Maid for the Millionaire. Susan Meier
alabaster skin. She wore sweatpants and a tank top, and he realized she’d turned off the air-conditioning. Probably because of his shivering.
Still, her being in his bedroom didn’t make sense. They’d divorced three years ago.
“Why are you here?” he demanded. “How are you here?”
“I’m your maid, remember?”
“My maid?”
“Your assistant hired Happy Maids to clean your house once a week—”
He closed his eyes and lay down again, as it all came back to him. “Yeah. I remember.”
“You were pretty sick when I got here Friday morning.”
“Friday morning?” He sat up again and then groaned when his stiff muscles protested. “What day is it?”
“Relax. It’s early Saturday morning.”
He peered over. “You’ve been here all night?”
She inclined her head. “You were very sick. I didn’t feel comfortable leaving you.”
He fell back to the pillow. “Honest Liz.”
“That’s why hundreds of people let me and my company into their homes every week to clean. My reputation precedes me.”
He could hear the smile in her voice and fought a wave of nostalgia. “I guess thanks are in order.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And I probably owe you an apology for fondling your butt.”
“Oh, so you remember that?”
This time she laughed. The soft sound drifted to him, smoothed over him, made him long for everything he’d had and lost.
Which made him feel foolish, stupid, weak. She was gone. He had lost her. He could take total blame. But he refused to let any mistake make him weak.
“You know what? I appreciate all the help you’ve given me, but I think I can handle things from here on out.”
“You’re kicking me out?”
“I’m not kicking you out. I’m granting you a pardon. Consider this a get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“Okay.” She rose from the chair. Book under her arm, she headed for the door. But she stopped and glanced back at him. “You’re sure?”
He’d expect nothing less from her than absolute selflessness. Which made him feel like an absolute creep. He tried to cover that with a smile so she wouldn’t even have a hint of how hard just seeing her was for him. “I’m positive. I feel terrific.”
“Okay.”
With that she opened the door and slipped out. When the door closed behind her, he hung his head. It had been an accident of fate that he’d gotten the flu the very day she was here to clean his house. But he wasn’t an idiot. His reaction to her proved that having her back in his life—even as a temporary employee—wasn’t going to work. The weeks it took Ava to find a permanent maid would be filled with a barrage of memories that would overwhelm him with intense sadness one minute and yearning for what might have been the next.
He should get rid of her. That’s what his common sense was telling him to do. But in his heart he knew he owed her. For more than just staying with him while he was sick. He should have never talked her into marrying him.
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