The Ruthless Gentleman Read online Louise Bay

Categories Genre: Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Louise Bay Advertisement1

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“That’s helpful,” he said, glancing around. “And you have the keys?”

I pulled a key ring out of my pocket and passed it over.

“Thank you.” He offered me the palm of his large hand and I caught an earthy, masculine scent. The outside of him—the suit, the hair, even his walk—was smooth, but the way he was so guarded in what he said, so private and measured . I couldn’t help but feel there were things below the surface I wanted to know.

I dropped the keys into his hand, careful not to touch him, and he clenched his fist tight.

“I don’t want other crew members down here, and no one else has keys to the rooms except me, right?”

I nodded and turned to head out, not wanting to meet his eye. I had another set of keys nestling on my key ring. The captain had mentioned that Hayden wanted to be the only one with keys but there was no way that was going to happen. Moss had instructed me to keep a set. I hated to lie, but I did what the captain told me to do.

“The master suite is next door. I presume that’s where you’ll want to sleep, but obviously you can choose any of the other four bedrooms.” I opened the door of the master bedroom. “Let me show you.” It was my favorite room aboard the Athena. It was luxurious but felt really fresh with crisp, white linens, a silver-gray carpet and velvet headboard, not to mention the freestanding tub for two and shower that could fit four. It was the kind of room I’d like to disappear into with a lover or my husband for a romantic week away if I were chartering a yacht or if I was a guest of someone like Hayden Wolf.

But I wasn’t chartering this yacht and I wasn’t anyone’s guest. I was the help. A maid and a waitress.

“Shall I unpack for you?” Eric had already placed Mr. Wolf’s bags on the luggage racks.

He frowned. “I can unpack my own suitcases,” he replied, as if me offering to do it for him was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard.

“Whatever you prefer. The closet space is here. If you need anything ironed, just let me or one of the other interior crew know.” I didn’t feel as if I were doing enough.

“You normally unpack for guests?” he asked as he unzipped his first case.

“Absolutely,” I replied. “It would be my pleasure.” Surely he was used to that kind of service. Even if he’d not been on a yacht before, he must have stayed at the best hotels. And he was British. Didn’t rich, British people have butlers and shit?

He turned to me and blinked, his long eyelashes sweeping down and up. “Your pleasure?” The corners of his mouth twitched, and his gravelly tone sent a wave of goose bumps across my skin.

I nodded, trying to keep my breathing even. “Absolutely. I want you to enjoy your stay.”

He gave a half chuckle. “I can manage, but thank you.”

Was he laughing at me? I ignored his amusement. “Chef Neill is preparing lunch for you. Can I get you a drink in the meantime?”

“I have a call to make. Then I’ll come up and find you.”

“You can press the buzzer by your bed and—”

“You’ll appear in a puff of smoke like my fairy godmother?” He raised his eyebrows.

I started to reply, but before I got my words out he clasped my shoulder with his large hand. “Thank you. I’m fine. I’m going to make my call.”

I tried to keep my voice at a normal pitch. “I’ll leave you to it.” I slipped out of his room and paused at the bottom of the stairs. My shoulder was still hot where he’d touched me, and I placed my palm over my shirt, trying to retain the feel of his hand. I couldn’t figure this guy out. He was incredibly handsome but here alone. Clearly wealthy but didn’t seem to be used to being waited on. And worse, he seemed to find my desire to help him amusing.

He might think my job was worthless, and maybe it was compared to whatever he did, but I’d show him how great service could make his life so much easier. This trip might be all business for him, but I knew I could make him enjoy it just a little more than he’d expected to.

Four

Hayden

Abandoning my office for eight weeks to float about on the Med seemed counterintuitive. My instincts said I should be back in London, fighting for the Phoenix deal. But my instincts hadn’t been serving me well this last twelve months, and here I was preparing for battle from a superyacht.

I unzipped one of three pieces of luggage I’d brought with me and pulled out a satellite phone. Were people really so lazy and entitled that they had someone unpack for them?


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