Can't Stop the Feeling Read online

Duncan cocked his head while he watched her. Maybe she wasn’t talking to herself after all. Maybe she had an earpiece for her phone. It was hard to tell under that thick mass of hair sitting around her shoulders. And who the hell was this master?

  She took a carrier bag over to the fridge and opened it. The light surrounded her like a halo, and the contrast of the dark kitchen and the stark light from the refrigerator, made him think of Caravaggio’s paintings. He could see this scene on a canvas, only she wouldn’t be dressed in slacks and a shirt, she would be wearing a white cotton men’s shirt—his shirt—and the light from the fridge would shine through it, showing her curves in shadows through the cloth...What was he thinking? With a shake of his head, he refocused his attention on Donna and the issue he needed to resolve with her.

  “I’m not taking advice from you,” she said as she put food from the bag onto a plate, then headed for the microwave. “You were given your freedom, and you’re still wearing a sack. Why don’t you put on some decent clothes?”

  Master? Freedom? A sack? This was one weird phone call. It sounded like some sort of master/slave sex game. His stomach clenched. Donna? Sex games? He blinked hard at her. Donna in her buttoned-up clothing and her meek attitude? Meek? He felt like a weight had been dropped on his head. Another word for meek was submissive. This was getting weirder and weirder. Was she talking about having a master? Was she into BDSM?

  Donna?

  For two years, he hadn’t looked at her in any way other than as the woman who smoothed out his life and let him focus on missing Fiona. He definitely hadn’t thought of her as a sexual being. But now, hearing this, there were all kinds of sexual images in his head.

  He shifted in his seat as his body reacted to the images. A reaction he hadn’t had in years, followed by a sharp, but short-lived, pang of guilt over betraying his wife. His long-gone wife. And for once, that thought didn’t bring him to his knees. It only produced a dull, throbbing ache in the region where his heart used to be—before it had been taken out of his chest and buried with the woman he loved.

  “I don’t care what Harry Potter would say,” Donna snapped. “I don’t live to please a master. I don’t have a master. And I don’t need someone to free me with a sock.”

  Okay, they’d passed weird and entered completely bizarre. He shouldn’t be listening in on Donna’s freaky phone calls. It was none of his business if his housekeeper was into kinky Harry Potter sex games. Although the thought of her with a man he didn’t know disturbed him. Actually, the thought of her with any man was disturbing. Who was looking out for her? Who was making sure she was safe? Protected? What if this guy took advantage of her? His eyes narrowed. Just like his ex-employees had taken advantage of her. He needed to remember why he wanted to talk to her and not get distracted by anything else.

  As she took the steaming plate from the microwave, Duncan cleared his throat. “Donna, I need a word with you.”

  She screamed. The plate flew into the air, then landed with a crash on the kitchen floor.

  “Duncan?” she whispered as she leaned against the counter with her hand over her heart.

  Maybe he should have put the light on after all. “Who else would it be?”

  “I nearly had a heart attack. What are you doing sitting there in the dark?”

  “Waiting for you. You’ve been ignoring my messages, and I need to talk to you.”

  Her brow puckered as she frowned. “I didn’t ignore you, I told you I had a family situation to deal with.”

  “What was it this time? Did Agnes’ flat blow up? Did Mairi fall off another cliff?” Donna’s sisters didn’t have normal emergencies—they had epic ones.

  She ignored him, her eyes on the floor. “The chicken pie is all over the place.” She sounded so mournful that he almost felt guilty.

  “Maybe if you’d come to talk to me like I asked, instead of avoiding me, you’d be eating your dinner right now instead of staring at it on the floor.”

  Her eyes flashed luminous green in the low light. “And maybe, if you hadn’t scared me half to death, I would have eaten my dinner and then come to find you.”

  “Aye, right you would.” She wasn’t fooling anyone. “Did you get me a pie too?”

