Library

Chapter Eleven

Service

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K YLE WAS WAITING IN the dining room. He glanced up from his place at the enormous table, his face lighting up as she approached.

“Amy.” His gaze crawled over her body, devouring the look of the skin she had on show. “Thank you for wearing the outfit I selected for you.”

“I think ‘outfit’ rather overstates things.” She glanced down at herself, conscious of the first shoots of embarrassment rising to her face, but the confidence she’d carried from the bedroom emboldened her. “But, thank you, sir. I’ll play along.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” He smirked. “Cook has set the table for two, but this can, I think, become one of your tasks going forward.”

Setting the table was definitely a maid’s role and not one usually associated with a housekeeper, but she pushed down her rising reservations.

“A permanent task, sir?”

She couldn’t decide if the naughty dress and the evening ahead were indicators of how he expected their working relationship to continue, but equally, the dancing butterflies in her belly conveyed how mystified she felt should his answer be affirmative.

Kyle had turned her head from that first instance at the grocery store and her feet had hardly touched the ground since. That, she accepted, was his power. Not only was he obviously rich, but he was still such an enigma. A wealthy, powerful mystery.

“Perhaps.” He reached for the glass of red wine at his place and lifted it to his lips. “I like my staff to be flexible.”

Evidently. Her hand fell to her skirt to prove the point. A less ‘flexible’ housekeeper would have refused to wear the demeaning attire, but then, that housekeeper might not have found themselves so effortlessly turned on around their new employer.

“As per clause seven?” She pushed the point as she walked toward him.

The place at the table to his right had been set with the same fancy cutlery as his, but she noted how there was no glass of wine for her.

His eyes gleamed as he sipped at the rich, burgundy-colored drink. “That’s right.” He placed his glass down. “Well remembered.”

“I hadn’t expected this.” She signaled to what she was wearing, distinctly cognizant that, even though she found the attire bizarrely titillating, it was still an audacious thing for him to ask her to wear. “No wonder you kept the clause’s wording so vague.”

“I wouldn’t have asked it of just anyone.” Kyle chuckled. “But you seem to share my impulses, Amy. I have a good feeling about you.”

She had good feelings, too. The warm ones pulsing between her legs were the main sensations, but she was determined to keep her lust in check while she was on duty. Much though a part of her longed for the reality of her daydreams, another larger part of her was a realist. Kyle wanted her dressed this way for a reason. He would have a plan, and she needed to stay present to ensure it was something she was ultimately comfortable with.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir.” She gripped the back of the chair that would be hers, aware of the way his focus fell to her cleavage.

The younger version of her might have been worried about his opinion or upset by his ogling, but the nearly fifty-year-old one registered neither of those responses. She welcomed his attention while simultaneously dismissing it.

“What’s for dinner?”

His brow rose as though he hadn’t expected her to ask. “Wait and see. Chef should have the first course ready in—”

His words were drowned out by an enormous clap of sound emanating from the hall. Jaw dropping, Amy turned toward the noise. It took a further few seconds for her brain to comprehend that the impressive gong she’d seen had just been struck.

“Ah, there he is.” Kyle’s tone was full of triumph. “Run along to the vestibule and collect the first course.”

Run along?

She glanced at him briefly, wondering why he insisted on continuously condescending her.

Perhaps he enjoyed the authority? Although, looking around, everything in his life seemed to be defined by that experience. As she moved toward the side door that led to the small hall dividing the dining room and the kitchen, though, she was struck by the more significant matter.

Perhaps she enjoyed his authority, too?

She squeezed the muscles of her sex as her heels clicked on the dark tiles. Unused to wearing any real type of heel, she considered each step she took carefully, eager not to slip or trip and well aware that her boss’s attention was burning into her back. His scrutiny and the effect it had on her body indicated what should have been clear by then—she did appreciate his authority, even if she failed to understand it and rarely wanted to let it show.

Pushing the door open, she teetered past the threshold to find Leonard waiting for her. His eyes widened as she stepped inside the room, his piggy eyes devouring the way she was dressed.

“Kyle has you all dressed up, does he, lass?” Leonard snorted.

“I’m here for the food.” She hoped her curt tone revealed her feelings about his cutting tone. She had enough invested in reading Kyle’s demeanor and had no interest in engaging with the overweight guy he paid to cook for him.

“I bet.” Leonard’s stare lingered on her breasts. “He does have a way with women, that man.”

“It’s not my place to discuss Mr. Kyle’s personal life.” She folded her arms across her chest but only succeeded in shoving her cleavage together.

“Good little maid.” He laughed, his amusement amplifying her discomfort. “The question is, what is your place dressed like that?”

