Chapter Two
Zaine closed the gap between them. A part of him warned him to be cautious, but the rest of him disagreed. When he’d seen her working at the dinner party, he didn’t flinch and walked over to talk with her. His intention to make things nice and give them a clean slate disintegrated the instant he’d approached her. Screw the high road. And screw the repercussions.
For the last few months—even while married—his life had been a hazy blur of continuing motion: he worked, made money, exercised, tried not to think about the gap separating him and his then-wife. Then, after Ashley left, the new post-breakup lifestyle overwhelmed him. A few women had invited him for drinks, but he’d been in no mood for a rebound romance and declined their offers. He hadn’t been ready to get to know anyone, to share first date conversations and be charming. Not yet.
“Meet me in the bathroom upstairs,” Monique said in a voice above a whisper.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He let go of her elbow and glanced around them to ensure no one had witnessed their intimate exchange. To his satisfaction, the guests faced the other way, and judging from their natural body language and scattered chuckles, they probably hadn’t noticed anything. By the time he’d turned to face her again, Monique was gone.
Fuck. What had he done? He discreetly strode up the stairs. As he was a longtime family friend, anyone would assume the downstairs bathrooms were occupied and he was heading to the second floor to use another one. Or maybe he’d wanted to appreciate the brand-new paintings Doug kept bragging about.
He’d worry about an excuse later—if needed.
Now the only thing he wanted was to bang the hot French maid. Who cared if it sounded clichéd or wrong? There was nothing wrong about her devilish grin or the way she looked at him. She sent him sinful signs he didn’t dare ignore.
His body throbbed with need, his every cell fully alert as to what he had planned to do. His internal clock had regressed a good twenty years. If he didn’t make it to the bathroom soon enough, he’d explode.
The door was closed, and he knocked twice. She opened it, and he entered without delay. She launched herself at him, and he slammed her against the wall. A decorative vase of flowers fell to the floor and broke, but she chuckled instead of fussing. Determined, he dipped his head and captured her lips in his. She opened her mouth, compliant, warm, and willing. The moment his tongue stroked hers, a wave of primal arousal washed over him. He trembled, in pre-orgasmic fashion, and intensified the kiss, resolute to explore that sassy mouth of hers.
“Oui, oui,” she whispered, and moaned. The sexiest sound he’d ever heard. He wanted to record it.
“You’re so fucking hot. Jesus. I’m almost coming,” he said. If she wanted him to last she’d have to slow the fuck down.
“Me too. Touch me.”
Slowing down wasn’t in the cards. He slid his hand down the boring uniform. Knowing Paula like he did, she’d probably chosen the plainest dress to minimize Monique’s curves. He palmed her DD-cup breasts, earning another whimper from her lips. To shut her up, he fused his mouth with hers again, and this time, she grinded against him, showing him how much she needed his tongue, his hand, and soon, his dick.
When he reached between her thighs, he felt the heat seeping through the fabric before he even touched her intimately. She arched against him, and he hiked up her dress and pulled down her G-string. The sensual scent of female arousal swirled into his nostrils and he breathed it in.
He slid a finger into her soaking wet pussy, and she gasped.
“God, you’re soaked, Monique. Is this all for me? This drenched cunt?”
She quivered. “Y-yes, Monsieur. All for you,” she said, her voice wavering.
He parted her slick folds, adding two more fingers. She arched herself into him, obviously so, so ready for more, for all he wanted to give her. This woman was pure dynamite under his touch. “I’ll take it all, do you understand? I’m going to touch you until you come, then suck your naughty pussy until you cream on my face. Then I’ll fuck it so good you’ll go crazy, honey.”
“Mon Dieu.” She clenched her thighs around his hand. She rode his hand like it was his rod, grinding it breathlessly. He flicked her clit while thrusting his fingers in and out of her, curling his index against her G-spot, driving her crazy for him. She grabbed his collar with both hands, and he felt a surge of her pearly essence dripping on his hand when she moaned into his ear and started to shake. “Yes. Yes…”
She quivered in his arms, and he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her closed eyes. A strange wave of affection washed over him, even though he barely knew her. She gave herself to him so freely and unconditionally; sometimes couples that had known each other for decades didn’t share this immediate, raw, insane chemistry.
