Chapter 3
Mariah
The view outside of the house was incredible, but nothing compared to the view inside. The man who greeted her was breathtakingly handsome, his strong Italian features softened only by the sloping curve of his muted pink lips. His blue eyes were probing and left her little question as to why her staff had been quick to run. She could see the dominance in him simply from the way he held himself.
His raven-colored hair was brushed back and kept a little longer than most men. It fitted his strong cheekbones and regally-shaped nose well. His voice was deep and held far more warmth than it had on the phone only half an hour before.
Mariah decided to give him a taste of his own medicine and made sure to interrupt him as soon as he started talking. The only way to work alongside an unconventional alpha male like him would be to establish her own dominance from the start. She wasn't handing out orders, but she certainly wasn't taking them either.
"I have to say that I hope you're a little more resilient than the last four girls your boss has sent over." He glanced over his shoulder.
The strong press of his gaze left butterflies dancing in her stomach. Her dating life was horrid at best. The last date she'd gone on was with an accountant from the mainland. He'd spent more time showing her how to categorize her expenses as a business owner than actually paying attention to her. Needless to say, she had little desire to spend the night in his arms. Chances were that the poor guy had super hero sheets and a collection of calculators beside his bed.
"I'm sure I'll meet your needs and perhaps even impress you, though I hear you're a hard man to impress." Her lip turned up into a tight smirk.
He chuckled and turned back toward the hall in front of them. "I just expect the best. If you're the best, as your employer says you are, then we'll be good."
"I'll try hard to live up to the title." She glanced around, taking in the number of bedrooms and calculating in her head the schedule she would need to put herself on to maintain all the things he wanted done.
He stopped in front of her, and she barely caught herself before plowing into the back of him.
"Here's your room." He turned to face her and crossed his arms over his strong chest. "I keep an odd schedule. I'm a chef and business owner. I expect you to have the house cleaned by three in the afternoon in case I have dinner guest I need to have over for one reason or another."
"Good. And are you wanting each room in the house fully cleaned each and every day, or am I able to put the house on a working schedule that makes sense to me? I'd rather not waste energy and time moving through every room each day, when I can detail clean some of the larger rooms instead."
His eyebrow lifted. "Margaret, that's completely up to you. I'm not a maid, nor do I understand the appropriate time table that dusting requires. A lot of these rooms aren't used, so feel free to set up whatever schedule you like. I just want the house spotless, and I'm sure you've already been warned, but I'm rather picky."
His tone was biting, and his words a little demeaning, but she didn't let it get to her. "Excellent. I'm going to put my clothes up, and then walk around the house to take a few notes, if you don't mind. I assume you're leaving soon?"
"Shortly. I have to run out for a little while, but I'll be back this afternoon. I'd like you to spend some time on my kitchen so that I can pinpoint anything I might need to tell you when I get back. I like my cookware and knives taken care of in a certain manner. No one seems to understand this, so I don't really expect you to either. We can talk about it more later. Put your stuff up, and I'll see you in the kitchen shortly."
"It's Mariah, Darren. If you need me to wear a name tag, I can." She sat her bag down and turned to pin him with a hard stare.
"No. I can get it. I said Mariah the first time, didn't I?"
"No, you didn't. I'll see you shortly." She moved down to start working on unpacking her bags. She'd have to ignore the delicious scent of his cologne mixed with soap. It was a good thing he was a complete jerk. Otherwise, she might have melted into a puddle at his feet. How the man didn't have a wife or five girlfriends was beyond her, and yet him being a little less than pleasant most likely helped.
Being a chef meant he should have been portly or a have a little bit of extra fluff on his bones, but he didn't. He had the body of a swimmer from what she could tell. Lean and strong, well taken care of and painfully sexy. She glanced up to watch him walk out, focusing on his rear.
"Behave," she mumbled under her breath. Her business meant everything to her. There was no way she was messing any part of it up by falling for a client. Not that it would matter. There was no way she was his type in any shape or form. Her hips were a little too big, her butt too fluffy, her attitude a little too sharp. She smiled at the thought of butting heads with him. It was an instant turn on, which surprised her.
She'd had a few boyfriends in the past who were overly dominant and things hadn't worked out at all for them. Why would this be different? She chided herself for even thinking about him in such a manner, but it was hard not to. He would quickly find himself the center of her daydreams or late-night hopes. He was too handsome and manly not to.
