She cleared her throat as he tucked into the colcannon, leaf salad and charred sea bass.
“Mr. King, is there anything else I might be doing here? To earn my vast salary.”
The familiar frown formed. “How much am I paying you?”
He didn’t know? Seriously?
Ah, grand, Roisin! Now he’ll know he’s overpaying you. Why didn’t you keep your big mouth shut?
One enquiring eyebrow arched, waiting for her reply.
“Five thousand dollars a month,” she managed. “Plus the use of the downstairs apartment.”
“Five grand?” He seemed surprised. “That’s all?”
All? Five grand a month was an exorbitant fee for a glorified cook.
“So, Brett’s become a tight-ass in his old age,” he murmured, but the quirk in his sensual lips had her pulse rate accelerating. She’d never seen him smile. It did extraordinary things to his face, making his harsh, masculine beauty even more compelling.
“I also got a $500 bonus after my first day,” she added, not wanting to get Mr. Charles into any trouble.
“What was the bonus for?” he asked, and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Again.
“Something about managing not to get fired,” she blurted out.
“Oh yeah?” he said, his tone so low she couldn’t tell whether he was angry or not.
She nodded, having no difficulty at all keeping her mouth shut now. All the reasons why she’d come within a nanosecond of being sent packing that day ran through her head on a hyperactive loop…and triggered the unwelcome jolt of awareness.
He shoveled in a final mouthful, chewed and swallowed, then pushed the plate across the breakfast bar. The tension stretched tight between them as his gaze remained locked on hers. Was he thinking of their first meeting too? And all the reasons why he should fire her after all?
“Five hundred doesn’t seem like enough,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear him. “After the way I behaved.”
Her cheeks glowed, the almost apology so unexpected she had no idea what to say.
She stood dumbfounded, aware of him, everywhere, when he leaned across the breakfast bar and hooked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear.
“The pancakes alone were worth five hundred bucks,” he said, withdrawing his hand. The strange yearning pounded painfully in her chest. What was it about this man that made her so aware of him? The compulsion to lean into the fleeting caress, to press her lips to the hard line of his, to trace her tongue across the tight seam and see if she could make him kiss her back.
She blinked and jerked back, breaking the spell.
What the heck, Roisin? Are you mad now? Stop staring at him.
Nate King was her boss, and so far out of her league it was ridiculous.
He was a sophisticated man of the world with a string of high-profile lovers before his kidnapping…
And you’re still a virgin, you eejit. As if you’d know how to satisfy a man like him.
Having five older brothers “watching out for her”—i.e., scaring the life out of every boy who so much as glanced her way—had made it all but impossible to get past a first date in Ireland all through her teenage years. And ever since she’d landed in New York—determined to spread her wings without her brothers breathing down her neck—she’d been far too busy earning a living to have the grand love affair she’d planned.
“Thank you,” she managed around the dryness in her throat.
He rubbed his hand over his chest, drawing her attention to the way the cotton T-shirt clung to his pecs, defining each tantalizing bulge. “I’ll tell Brett to double your salary,” he said, still watching her with that dark intensity.
Could he see how close she had come to attempting to kiss him?
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