A Millionaire's Maid

A/N:

Lisa: My Shane is practicing self-love. 

Carlicakes: Shane is definitely full of himself I wanted to bring that out, I think I succeeded because that's what everyone though *winks* .Taming, and Spanking *grins wickedly* . Honestly I am clueless about it.

Savagehunger47: Sweetheart, here is the next chapter.

Luminari Lilium: Thanks allot dear for bringing it to my attention, I hope now it's clear. I know it's my lovely friend demonsangel. 

Thank you note to the reviewers, those who voted, and last but not the least readers for taking time to read my story.

This chapter is beta'd by lovely Lisa

Kian's P.O.V:

I sigh as soon as he goes out of bedroom. I try to forget the embarrassing moment that transpired just few moments back. When I turn back I gasp, looking at the wall size poster of him, which I failed notice earlier.



In the poster, he is adorned in a white button-down shirt, and dark blue stone washed jeans. All his buttons are left unbuttoned and open, exposing his seriously drool-worthy pecs, and six-pack abs. His jeans are slung low on his hips, exposing his V shaped pelvis, and the ash-coloured waistband of his underwear.



His head tilted a little, the sexy look radiating from him is priceless. Anyone would kill to have this kinda look; porn stars and actress would have to take lessons from him. His looks can drive anyone crazy with desire. He also has an attitude that would drive anyone mad in a wrong way. Well it can also drive you insane in a right way, if you are a wacko like him. I feel something twitch, but I quickly divert my attention.



I roll my eyes looking at the huge piles of clothes dumped on the bed; anyone would freak out looking at the mess, but from the looks of it, I presume they are filthy rich clothes of some noted designer.



I take out my Ipod from my pocket and turn it on. Music is a source of my energy. I am all juiced up, and I advance towards the bed. Do I have an option to ditch the awesome cleaning job? Nay!



I bend down and gingerly touch a few clothes. I feel the softness of those fabrics; they are as soft as a newborn baby’s butt. No wonder they are fucking costly. As I sort out the clothes in piles for machine washed, to clothes that need to be dry cleaned, I blush intensely as I spot a Playboy magazine. When I grab the magazine, my eyes bulge looking at not one, but five phones. Mr. Grayson seems to have all the latest mobile phones, even his mobile phones are like him; too flashy.



I take his undergarments and exit from his bedroom, in search of the washing machine. I found it when I entered the sixth room. The room was quite small compared to the other ones, and thank goodness, because I don’t have trek down to some dingy communal laundry room. I make piles of his undergarments, separating the dark shades from the light and white coloured ones. I dump the undies first, and wait for few minutes. Then I dump the wet washed undies into the dryer.



It’s really tiring. Out of all the things I absolutely fucking hate doing is laundry. I repeat the process until all his undergarments are washed. Then I repeat the process with his other clothes. His undergarments are almost dry, and I sigh in relief.



I take the vacuum cleaner, and navigate it to the bedroom first for cleaning.  I have to mop the floor later, because some mindless sucker had decided that the flooring should be hardwood flooring. I applaud the sucker for doubling my work.



After three hours I look at the job I did, proud of myself. The bathroom is shining, and the bedroom looks elegant. I give myself a pat on the shoulder for job well done. All his undergarments are back in the wardrobe, and only when I was putting them away, I noticed that he was going through his almost empty wardrobe, just to brandish his backside. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the sight; I raked his back view with my eyes, but I did it at the cost being caught.



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All the other rooms had taken a lot less effort than I had originally assumed, because two bedrooms were left untouched. I finally headed towards the only two rooms left, the kitchen and living room.



On my way to kitchen, from the corner of my eyes, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Grayson delicately launched on his couch, watching some program. I will save the living hell, I mean living room, for last.



No matter how long I tried to work slowly in the kitchen, I was through a lot sooner than I had hoped. Before I advance towards the living hell room, I mean living room, I take my Ipod out of my pocket once again. I go to my favourites on the play list, hit the play button, and turn up the volume a little more.