After getting her things put up, Mariah walked through the back part of the house and paused by the master bedroom. The dark musky tones of his cologne were faint, but tickled her senses as she peered into the darkened bedroom. A large king-sized bed was messy, the silky black sheets tousled as if he had made some lucky girl's night.
"Turn on the light. It will help you see whatever you're after." His voice was low and sexy.
She jumped and pressed her hand to her heart as she flipped on the light and glanced over her shoulder. "You scared me."
"Sorry. It wasn't my intent." He moved past her, his shoulder brushing hers gently. "Come in here. I want to walk you through a few things."
"Of course." She hated how airy her voice was, but something about his sudden shift in mood left her wanting to soften a little toward him.
"The bathtub is rarely used, but I shower a couple of times a day. I hate the smell of food on me, and it seems no matter what I do, I can always pick up hints of the last thing I cooked." He opened the shower and pointed to the tiles. "These need to be scrubbed every day, and do not use anything too bristly. I don't want the tiles scratched. It's Italian marble and it—"
She cut him off. "Requires special care. I'm aware. I'll have to see if you have the proper chemicals and tools. If you don't... I'll take your credit card and go into town to buy them."
Ignoring the incredulous look on his handsome face, Mariah moved over to the tub and leaned over, brushing her fingers by the dry surface.
"I don't use that." His voice was closer than moments before.
"I understand, but it still needs to be cared for." She stood and looked over her shoulder. Their eyes met, and she could sense the attraction between them. Maybe she was overthinking it, or maybe he was just lonely.
"Yes, well, I don't want you to spend time on parts of the house that aren't going to be seen or used. That's simply inefficient, Misty." He lifted his eyebrow as if pushing her to challenge his way of thinking.
"Do you sharpen all of your knives?" She ignored him calling her by the wrong name for the moment.
"In my kitchen?"
"I hope they're in your kitchen. Are you an axe murderer with a creepy secret lair?" She lifted her eyebrow to match his. The smirk that rose on his face was impossibly cute.
"No, I'm not, and yes, of course I sharpen all of my knives in my kitchen. They'll dull otherwise."
"Even the ones you don't use all of the time?"
"Point made." He nodded and walked toward the door. "Come with me and let's talk about the kitchen. It's my favorite room of the house, and I want to make sure you're incredibly careful with how you treat my stuff."
"Of course, Danny." She turned off the light and almost ran into his back again. This time, she took advantage of his quick stop and pressed her hand to the thick muscle of his upper back.
"It's Darren."
She moved past him, brushing her hip along the outer curve of his ass and along his thigh before walking into the hall. She was playing a dangerous game, but the worst thing he could do was fire her. Someone had to teach the man a few manners and a lesson or two. She realized quickly that she was totally up for the challenge.
"Right. And I'm Mariah, Darren. Stop calling me other people's names, or I'm going to return the favor. I take pride in cleaning houses as much as anyone else does in their jobs. Just because I'm a maid doesn't mean that I don't deserve enough respect to have you use the correct name for me." She moved into the living room, not sure if he was following her or not. He was most likely stopped, shocked into silence.
The kitchen was by far the largest room in the house, and from the impeccable design and cleanliness, Mariah could tell that it was his favorite place to be. She got on her knees on the floor and moved toward the baseboards, checking for residue.
"I'm sorry about your name. There is only so much space in my head and I..." He stopped talking suddenly, causing Mariah to turn and glance up at him.
"What? I just wanted to give the baseboards an up-close inspection. I'll be starting here today. The first round of cleaning will be pretty intense, so I'll ask you to stay out of the kitchen for the next twelve hours. Is that doable or should I wait until later this week to do my deep cleaning?"
He licked at his lips as his eyes moved down the length of her body. It wasn't overly sexual, but the desire in his face was apparent. He was a busy man. Chances of him getting out and meeting others was most likely slim. Either way, the hunger in his eyes shot a tendril of warmth through the center of her stomach.
"I'm good with you getting started." He moved to squat next to her. "This is cherry wood though. You need to make sure that you..."
His voice was a little demeaning, and she figured that now was a good a time as any to shut him down.
"I know what it is, Darren. You're a chef. I'm a maid. Let me do my job, or if you think you can do it better, I'll leave. I'm here to make your life easier, so give me a chance to do that." She moved up to her knees and pressed her bottom to her heels. "Sound like a plan? I won't tell you how to julienne carrots in your kitchen. Don't tell me how to clean cherry-wood."