Page 7 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

His mind blanked for a second. And the pain surged.

It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. But then she’d been much more forthright than he’d anticipated already.

‘How about my place?’ he said, before he could second-guess himself.

She had to know going somewhere private was going to create temptations they would have a hard time resisting. But even he didn’t usually move this fast. That said, it had been a long time since he’d been blown away by a simple kiss.

‘FYI, though, that could be dangerous,’ he added, to make it absolutely clear where this was headed if they ended up anywhere alone.

She blinked, her eyes still dazed with passion and something that looked weirdly like determination.

‘Dangerous is what I want,’ she said, the husky whisper promising so much heaven, he was sure he’d go straight to hell if he didn’t take her up on it.

‘Understood,’ he said, and scooped her into his arms.

She yelped. ‘Mr Foxx, what are you doing?’ she said, forced to throw her arm around his shoulders.

‘Mr?Seriously, Princess? Don’t you think we’ve gone beyond that?’ he asked, enjoying her indignation—a lot.

He marched down the corridor towards the exit, with her squirming deliciously, the backless gown sending a whole new level of torture through his system.

‘Mason,’she said, sending him a stern look, which did not slow his heartrate one bit. ‘You don’t have to carry me...’

‘Sure I do. It’s quicker, it’s safer—because you’re barefoot—’ he said, pleased he could make a reasoned argument when his brain was starting to disintegrate. ‘And I like the feel of you in my arms.’

‘Really?’ she said, with that odd combination of awareness and surprise. Why was that so captivating? When it couldn’t be genuine.

‘Yeah, really.’ He glanced down as he bumped open the door to the emergency staircase with his backside and caught her staring—avidly—at the barbed wire tattooed on his collarbone, which he’d once thought was cool.

He had come to hate the low-rent design, had considered having it removed for years, but as he saw the fascination in her eyes, he knocked it right off his to-do list.

‘Stop wriggling,’ he added. ‘I wouldn’t want to drop you on your very nice backside.’

She huffed, but tightened the arm looped around his shoulders as he jogged down the stairs.

When they reached the ground floor, he was forced to carry her back into the fury of the dancefloor. The DJ was pumping out a club classic. But as he toted her through the crowd, he became aware of camera phones lighting up as people noticed them.

‘You can put me down now,’ he heard her shout, but allowed the words to get swallowed by the music.

He didn’t want to put her down. Didn’t want to risk losing the adrenaline rush of anticipation which was making him ache.

At last, he stepped onto the building’s forecourt and the night air hit—helping to cool the increasingly problematic heat. His shiny new SUV appeared, and the valet leapt out to whisk open the passenger door.

He was forced to relinquish her, and deposit her in the front seat.

‘Buckle up, Beatrice,’ he said, not even winded despite the fact he’d just carried her the length of the building. He pulled his wallet from his jacket and handed the valet a fifty-pound tip. ‘Cheers, mate.’

‘Thank you, Mr Foxx. Have a great evening,’ the teenager said.

Oh, I intend to, he thought, the anticipation starting to choke him.

He skirted the bonnet and climbed into the driver’s seat. Then turned to his guest. The spurt of pride and possessiveness shocked him a little as he took stock of her, looking serene and elegant and yet so perfect sitting in his car.

But as he closed the door and started the ignition, he forced himself to get the foolish spurt of pride under control.

Just a one-night booty call, Mase.

And not a foregone conclusion at that, because this woman had more class than he could even dream of.

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