Millionaire's Secret Love

Chapter Fifteen

The smell of expensive coffee filled her nostrils when George opened the door for her.

He gave her a warm smile. "Come in, you look cold."

Opening the door wider, he walked back into the apartment, leaving her to follow him.

Elizabeth entered, closing the door behind her as she took her knee-high boots off and set them next to the door.

"I am in the kitchen, could you come here for a second?" he shouted.

Following his voice, she found him in his kitchen standing next to a coffee machine that looked complicated.

George stood with a mug in his good hand, and he turned to her as she entered.

"Can you give me a hand?" he asked, then laughed at his own wit.

She stared at him, not amused by his attempt to be funny.

"This bloody machine is not doing what I want," he said, glaring at the machine as if he wanted to throw it against the nearest wall.

It was interesting to see him so flustered by an inanimate object. Usually, he always appeared to be in control.

Wordlessly, she went to him and took the mug out of his hand. "Are you letting the machine beat you?"

Frustrated, he took a step back and watched enviously as she filled the coffee beans into the scoop and attached it to the machine and pressed the button to distil the coffee.

"I didn't realise how important having two hands was," he joked. Sobering up instantly, he wore a serious expression as he stared at the coffee cup. "Well, I knew we needed them, but I can say I didn't know how much until now," he rambled on, as he watched the coffee filling the cup.

Was this the look he wore when he made contracts?

It was aloof. And sexy as hell, she thought. Heat rose her body and she avoided meeting his eyes.

Without turning fully, she gave him an enigmatic smile. "Then can you even imagine the way disabled people feel?"

For a moment, he frowned, then gave her a look which suggested that he had learnt something from his experience of not being able to use his left arm.

When she made the coffee, she handed him the mug. "See, it wasn't too hard, was it?" she said.

He took the mug and thanked her.

When he saw that she was not making a move to make another one. He frowned at her. "Didn't you want a coffee?" he asked

Shaking her head, Elizabeth met his eyes. "I don't drink coffee this late in the evening."

"Why?"

She scrunched up her face at him. "For the same reason, most people don't drink coffee past a certain time. It keeps you up at night."

George nodded. "I know what you mean, but I have a lot of work to do, so I need the caffeine."

"Since you need to get your work done, how about we change the bandages, and I'll get out of your hair?"

Elizabeth stifled a yawn with her hand.

"You've had a long day?"

She nodded and covered her mouth as she yawned again.

"It must be difficult being a nurse?" he said.

Her eyes swept his face. "You have no idea."

Giving him a look, which suggested that he was taking up her time when she could have been sleeping. He gave her a small smile.

"All the stuff is still in the bedroom."

Heat filled her face, and she avoided his gaze. "Come on then, I don't have all night."

George led the way into his bedroom once again. This time he had placed the items they needed on the bed neatly in a row.

He set his mug on the bedside table on a coaster, and they followed the same pattern from the night before.

Bandaging his shoulder took only a few minutes and when she finished, she felt relieved to have done so quickly and efficiently.

"Why does it feel like the last time you did the bandaging it wasn't as quick as this time?" he asked as she helped him button his shirt.

"Because I want to go home to my bed," she muttered.

She met his eyes and looked away.

"You could always stay here and get a kip," he offered. "There's plenty of room."

Shameless was the word that came to her mind. Yet, she felt his words were genuine.

"Thanks," she nodded slowly. "But I enjoy sleeping in my bed."

He gave her a meaningful look. "You can always sleep in my bed if you want to," he offered.

She scoffed and shook her head. "You're the most shameless person I know, George Douglass," she retorted.

A slight smile flickered across his lips. "If you don't ask, you don't get," he said.

She ignored his innuendo.

Like the night before, she cleaned up the bandages and put them in the bathroom bin. Once she returned, she saw that he was still sitting on the edge of the bed. In his hand, he held a sheet of white A4 paper.

"This is the contract," he said, offering the paper to her.

Taking it, she slowly read the contents. There was nothing unusual there, except for the generous sum of money he offered.

Looking up from the paper, she frowned. "You're very generous with my pay?" she said, trying to laugh it off, but she was still concerned he was giving her too much.

"The extra is for the times I'll need you to do other things for me," he commented, giving her a grin, which made his entire face brighten.

She felt the flutter of butterflies in her stomach as she considered the things he had not put in the contract.

"What are these other things you haven't written on here?" she could not help asking.

He hesitated for a moment, and she could see him sizing her up.

Did he find her attractive? she wondered. Sure, he flirted with her all the time, but he had never tried anything else.

George gave her a small grin, flashing her his even white teeth. Her eyes drifted to his thin lips, and she melted inside at the thought of pressing her lips on his.

She could not hide from herself anymore. Elizabeth wanted George Douglass like a desert needed rainfall. Yet, she decided that it was never to be. He was off-limits.

"Have you had dinner?" he was asking her, his eyes locking onto hers.

