, so it’s pretty dusty and could use a deep clean. Windows, too.” I wave to the glass doors, the outside coated with the kind of pollen that paints the air yellow and clings to your sinuses this time of year.
“Ok,” she finally says with suddenly shallow breaths, strangely nervous. “Ok. Ok.”
She sets her bag on the kitchen table, where I’ve laid out the cleaning supplies we left in my truck, having unboxed the vacuum and portable carpet cleaner in preparation. Taking a deep breath, she turns to face me, color high on her cheeks.
“So, price,” she starts. “It’s four hundred for the first hour. Three-fifty for the second. Three hundred for every hour after that.”
I raise my brows.
“That’s too much, isn’t it? Crap. Maybe I need to start lower and work my way up,” she says to herself.
I’ve hired cleaning companies before at my old homes, and I know deep cleaning can cost a pretty penny, but it’s never cost that much. I’m more than happy to pay her rates all the same, pleased by how much she’ll be able to put into savings. “No. Double it.”
Her shoulders drop. “Russell.” She toys with the belt of her robe, pulling it tighter, seeing something on my face. “Why do you look so confused?”
“I’m not.”I am. I scratch my temple at the wary expressionshe gives me.
“You saw my business card.”
“Yeah.” Weirdest business card I’ve ever seen.
She nods. “So you understand that…” She waves to her lithe body.
