The Erotic Secrets of a French Maid (5 page)

She looked at him with interest. "Yeah? What did you do when that happened?"

"Slept on friends' couches and only ate the free food at the pizza place where I worked. That was while I was in college."

Her mouth quirked. "I suppose I could live in my car and eat out of the refrigerators at the houses where I clean."

"I doubt it will come to that. Do you want some coffee?" His arousal had gone down, and he felt safe standing.

"Sure."

Emma followed him into the kitchen, bemused by the turn the day had taken. With each sucky thing that happened, she had felt herself sinking lower and lower under the weight of her situation. It hadn't helped that she had PMS, had stayed up until four in the morning working out and rejecting ideas for the train station, and all she'd eaten today was a banana.

Still, she'd thought she was holding up all right through car break-in, rejection letters, and bills until Daphne called, ecstatic over Derek's proposal that she move in with him. The moment Emma hung up, emotion had washed over her, unstoppable as the tide.

The last thing she'd expected was that Russ would witness her meltdown. The poor man had looked as horrified as she was.

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She bit her lip against a smile, thinking of his offer of a hug. He'd dealt with her emotions the best he could. He had no idea that taking him up on his offer had more to do with the chance to touch him than it did with her need for solace. Yet something about the simple physical contact had soothed her, and once her nose cleared she realized that she liked how he smelled. She'd have happily stayed in his embrace all day.

She took a seat on one of the tall stools at the kitchen island while Russ set about making coffee.

"There are times I'm almost nostalgic for that time of my life," he said.

"I'll trade you."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't take the memories from you. It makes success all the sweeter."

She put her elbows on the counter and rested her chin in her palms. "Success. I begin to wonder if I'll ever find it."

"What type of firms did you interview at?"

"I have a master's degree in architecture. I'm trying to find an internship position."

He stared at her. "A master's degree?"

"So you wonder why I'm cleaning houses, don't you?"

"Yes. In a word."

"It was supposed to be temporary." She held up her fingers, counting off: "The money is okay, it takes no training, you don't have to give notice when you quit, I get to see inside a lot of houses and see both bad and good design, I can arrange my schedule to allow for interviews, and the work doesn't take any brain power, so I can save my thinking energy for things I care about."

She dropped her chin back into her hands. "Only the money turns out to be not quite good enough to cover a perfect storm of bills and circumstance."

"Why not take a regular job, if that's what it takes to make ends meet?"

"I'm afraid of getting sidetracked. I'm afraid I'll get lost in some other career, and architecture will become the thing I always wanted to do but didn't. And by the time I try to go back to it, it'll be too late.

All my knowledge will be out of date and my ideas won't have evolved with the times. I won't be a wannabe anymore; I'll be a wanted-to-be."

"So what are you going to do?" he asked, setting a mug of coffee in front of her. "Cream, sugar?"

"Both, thanks." She stirred her coffee and noticed him giving the same treatment to his own coffee.

Heavy on the cream, heavy on the sugar, like a mug of hot coffee ice cream. "I don't know what I'm going to do. Try to get more work, I suppose." She sipped her coffee, thinking about Daphne moving in with Derek. Daphne said that Derek didn't want her to contribute toward his mortgage; that he wanted her there because he loved her, not because he wanted to save a few bucks.

"Do you know what I think sometimes?" Emma mused aloud.

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He raised a brow. "No."

"I sometimes think that it would suit me perfectly fine to be a man's mistress."

His brows went up.

"I'm not the only woman to ever think it, you know," she said in mock-seriousness. "And I don't mean
mistress
in the sense of a married man's lover. I mean that sometimes it seems like it would be a pretty good deal to be a man's kept woman. Have him pay my living expenses in exchange for on-demand sex."

She grinned. "Hey, I'm horny anyway. It would kill a couple birds with one stone."

"Could you
do
that? Emotionally?"

She shrugged, a half smile on her lips. He didn't think she was serious, did he? "Who knows? Maybe. If the situation was right."

Could

she really do it? Probably not. Not unless it was someone like Russ, whom she wanted to sleep with anyway. She made a show of tapping her fingertips along her jaw and tilted her head, looking up at the ceiling as if considering. "I'd have to like the guy, or at least respect him. And I'd have to find him physically attractive." She slid a glance toward him and smiled wickedly.

He looked stunned. "I thought women wanted love with sex. Marriage. Children."

She dropped her hands to the counter. "Oh, I do, but in a few years. Right now, I don't want my life to get swallowed up in a romantic relationship."

"Swallowed up?"

"I don't want my ambition to get diluted by attachment to a guy. I've got too much to do, too much to achieve, before I get wrapped up in a relationship."

The look on his face was one of utter befuddlement. "I don't think I've ever met a woman who felt the way you do about love and sex."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't take me seriously. The mistress stuff was just an idle thought.

Surely you've had impractical fantasies too?"

He laughed. "You just described the perfect fantasy of a lot of men. A beautiful young woman who wants regular sex from him but no emotional entanglements."

She chuckled, feeling a bit better. "Well, there you go. And speaking of going, don't you have to go to work?"

"I have some things to do in my home office; then I'll go in."

She slid off the bar stool. "Well, thanks for the coffee and sympathy. I have another house to do after yours, so I'd better get cracking."

She was happy for an excuse to get away from him.
God.
What was wrong with her?

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You want to get into his pants, that's what's wrong,

her inner voice said as she went to fetch her vacuum. She'd noticed in the past that when talking to an attractive guy, she gave away her interest by turning the conversation to sex. Never in an, "Oh baby, take me home tonight" way; she talked about sex under the guise of having a pseudointellectual discussion.

