Private Acts (4 page)

She couldn’t afford to be fired from another job. Even though the Hills liked her and appreciated her work, she didn’t know how they would respond to sneaking onto the neighbor’s property.

“Should I?”

“I don’t see why. It could be our little secret.”

Miguel ran his knuckles along the underside of his chin. “As you pointed out a few minutes ago, you were trespassing. I don’t know if I should let such bad behavior go unpunished.”

The fact that he didn’t want her behavior to go unpunished didn’t cause quite the concern it should. Maybe because when he looked at her from beneath lowered lids, he didn’t look as if the punishment he had in mind would result in any physical discomfort on her part.

Samirah swallowed. “I know I didn’t endear myself to you last night, and now this—but I’m a nice person. And was any harm done?” Once again, he wouldn’t respond, and she felt the need to break the silence. “No harm done, right?

He seemed to think about it for a moment. “No harm done,” he agreed.

“So…we’re good?” She held her breath, ready for whatever would come.

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to the Hills.”

She almost collapsed from relief. “Thank you.”

He looked down at her thoughtfully. “I understand
Geneva
is a very good cook, so you must be very good as well to satisfy her requirements.”

Samirah lifted her chin. “I’m excellent. I received my training from Le Cordon Bleu.” His eyebrows flew upward at the mention of the prestigious culinary school. “I’ve been traveling the world since I was nineteen, building on the basics I learned there. At my last job, I was the head cook.”

She may mess up other areas of her life, but few could match her skills in the kitchen. She’d inherited her passion for cooking from her Caribbean-born mother, who was known to prepare meals large enough to feed a small army.

“If you have so much experience, why then are you a housekeeper?”

The question surprised her, and she glanced away to avoid his eyes. “I’m in between jobs.”

She told the truth, but there was way more to it. Of course she would much rather be in a restaurant cooking or preparing professional meals for wealthy clients, enabling her to use the training and skills she’d acquired over the years. In fact, her position as head cook had been at a large hotel restaurant in
Miami
until she lost her job.

How could she explain she’d been forced out, practically wearing a scarlet “A” emblazoned on her chest? She’d made a big mistake when she slept with her boss, the executive chef at the restaurant in the five star hotel where she had worked. She had thought she was in love with him, and he with her. Her foolish romantic thoughts cost her a job she loved. Next year she would be thirty, and the position had been a way for her to start setting down roots and leave her nomadic lifestyle behind. Too late, she’d found out he was married—an important piece of information he’d failed to share with her.

Before the confrontation with his wife, the wagging tongues of her co-workers in the restaurant and other hotel staff had made her feel like an outcast. It wasn’t long before the owners made a decision. The choice was simple. There was no contest between a cook and an executive chef. She left her job, humiliated but wiser.

“I apologize if I offended you,” Miguel said.

“You didn’t.” Samirah squared her shoulders and shook off the feelings of regret that stole into her consciousness. There was no point in beating herself up over what happened. “Like I said, I’m an excellent cook, and the Hills are happy.”

“Are you familiar with Ecuadorian cuisine?”

Samirah nodded, eyeing him suspiciously.

This time, he chuckled, and the sound generated warmth in the depths of her belly. “You look as if you don’t trust me. Shouldn’t I be the one concerned, since you sneaked onto my property without permission?”

“I’m not concerned, I’m just wondering where you’re going with your line of questioning.”

“Nowhere, except I thought maybe one day you could have pity on a poor, helpless bachelor and fix me a meal some time.” He looked anything but helpless. With his rugged good looks, she suspected he had a legion of women clamoring to cook his meals—among other things.

“Maybe,” she said slowly.

“One meal, one day when you’re free. That’s not too much to ask for not speaking to the Hills, is it?”

“No, I guess not.” Then she added, “Saturdays are best, because it’s my day off, and I could—”

“I’ll let you know when I want you.”

His words jolted her, causing a rush of heat to suffuse her breasts. The way they slid off his tongue, deliberate and slow, made her feel what he said and what he meant were very different. It could be a nuance of language, or it could be he knew exactly what he was saying and was making good use of double entendres.

“All right.” She took a quivering breath. “Since we’re in agreement, I’ll be on my way.”

“How about we shake on it?” He extended his hand.

Samirah hesitated. Silly, really, because it was only a hand, but she felt a nervous tremor inside. She looked down at his long, tan fingers as if they were a rattlesnake getting ready to strike.

“I won’t bite.” Almost immediately, her mind extended his words to,
Unless you want me to
.

She placed her hand in his, and he enclosed hers in a warm clasp. There was nothing remotely sexual about a handshake, but she felt his touch to her very core, and when she looked up at him, the heat in his blue eyes made the breath lodge in her throat.

