The Housekeeper's Awakening

She watched as he struck out, making no concessions towards his injuries as he cleaved through the water like a golden-dark arrow. He swam with the same energy and determination which he applied to everything in life, but after twelve lengths she could see that he had grown pale and his mouth was tight with tension.

‘Stop now,’ she said, as he came up for air, his black hair plastered to his head like a seal. ‘For heaven’s sake—slow down, Luis. You’re not in some kind of race.’

But he was stubborn, of course he was, and for him life was a race. She wasn’t surprised when he shook his head and continued but when he’d finished, he was exhausted. Hauling his body out of the water, he propped his elbows onto the edge of the pool and rested his head on them, saying nothing until he had regained his breath.

At last he looked up at her, his eyes gleaming blackly from between wet, matted lashes. ‘How was that?’

‘You know exactly how it was. You did twenty lengths—double that recommended by the physiotherapist. You want praise for disobeying her instructions?’

‘Sí. I demand praise. Heaps of it piled high onto my head. So why don’t you wipe that disapproving look off your face for once, and tell me how good I am?’ His mouth curved into a provocative smile. ‘You know you want to.’

Carly stiffened as something unfamiliar prickled over her skin. Was he flirting with her? She stared at him, her eyes blinking. Surely not. Unless flirting was almost like a reflex action for him, a bit like a goldfish gasping for air if somebody tipped its bowl onto the floor. It’s just sweet-talk and it doesn’t mean anything, she told herself fiercely. So don’t act as if it does. ‘You probably overextended yourself, but, yes, you were good,’ she agreed grudgingly. ‘Actually, you were very good.’