Read Online A Devil in Disguise by Caitlin Crews - Free Book Online
Authors: Caitlin Crews
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armchairs that was angled for the best sea view through the broad windows. He had been right—she knew where all the extra clothes were stored. All the items that Cayo kept stocked for any unexpected female guests as well as the skeleton wardrobe he kept for both her and him should his business bring them here by surprise.
And by “Cayo kept stocked” she meant, of course, that she did.
After she’d washed away the sea and her own self-destructive reaction to him throughout this long day, particularly that mind-numbing kiss, she had toweled off and then opened up the little emergency suitcase that she’d had installed in the offices and residences he visited most often, scattered here and there across the globe.
Inside the case, a conservative gray suit was pressed in plastic, with two blouses to choose from, one in a pale pink and one in an understated taupe, and a change of underthings in non-racy, uninteresting beige. She’d packed pins for her hair and the proper tools to tame the wavy mess of it into professional sleekness. There was a small bag of her preferred toiletries and another of her basic cosmetics. There were sensible shoes that would go with anything and a black cashmere cardigan in case she’d felt called to appear “casual.” She’d even packed away an assortment of accessories, all conservatively stylish, so she could look as pulled together as she always did even if she’d found herself on board thanks to one of Cayo’s last-minute whims. She’d packed everything, in other words, that she could possibly need to climb right back into her role as his handy robot without so much as an unsightly wrinkle.
And she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it.
Instead, she’d let her hair dry naturally as she’d taken her time dressing, and now it hung in dark waves down her back. She’d found a pair of white denim jeans in one closet, much more snug than she liked, which was only to be expected given the gazelle-like proportions of most of his usual female guests, and a lovely palazzo top in a vibrant blue-and-white pattern in another, which was loose and flowy and balanced out the jeans. She’d tossed on a slate-gray wrap to guard against the sea air now that evening was upon them and the temperature had dropped, and had left her feet and her face entirely bare.
She looked like … herself. At last. Yet Cayo stared at her as if she were a ghost.
“Is this another version of throwing yourself overboard, Miss Bennett?” he asked, his voice a lash across the quiet room. It made her heart leap into a wild gallop in her chest. “Another desperate bid for my attention?”
“You are the one who wanted to talk, not me,” she replied, summoning a cold smile from somewhere though she didn’t feel cold at all. Not when she was near him. No matter what he did. “I would have been perfectly happy to remove myself from the glare of your attention. For good.”
That muscle in his lean jaw moved, but nothing else did. He was like a stone carving of simmering rage.
“What if I triple your salary?” His voice was cold and yet grim, his dark eyes flat and considering. “Did you say you lived in a leased bedsit? I’ll buy you a flat. A penthouse, if you like. Pick the London neighborhood you prefer.”
So much of her longed to do it. Who wouldn’t? He was offering her an entirely different life. A very, verygood life, at the price of a job she’d always liked well enough, until today.
But … then what? she asked herself. Wasn’t what he suggested really no more than a sterile form of prostitution, when all was said and done? Give herself over to him, and he would pay for it. And she would do it, she knew with a hollow, painful sort of certainty, not because it made financial sense, not because she stood to gain so much—but because she longed for him
.
Because he would be using her skills and she would be dreaming about
one more night
like the one in Cadiz.
One more kiss
like the one
And by “Cayo kept stocked” she meant, of course, that she did.
After she’d washed away the sea and her own self-destructive reaction to him throughout this long day, particularly that mind-numbing kiss, she had toweled off and then opened up the little emergency suitcase that she’d had installed in the offices and residences he visited most often, scattered here and there across the globe.
Inside the case, a conservative gray suit was pressed in plastic, with two blouses to choose from, one in a pale pink and one in an understated taupe, and a change of underthings in non-racy, uninteresting beige. She’d packed pins for her hair and the proper tools to tame the wavy mess of it into professional sleekness. There was a small bag of her preferred toiletries and another of her basic cosmetics. There were sensible shoes that would go with anything and a black cashmere cardigan in case she’d felt called to appear “casual.” She’d even packed away an assortment of accessories, all conservatively stylish, so she could look as pulled together as she always did even if she’d found herself on board thanks to one of Cayo’s last-minute whims. She’d packed everything, in other words, that she could possibly need to climb right back into her role as his handy robot without so much as an unsightly wrinkle.
And she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it.
Instead, she’d let her hair dry naturally as she’d taken her time dressing, and now it hung in dark waves down her back. She’d found a pair of white denim jeans in one closet, much more snug than she liked, which was only to be expected given the gazelle-like proportions of most of his usual female guests, and a lovely palazzo top in a vibrant blue-and-white pattern in another, which was loose and flowy and balanced out the jeans. She’d tossed on a slate-gray wrap to guard against the sea air now that evening was upon them and the temperature had dropped, and had left her feet and her face entirely bare.
She looked like … herself. At last. Yet Cayo stared at her as if she were a ghost.
“Is this another version of throwing yourself overboard, Miss Bennett?” he asked, his voice a lash across the quiet room. It made her heart leap into a wild gallop in her chest. “Another desperate bid for my attention?”
“You are the one who wanted to talk, not me,” she replied, summoning a cold smile from somewhere though she didn’t feel cold at all. Not when she was near him. No matter what he did. “I would have been perfectly happy to remove myself from the glare of your attention. For good.”
That muscle in his lean jaw moved, but nothing else did. He was like a stone carving of simmering rage.
“What if I triple your salary?” His voice was cold and yet grim, his dark eyes flat and considering. “Did you say you lived in a leased bedsit? I’ll buy you a flat. A penthouse, if you like. Pick the London neighborhood you prefer.”
So much of her longed to do it. Who wouldn’t? He was offering her an entirely different life. A very, verygood life, at the price of a job she’d always liked well enough, until today.
But … then what? she asked herself. Wasn’t what he suggested really no more than a sterile form of prostitution, when all was said and done? Give herself over to him, and he would pay for it. And she would do it, she knew with a hollow, painful sort of certainty, not because it made financial sense, not because she stood to gain so much—but because she longed for him
.
Because he would be using her skills and she would be dreaming about
one more night
like the one in Cadiz.
One more kiss
like the one
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