Her head shook slowly without her consent. And his grin widened.

"Good," he stated with gusto. "How about you be a good little nurse and make us something to eat?"

No... Oh, God. Do not say sexist s**t like that, she thought. For a split second, she had let her libido dictate her feelings. Now she came crashing back to reality.

But he had already ruined her good feelings for him.

Levelling a cool stare at him which could cool even the hottest of days. "I take offence to the tone and words you just used," she said sharply.

He raised an arrogant brow. "We discussed this. Didn't we?"

When was there ever a discussion? The generous sum he offered her clearly included her being at his beck and call.

"Is there anything else you'd like me to do which doesn't come in my everyday job description? You better tell me now."

She folded her arms and glowered fiercely at him.

George was unfazed by her words.

"Don't be such a sourpuss," he argued.

He drew nearer to her, and she stopped herself from taking a step back.

"I don't have anyone else to ask for help. Don't forget my family doesn't know what happened to me," he said, softening his expression.

Slowly, the icy shield she had built around her heart began to melt.

"Don't try it." She sized him up. "Don't think you can make me feel guilty."

"Come on," he cajoled. "Look at me, I'm at death's door. Can't you be nice to me?"

Elizabeth was not immune to his words, nor the mischief he had in his eyes.

This must be the face he made at the teachers, why they had been unable to resist his charm.

She could be nice. She should be nice.

He was paying her, after all.

Unfolding her arms, she sighed heavily. "Since you're paying me, I guess I could be nice about it," she said.

She saw a small triumphant smile play on his full lips. "Don't think that I gave in because I like you. I still hate your guts," she added, pointing at him like an angry schoolteacher.

"As long as you make me food. I don't care," he replied.

"How do you know I can cook, anyway?"

"Ross told me."

Shaking her head, she frowned. "That figures," she muttered softly. "I bet I have no secrets from you because of my big-mouth brother."

He did not reply; instead, she heard the loud rumbling of his stomach.

Instantly, it reminded her of her own hunger. "Come on, let me see what you have in the kitchen."

She led the way into the kitchen and went to the fridge. They say you can tell a person's personality from the contents of their fridge. In George's refrigerator, there was mostly water, natural juice, and a few sealed containers with food that looked days old. His kitchen had a large breakfast bar in one corner, this was where George sat watching her rummage through his fridge.

Turning to him, she shook her head and tried not to look horrified. "This can't be all you have in your fridge?"

"I'm afraid that's all there is," he said. "My mum brings me food during the week, but I told her I would be out of London this week."

Elizabeth sighed loudly, and she saw George raise his eyebrows at the sound.

"I know it's normal for blokes not to cook but this is bad." She looked at his cupboards with a suspicious glance and pointed in their direction. "Please tell me you have some pasta and some sauce."

George pointed toward a cupboard that was nearest to her. She dreaded to open it, narrowing her eyes as she pulled the cupboard open. "Thank God for that," she breathed loudly.

Turning to him, she frowned. "It's going to be veggie pasta with no vegetables unless you have something in your freezer."

He shook his head, and she rolled her eyes at him. "That's what I thought," she muttered.

"The pots are in the cupboard over there." He pointed in the direction to her left and she went to the cupboard and searched through them, looking at the things she needed to make the pasta.

The whole time she was gathering the pots and the ingredients she needed, he observed her with a look of interest.

"I've got some wine on the rack over there. Would you like to have a glass while we wait for dinner?" he said lightly.

"I wouldn't say no," she responded as she put the pan on with the water and fiddled with the stove, trying to figure out how the knobs worked.

George was no help, he was content to watch her figure things out, and she was too proud to ask him without trying to learn everything first.

She finally got the cooker working, and she wore a triumphant grin when she turned to him. "Go make yourself useful and bring the wine," she ordered him.

Without a word, he got up and went in the direction he had shown earlier.

Busy with sorting out what she needed to do to make the pasta, she ignored the fact that they were alone. Minutes later, he came back with a bottle of red wine in his good hand.

"I think you'll need to open this too," he frowned, looking at her as if she were the one responsible for making him unable to use his hand.

She stared at him, then she took the bottle and went to the drawer which had his utensils. "I'll open this, why don't you get some work you have done," she told him, meeting his eyes.

For an instant, she saw him narrow his eyes at her. She thought he would protest, but he nodded, then left as if he knew she wanted to work without an audience.

When he left, she took the corkscrew out of the drawer and went to the counter and began opening the wine.

Opening the bottle was effortless for her, she had spent many of her early University days working in a bar to save money to take her gap year. As she got wine glasses from his cupboard, a giddy joy infused her when she began pouring the wine.

When was the last time she had dinner with a man who wasn't her brother or her father or Dominic?

Telling herself there was nothing more in her having a meal with him, she bought him the glass.

He only left her for a few minutes, but he already looked engrossed in his work.

