He dried a glass carefully, studying it against the light for spots. His expression was unreadable. Finally, his intent gaze left the glass and found hers. "Like dating Allen," he said sternly.
So that was it. He thought she was dating Allen. Well, hadn't she? And he was right, to some extent. Dating Allen hadn't been a good idea. Still, how could Giddon know? Oh yes, he had overheard her conversation with Allen earlier and made his own deductions. Of course, she had stood up for Allen. All of which was beside the point. None of this was any of Giddon's business. She met his steady gaze. "Mr. Giddon, I am old enough . . ."
"Yancey," he interrupted sharply. "My name is Yancey." His steady gaze gave no indication of what else was on his mind.
She met his regard with equal composer, in spite of the fact that the conversation was beginning to make her feel extremely uncomfortable. "Well . . . Yancey, maybe you're the one I should be careful about."
His expression revealed surprise for a brief moment, and then his eyes flashed with anger. "What's that supposed to mean? What have I done?"
She gave her attention to the glass she was rinsing. "I think sometimes you forget that you're my employer."
"You're right, I do forget," he answered roughly and slammed his glass down on the counter.
She dropped her glass in the sink and took a step backward. If he was going to start throwing things, she had no intention of staying there in the kitchen alone with him.
He slung the dishtowel over his shoulder and one long step brought him to a point where she was pinned in the corner of the counter. He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her roughly against him and kissed her lips in a demanding way that roused more anger than anything else. It was that anything else that concerned her the most.
He released her and searched her face as though trying to discover the reason for her lack of response.
She stared at him coldly. "See what I mean?"
His brows drew down in a scowl and he grabbed the dishtowel from his shoulder, throwing it on the counter. Without another word, he stalked from the room.
So much for helping her with the dishes. It was only a ruse to get her alone. His kiss had been an act of aggression, not passion. He couldn't win the argument any other way, so he had resorted to his irresistible charm. Maybe it angered him because she hadn't found him irresistible. Who knew what would tick him off? Although, lately she had been hitting that nerve with little or no effort. Outside of his remark about her swimsuit, and the two kisses he had forced on her, he had shown no special interest in her. She was the maid, the baby sitter - nothing else in his eyes. His greatest interest obviously lay some distance down that path into the woods. At least they had one common interest.