The sound of a knock on the door almost made him jump. Shit.
She stiffened in his arms, and when he stepped back he noticed the shade of pink coloring her face, the sweat glistening over her forehead. She looked freshly fucked even if he hadn’t been lucky to take care of her the way she deserved. But he would—hell yeah, he would. He gestured for her to be quiet, and while she composed herself behind him, he opened the door a fraction.
A teenaged boy, probably friends with Paula and Doug’s sixteen-year-old son, stood in front of the door, eyes glued to his cell phone. He texted faster than a lot of people jogged.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well,” Zaine told him, touching his stomach to sound more convincing.
The blond teen looked up and nodded. “Ugh, no worries, dude. Feel better.”
“Thank you,” he said, and closed the door behind him. Let the teenager find any other bathroom in the huge house. When he turned to her, she gave him a half smile.
“It’s time for me to go,” she said, her voice steady. A couple of strands strayed from the ponytail, and she tucked the rebellious pieces of hair behind her ears. His fingers itched to mess it all over again. “I’m sure they’ll be wondering where I’ve been.”
“Can I see you later?” he asked without an ounce of shame. There was no going back; he needed to have her.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Won’t it be too late for a full meal? I’d hate for you to get sick from a midnight feast.”
He angled closer and ran a finger down her pert nose. “I’ll survive. I’ve been looking forward to the banquet.”
“How do you know you’ll get a banquet and not, let’s say, a small offering?”
“I’ll devour whatever I get,” he said in a deep, low voice.
A zing of energy passed between them, and she stared at him with a devilish twinkle in her eyes. “I don’t doubt it, mon chéri. À bientôt,” she purred, before leaving the bathroom.
Damn the woman. She kept him in suspense. He glanced around, and decided to put the big pieces of the broken vase in the trash. Then he splashed some cold water on his face and sucked in a breath. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and for the first time since his separation, a genuine, devilish grin spread across his face. So what if screwing her blurred the lines? This was just sex, nothing more. She’d brought his mojo back and he’d be a fool if he didn’t see it through. He couldn’t think of the last thing he wanted as much as he wanted Monique, and that scared and excited him in equal measure.
Zaine took the stairs and found Doug waiting at the bottom.
“How are you doing, man?” Doug gave him a tumbler of scotch and leaned closer, like they were about to have a one-on-one conversation.
Zaine swallowed hard. Had the teenager suspected something? Had news of his make-out session already spread? He clasped the square glass. He didn’t want to embarrass Monique or make things awkward for her in any way. “I’m good.”
Doug nodded. “I noticed you went upstairs for a while.”
Zaine cleared his throat. He wasn’t one to lie, but this time he had to—for Monique’s sake. He took a generous sip of scotch, the strong amber liquid rolling down his throat and loosening his limbs. Around them, the party continued in full force with a few groups gathered in the house, drinking, laughing, and having fun.
“This must be difficult for you. Being out without Ashley,” Doug said and gave him a condescending pat on his back.
Of course. His friend had assumed he’d left the party because he’d been uncomfortable in a social setting post-separation, not because he’d tried to bang the sexy maid. He let out a sigh of relief. Doug’s out-of-touchness had finally come in handy. “It’s okay.”
“Have you talked to Ashley recently?” he asked.
Zaine pinched the bridge of his nose. Doug always meant well, even if Paula’s overbearing ways had rubbed off on him since their marriage. “Yes. We’ve worked together on some projects. And we text about some house stuff. But nothing too personal,” he said. He should have known blending their services would affect him at some point. He built houses and buildings, and she decorated them. They had their own offices in different parts of the city, but naturally they had shared clients and accounts. Successfully so. “We’re working out details of the divorce peacefully.”
Turned out they made better business partners than spouses. Zaine had been frustrated about his marriage ending, because he’d invested time and had put his heart on the line. Yet, as the bitterness from the breakup subsided, questions began to form. In the last couple of years, had they really had a fruitful, engaging relationship? Whenever they weren’t working, they spent more time with their electronic devices or watching the news than talking to each other. As for social outings, they usually included mutual friends or business acquaintances. No romantic dates.
