she told the flitty little birds who clung to the side of the cage in greeting. ‘Why is that such a stretch?’
‘Beats me,’ said an amused male voice from the direction of the kitchen, and Ruby glanced around, eyes widening at the splendid vision that had just presented for her perusal. A raven-haired blue-eyed stranger stood just inside the terrace doors, wearing nothing but a snowy-white towel that rode low on his hips and clung lovingly to well-packed thighs. His chest was bare, his shoulders impressive. Not an everyday sight in penthouse sixty-one.
‘Who are you?’ she said as she straightened from her crouching position, the roll of bird-dropping stained newspaper still firmly in hand.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ he murmured with a grin that put Ruby in mind of mischief and at least one other thing she really shouldn’t be thinking about if this was indeed one of Russell’s sons.
‘I’m Russell West’s social organiser,’ she said, ignoring that lazy smile as best she could. ‘And you must be one of his sons. Trouble is, which one?’ She let her gaze drift once more over his very fine form. ‘One of you I wasn’t expecting until tomorrow. The other one I wasn’t expecting at all.’
‘I could be the pool boy.’
‘Yes, and I have absolutely no doubt that you’d make an excellent one, but alas there is no pool.’ Ruby continued to study him. ‘You’d think I’d be able to tell the difference between a mission-fatigued special intelligence officer and a feckless rogue by now, but you know what?’ Ruby shook her head. ‘You could be either.’
‘I’ve never had an insult wrapped so skilfully inside a compliment before,’ he murmured, that devilish gaze of his not leaving her face. ‘You must practise.’
‘And you must be Damon,’ she guessed. ‘Russell’s youngest.’
Ruby dumped the soiled newspaper into the mulching bin, peeled off her gloves and brought forth her manners and her hand. ‘I’m Ruby Maguire. I’m looking after Christmas for your father.’
‘I see.’ Damon West had a nice touch. Firm but not bone-crunching. A man fully aware of his own strength. ‘How’s that working out for you?’
‘So-so,’ she said and took back her hand. ‘Your sisters are due in on flights tomorrow afternoon. I’m afraid there’s no word from your brother.’
Ruby watched a shadow steal across Damon West’s well-cut face. She was an only child with a raft of step-siblings she tended to avoid. Family politics was not her forte and she had no intention of getting involved in the West family’s woes. ‘I gather you’ve made yourself at home?’ There were half a dozen bedrooms in the marble delight, each with en-suite. ‘You’ve been here before, right? You don’t need the grand tour?’
‘Right.’
‘Coffee?’ Ruby headed for the wondrous stainless-steel-and-glass kitchen and set to washing her hands in the sink there. ‘Tea? Cold drink? I’m hoping it’s too early for gin but you never know in the tropics.’
‘It’s too early for gin,’ Damon said and padded over to the other side of the counter.
‘Coffee would be good. Espresso if it’s an option.’
‘It’s an option.’
‘So … Ruby. You live here?’ he asked just a little too casually as she set up the coffee machine and took a cup from the cupboard.
‘Hardly. No one lives here, unless you count your father sleeping here on occasion and entertaining here every so often. I feed the fish and the birds, water the plants, pick up your father’s dry-cleaning, stock the fridge, organise housekeeping and gardening and prepare for house guests.’
‘Has this always been your lot in life?’
‘No. In another life I was a law graduate working my way through the corporate law system but that all fell through when my father the investment banker decided to go to the Caymans rather than to prison. It was a good call on his part. The prisons here aren’t very nice.’ Ruby opened the fridge and reached for the sugar bowl. ‘Sweetener?’
‘You’re Harry Maguire’s daughter?’
‘Guilty.’ She set the sugar down in front of him and leaned forward, elbows on the counter, wondering just what it was about this man that made her want to poke at him.
‘I’d never have taken you for someone who reads the finance pages?’
‘Sweetheart, your daddy skimming eight hundred and seventy-two million dollars in point-one-cent increments and then disappearing into the ether didn’t only make the finance pages. He’s quite the crime star.’ Damon crooked his head in what Ruby decided was reluctant admiration. ‘So, where is he now?’
‘That’s the eight-hundred-and-seventy-two-million-dollar question, Damon. And truthfully, I have no idea.’
‘You weren’t close?’
‘We were very close.’ Ruby dropped her gaze to the glossy countertop and gave him the truth. ‘I grew up in a family of two. Me and my father and a never-ending raft of nannies, butlers, cooks and tutors. I worshipped the ground he walked on. Now I don’t.’
‘Because he broke the law? Or because he left you behind?’ asked Damon West gently and Ruby looked at him, really looked at him, and she didn’t see a charming wastrel any more. She saw a man who knew his way around the dark places of a person’s psyche. One who seemed entirely comfortable dealing in shades of grey.
‘The law’s a slippery thing, Damon.’
‘So it is.’ Damon leaned across the counter as if to meet her halfway.
Hard not to let her gaze linger on his mouth but she managed. Hard not to enjoy the potent mix of lazy intensity in his eyes and wonder whether or not it would carry through into the bedroom. A betting woman would have to go with yes.
‘Do you have any plans for the day?’ she asked, for it was definitely time to change the subject.
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. You. Me.’ She had his absolute attention. ‘Christmas gift shopping for your sisters.’
He drew back abruptly and Ruby smiled, wide and warm. ‘Gotcha,’ she whispered, rocking forward ever so slightly before turning back to the coffee maker to retrieve his espresso and set the machine up for a long black for herself. ‘Do you really think I can afford to proposition the adored son of the only man in Hong Kong who’ll employ me? Trust me, I’m not that reckless.’
‘I’m not that adored.’
‘Yes, you are, Damon. You’d only have to listen to the way your father talks about you to realise that. He speaks of you with a mixture of love, frustration, pride and respect, and I have to confess: the first couple are what I’d expect of most fathers, but that last one … the fact that one of the most influential money movers in the world respects you … Makes me wonder what you’ve done to earn it.’
‘Keep wondering,’ he murmured. ‘I’m all in favour of keeping a fine mind