  “It’s in the fridge,” she said mournfully, her eyes still on the mess covering the floor.

  Of course, she got him some food. Donna would never have forgotten him. “Then eat my pie.”

  “I can’t do that. What will you eat?” Her wide eyes stared at him. “It’s fine. Once I clean up this mess, I’ll make myself a sandwich from the stuff I bought. I cannot wait for the cook to get here.” She glanced at the kitchen clock. “Only twelve more hours.”

  “Heat the other pie. It’s massive. We can share it. I’ll clean up the mess while you get the food.”

  “We’ll share?” Her voice was a squeak. “You’ll clean?”

  He wasn’t sure what upset her the most—sharing with him or watching him clean. “Aye,” was all he said as he flicked on the lights, grabbed the dustpan and brush, and headed for the mess.

  Donna looked sceptical, but she didn’t argue. She took the remaining pie from the fridge and set about microwaving it, all the while keeping an eye on him in case his head exploded or something. Who knew what women thought?

  As he swept up, Donna pulled an empty plate from the cupboard, presumably to divide up their food. For some reason that bothered him. They didn’t need another plate. They were perfectly capable of sharing. “Don’t dirty dishes needlessly, we can eat from the same plate.”

  From the look she gave him, you would have thought he’d suggested they lick ice cream off each other’s bodies. An image of doing just that flashed in his mind and his jeans became perilously tight. After years of reacting to nothing, his body felt like it was out of control. And it was out of control over his housekeeper. Even he knew that was deeply unprofessional.

  And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from crossing the line into personal territory, because his mouth opened and a question he shouldn’t have asked popped right out.

  “Who’s this master guy?” he said.

  She jerked, and the empty plate slipped from her hand to smash on the floor in front of him.

  “What?” Her cheeks were red as she stared down at him.

  “Go sit down before you trash all the dishes,” he told her. “I’ll bring the food over.”

  “It was only two plates,” she muttered. “And you were the reason I broke both of them, with your random questions and your creepy sitting in the dark thing.”

  She had a point, and he knew he should let the subject drop, but he couldn’t. What if she was in danger? What if she was involved in something she shouldn’t be? Wouldn’t a responsible employer look out for her? Aye. He owed it to her to be responsible.

  He cleared his throat. “So, who’s this master guy you were talking about? A boyfriend? Is he treating you right?”

  When she didn’t answer immediately, he looked up to find her staring at him open-mouthed.

  “You think I call my boyfriends master?”

  “You have more than one of them?” He felt his blood pressure rise.

  “What? No! I don’t have any. Not right now, anyway.”

  Did that mean she was calling some casual hook-up her master? He didn’t like that one bit. Did her sisters know what she was doing? Was anyone looking out for her? Anyone at all? It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what she did in her free time. Did she even have any free time? She was always available when he needed her. Except when she was off scheming with her sisters.

  “Who were you talking to?” He assured himself it wasn’t nosiness that made him pry, it was a concern for her safety.

  Anyone else would have told him to get lost, that it was none of his business. Not Donna. Instead, her cheeks burned even redder, and she told him what he wanted to know. “I was talking to Dobby.”

  “Dobby? What the hell kind of name is that?”

  Her eye
s hit his for a second, flashing with a fire she quickly snuffed out. “Dobby is the house-elf in Harry Potter. I was...um...imagining a conversation with the character.”

  “You were imagining a conversation?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t look at him.

  “You weren’t on the phone?”

  “No.”

  “You were talking to a fictional character?”

  “Yes.” She studied her knuckles.

  “About your master?”

  Her head shot up, and her eyes flashed again. “I don’t have a master. Dobby was mistaken.”

  “The fictional character you were having an imaginary conversation with was mistaken?”

  “Yes.” She was back to focusing on the table again.

  Okay then. “So, who’s the master guy you were talking to your imaginary friend about?” And why did it matter? “Is he real?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Donna said, sounding slightly exasperated, which was the most he’d ever heard her sounding. “It’s you. Dobby calls you the master because you own the house and employ me.”

