Page 11 of Fake Maid

I chew on my lip, thinking. Eli made it very clear—if I want his cock, first I must agree to be his.

I can’t do that. He thinks I’m Coral. He doesn’t even know my real name.

I shake my head, hair drifting over my shoulders, but my voice is hollow when I speak.

“No. I can’t agree to your terms.”

“Why not?” Eli sounds ready to tear the desk apart with his bare hands, injury be damned. “Is there…” His voice drops. “Is there someone else?”

“No.” I glare at him over my shoulder. “I’m not a cheater. How awful do you think I am?”

I’m pissed off, but even so, my words settle him. He sinks back against the desk, relaxed again.

Eli’s office is like a smaller version of the library, but with a balcony that stretches the whole length of it. He keeps the French doors open, the breeze rolling in off the sea, and all the papers on his desk flutter beneath their paperweights. A few potted plants bring pops of green, their waxy leaves waving in the breeze.

It’s a nice room. Very… him. A mix of modern and classic with the wild edge of nature thrown in. Eli Koven is a man with teeth and claws.

“I have money,” he says mildly. “More money than a person could spend.”

I breathe in hard through my nose and count to ten. When I spin to face him, the feather duster gripped in one hand, I force myself to speak evenly.

“Why do you mention that, Eli?” I hold up a palm when he starts to talk. “Because you should think very carefully about your next words. If you’re about to imply that I can be bought, that I’m some kind of gold digger, then I swear I will stick this feather duster so deep up your ass it will tickle your brain.”

He throws back his head and roars with laughter. My mouth twitches, but I press it into a firm line and wait for his answer.

I don’t care if he’s hot. If his laugh is infectious.

If that’s what he thinks of me, I won’t spend another minute in his presence.

“God. No.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, still chuckling. “That’s not what I meant to imply.”

“Then what did you—”

He shrugs. “I merely wanted to show that if there are other difficulties keeping you away, I could help you with them.”

Jeez. I see now why tech guys are stereotyped as awkward.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

He grins, cheeks dimpling.

“Your eyes flash bright green when you’re mad.”

“You… I…” My mouth opens and shuts. I stand here like an outraged goldfish, staring at this gorgeous, infuriating man. And when he pushes to his feet, strolling across his office, I back up to the bookshelves until they press against my shoulder blades.

“Running away?” His gaze rakes over me. “Tell me to stop, Miss Walsh. Tell me to leave you alone, and I promise I’ll walk out that door.”

I swallow hard… and say nothing. Triumph lights his eyes.

Eli comes closer and closer until his chest is inches from mine. Until I can feel the heat of his body; until his breath stirs the flyaway strands of my hair. He’s so close, so freaking close, that if I arched my back like earlier, my stiff nipples would brush against him through my tunic.

“What shampoo do you use?” he asks suddenly. “What scent?” He ducks his head and breathes me in at the base of my neck. He lifts a red lock of my hair, pressing it to his nose and sniffing it too, then shakes his head, annoyed. “You smell like the swimming pool. I can’t tell.”

Is he really so eager to know?

“Green apple,” I murmur.

“Green apple,” he repeats, muttering to himself. “Yes. That fits.”

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