Leonard raised a good point, but it wasn’t a conversation she was prepared to have with the odious chef.

“That’s none of your damn business.” She didn’t like what Leonard was insinuating.

Even if she was attracted to Kyle, their interaction had nothing to do with him. She’d have to talk to Kyle about his cook’s overzealous attention if she was to stay long term.

“Take the first course.” Apparently unflustered by her rebuke, he gestured to the table between them, where two plates of beautifully presented food sat waiting. “The plates are hot.”

Leonard turned, still sniggering as he paced back toward his domain. He was halfway through the door when he threw the final comment her way. “The main course will be ready in thirty minutes.”

“Right.”

She reached for the cloth waiting by the plates and, stretching the fabric between both hands, she collected the dishes and carried them slowly into the dining room.

“Finally.” Kyle swilled his wine around his glass. “I’m hungry.”

Amy’s gaze flitted to his, her feet pausing to ensure she didn’t drop the plates. “Your chef is a rude man.”

“Leonard has been with me a long time,” Kyle said, as though it explained or justified the cook’s behavior. “I bet he appreciated what you were wearing.”

“He’s vile.” She edged closer to where he was sitting, placing a plate down on his scarlet-covered dining mat.

“He’s jealous,” Kyle corrected, admiring her cleavage as she pushed the plate toward him. “I’ve known him for more than a decade, and he’s never so much as had a girlfriend.”

I can’t imagine why.

“He’s married to his work,” Kyle went on. “But he is good at it.”

“Yes, well...” She had to admit the brunch he’d served had been tremendous, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be treated with such disrespect. “I’m just saying.”

“You two will learn to get along,” he vowed as she placed down her own plate. “If we want you to stay, that is.”

“We?” She twisted to face him.

“You and I,” he clarified. “This is only day one of your trial, remember?”

How could she forget? Was there any other reason she’d be wobbling around on heels and wearing such risqué attire? If there was, she couldn’t think of one. Even if she had met Kyle personally, without the offer of employment, she would never have conceived of wearing such a dress.

“I remember, sir.” She grabbed her chair and eased it back across the floor.

“You will ask permission before you’re seated at my table, Amy.”

She blinked at him, unsure why he would demand such an unreasonable request. “But I ate here with you earlier, sir.”

Her mortified blush was growing again, her embarrassment all the greater now she was trussed up for him. Yes, she looked pretty good in the outfit, but the reason for wearing it wasn’t lost on her. It was for Kyle.

It was all for Kyle.

“That was before you were my maid. Maids are here to clean and serve. They will ask permission prior to sitting at the master’s table.” He picked up his cutlery. “Ah, pigeon. One of my favorites.”

His most recent request definitely stretched her enthusiasm, but staring at him, she realized he was deadly serious. If she wanted to sit down and actually eat the meal she’d been ordered to bring him, she’d need to ask for permission.

“Please, may I sit down and eat?” She pushed the words out in one long, harassed breath, hoping it would be enough, but really... she should have known better.

“Not like that.” Kyle placed down his knife and fork. “Stand in front of me in that thrilling outfit and ask nicely .”

He pointed to the spot he meant as his focus fell on his starter.

Thrilling?

“You really want me to do this?” Suddenly, she wanted to run up the stairs and rip the outfit off. Why had she been foolish enough to wear it, and what had she expected him to do when she did?

The unrelenting questions ricocheted around her mind, taunting her.

This was what she got for playing his perverted game, and it was what she merited. By playing straight into his hands, she’d already handed over a portion of her dignity and self-respect. Kyle was only helping himself to the rest.

She lingered on the idea of bolting. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned the route back up the stairs to her room and how quickly she could change back into her comfortable joggers, but she didn’t move a muscle. Kyle was being a prick, but his money still represented the best chance she had at clearing her debt and moving on in the world. She clung to that hope, the way a shipwrecked person at sea might cling to the remnants of their broken vessel. It was all she had.

“Yes, Amy.” His fork collected a piece of meat he’d sliced from the pigeon’s breast. “And you’d do well to address me properly.”

Swallowing back whatever remained of her pride, she edged closer in his direction. “Please, sir.”

An image of the black-and-white version of Oliver Twist that she’d seen as a child filled her head. The main character had needed to beg to survive in that book, but she’d never related to his plight until that moment.

“Yes.” The weight of his attention landed on her, his blue eyes spearing her flaming skin.

“Please, may I sit at the table and eat with you?”

She wasn’t even hungry anymore, but he had her now, regardless. Whether she wanted the pigeon and was offered anything else to eat or not, she was suspended there by the sheer force of his knowing glare.

“You may.” He gestured to the food. “Your pigeon is getting cold.”

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