His Glorified Maid

Five

Carlos stood, framed by the doorway, with those steel-coloured eyes that pulled at her. He wore a dark blue shirt with no jacket. The open buttons showed just enough of his chest to make her breathing hitch for a second. The pants looked like they had been made for him, not tight, but tailored to follow the lean length of his legs. Her heart raced with a giddiness that she silently chided herself for, even though she figured it was a normal response for any woman to have around him.

"I can't do this," she said aloud in a breathless whisper and slammed the door shut in his handsome face.

"What can't you do?" came the annoyed, impatient voice from the other side of the door.

"This," she said, pointlessly gesturing between herself and him. Instantly feeling ridiculous, she forced her hands to open the door. It really did feel like a date. She shouldn't confuse work and practicalities, like catching a ride to a work event with her boss.

"I'll follow you in my car," she said firmly. Why hadn't she thought of this sooner? It would have saved her hours of unnecessary angst. "Yes, that would work so much better," she said with a smile as she turned to get her keys.

"Don't be ridiculous. Get in the car."

"If I get in your car, it will feel like a date. If I follow you in my car, then it won't."

He looked confused; annoyed and confused and she couldn't blame him. Unable to stop her mouth from running away from her, she gestured at him. "You looking like that," she said waving her hands to encompass his full body. "Picking me up. Knocking at my door." She did a mental facepalm. Seriously, why couldn't she shut up?

"If this were a date," he began in that deep voice of his, that rattled her bones in the best possible way, "I would have brought flowers."

That's true. She had seen that in movies. She didn't think Paul had ever brought her flowers. Not in that way anyway. Sometimes he brought some flowers in from the garden that she tended and put them in a vase to freshen up the place. She knew he had done it for her because she liked it. Did that count?

In her heels, she still wasn't quite eye to eye with Carlos and she had to tilt her neck to look at him. Not that she was short, it's just that he was really quite tall. She liked height in a man, someone who could hold her and make her feel safe. Oh boy. Her thoughts were running away distracted again. She paid attention to the moment and noticed his annoyance was gone. It had been replaced with that amused look that irked her for unknown reasons.

"What kind?" she asked genuinely interested. What kind of flowers would a man like Carlos bring on a real date? Was he a standard red roses kind of guy, or would it be a mixed bouquet? The colour mattered almost as much as the choice of flower as they were all assigned different meanings. Would he care about something like that?

"Your favourite," he answered smoothly, confidently. "And I would know your favourite because I would have been prepared. Tell me your favourite flower, Michaela."

Oh boy. She hadn't expected that. And with his eyes on hers; dark, intense, glittering, she felt heat wash through her, leaving her feeling flustered. Good thing this wasn't a date because she didn't know how she'd survive if it were. As it was her heart rate was through the roof.

"I like wildflowers," she mumbled in response to his command. "They're bright and remind me of meadows and fields and happiness. Of childhood," she added.

"And if it were a date, I might find some innocent reason to touch you – like tucking a stray hair behind your ear," he said, while his hands did just that. Her skin hummed under the gentle touch, and she tried to will it to stop responding to him.