“Are you thinking about dating soon?”
Zaine brought the glass to his lips and said, before taking another sip, “Eventually. In some ways, I’m already back in the field.” Monique had brought out a side of him he had long forgotten—even before the dissolution of his marriage. Perhaps even before Ashley. Monique awakened in him an adventurous, playful, daring side. He no longer wanted to watch porn at home alone—he wanted to reenact all those dirty scenes with his sinful maid.
“Good. See how going out’s better than avoiding everyone?”
“I have to agree. Coming here changed the course of my evening for sure,” he said, grinning as he noticed Monique carrying a tray and stopping in front of them.
Zaine locked his spine in place, her effect on him undeniable. He wanted to touch her soft skin, to caress her endlessly. His flesh tingled, and he caught himself fidgeting, tapping on the side of his glass.
“Gentlemen?” Monique held the tray, the neutral expression on her beautiful face not giving anything away.
Doug lifted his hand in refusal, but Zaine didn’t pass up the opportunity to tease her. “I’m famished. I’ll take one. What is it?”
She tilted her head to the side, staring him square in the eye as if she were about to whisper a secret. “Upside-down mushroom tartlets.”
He glanced at the tiny brown tarts adorned with some greens, then stared back at her. “Sounds like the kind of appetizer that’ll only make me hungrier.”
She lifted her chin, and the ghost of a smile formed on her lips. “It’s a risk you have to take, Monsieur.”
He didn’t reply, but took a canapé without tearing his gaze from hers. Before he murmured “thank you,” she nodded and left to serve other guests, and he had to will himself not to look at her. God. He glanced at his watch. How much longer until her shift was over? He’d ask her that next time he saw her. His alone time with that bombshell couldn’t come fast enough. And sadly neither could he.
…
Monique rushed into the kitchen, flustered. Shyness had never been a problem for her, but every simple exchange with Zaine sent her blood to a low simmer. She needed a personal fan and an icy drink whenever she shared oxygen with him. The way he looked at her like he’d seen her naked. Because he has.
A sharp sound yanked her from her thoughts, and she blinked, startled. When she looked down, she realized the plate she’d held had slipped from her hands, and dozens of pieces of china littered the marbled tiled floor. “Merde.”
“Crap is right,” said Paula behind her.
“I’m sorry,” she rushed to say, and kneeled down to pick up the pieces on the floor. She heard Glen whistling behind her, but he didn’t do anything to help. Bastard.
Paula snorted, visibly impatient. “Is there something going on? You disappeared when we were the busiest. Someone told me you’re flirting with my guests and now you’re breaking my family china.”
A warm wave spread across her cheeks and neck. How could she deny flirting? Doug probably told Paula about her exchange with Zaine. “I went upstairs to clean up after a guest said someone broke a vase in the bathroom,” she said in an even tone.
Paula folded her arms, tilted her head to the side. “Really?”
Putain. I’m bad at this. “I’m so sorry about your china. I can pay you back,” Monique said, swallowing her pride. Maybe she sucked at lying, but at least she was trying to make amends. “I was distracted,” she said, choosing not to throw Zaine under the bus. He wouldn’t get in trouble for making out at their house, but Monique knew Paula was friends with Ashley, and she’d hate to involve more people than necessary.
“Pay me back?” Paula laughed with sarcasm.
Monique’s stomach churned. She’d been regarded in such a belittling way before, and swore she’d never again allow herself to be the girl people pitied.
“You’d have to work your butt off to afford it. Listen, having you help me clearly was a disastrous idea. You’re good enough to dust off the shelves and scrub the toilets, but you lack the polish to serve at a sophisticated dinner party.”
Monique’s shoulders involuntarily sagged. She’d come from a large family, and her mother had to endure a lot of hardship after her father left them. Yet she’d never felt as dirt poor as now, with that stupid rich woman sizing her up. Was she going to let her, though?