  He just stared at her. She was having an imaginary conversation about him? He looked around. Definitely in the kitchen. For a minute he’d thought he was in bed and this was a bizarre dream. His brain went over the conversation she’d had with her imaginary friend, and a slow, wide smile broke out on his face. It felt strange, and he realised it had been a very long time since he’d smiled, and his muscles weren’t used to it.

  Donna caught sight of the smile, and she seemed as shocked as he felt, which turned the smile into a grin. “This Dobby thinks you should live to please your master then?”

  For a fleeting second, her eyes narrowed at him, and then it was gone, replaced by her usual wide-eyed expression. “You aren’t my master.”

  “I don’t know.” He walked over to the bin with a pan full of broken plates and battered food. “I think your imaginary friend is right. I think you should call me master. It suits me.”

  “Of course, you think that,” she muttered. “You’re king of the world in your own head.”

  “You do know I can hear you, right?”

  “Hear what?” she gave him an innocent look that had him fighting another smile. And then she muttered something even quieter. The only thing he could make out was the word Dementor.

  Before he could ask her what she was talking about now, the microwave pinged, reminding him that not only did they need to eat, but that they had more important things to talk about than Donna’s imaginary friends.

  “Don’t forget to add the salad,” Donna ordered. “It’s in the fridge.”

  “You bought salad?”

  “It’s healthy.”

  “Only if you eat it.” Any salad either of them had tended to be purely decoration.

  He took the plate from the microwave, added the pointless salad, grabbed cutlery and headed for the breakfast nook. Instead of sitting opposite Donna, he slid into the bench seat beside her and handed her a fork.

  She pointed at the other side of the booth. “Wouldn’t it be more comfortable if we divided this between two plates and you sat over there?”

  Probably, but he didn’t like the thought of that. He liked things exactly the way they were. And if he didn’t understand why that was, there was no way he could explain it to her.

  “Just eat.” He cut the pie and nudged her half over to her. “I don’t see why we have to have salad.” He poked at it with his fork. “And why is it full of sprouting seeds? Oh, a nut. I can eat a nut.” He popped it in his mouth.

  “I don’t understand how you can be so fit when all you want to eat is rubbish.” Her tone was haughty, but he noticed she too avoided the salad and went straight for the pie.

  As soon as the forkful of creamy chicken and crumbling pastry passed her lips, her eyes closed in ecstasy, and Duncan found himself holding his breath as he stared at her mouth. Her top lip was slightly fuller than her bottom one, and the bow made a deep curve. His fingers itched to reach out and trace the outline of her lips, to feel the slight curve beneath his fingertips, to see for himself if they were as satin soft as they looked.

  “Perfect,” she said, breaking the spell she’d woven. Without another glance in his direction, she concentrated on their meal.

  Duncan tried hard to do the same, but his thoughts kept straying to the bow of her lips as though it was the most fascinating sight he’d ever seen.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” Donna said between bites.

  Right. Business. He cleared his throat and worked to get his mind on the reason for his ire.

  “I spoke to the gardener today.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

  “Aye. I told him he was fired.”

  “Okay...well, I’ll strike that off my to-do list then.” She avoided the salad and stole a forkful of his half of the pie.

  “The funny thing was, when I told him he was done at the mansion, he held out his hand for severance pay.”

  The fork stopped halfway to her mouth, and her cheeks turned pink. “Strange,” she said before the fork continued to her mouth.

  “That’s what I thought too,” he said dryly. “You wouldn’t know anything about severance pay, would you? Because he seemed to think it was normal practice here at the mansion, and I don’t remember authorising you to give anyone cash when you kicked their arses out of here.”

  She grabbed another bite of his pie and made a big show out of not being able to talk because she was chewing. He twisted in the seat, folded his arms and waited her out. She couldn’t run. He had her hemmed in. And at some point, there wouldn’t be any food left for her to stall with.

