Novel.19.Tiger.Prince.1984 by Brown Sandra

Author:Brown, Sandra [Brown, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Google: p0TC9xrmtIAC
Amazon: 155166531X
Publisher: Mira
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

"Then you need to learn how properly." "So stop yelling and teach me." Thus began her lessons.

But the lessons could only take up so many minutes each day. The remainder of the time she was idle, roaming the house like a homeless specter, looking for something to oc cupy her. One afternoon she ventured up the stairs that led to the attic. When she pushed the door open, she was met with a choking cloud of dust.

The attic was floored and ran the length of the house. The ceiling was slanted, but an adult could walk its breadth without stooping over. It was the only room on the estate that wasn't immaculate.

Sneaking down to Daisy's supply room, she loaded herself with brooms, dustpans, rags, and other cleaning implements and headed back up the stairs.

An hour later she was interrupted by a furious "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

She whirled around. Derek filled the doorway, a contrite Daisy cowering behind him. "I had to tell him, Caren. I knew he wouldn't want you up here doing all that cleaning a nd - "

"Enough, Daisy," Derek barked. She slunk off down the stairs, leaving them alone. Dust motes spun in the sunlight filtering through the foggy windows that her cleaning rag hadn't gotten to yet.

She propped herself on the broom handle and faced him belligerently. With her hair tied up in a scarf and a smudge of dirt on her nose, she looked so adorable that Derek didn't know whether to take her in his arms and kiss her till she fainted, or to bend her over his knee and paddle her cute jean-clad butt.

"Well?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she snapped. "I'm cleaning the attic."

"Caren," he said with diminishing patience, "I have employees who can clean attics. I don't need my wife to do it."

"Well, maybe your wife needs to do it. Maybe she feels like she should earn her keep, pay for the cars and the clothes and the food, etcetera."

He eased himself away from the door frame in one of those deceptively lazy movements that she knew masked a rising temper. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I'm uncomfortable living like this."

"Like what?"

"So affluently. Derek, I've always worked. I've never had money to waste the way you do. You may feel perfectly jus tified living high on the hog while people in our country are starving, but I don't. You can buy cars and designer clothes and toss hundred-dollar bills to any teenage girl who flut ters her eyelashes at you, but I'm not that frivolous."

A seething silence followed. Finally he said, "Are you finished?"

"No."

"I meant with your sermon, not with your cleaning. That was finished the moment I stepped into this room."

"I've said all I have to say."

He stepped aside and let her know with a baleful glare that she was to leave the attic and that there would be no argument about it. He locked the attic door behind them and pocketed the key.

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