Pull yourself together. Monique locked her spine in place, though her fingers trembled as she removed the apron and tossed it on the kitchen counter. Didn’t matter how she felt…all she needed was to show Paula that money didn’t give a person carte blanche to bitch at the help. Or anyone.
“What are you doing?” Paula furrowed her brows.
“I’m leaving. You’re right. This wasn’t a good idea,” she said, pleased at how collected she sounded.
Paula grabbed her elbow like she was an eight-year-old girl who’d left the dinner table without asking for permission. “Are you insane? You can’t go anywhere, dinner hasn’t been served yet,” Paula said, digging her fingers into Monique’s skin.
Monique glanced down at her reddening flesh. Her heart thumped at the base of her throat. Anger surpassed frustration, and she jerked free from the woman’s hold. What the hell was she thinking? “You have hands and legs. Work it out,” she said, walking to the food pantry where she’d left her purse and stuffed her clothes.
“This is stupid,” Paula said, following her footsteps. “You can’t leave. The dress you’re wearing’s mine. Or were you going to steal it like the little crook you are?”
Was she really worked up because of this tacky dress? She’d worked for Paula’s family for months and never imagined one day she’d be treated with so much disrespect. “No problem.” Swiftly, she slipped off the dress, and it pooled at her heels. She quickly retrieved the clothes she’d worn that day, then pulled on her jeans and shirt while Glen watched her, his jaw dropping.
Monique didn’t care. Growing up, she’d hated feeling like she wasn’t good enough around her father’s second family. He’d moved on and married some lady with money and snooty kids from a prior marriage. During the family events she’d attended, Papa’s new family looked down at her and her three siblings. She’d sworn she’d never allow anyone to treat her with contempt because of her lack of social standing and disadvantaged financial status.
Paula stared at her, speechless.
Monique strode out of the place, not even waiting to discuss her payment, no matter how badly she needed every little cent she managed to make. Gut instinct informed her Paula would make a fuss about paying after her poor performance, and she doubted the woman would keep her as her cleaner or ever refer her again.
Tough luck. Monique left the house and walked down the street until she reached her parked car. Before she had lived in the US, she hadn’t even owned a car. In Paris, she’d take the subway, walk, or ride with friends. Keeping a car was far too costly and unnecessary. She hurried into the tiny Kia she’d bought not second, but fourth hand. A smile formed on her lips. She’d worry about paying the bills later. Now, she’d drive out of this fancy gated community with her chin held high—and that was priceless.
…
“Hey, Monique, where’s your share of the rent?” Nicole, one of her roommates, asked the next day. “It’s due tomorrow.”
Monique thinned her lips, desperate for a good excuse. She hated lying, and her entire day had been depressing. Six clients had emailed her to cancel services, and because she didn’t clean any houses, she didn’t have any cash to pay her roommates. “I don’t have it yet. I’m sorry, something happened and—”
Nicole lifted her hand, gesturing for her to stop talking. Nicole had always been nice to her. With curly long hair and mysterious gray eyes, she was going to cosmetology school and sometimes gave Monique free mani-pedis to practice. Unfortunately, one of them was always out working or studying while the other slept, so Monique never had much opportunity to really bond with Nicole. “I get it. But you still have to pull your own weight.”
“I do, and I have,” Monique said, remembering how she’d offered to do Nicole’s laundry when she was on the way to the laundry room, and how she never spent too long in the shower. “Listen, I apologize for being late this once.”
“We need to pay the landlord tomorrow to avoid fees,” Nicole said matter-of-factly. “It’s a fact. If you don’t pay…” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged.
“I’ll have the money for you tomorrow morning. Don’t worry,” Monique promised. Nicole left the living area and marched to her room. Tears brimmed against her eyelids, frustration welling up inside. How had it come to this?
She was supposed to be working and earning money today. Yet, her regulars had canceled her maid services—not just for the day, but for good without any plausible explanation.
What the hell? The bad timing brought a sour taste to her mouth. Maybe she didn’t make tons from cleaning, but she counted on that income to cover her bills, gas, and food.
A pang of fear crept under her skin. She wished she was problem-free and could enjoy the nice weather, cool for September, but sadly she barely had enough gas in her car to go to her classes during the week and then to her few remaining clients.
