“What is it, Louisa?” he said softly. His gray eyes seared her, searching her soul. “What are you thinking about?”
With an intake of breath, she looked away. She hadn’t told him about her past. She hadn’t spoken of it to anyone.
Five years ago, she’d been stabbed to the heart by the two people she loved most in the world. She’d fled the United States for a fresh start. She’d changed her bright, formfitting clothes to plain, serviceable gray ones, boxy, shapeless suits. She’d lost her appetite. She’d lost weight. She’d started wearing glasses instead of contacts and pulled her brown hair back in a tight bun. She’d done everything she could do to make sure no man would ever notice her again.
She found a new job in Paris. She hadn’t feared to work for Rafael. She knew she would be safe from any playboy’s charms. She’d worked constantly, literally lived at her workplace, and hadn’t taken a vacation—not so much as a single Saturday off.
She’d tried not to love Rafael. She’d tried. But somehow, he’d snuck past all her defenses…
Rafael’s hand stroked her cheek. “You won’t answer. You never answer,” he said softly. “Someday you will.” He looked down at her. “Someday, you will tell me everything.”
But as he pulled her once more into his arms beneath the bright Greek sun, Louisa knew she would never tell him about the last man she’d fallen in love with. Her last boss. At least, she’d thought it was love at the time. She’d been so young then, so young and naive…
Thinking of the pain in her past, she looked at her future and was very, very afraid.
“Do you like this place?” he said softly, twisting a tendril of her hair around his finger.
She looked at him.
“So much that maybe I should get a job here,” she said, only half-joking. “Does your friend who owns this island need a housekeeper? What is his name?”
Rafael glowered at her. Irritation emanated off him in waves.
“He is not a kind man. Especially where women are concerned.”
She’d been trying to lighten the mood, but it seemed to have failed miserably. Why was he taking her comment so seriously? Lifting herself on one elbow, Louisa reached up to rub his shoulder. “The same could be said about you,” she teased.
His jaw clenched. “Yes,” he said shortly. “It could.”
Was it possible he was jealous? No, surely not! “You know I’m not serious, Rafael!”
“I do not care for such jokes of you mentioning other men,” he said stiffly. “You belong to me.”
She stopped rubbing his shoulder. She looked at him. “I belong to you?”
He shook his head. “You know what I meant. You are a valued member of my staff. You—”
“No,” she interrupted. She pulled back her hand, sitting up. Suddenly she was so furious she couldn’t think straight. “You had it right the first time. You think I belong to you. That you own me. That I’m your possession.” So much for imagining herself to be his adored mistress! “You think I have no feelings.” She slapped down on the nearby table. “Like this!”
“Do not be dramatic. I pay you well. There is no question of you being my possession. You stay in my employ because you appreciate your situation.”
“And now?” She looked around them at the luxurious place that had suddenly lost its glamour. “Am I working for you now?”
He ground his teeth. “No. You know you are not!”
“Then who am I to you?”
“Here, you are my mistress. Beyond this island, you are the best servant on my staff. You oversee all of my homes, coordinating with the other housekeepers. I could not manage without you.”
He might as well have slapped her across the face.
“Perhaps it really is time for me to move on,” she said slowly, feeling numb. Why did she feel so betrayed, when she’d known all along how this would end?
“No,” he said furiously. “You won’t go work for him—or any other man. You belong to—with,” he corrected himself as he caught her glare, “me.”
His hands grasped her naked waist in the bright sunlight. She looked down into his gray eyes. His face was dark, almost savage. She could hear the hoarseness of his breath. Their eyes locked.
His fingers