Well, that explains all the muscle, he’s Special Forces. Mr. Harlow likes to brag about him being some kind of military badass, but he jokingly tells me not to let Mason know he thinks so. He’s proud of all his childrenbut he says telling them would only ‘blow up their egos’ and that would be another thing he would have to deal with.
My knowledge of military rankings is next to nil, so I usually just smile and nod to be polite.
Tapping my fingers to my forehead as I pace in front of my bedroom window, I close my eyes and groan. This is just my luck. I pause my pacing and look out the window to the barn across the backyard.
The one time I give in and let myself enjoy life for a night, it’s with someone that I should have avoided.
When Mr. Harlow hired me, he asked me not to say anything about my ‘situation’ to his kids, he specifically told me to keep it between him and me. If I have Mason’s attention, will he ask questions? If he finds out the truth, will he think I am a danger to his family?
My stomach drops and my palm goes to my chest, will he want me to leave?
Not only is this ranch the perfect place to hide from the men that my brother sold me to, and who are probably looking for me since I might have killed one of them, but I have also come to love everyone in it; they are the only family I have. I don’t think they feel the same way about me, I’m just another maid and cook, but I still love being here.
Maybe I’m just overacting.
Closing my eyes, I remember how he made me feel last night, his big, strong hands were all over me, scorching my skin. And those lips. My center starts to tingle and the soreness all over my body is forgotten in the haze of desire that washes over me as I remember what he did with those lips.
To be honest, I think last night was one of the best nights of my life; life was great last night.
Sucking a deep breath into my lungs, I blow it out, my cheeks puffing out and I shake my head to focus on the issue athand.
I’ll just have to avoid him. Disappointment settles over me and the darkness of the past two years of my life settles back over me like cold water. Since he seemed surprised to see me, I may have even seen a little disappointment on his face as he looked at me, maybe he won’t ask any personal questions.
He may not even want to get to know me. I was just a one-night stand, I’m nothing special. But, God, did he make me feel special last night.
Ugh. I shake those thoughts from my head.
He’s only supposed to be here through the holidays. One month, I can avoid him for the next month, right? Easy peasy. Maybe he will take the lead and avoid me, it was just a one-night stand, my presence is probably just an inconvenience to him at this point.
I’ll just act like last night didn’t happen.
But damn it if every touch from him won’t play front and center in my memory for a long time when I’m in bed at night. When he picked me up and held me against the wall, taking control and giving me the most amazing pleasure, and multiple orgasms, that any man has ever given me.
Damn. I moan and drop my face into my hands.
The alarm on my phone pulls me from my thoughts, the roast I put in the oven earlier today is almost done. To my utter self-condemnation, I actually check my hair and makeup in the mirror to see if I look okay before going downstairs.
I shouldn’t care what I look like.
I sure as hell shouldn’t care what he thinks of how I look.
Right?
The woman in me wants to look good for him, she wants to tempt him even though I need to avoid him.
Thinking about the importance of this job and the relationships of the people in this house, I retrace my steps tomy ensuite bathroom and wash off all my makeup before pulling my neatly styled hair up into a messy bun on top of my head.
There. Now I could be any girl next door.
Switching out my form-fitting long-sleeve shirt for a boxy long-sleeve t-shirt that extends to just below my butt, I look in my mirror and decide to switch my jeans for tights and leg warmers.
Totally sloppy and unprofessional. I nod my head in approval and turn to go to the kitchen to get dinner ready for when everyone comes in from working outside.
This will make him wonder what he was even thinking when he took me back to his room.
Opal’s recipe book that she passed on to me when I started working here could be an actual cookbook. Over the years, she arranged it by meal type, then broke each of those down by Mr. Harlow’s favorites, and then subcategorized those from most healthy to least healthy. However, I think the latter was introduced after Mr. Harlow was diagnosed with high cholesterol.
In the back of the book, she included a calendar that either limited or encouraged certain foods. If anything, she loved taking care of this family.