  Her thigh touched his as she angled away from him although he noticed she slid the plate closer to herself as she did so. He felt the warmth of her touch through his body, and for a second, he lost track of what they were discussing. All he was aware of was her leg against his.

  “You’re right,” she said, making him fight to focus on the conversation and not the heat of their legs pressed together. “You never okayed any severance pay. He was obviously mistaken.”

  His eyes narrowed. She was a crap actress, and her attempt at looking innocent fell far short of the mark.

  “That’s what I thought too,” he said. “Until I made a list of all the people we’ve fired in the past few years and called them to find out if they’d received any severance pay.”

  “Oh.” She looked around, and he wondered if she was trying to figure out a way to slip under the table and away from him.

  “Aye, oh. Everybody I spoke to had received a cheque. Some of them hefty.”

  Wide eyes blinked up at him. “Are you sure they weren’t all mistaken?”

  “You want me to believe everybody I called lied about you writing them a cheque?”

  “It could happen.”

  “Aye, and pigs could fly if they put the effort in.” He leaned into her, her vanilla and cinnamon scent filling his nostrils and making his mouth water. Had she always smelled like baked goods? Or was this a new thing? He racked his brain trying to remember, but he honestly didn’t recall ever noticing how Donna smelled. “You wrote those cheques. What the hell were you thinking?”

  She let out a heavy sigh and pushed the plate away. “Mainly I was thinking that I wanted to get them out of the mansion without any drama.”

  “And you thought the best way to do that was to give them money?”

  “These people have lives, Duncan. They have bills and commitments. You can’t just turf them out with nothing and hope they’ll survive until they find another job. That’s why companies offer severance pay. To help people out.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose while he took the time to get his head around her crazy reasoning. “I’m not a company, Donna. I’m a man trying to run a historically significant building that his wife had set her heart on. And you don’t give severance pay to people who haven’t even worked here much more than a da
y. Most of the folk you fired hadn’t been here long enough to get a normal pay, let alone anything extra.”

  “To be fair, you were the one firing them. I was only the messenger. And because I was the one firing them, I was the one who had to watch them cry and worry about how they’d make ends meet until they got another job. I had to give them the money. It was the right thing to do, and I didn’t want anyone to think you were mean.”

  It took all his self-control not to roll his eyes. She was unbelievable. A walking magnet for every conman and loser in Scotland. After the calls he’d made to past employees, he knew for a fact that some of them had only taken the job at the mansion because they knew Donna would hand them money when she let them go. They’d abused her soft heart. And he wasn’t going to stand for it any longer.

  “I’ll do the firing from now on.” He was firm.

  Donna looked like she’d swallowed sea water. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. You tend to scare people.”

  “Aye.” And from the sounds of it, some of them needed a good scaring.

  “And it’s my job to oversee the staff.”

  “You can oversee them. I’ll step in when the firing needs to be done.”

  “How about, we change our policy and don’t fire any more people? Wouldn’t that be a good compromise?” She gave him an angelic smile.

  “No. It wouldn’t. We aren’t keeping incompetent people on at the mansion just because you feel sorry for them. From now on, I’ll do the firing. And you won’t be writing any more cheques. Am I clear?”

  “Unfortunately.” The smile disappeared, and he felt like he’d turfed a kitten out into the snow.

  He wasn’t going to let her sidetrack him. This had to be done. The townsfolk were walking all over her, and him by default. “And another thing, I’ll be paying back every penny you spent in my name.”

  She shook her head, and her cheeks flushed to that fascinating shade of pink that made him itch to reach for his paints. “You don’t have to do that. I never asked you for the money.”

  “Exactly.” She had to be the world’s most infuriating woman. “That’s my point.”

  She stared at him for a moment, and he found himself getting lost in her sea green eyes. “Are we done now?” she said.