The Erotic Secrets Of A French Maid

to take care of him-as if having a spotless kitchen and ironed sheets could keep him from meeting an untimely end.

For Russ, the zest had gone out of life. He pursued business with automated determination, knowing that it couldn't fill the space left by James and yet not knowing what else to do. There were long afternoons when he stared out the office window at the boats passing through the canal and felt a longing for the early days with James, when he and his brother had both been naked solstice bike riders, if only metaphorically. The days when there had been nothing between them and a crash to the asphalt, but they knew they could rely on each other. There had been the sweet rush of cool freedom against their skin and a sense of endless possibility in the road ahead.

Now the future was blank, its shapes and possibilities lost or unknown. It was the undrawn portion of the map where the monsters lurked, and he had lost his navigator.

Kevin popped his head in the open doorway. 'Hey, can I have your housekeeper's phone number?'

'You want someone to clean your house?'

'I want to ask her out.' Kevin entered the office. 'Do you think she'd say yes? She implied I'm not a bad catch.'

'I don't want you dating my housekeeper.' It was a knee-jerk reaction, something inside him rejecting the notion of Kevin laying his hands on Emma Mayson.

'Why not?'

Russ tried to think of a rational reason. 'She's going to be going through my private stuff,' he said, making it up as he went along. 'It's not as if she signed a confidentiality agreement.'

'You're afraid she'll spill secrets about you? Like what, that you leave towels on the bathroom floor? You don't have any secrets. Come on, give me her number.'

'I'd rather you didn't get involved with her.'

Kevin stared at him, and then his eyes widened. 'Oh ho ho! You want her yourself¹.'

Russ scowled. 'No, I don't.'

'I don't blame you: she's hot. And bubbly. Who'd pass up hot and bubbly?'

'She's not a meat pie. And / would pass her up. Did you see that car of hers?' Russ said, trying to scare Kevin off. 'Are you sure you could handle a woman who drove a car built for street racing? She's probably got bigger balls than either of us. Not exactly the take-home-to-Mama type.'

A flicker of doubt passed over Kevin's face. 'She seemed nice.'

'She probably has a boyfriend in prison and three kids at home.'

Kevin stared at him; then his natural ebullience resurfaced. 'Yeah, right! Just give me her number and I'll ask her.'

'Kevin. She's my employee, and she must be ten years younger than either of us. Leave her alone.'

'I wouldn't mind playing sugar daddy.'

Russ laughed. 'I can't quite see you in that role.'

'I can be a jerk if I try hard enough. And I'm sick of losing women to assholes.'

Well, hell, Kevin would have better luck if he stopped getting involved with women recovering from breakups with assholes. They used his kind-hearted friend for sympathy and confidence-building; then when they felt strong again they went back to the jerks.

Maybe someone as seemingly normal as Emma would be good for Kevin, despite Russ's gut rejection of the idea. 'I wouldn't feel right giving out Emma's number without her permission. I'll ask her if I can give it to you. How's that?'

'As good as I'll get, apparently. You'll ask her today?'

Russ raised an exasperated brow. 'Don't push me.'

'Just didn't want you waiting until next year. The sooner you do it, the sooner I'll stop asking you about it.'

'Tell me again why I keep you working for me.'

'Because I'm the only one not afraid of your sour temper.'

'Get out of here,' Russ said without heat.

' ''Emma, my lovely Emma …' ' Kevin sang as he left the room.

His sour temper. Russ grimaced. Was that how people saw him now, as a grouch?

Was that what Emma Mayson had seen? He mentally reviewed their tour through the house, remembering how brusquely he had answered her small-talk remarks. She'd been lobbing him conversational softballs and he'd swatted them to the ground one after the other until she gave up. She'd probably thought him a grumpy tight-ass, instead of what he really was: a geeky guy who'd never learned to relax around an attractive woman.

Emma Mayson was young and beautiful and socially at ease, and completely out of his range. She probably went to nightclubs and… and… whatever people her age and type did with their free time. He'd never moved in socially active crowds. Social activists, yes. But no dance-till-dawn club hoppers. Emma and he probably didn't have a thing in common.

He pulled her business card out of his wallet, absently running his finger up and down the edge. He could call her right now and pass on Kevin's request.

The imaginary conversation flowed through his head. Him, awkward and embarrassed to be playing high school go-between. Her, uncomfortable being put on the spot, forced to decide whether or not to reject a man she'd met for only a moment, and not sure if her decision would impact her job at Russ's house.

He tossed the card on his desk; he couldn't think about it now.

He spun around to stare out the windows. Instead of passing motorboats, however, it was Emma Mayson he saw, pulling the sheets off his bed and examining them for signs of 'activities.'

Yikes! Appeasing his sister was one thing. Beautiful young women washing his underwear was another. He had to put an end to it right now.

He reached for the phone and quickly dialed Emma's cell number, hoping she'd pick up before he could think twice, since the second thoughts were already creeping in- Pamela's disappointed face gazing sad-eyed at him. On the fifth ring, Emma's breathless voice answered.

'Hello?'

'Emma? This is Russ Carrick.'

'Oh, hi! I was wondering who it could be. The caller ID said 'TrackingTech.''

'Yes, that's my company.'

'What do you track? Stolen cars? Wild animals with radio collars?'

'Nothing so exciting. We design software for tracking inventory.'

'Oh.'

Oh, she'd said. Oh, how boring. 'You'd be surprised how big an industry it is. Everything from apples to the chemicals used in producing drugs has to be tracked by companies.'

'Oh!' she said again, and he could hear her effort to sound fascinated.

He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, shutting his eyes against the embarrassment of trying to impress her with inventory software. 'Yes, well, the reason I'm calling-'

'You're taking me up on my offer to cook for you?' she said, hope and excitement in her voice.

'No, I uh…' Christ, firing someone was always so hard.

'Oh.' A world of disappointment in that one sound. She didn't say anything more, the soft crackling of the cell connection filling the space between them.

Ah, dammit. She probably needed this job. He sighed.

'Yes?' she said timidly.

He rubbed his face. It wouldn't kill him to let her clean his bathroom for a month or two-he'd just be sure to clean it himself, first, so there wasn't anything embarrassing for her to find. 'I'm, er… calling about Kevin, the man you met at my house. The one with the Jaguar.'

'Oh?'

He smiled. Who knew that one vowel sound could convey so many different things? 'This is awkward. He