She'd mention a
Cosmo
poll or a factoid heard on TV related to sex, and ask his opinion. The words would spill out of her mouth before she consciously knew she liked a guy.

She shut her eyes, shaking her head in embarrassment. She'd outdone herself this time. She'd all but offered to be Russ's paid love slave. What must he think of her?

"Criminy,"

she said under her breath, borrowing a word from her deceased grandmother. The day just couldn't get any worse.

Russ answered e-mails in his home office, clearing the most pressing out of his in-box.

The distraction worked for a while, but then he heard Emma vacuuming the hall outside the office, working her way through the house toward his bedroom. He felt for her, trying to find her footing in the world, and wished he could help. Unfortunately, he didn't know any architects who he might ask to give her special consideration.

However, he did own an apartment downtown that he could rent to her for a pittance until she got back on her feet. He himself may have slept on the borrowed couches of friends, but he didn't like to think of a young woman doing that. Bad things could happen: a friend's boyfriend, drunk, finding Emma asleep and vulnerable and taking advantage of the opportunity. A single woman needed to keep herself out of danger.

His old apartment had been sitting empty for the three months since the last tenant moved out. He'd been meaning to put it on the market but hadn't gotten around to it.

He smiled. It was gratifying to have procrastination turn out to be fortuitous.

He could also hire her to cook and grocery shop, as she'd offered last week. He was sick of restaurant food and frozen dinners; it would be nice to have real meals at home. At least until she got on her feet.

Sooner or later she'd land the internship position she was looking for, and she'd drop the cooking and cleaning in an instant.

He imagined the the smile, the relief on her face when he made the offers.

Then he frowned.

She
would
be relieved, wouldn't she? Or would she be offended? She might think he thought she couldn't take care of herself, that he thought her a charity case. She might see him as overprotective, trying to take away her independence.

Dammit,

why wasn't anything ever easy?

Emma rapped on the door frame and stuck her head in. "Hi. I think I'm done, unless you want me to clean in here?"

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"No, I'd never find anything again. You're done already?" Crap! He hadn't had time to think out how to make his offer.

Emma took a step into the office. "Yeah, the place is spotless. But it was nearly spotless before I got here. Are you always so neat, or did you clean before I arrived?"

At the look of guilt on his face, Emma bit the inside of her lip, trying not to giggle. "I've seen boy mess before, you know. I have a brother."

He scrubbed his hand through his hair and sighed. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure." She stepped closer and leaned against the leather visitor chair in front of his desk. "What's up?"

He looked at her and then away, his jaw hard. "This is uncomfortable," he muttered.

The thought fluttered through her mind that he was going to fire her.
Oh God, no, not today of all days!

I shouldn't have broken down; I shouldn't have said all those stupid things!
He wouldn't be so heartless, would he, when he knew what a difficult position she was in?

He gestured toward the chair. "Sit. Please."

She slid over the arm and into place, hands in her lap like a good girl, afraid to say anything.

"I don't want to offend you, Emma, so please don't take this the wrong way. It's not a comment on your character."

Oh God, oh God, oh God...

"I have an apartment downtown, in the Belltown neighborhood. It's been empty for three months. I was thinking that you could stay there. And that I would take you up on your offer."

It took several seconds for her brain to make sense of his words. As they sank in, her heart seemed to stop.
He wanted her to be his mistress?

"I don't want you to think this is out of pity, or that I don't respect your independence."

Her heart lurched into motion again.
He was serious! Oh God, he was serious. What was she
supposed to say?

"You're not offended, are you?" he asked warily.

She blinked. "No, I don't think so. I mean, I offered, right? And it would obviously help me out. A lot."

She chewed her Up.
"If I
said yes, how often would you want..." She trailed off, finishing the question with her eyebrows.

"I don't think I need it every night. Maybe, oh, Monday, Wednesday, Friday? With something big on Friday to last me through the weekend? You'd have the weekends off, of course."

"Of course!" Was she really having this discussion? "Er, what type of'big' did you mean, for Fridays?"

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He shrugged. "Big. You know, lots of it. I'll leave the details up to you."

"Ah. Are there any particular, um ..
.flavors
that you prefer? It might help me to have a starting point."

"I'm happy with most anything, so feel free to use your imagination." He smiled, meeting her eyes. "It sounds like you're willing?"

His warm gaze went straight to her loins, despite his insane proposition. She never would have guessed he would be up for such an arrangement. Never! Yet he'd said himself that she'd described the perfect male fantasy.

She could stand up and slap him, then storm out of his house. But it wasn't what she wanted to do. What she wanted—against all common sense—was to say yes.

"I need to think about this," she said instead and shifted in her chair, distressingly aware of the arousal pooling down low, imagining him doing wicked things to her body three times a week.

"The choices will be all mine?" she asked, for clarification. "You'll take what I give you?"

"If that's the way you want it, although I'd appreciate it if you'd consider requests."

"Of course I would. I'd want you to be happy, after all. Isn't that the point?"

"I'd like you to enjoy it, too," he said. "I shouldn't like it to be a dreary chore for you. So be creative.

Explore. Try new things. I'm up for it."

"Apparently so." She smiled, but he didn't appear to get the joke.

"You're proving very difficult to hire for a position you suggested yourself," he said with a touch of impatience.

"What do you expect? I've never done it before! I mean I've
done
it, but never for money. Never like this."

"It will be awkward for us both at first, I imagine."

"Yeah, I think so," she said, relieved that he felt the same way.

"Just like it's awkward discussing payment."

"Very awkward.
Extremely
awkward."