Free One Month with the Magnate by Michelle Celmer Page B

humiliating part was knowing that if she told him no, if she asked him to stop, he would. He would never force himself on her. He’d made that clear the other night. The problem was, she didn’t want to tell him no.
    Unlike Emilio, she couldn’t switch it off and on. Her only defense was to avoid him as often as possible. And when she couldn’t? Well, she would try her hardest to not make a total fool of herself again. She would try to be strong.
    She would hold up her end of the bargain, and hopefully everyone would get exactly what they wanted. She just wished she didn’t feel so darned edgy and out of sorts, and she knew he was going to sense it the second he saw her.
    According to Mrs. Medina’s “list,” Emilio didn’t leave for work until nine-thirty on Saturdays, so Isabelle didn’t have to see him until nine when he came down for breakfast. If she timed it just right, she could feed him right when he walked into the kitchen, then hide until his ride got there.
    Of course he chose that morning to come down fifteen minutes early. She was at the stove, trying not to incinerate a pan of hash brown potatoes, when he walked into the room.
    â€œGood morning,” he said, the rumble of his voice tweaking her already frayed nerves.
    She took a deep breath and told herself, You can do this. Pasting on what she hoped was a nothing-you-do-can-hurt-me face, she turned…and whatever she had been about to say died the minute she laid eyes on him.
    He wasn’t wearing a suit. Or a tie. Or a shirt. Or even shoes. All he wore was a pair of black silk pajama bottomsslung low on his hips. That was it. His hair was mussed from sleep and dark stubble shadowed his jaw.
    Oh boy.
    Most men declined with age. They developed excess flab or a paunch or even unattractive back hair, but not Emilio. His chest was lean and well-defined, his shoulders and back smooth and tanned and he had a set of six-pack abs to die for. He was everything he had been fifteen years ago, only better.
    A lot better.
    Terrific.
    She realized she was staring and averted her eyes. Was it her fault she hadn’t seen a mostly naked man in a really long time? At least, not one who looked as good as he did.
    Lenny had had the paunch, and the flab, and the back hair. Not that their relationship had ever been about sex.
    Ever the dutiful housekeeper, she said, “Sit down, I’ll get you coffee.” Mostly she just wanted to keep him out of her half of the kitchen.
    He took a seat on one of the stools at the island. She grabbed a mug from the cupboard, filled it and set it in front of him.
    â€œThanks.”
    Their eyes met and his flashed with some unidentifiable emotion. Amusement maybe? She couldn’t be sure, and frankly she didn’t want to know.
    Make breakfast, run and hide.
    She busied herself with cutting up the vegetables that would go in the omelet she planned to make, taking great care not to slice or sever any appendages. Although it was tough to keep her eyes on what she was doing when Emilio was directly in her line of vision, barely an arm’s reach away, looking hotter than the Texas sun.
    And he was watching her.
    She would gather everything up and move across to the opposite counter, where her back would be to him instead, but she doubted his probing stare would be any less irritating. She diced the green onions, his gaze boring into her as he casually sipped his coffee.
    â€œDon’t you have to get ready for work?” she asked.
    â€œYou trying to get rid of me, Isabelle?”
    Well, duh. “Just curious.”
    â€œI’m working from home today.”
    She suppressed a groan. Fantastic. An entire day with Emilio in the house. With any luck, he would lock himself in his office and wouldn’t emerge until dinnertime. But somehow she doubted she would be so lucky. She also doubted it was a coincidence that he chose this particular day to work at home. She was sure that