Am I being paranoid?
The night had ended a lot differently from what she imagined when she’d made out with Zaine in the bathroom. Perhaps it’s for the best. She had left the mansion immediately, and didn’t think he knew her phone number. Miss Ashley probably had it, which, of course, didn’t prevent her from checking her phone every ten minutes to make sure Zaine hadn’t miraculously texted her.
The doorbell rang, pulling her from her reverie. Sighing, she got off the couch and headed for the entrance. Maybe one of her roomies had ordered pizza again.
She opened the door, and what she found on the other side of the threshold left her weak in the knees: Zaine Cavanaugh, in the flesh, and as sexy as ever. Moisture evaporated from her throat. How did he get her address?
“Zaine.” Her heart skipped a beat. She hated how a part of her wanted to jump in his arms. Sure, she had been to blame for what had happened at Paula’s…but if she were smart, she’d avoid an affair with him at all costs. No good would come from hooking up with him—besides unforgettable orgasms. “What are you doing here?”
He inched closer. “I have a proposition for you.”
She partially closed the door, to make sure he wouldn’t come inside.
He smiled, and a fire flared at the pit of her stomach. “May I come in?”
“No.”
He leaned in closer, and she knew she should move or shut the door in his face. He wanted a booty call, a quick hookup, a good old fuck. All of those things sounded great, but in reality he was in a complicated situation. Legally separated? Yes. Divorced? No. Besides, in what world would he ever take her as a girlfriend if they became close? He’d never ditch his snobby friends to go out with the much younger maid who didn’t fit in with his crowd.
“I heard about what happened. I’m sorry. I didn’t have your address or number last night, or I’d have been at your doorstep then,” he said, staring deep in her eyes.
A warm energy passed between them, and she swallowed the dry lump lodged in her throat. An invisible band squeezed them together, and she couldn’t will herself to step away from him. Didn’t want to.
“Thanks,” she said.
He closed the gap between them and snatched her into his arms. He captured her lips in a demanding kiss, one she couldn’t resist. Embracing her, he pressed the small of her back until every part of her magically molded to him. She opened her mouth to give him more access, but also because she enjoyed the tingles teasing her breasts, the heat radiating from her chest.
He weaned her off with small kisses, his lips brushing against her as her head bobbed, dizzy with arousal. If she didn’t share a room with Nicole, she’d invite him in. She’d give anything to see the girls’ faces when this sexy man entered their crummy living room.
“Are you sure you don’t want to hear me out?”
“Fine, but only because I’m curious,” she said to save face, but the delightful sigh fleeing from her lips betrayed her.
The polite thing to do was to invite him in, but she didn’t want her roommates ogling him and asking questions. Worse, she didn’t want to explain who he was. One glance at him and they’d assume he had money. Besides, if he wanted to talk…
He stepped back to give her room, and she exited the apartment and closed the door behind her. She’d been wearing old jeans and a T-shirt, and now she wished she had bothered with putting a bra on. Damn it.
She went down the stairs and could feel his presence behind her. Where can we talk? Some tenants walked their dogs or gathered in the parking lot, probably making plans for the night. Shit. It’s not like she had a conference room, but getting into his car would give him more control.
“Come,” she said, using her key to open the laundry room.
She entered, and thankfully the space filled with washers and driers was empty. At that time of the day, the young crowd preferred going out to washing clothes. “What is it?” she said, closing the door behind him.
Why did he want to see her? As much as she wanted to keep her pride, she needed the money if she could keep working for him. And with clients that had already fired her ass, she couldn’t afford to take the high road.
The smell of bleach, detergent, and dirty socks filled the air. She leaned against a washer, trying to give them enough buffer zone. He stood in the middle of the room, his hotness contrasting majestically against the crappy setting. The uncomfortable fluorescent light flickered, each time outlining his large frame and straight posture.
Her nipples hardened, and she folded her arms to hide her reaction to him.
“I have a deal for you. It may seem crazy at first, but when you stop to think, you’ll see it’s a pretty good one.”
She swallowed. “What do you want, Monsieur?”
“You, in my bed, for the next two months.”