The Billionaire's Secret - Excerpt
Power & Passion series
“What the hell is—” Paulo started, only to skid on the slick surface and nearly go down. His arms pinwheeled as he fought to keep his balance, and he barely managed to stay upright before he landed flat on his ass.
When he straightened, his glare swept the room. Very quietly, but with a tone that carried menace, he asked, “Why is the floor covered in soap?”
From the corner nook, Madelaine emerged, dripping bubbles down both arms, a scrub brush clutched in her hand like a weapon she wasn’t sure how to use.
When Paulo’s dark eyes swiveled toward her, Madelaine knew she had to explain. Fast! “I’m sorry!” she gasped, rushing over to him. “I was trying to…well, clean the floor.”
Paulo blinked at her, then at the bubbles clinging to her skin. He felt like he’d stepped into another dimension. “You’re…cleaning the floor?”
“Yes,” she admitted with a sigh, dropping the brush into a bucket he hadn’t even noticed. Her wide blue eyes locked on him, earnest, shining—and he forgot what words meant for a moment.
“Why the hell are you cleaning?”
“I…want to learn?” she said carefully, as if bracing for his laughter.
He stared at her, completely at a loss. Paulo Ruffino had stared down killers, dirty cops, politicians with blood on their hands. But this—this baffled him. His brain snagged on her words. “Learn? Learn what?”
“A skill,” she said simply, almost defiantly.
Something in her tone made him bristle. “What the hell do you need to clean for? You’re not a servant.” His voice came out harsher than he intended, laced with indignation on her behalf.
She straightened, bubbles sliding down her arms, her chin lifting in stubborn resolve. “Because I need to do something. I can’t run forever. I need to learn, to be useful. To learn a skill.”
Paulo froze. She wasn’t joking. There was hope in her eyes, determination in her stance. For her, this wasn’t about a mop or a floor. It was about clawing for independence, for relevance.
Standing up, he swiped at the back of his slacks, grimacing at the wet spots on his butt and the back of his thighs. And his shoulders.
Shaking his head, he moved, carefully, toward her. “You don’t need to clean the floors, Madelaine,” he growled, unaware that his fists had curled at his sides. “I have staff for that. Very adequate staff.”
“Yes, but—” she began, eyes wide, trying to explain.
He cut the air with a sharp gesture, silencing her. “Madelaine, you are a guest in this house. My job is to protect you. Your job is to…” He stopped, jaw clenching as images far too indecent for this conversation shoved their way into his head. Positions. Heat. Her flushed face.
He swore under his breath and forced the thoughts out of his mind. She was a means to an end. Not his lover. Not his anything.
