cool to look overdressed.
Besides, the last thing she wanted was for anyone to get the impression that she was looking for admiration. Or sex, she added grimly, abruptly recalling the last months of her mother’s life.
She decided she could hardly blame Lily Montoya for being hostile. After all, her husband had had an affair with Celeste. But as for her being attracted to her adopted brother… Cleo sucked in a breath. There was no way history was going to repeat itself.
Her hair was still a little wet, so she found an elasticated band in her bag and looped it up in a ponytail. Then, stepping into thonged sandals, she checked her appearance once more before opening her door.
The place seemed very quiet. Without the knowledge that there were at least half a dozen servants working in the house, she might have thought she and Dominic were its only occupants.
She blew out a breath, inwardly chiding herself. She had to stop punctuating every thought with Dominic. He meant nothing to her. How could he? She hardly knew him. And it went without saying that she meant nothing to him.
A long hallway with a window at the end led to the staircase. However, before reaching the downward curve of a scrolled iron banister, the landing opened out into a pleasant sitting area. From here, it was possible to overlook the lower foyer, circular leaded windows allowing sunlight to stream into the stairwell.
As Cleo started down, she saw the huge potted fern that filled the turn of the staircase. Tendrils of greenery clung to the iron and brushed her fingers as she passed. There was something almost sensual about its twining fronds, she mused ruefully. Or perhaps she was just extra-sensitive this morning.
Certainly, she had climbed this staircase the night before. But then, exhaustion, and a certain amount of tension, had clouded her view. Not that she was any less tense this morning, she thought, pausing to admire the view from an arching window. Even the sight of the alluring shoreline couldn’t quite rid her of the feeling that she shouldn’t be here.
A West Indian maid appeared below her. She looked up at her with expectant eyes, and Cleo wondered what she was thinking. ‘Can I help you, Ms Novak?’ she asked, and Cleo was relieved to find she hadn’t been introduced to the staff as Cleo Montoya.
‘Um—you could tell me if Mr Montoya is up yet,’ she said, deciding she might as well be proactive. If her grandfather wanted to see her, there was no point in her dragging her heels.
The maid gestured across the delicately patterned tiles of the foyer. ‘Mr Dominic is having breakfast on the terrace,’ she said politely. ‘You like I should show you the way?’
‘Oh—no.’ Cleo had no desire to spend any more time with Dominic than she had to. ‘I meant—Mr Montoya Senior. What time does he usually get up?’
‘Your grandfather has breakfast in his room at about seven a.m.,’ remarked a disturbingly familiar voice from behind her. Cleo turned to find Dominic standing in the arched entry to the adjoining room. ‘He’ll be down later.’
Thankfully, he was dressed now. Albeit in khaki cargo shorts and a tight-fitting black T-shirt that exposed taut muscles and a wedge of brown flesh at his waist.
Which seemed far too casual to her way of thinking. It was easier to keep him at arm’s length in a formal suit and tie.
He had evidently heard their voices and come to investigate. The acoustics in the foyer must have allowed the sound to circulate around the ground-floor rooms. Cleo realised belatedly that she should have thought of that.
However, the maid turned towards him with evident enthusiasm. ‘Ms Novak was just lookin’ for Mr Jacob, sir,’ she said, sashaying towards him, hips swinging, arms akimbo. ‘You want more coffee, Mr Dominic? You do, just say the word and Susie’ll get it for you.’
Dominic’s lips tightened as he saw Cleo’s reaction to the implied intimacy of the girl’s words, and there was an edge to his voice when he said, ‘You can get Ms Novak some breakfast instead. Fruit, cereal, rolls, coffee.’ He arched his brows at Cleo. ‘Does that about cover it?’
‘I…’ Cleo had hardly heard what he’d said and now she struggled to answer him. ‘I—I guess so,’ she muttered. ‘Thank you.’
‘No problem.’ Dominic turned once more to the maid. ‘On the terrace, Susie. As quick as you can, right?’
Susie pursed sulky lips, but she knew better than to argue that it wasn’t her job to serve meals when she’d already offered to get him fresh coffee.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said tersely, her hands dropping to her sides as she marched away, and Cleo hoped she hadn’t made another enemy.
Meanwhile, Dominic was trying to master his own frustration. Dammit, Cleo probably thought he exercised some medieval droit de seigneur over the female members of the household staff and it irritated the hell out of him.
Not that it mattered what Cleo thought, he reminded himself.
Only it did.
‘Did you sleep well?’
Dominic gestured for her to come and join him and, although she would have preferred to make her own way, Cleo had little choice but to obey him.
‘Very well,’ she responded, making sure she didn’t brush against him as she preceded him into the room behind him. ‘I’m sorry if your grandfather expected me to join him yesterday evening, but I’m afraid I just flaked out.’
‘I know.’
Dominic was far too sure of himself, and Cleo gave him a wary look.
‘You know?’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Serena had one of the maids check up on you.’ He grimaced. ‘You could have fallen asleep in the bath. We wouldn’t want you to drown yourself before you had a chance to get to know us.’
Cleo pressed her lips together. ‘I wasn’t likely to do that,’ she said, but Dominic only gave her a wry smile.
‘All the same…’ he murmured lightly. ‘The old man would never have forgiven himself if anything had happened to you.’
‘Just the old man?’ Cleo found herself saying provocatively, and saw the way Dominic’s expression darkened.
‘Don’t play games with me, Cleo,’ he said warningly. ‘You’re not equipped to deal with the fallout.’
Cleo’s lips parted, but she didn’t say anything more. Her face flaming, she turned away, grateful to transfer her attention to less disquieting subjects.
But he was right, she thought. She wasn’t used to provoking anyone, least of all a man who always seemed to bring out the worst—or was it the bitch?—in her.
It was quite a relief to study her surroundings.
Darkly upholstered sofas and chairs stood out in elegant contrast to the backdrop of pale walls and even paler wooden floors.
Long windows, some of them open to admit the delicious breeze off the ocean, boasted filmy drapes that moved seductively in the morning air.
‘We’ll go outside,’ said Dominic after a moment, and Cleo realised he had crossed the room and was now standing by French doors that opened onto a stone terrace.
She followed, as slowly as she dared, taking in the exquisite appointments of the room. Low tables; cut-glass vases filled with flowers; thick candles in chunky silver holders.
There was even a grand piano, its lid lifted, hidden away in one corner of the enormous apartment. And dramatic oil paintings in vivid colours that added their own particular beauty to the walls.
‘You have a beautiful home,’ she said a little stiffly, wanting to restore some semblance of normality, but Dominic’s lips only twisted rather mockingly at her words.
‘It’s not my home,’ he reminded her carelessly, stepping aside to