style="font-size:15px;"> ‘I’m sure you can,’ he agreed, resting back against the wall.
CHAPTER THREE
DID Mac have to be so attractive when he smiled that lazy smile with his green eyes glinting? She was the last person on earth who knew how to deal with a man like that, Lucy told herself sensibly as she served the men lunch the next day. It wasn’t just Mac’s fierce looks, which set him apart in a world of bland, but the sexual energy he exuded. If she got too close to that she’d get scorched. She only had to glance in the mirror to know he wouldn’t be attracted to her.
‘Do you want me to help you clear the table?’
‘No,’ she exclaimed, feeling awakward. Mac’s smile was confident and sexy as he leaned back against the wall.
She was in a hurry to finish cleaning up. She had a date tonight. The honour of the chalet company was at stake. Her colleagues swore this was something only she could do for them.
‘Do you have some special routine you follow?’ Mac said, breaking into these thoughts. ‘Lucy?’
‘Rinse and stack?’ she said hopefully, glancing at the dishwasher. She could do with some help.
Mac’s lips pressed down in wry approval. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’
She was still open-mouthed when one of his friends poked his head round the door.
There was a moment of complete stillness as he took in the scene and then spoke to Mac. ‘We thought we might take a walk into town.’
Lucy breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Fine,’ Mac said, without breaking eye contact with her for a moment. ‘You go right ahead.’
He was staying with her?
He wanted to stay with Lucy. He wanted to know why she was in such a hurry, and why, when she had just served another fantastic meal, she was still lacking in confidence. Lucy wasn’t good at her job, she was outstanding—so why the angst?
‘Don’t you want to go into town?’ she hinted.
‘I’m in no hurry.’
He didn’t have to give Lucy a reason for staying in a chalet he owned. If he had he might have said he didn’t want her bolting while he was gone. The last thing he wanted was to have to replace her with some sex-starved Seasonnaire. But that was only part of the truth. The novelty of a quiet, self-effacing girl attracted him. She tried so hard, and had overcome the problems quickly and efficiently. He wanted her to grow in self-belief. He wanted to hear this quiet girl scream with pleasure when she lost control in bed.
She’d never had this much scrutiny from anyone, but with her calm head on she could understand that Mac would want to be sure she could hold things together for the week—though he could ring head office and have her replaced at once if he wasn’t satisfied with her work. Would that be too easy for him? He didn’t look like a man who embraced easy.
Dragging her thoughts from Mac, Lucy turned with relief to rinsing plates. But he was still there in her head. Mac with his glossy black hair and fabulous emerald eyes—Mac steeped in pure, potent power—Mac who unnerved her—deliciously. Unnerved her? She was completely out of sync.
‘Lucy?’
‘Yes?’ Her guilty gaze flew to Mac’s face.
‘You seem … distracted?’ he probed.
‘Distracted?’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘No … I was just planning tonight’s meal.’
‘Do you like the uniform?’ Mac enquired as she fiddled with it.
‘Yes, I do.’ She met his gaze, determined not to be put off her stroke. She didn’t wear the uniform with the same flair as, say, Fiona, but at least it made her feel anonymous and safe. ‘I feel … like I belong,’ she added as an afterthought, undoing her apron now they’d finished clearing up.
She had turned away to hang her apron on the peg behind the door and so she didn’t see Mac frown.
Then Tom came back to have another go at persuading Mac to go with him into town.
‘I’ll leave Omar here should you need anything.’
‘No, take him too,’ Lucy told Mac, thinking the invisible presence of a bodyguard she might stumble across at any moment almost as alarming as having Omar’s boss scrutinise her every move. ‘There are people on call at the chalet company if I need anything.’
‘In that case, see you later, Lucy.’
‘My pleasure,’ she added to an already empty room. If she had needed a reality check on how vital she was to Mac’s existence, she just got it.
As the front door shut behind the men she sank down on the nearest chair. She was trembling. She felt as if she’d run a marathon. She had. She had just completed the most important race of her life—to keep her job, though she wasn’t foolish enough to think that couldn’t change at any moment if Mac changed his mind.
She had to get back to work. Dreaming didn’t clean floors—plus she had some eggs to beat for tonight’s meal before covering them and leaving them in the fridge …
Staring round the gleaming kitchen as she cracked eggs in a bowl on autopilot, Lucy mulled over what she had learned about her guests. Aside from an overload of testosterone in the chalet, there were a lot of heavy gold rings in evidence engraved with family crests. Theo didn’t wear one, but Tom’s crest, along with Sheridan’s and William’s, marked them out as members of the British aristocracy. That was simple enough to work out, but what was she supposed to make of the fierce lion and the scimitar engraved on Mac’s ring?
The vision of an awe-inspiring desert landscape came to mind. But where had the green eyes come from? And such eyes … eyes that spoke of billowing Bedouin tents and the pearly light of dawn on the oasis as lovers woke and stretched their pliant limbs before making love again and again and again …
It took remarkably little imagination to take the hunk in jeans and place him in flowing robes. Hmm. Whisk suspended. As the picture drew clearer the whisk picked up pace again. The silk sheets on their Bedouin cushions would cling tenaciously to Mac’s powerful limbs, hinting at the brute strength underneath. But the sheets were covering him.
So she’d throw them off.
‘Are you going to beat that egg to death?’
She nearly hit the ceiling as Mac stopped her hand. She hadn’t realised he’d come back.
‘What has that poor egg done to you?’ He held her gaze in the most disturbing fashion.
‘I was just surprised when you came back.’
‘Is there a curfew in operation?’
‘Sorry.’ Her brain was addled. Mac in cool black performance gear, ready for the snow, was even more alarming than Mac in jeans. And he was still holding on to her hand.
‘Don’t