As I listen to the beats, my nervousness is lessened. I saunter to the living room with the vacuum cleaner, but I leave the mop in the kitchen.  I make sure my eyes are rooted to the ground, and concentrate on my work. My eyes seem to have a mind of their own; they won’t listen to me. They peek at him every few seconds; they are attracted to him like an iron is attracted to magnet.



It’s horrible when your own eyes won’t listen to you. Your eyes are beholding him, and praising the self-proclaimed adonis. Every time I peek at him, I see the piercing pair of azure eyes cutting me like a knife; it’s sheer torture. Oh God, how am I gonna last?



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Shane's P.O.V:

I gaze at him. Every time he bends down to wring the mop with his hand, I catch teeny weeny glimpses of his butt cleavage. His hips sway left and right seductively. I presume it’s due to the song he is listening to, and I am sure he is quite unaware of it.



His booty sway sexily, it is more arousing than a woman’s seductions. I really want to know what song he is listening to. Before I get up, I allow myself to be entertained by those lovely movements of his slim hips. His hips are pretty flexible for a guy, I know for sure.



I get up, and when he reaches the table to mop around it, I take out one of the ear plugs from his head set. I listen to the Latin music; no wonder his hips were swaying to the beat. It’s a beautiful song; I like it. I look down to see his shocked expression, and I smirk.  



I glide to my couch now that I have his attention, and I cross my legs. I take out the note pad from the table in front of the couch, and start writing down his schedule.



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Kian's P.O.V:



I see him settled on his couch, his legs crossed seductively. He is just like a muse; ready to inspire poets and artists. Oh God! I think I have gone mad, I seem to admire everything this stud does. God save me from this madness.



He is writing down something on this note pad. I wonder what it is. He looks up at me, our eyes lock for a moment, and I quickly avert my eyes down. I ditch the bucket and mop in the room where I found them. As I pass him, I go to his room and dump the bag Mrs. Grayson gave me. Now I am standing before Mr. Grayson.



“What’s your name?” he asks me.



“Kian Faith.” I reply.



“How old are you Kian?” questioned Mr. Grayson.



“I am eighteen. Mr. Grayson, can you tell me which room is mine?”  I ask. Well, there are only two bedrooms left, beside Mr. Grayson’s bedroom. I pray I don’t get the cotton candy pink themed bedroom. It’s the cotton candy pink colour, that’s the only colour I can’t stand. My eyes really hurt just by looking at the colour.



Wow! Great! Mr. Grayson has given me the exact room that I despise. I knew it; he is taking revenge. Pink power, way to go. If my eyes hurt looking at that room for just few minutes, then how the fuck am I gonna live? I know I am exaggerating a bit, but I think I am gonna go nuts for sure.



I see him take out a cigarette and light it. I really hate smoking, I can’t stand the smell, and I wonder what is so good about smoking? I am just gonna tell him that I hate smoking.



“I hate cigarettes,” See again I said something really stupid; I wanted to say please don’t smoke, I don’t like it.



“I hate cigarettes too; that’s why I am burning it,” said Mr. Grayson with a crooked smile, exposing his pearly white teeth.



The moment the next question escaped his mouth, I looked up. I had this strong desire to knock him out. How dare he ask me how short I am? I grit my teeth and bite my inner cheeks to control my rage.



“Five feet, and four inches,” I answer irritated.



The instant I hear him say that I won’t grow anymore because my growth spurt has stopped, I was trembling with rage. The next question made me do something I never thought I would do.



As he stood up, I raced towards him, and snatched the papers in his hand. I took the beer can from the table, stood on the table, and poured all the contents on him. It felt so good. He stopped before he asked me anything else.



Satisfied with what I did, I mumbled, “Idiot, Oooppss it would be an insult to other idiots if I called you an idiot.”



I answered his unfinished question,” I can’t stop fucking staring at you, because I was debating whether to take your face or not, if my fucking ass ever decides to go on vacation,” With that said, I ran to my room. I never knew that the dickhead was so, so, so insensitive.