“Thank you, Mr. Delgado.” She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

“Call me Miguel. There’s no need for such formality between neighbors.” A smile touched his sensuous lips.

“Thank you, Miguel.” She tugged harder this time, and he released her.

Without another word, Samirah left the way she came, practically fleeing across the yard. She maintained her stride, even though her legs developed a disturbing rubbery texture that made it difficult to walk. She felt his eyes on her the entire time.

* * * *

Miguel watched her walk away and slip back between the boards of the fence. He wanted her. Badly. Holding onto her soft hand, he could hardly think of anything else but dragging her closer and crushing her mouth under his. Was she that soft all over? Did her wild streak translate into the bedroom?

He was no fool. Despite her refusal to engage him at the bar, he recognized the interest in her eyes. The extra swing she’d added to her hips last night to tease him when she walked away had only served to confirm it.

He shook his head in an effort to dispel the image of Samirah’s dark, wet skin in the revealing suit, but it didn’t work. The triangular material of the bikini left little to the imagination, not doing a very good job of covering her generous breasts, which overflowed over the top and sides of the barely there material. The thin straps appeared ready to snap, unable to contain their immense package.

He stared into the pool, remembering her fluid movements in the water. A woman like her would be perfect. They could have a brief affair that ended when she left. No demands for a relationship and no unwanted publicity.

Miguel made his way back into the house. It might be fun to get to know her better. Maybe it was his lucky day. Maybe fate had served her up on a platter for him after all.

Chapter Four

Samirah took a quick shower, shampooed her hair, and blow dried it straight. She pulled her hair back and slipped on a tank top and a comfortable pair of jeans before returning to the kitchen.

From the window, she could see Miguel’s house, and her heart still raced after seeing him again. Although she realized he could have complained about her, somehow she’d managed to dodge that bullet.

Her brother Adam had gotten her this job, sourcing it through his international placement firm. It had been a lifeline because she’d become upset over the difficulty she’d experienced finding another steady job after she was let go from the hotel. She couldn’t risk giving her brother’s company a bad reputation. He would never forgive her if she did. Hell, she would never forgive herself.

Samirah returned to the task of cooking dinner and had the pot simmering on the stove when a taxi pulled up outside the gate and her employers descended.
Geneva
’s limited mobility had prompted them to hire outside help. Cost had been no object, as Thomas was a retired executive from a top investment firm. The Hills had been living in
Cuenca
for almost five years, lured by the low crime rate, comfortable year-round climate, and the low cost of living.

They were two very active seniors, and the limitations brought about by the accident curtailed their activities. They had photos on the walls and in albums showcasing their pastimes, including horseback riding, sports fishing, and cycling.

Samirah watched
Geneva
use her walker and move gingerly up the walkway. As they rounded the corner of the house, she went to the front door and flung it wide.

“Hey, there, how was it today?” she asked in a cheery voice. She’d learned right away
Geneva
did not like her therapy sessions, and she could be grumpy for hours afterward if she and Thomas didn’t find a way to lift her spirits.

“Horrible. Simply horrible,” the other woman grumbled. She set her walker at the bottom of the three steps she had to climb. “Thomas, stop hovering,” she snapped over her shoulder.

Seeing the man’s exasperated expression, Samirah gave him a sympathetic smile and wink over his wife’s head.

“Come on,
Geneva
, you know he’s only trying to help.” She retrieved the walker and set it inside the door.

“I can do it myself,”
Geneva
said.

She placed her hands on the black handrails Thomas installed after her surgery.
Geneva
had missed her footing on these steps and broken her hip when she fell. Samirah had heard Thomas say on several occasions if he’d had the railings installed in the first place, the accident wouldn’t have happened. Even though
Geneva
didn’t blame him, he was still filled with guilt.

Thomas continued to hover behind his wife as she grasped tightly onto the black metal with both hands and hoisted herself up one stair. “There you go,” he coaxed.

“
Thomas
,”
Geneva
warned.

Samirah stood back and watched the older woman, on alert to stabilize her in case she couldn’t make it. She had already made progress in the short time Samirah had been living with them. When she first moved in, it had taken both her and Thomas to help
Geneva
up the stairs. She could do it on her own now, but it was a slow, harrowing process.

Minutes later,
Geneva
stood on the threshold, breathing heavily from the effort. Tiny beads of perspiration had popped out on her upper lip. Her short, silver hair was damp around her forehead.

“Just a few more steps,” the older woman said to herself. She rested her hands on the walker and started the journey to the great room.

“Looking good,” Thomas added, to his wife’s exasperation.

Finally,
Geneva
breathed a heavy sigh and settled onto the sofa with a pillow at her back. Two large ceiling fans circulated cooling air throughout the room. “Smells good in here.”