loudly in the air.
“Um. Sorry, Mr. Cress. I thought you were already gone for the day,” she said, moving quickly toward the door.
“Monica. Wait. I didn’t know you were here either,” he called behind her in explanation.
“I’ll wait outside,” she said, her words rushing together with the same quick pace of her heart.
As soon as she closed the door, she stepped over to press her back against the wall and looked up at the tray ceiling with the brocade design, a nod to the Victorian era in which the home was first constructed. So delicate and ornate, she thought, trying to focus on anything but the sight of the plush towel wrapped around Gabe.
Monica remembered that night on the roof so very well.
She shook her head, now focusing her gaze outside the glass to the swaying emerald leaves of the towering tree in the backyard. She and Gabe had fallen back into their cordiality, but her awareness of him had not been lessened by the coupling. If anything, it made it all the worse. Simple touches—as she handed him something or passed him in a hall—sent her pulse racing. Her dreams at night were consumed by him and their passion.
In a perfect world—where she was not an employee and had lineage and wealth of her own—she would more than gladly have him as her lover. But that was not her truth, and although it hurt her pride and stoked insecurities, she knew that one night had been all Gabe Cress would ever desire from his family’s housekeeper.
So move on, Mo the Maid. Move on. There is nothing but heartache for you at the end of this road. Just like before.
She winced. Thinking of her ex, James, at a time like this was insult on top of injury.
The door to Gabe’s bedroom opened. She pushed off the wall to stand tall, clasping her hands and pasting a blank expression on her face.
He exited.
And, of course, he looked handsome in a lightweight tan suit that was perfectly tailored to his frame.
“Thank you, Monica,” he said, his tone indicating nothing more than the cordiality one would give a stranger. “Have a good day.”
“You, as well, Mr. Cress,” she said, matching his politeness with a nod.
She made the mistake of looking up to find his grayish-blue eyes resting on her.
Their gazes locked.
She felt drawn to him and felt the now-familiar hum that gave voice to their chemistry. She knew he felt it, as well. Several times over the last few weeks, she had looked up to find his gaze just shifting away from her.
Setting a trap, whether he meant to do so or not. Fueling her longing.
Monica forced herself to look away.
Moments later, the sound of his Italian leather shoes tapping against the hardwood floors as he walked away was a relief to her senses. Rubbing her hands against the front of her black uniform pants, she walked over to the glass wall and looked down at the backyard. She squinted and leaned in to better see Lucas walking away from Jillian, who stood by the garden of fresh herbs in her white chef’s coat.
Was the youngest Cress brother Jillian’s secret lover, who wrote the note?
The taste of you still lingers on my tongue.
She looked on as Jillian watched Lucas’s retreat, shook her head and bent her frame to pick herbs to place in the basket at her feet. Bitten by curiosity she knew she should resist, Monica rushed across the wide den to the stairwell, where her feet ate up the steps like she was trying to win a race. Reaching the first floor, she paused upon seeing Gabe and Lucas reaching the front door and didn’t move until they exited.
Monica had just reached the dining room at the rear of the first floor when Jillian entered with her basket on her arm. Monica eyed the tall and slender bronzed beauty with her auburn curly hair pulled up into a topknot. The chef’s tortoiseshell spectacles didn’t hide the long and thick lashes framing her round brown eyes. Her cheekbones were high and her chin narrow, giving her face a heart shape that brought emphasis to her full pouty mouth, which was painted crimson.
Jillian was pretty. And smart. And talented.
Just which of the Cress men had found it hard to ignore her appeal?
“Good morning, Chef Jillian,” Monica said with a warm smile. “Busy?”
Jillian chuckled. “Good morning. And yes. Always,” she said. “Lucas just threw a last-minute, picnic-lunch request at me for him and a