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Shane's P.O.V:

I see clearly see that he is nervous by his posture; his shoulders are slightly drooped, and his hands are in his pockets. Alright, I guess I have to make him feel bit relaxed, so I decided to ask him general questions.



Kian Faith, not a bad name....eighteen, why is he not going to school?? He shouldn’t be working. I wanted to ask the reason why he’s working, but then I don’t want to get too personal. Before I could ask another question, he wanted to know which room he could take. Well, I have a perfect room in my mind for you, and I am sure you will love it.



“The pink themed bedroom is all yours.”I stated.



Looks like we seem agree that we both hate cigarettes, “I hate cigarettes too; that’s why I am burning it,” I said, removing the cigarette from my lips and exhaling the smoke.



Wow! Look at his expression! I don’t know why, but I seem to find it quite fascinating.



“How short are you Kian?”



When I asked him how he old he was he didn’t get offended, but why did he look like he was ready to kill me when I asked him how short he was? You can ask a tall person how tall he is, but can’t you ask a short person how short he is? You can’t ask a dwarf how tall he isn’t? This guy is way too short; he is a foot shorter than me.



Why is it wrong that I told him he won’t grow any taller because his growth spurt must have ended. So what if I told him he is fat; chubby people are fat.



I stood up to hand him the paper with his schedule on it, and he raced towards me while I was in middle of asking, “You can’t stop staring...” before I could finish, he poured all the contents of my beer on me as he stood on the table.



Do people call someone who speaks the truth an idiot? I was shocked when he said, “I can’t stop staring at you, because I was debating whether to take your face or not, if my fucking ass ever decides to go on vacation.”



For some reason I find it amusing, I smirk thinking about what he did. No one dared to do that to me before. I lick the droplets of beer on my lips. Just great, I need to take another shower.



When I enter my bedroom, for a moment I was taken back. My bedroom really looks neat, not bad; the kid has done a pretty good job. I take my phone and dial the number of a little birdie for information on Kian Faith.



“Hey Archie, how are you? Listen I need a favour from you. I need information on Kian Faith.”



“Is he the new personal maid your mom sent you?” he asks me.



“You already know that? For some reason I am not surprised that you know.”



“Alright hon, I will get back to you in few minutes.”



“Thanks,” with that I cut the call, and head for another shower.



By the time I came out of my bathroom I heard my phone ring; I know who it is.  Archie gives me all the information, including unnecessary facts too. I see the guy loves cooking; let’s see how good his cooking really is.  I feel a headache forming, and I hang up the phone.



I call mom, and thank her for sending me some clothes. She always knows what I need; I don’t even have to ask her, because I get it anyway. She is the best mom in the world.



I find Kian in his pajamas, already catching some z’s. He looks cute, but he looked even more adorable when he lost his temper. Ah what’s wrong with me, how can I find him cute? Sometimes, your body has a mind of its own, and before I realized it, I acted without thinking. I really don’t know why I am in his bed. My hands are taking the few strands off of his lovely face. His hair is so soft that my hand slips away. I absolutely need to find out what shampoo he uses.



I look at him, my eyes stop at his lips. I touch the pouty lips, and feel the softness on my fingertips. I feel ticklish touching his soft lips, and before I know it, I am bending down and planting a kiss on his lips. I feel something strange in my stomach; it’s like my stomach did a flip-flop. I never felt this before; I must be hungry. I am shocked at my own behaviour, and more shocked that this person hasn’t moved an inch. He must be a heavy sleeper. I have this strong desire to kiss his tender lips again and bruise them.



What the hell am I thinking? I have to get out of there before I do something stupid. I don’t have the heart to wake him up to make dinner, so I watch his sleeping figure for some time. By the time I realize it, it’s been an hour already since I came into his room.  I still can’t believe this guy hugs a teddy bear and sleeps. I realize I am smiling....

Thanks to my lovely beta, you rock girl!