Standing aside, I gesture him into the foyer with my chin.
“I suppose if you want to come in for a minute and get the lay of the land, that’s OK. The pool is straight through the kitchen and out the back sliding glass door; it’s open. You can go check it out and see if it’s suitable for what you have planned for me.”
Luke’s quizzical gaze goes through the kitchen and out toward the pool, then he swings back toward me.
“Sorry,” he says, “I think you have me confused with someone else. I’m Maid for You.”
“Excuse me?” I say, taken aback. Did he say he was made for me? Yes, yes you certainly are, big fella.
He stammers, “The…the house cleaning agency?” I watch his pronounced Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Embarrassment flashes across his face in a pink flush. It’s adorable. He’s flustered. My skin heats beneath my bra, making me think about the sexy red push-up bra and matching panties I chose to wear today to give myself a boost.
Careful, Stella.
I have to stop myself before I say something incredibly dumb. Like, how I was not expecting a man. Because, why couldn’t I have a male housekeeper? More to the point, why couldn’t I have a stone cold fox of a most-likely struggling actor as a housekeeper?
Part of me is relieved he clarified the “made for you” statement, but another lonelier part of me is a little sad that’s not what he meant. Although I’m not looking for a relationship, I can’t deny someone as hot as him could really take the edge off my horniness.
My mouth begins to form an apology for the mix-up, but no sound comes. I suddenly find myself in dire need of water. I power through anyway.
“I’m so sorry. You must think I’m completely bonkers. I thought you were a personal trainer who found me because of my internet searches. Of course! Oh, I’m such a scatterbrain, I forgot you were coming today. Never mind me, I’m Stella Monroe.”
Luke Jeffries takes my offered hand and sandwiches it between both of his. He chuckles, and at first I don’t understand why. Then I realize my blunder. We’ve already shaken hands. What is wrong with me? But he doesn’t let go, and even his little laugh doesn’t seem to be mocking at all.
Everything I’ve seen so far about this man threatens to chip away at the stone walls I’ve built around my heart. Dudes this hot are not supposed to be likable. Just when I’m tossing that thought around in my head to see if it sticks, he lets out a funny, wheezy laugh that’s so genuine I want to hug him.
My own defenses are shaken a bit more when he says my name back to me. “Stella Monroe.” He blinks softly as he says it. I could be mistaken, but I think his deep voice also turned a little softer, saying my name.
His full lips form a kind, patient smile while he waits on me for something. My body wants to lean in.
But wait, that’s not what we’re doing here.
He’s here to clean your house, dummy. Not make out with you.
And he’s going to want to make out with you even less when he sees the state of your home. Talk about scatterbrained. This guy is about to see the real me, and it ain’t nearly as pretty as I look in this Dior suit.
I take a deep breath, gird up my courage and say, “Good. OK. Let me show you where everything is.”
First stop is the pantry, where I keep all the cleaning supplies. “Since my days are often long, I don’t keep food in there. I usually end up eating takeout at the office, which allows me to be a bit of a cleaning supply hoarder,” I admit.
I show him where he can find all the sponges, mops, rubber gloves, and basically anything needed to clean a house.
I look over at him while his eyes scan the room. He seems a bit overwhelmed.
“Don’t worry, I am not expecting you to use all of it; just use what you prefer. I like to keep it well stocked.”
Luke is still staring at my stockpile as I leave the pantry to show him the bathrooms, main dining room, living room, and, upstairs, the guest bedrooms and attached bathrooms.
“Now, you don’t have to clean my room or my office or this bedroom,” I say, pointing to the only door that’s closed upstairs. “Obviously, it’s a mess that I have to deal with at some point.”
As we stand in the hall, I watch Luke’s eyes travel from floor to ceiling of my nearby bedroom, eyeing the stacks of clothes, piles of books, shelves full of paper. Now, it’s my turn to get flustered, though I don’t feel any judgment from him. Instead my face feels hot because my messes are a source of shame for me.
“I’d really like to clean it, if you would let me. No extra charge.”
His voice is tender, almost affectionate. What is going on here?
I shake my head and cross my arms. Due to their size, my breasts almost always rest on my forearms when I try to look bossy like this. This physical contact, combined with his intense, concerned stare, causes my nipples to feel tight, aroused under the lace that barely separates them from my silk blouse.
“Why would you do that?”
Luke makes a noise like an uncertain grizzly bear nudging at a beehive—eager for the honey but scared to wake the bees.
“Well, this isn’t actually my calling. I’m an out-of-luck actor with plenty of time on my hands and I like to help people.”
I nod my head. I bite back the urge to say, Of course you’re an actor. I mean, look at you.
He continues, “And anyway, it looks like you could use some help. I mean, how do you sleep in here? Or do anything else for that matter.”
My eyes pop at him in surprise. “I don’t know what you mean by that. I sleep fine.”
Luke puts up his hands, semi-defensively. “It seems like a difficult place to unwind, to shake off the stress of the day with your…significant other.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not married.”
He shrugs. “Boyfriend, then, or casual hookup.”
Suddenly my hands feel warm and sweaty. “Feels like you’re asking me how I can have sex in this room.”
“Whoa. Not at all.”
“Well, I don’t,” I say. “I haven’t had sex in this house at all, in fact. I only moved in about a year ago to care for my now-deceased mom and dad. Is that what you want to know?”
I could fire him on the spot for implying anything about my sex life. On behalf of all women, I probably should.
But the way he said it didn’t feel creepy. Oh, he was definitely trying to figure out if I had a boyfriend or not. But I could tell the “significant other” comment was not at all meant to be weird.
I let my question hang in the air. I’m totally going to let him off the hook, but eh, maybe a part of me likes to watch men squirm a little bit.
Chapter Three
Luke
How do I dig myself out of this?
If I were a more quick-witted, extroverted man, I could try to finesse my way out of this awkward conversation with a one-liner. But Oscar Wilde I am not.
“Well, I uh,” I start. Oh great. Now I’m flustered. But then, I think back to the pile of coffee mugs in the sink, the laundry room door with mounds of laundry in baskets on the floor plus a dozen delicate bras hanging on drying racks, and the dust on the kitchen light fixture. I relax and try to save myself. “Once I get done with this place, you’re gonna be entertaining people in every room in the house.”