On the coffee table was his laptop and strewn across the table were piles of paperwork. She bought him the glass of wine and when he looked up; it shocked her to see he was wearing glasses.

Immediately she smiled. "What happened to your coffee that I made?"

"Oh...I forgot," he admitted with a sheepish expression as he took the glass she offered.

"I didn't know you wore glasses." Elizabeth stifled a fit of giggles and stared at him straight-faced.

He heard the amusement in her voice and met her eyes.

"There are plenty of things you don't know about me," he said in a light bantering tone as he set his glass between haphazard pages of his paperwork.

"I can see that," Elizabeth retorted, matching his tone.

"Should you be drinking, you're on antibiotics, aren't you?" she asked, her eyes going to the glass.

"A couple of sips should be fine."

She was quiet. He hired her to be his nurse, not his warden, she thought.

His gaze flickered up to her face. For a split second, she saw desire reflected in his eyes then gone and she wondered if it was all her imagination. It had to be.

George was not the type of guy who found unattractive black girls sexy. He was the type of guy who had charisma. He seemed the sort of bloke who attracted model types who were long-legged blondes and who when you speak to them spoke through their noses as if they had something stuck up their ass.

"There are plenty of things that would surprise you if you wanted to know," he told her, meeting her gaze.

Well, sometimes she did like challenges.

Which was why she was powerless to stop herself from returning his gaze and saying, "Why don't you enlighten me?"

He took a sip of his wine. She could see him hold it in his mouth and roll it around on his tongue then swallow. Mesmerised, she watched George's Adam's apple go up and down, it made her wonder if the wine would taste sweet in his mouth if she were to kiss him.

Where did those thoughts come from?

"Let's talk, when the food is ready," she drawled.

At that moment, the sound of the beeper going off on the cooker alerted her to the water boiling. Elizabeth went back into the kitchen and as she made the rest of the preparations her mind could not help wandering back to George and her conflicting feelings for him.

She had not had s*x for a while. Maybe that is why she was lusting after him she thought.

How long has it been? Two years...? Her eyes widened as she thought back to the last time, she was intimate with anyone. Bloody hell, it was almost two years. Can this be why she was lusting after him?

Within twenty minutes, the pasta was ready and dished up. When the steaming bowls of food were ready, she called him to the table.

"Did you whip this up in twenty minutes?" He turned to look at her with a pleased smile on his face.

They both took a seat at the table and began eating in companionable silence. But George broke the silence. "You know how to cook," he said with a surprised tone.

"Yes, I can cook," she replied slightly offended by his tone.

"How do you make it taste this good?" he said, tucking into the meal only using one hand which he used to eat and then pick up his wine glass.

Her stomach muscles quivered from the compliment, and she ate a forkful of pasta in the hope that it would stop her thinking lustful things.

The last time a man complimented her cooking was... she could not think.

Edward had taken it for granted that she would cook for him. He felt it was his right as the man of the house she made his meals.

"I added a few spices you had from your spice rack." She smiled.

"I'm happy, I got to taste your cooking," he complimented.

She saw his sincerity reflected in his eyes, and she avoided his gaze.

Elizabeth felt her heart lurch. She was not a sucker for a killer smile, but everything about him tonight made her question her feelings towards him.

Since she did not want to examine her feelings any deeper, she scowled at him. "Eat the food and stop trying to flatter me."

Leaning forward in the chair, he met her gaze and smiled. "Thank you."

George wanted to stir up her emotions, throw her off-kilter, she thought, but she refused to entertain any more ideas of lust and tucked into her food.

They made small talk for the rest of the meal.

George steered clear of topics around his injury, and she avoided anything to do with relationships. Still, they enjoyed a few laughs, and it surprised her how at ease she felt speaking to him.

She was in the middle of putting the dishes in his dishwasher when the doorbell rang. Her heart jerked as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar and she did not know why.

George went to open the door.

Looking at her watch, she saw it had only gone nine. It was time for her to go home. Her stomach full and having had a pleasant conversation that did not involve her being too sarcastic, she was thinking how content she felt.

Then she heard voices coming towards her. She recognised George is and then a female. They came to stand in the middle of the living room.

The woman was supermodel pretty. Like George's type. Two things sprung to her mind. Did George have a girlfriend? Was she going to have a b***h fight over a man?

Thinking it best she went home, she put the rest of the things in the dishwasher. Standing in the middle of the living room, the female spoke in hushed tones on the phone while George waited for her to finish her conversation.

Not wanting to disturb him, she mouthed that she was leaving.

He met her gaze and nodded.

The woman met her eyes briefly, then dismissed her as she walked by.

As she rode the elevator to the underground car park, her mind drew a blank. When she left the lift, her phone pinged, alerting her she had a message. Pulling the phone out of her coat pocket, she checked it.

Bollocks.

She had forgotten to reply to Dominic. He wanted to meet up.

Her fingers moved fast over her keypad, replying to his message, and within minutes they arranged a meeting in a restaurant nearby.