One Month with the Magnate by Michelle Celmer

to find Isabelle. She was kneeling on the kitchen floor, cleaning up the oil that spilled by the stove. Only then did he remember that she’d burned her leg, and wondered if it still hurt.
    Maybe he should have considered that before he put the moves on her. Of course, he hadn’t started it this time, had he? Seducing her had been the last thing on his mind.
    Okay, maybe not the last thing…
    She saw him standing there and shot to her feet. “I’m so sorry. If I had known it was him at the door—”
    â€œI told you to answer it, Isabelle. It’s not your fault.”
    â€œHe won’t tell anyone, will he?”
    â€œHe promised not to. He’s going to be staying here for a few days. Possibly until Thanksgiving.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œIt won’t change anything. Except maybe you’ll be feeding one more person.”
    â€œThere are always leftovers, anyway.”
    â€œWhat he said to you, it was uncalled for. It won’t happen again. I told him that he’s not allowed to give you a hard time.”
    â€œBecause you’re the only one allowed to make disparaging comments?”
    Something like that. Although now when he thought about saying something rude, it just made him feel like a jerk. He kept thinking about what Alejandro said, about the new developments. That she might be innocent. And even if she was involved somehow, was he so beyond reproach that he felt he had the right to judge her?
    That didn’t change what she had done to him, and what her father did to his family. For that she was getting exactly what she deserved.
    â€œI’m sorry I ruined breakfast,” she said. “I guess hash browns are a little out of my league.”
    Or maybe it was the result of him distracting her. He never would have done it if he had known she would get hurt. “So you’ll make easier things from now on.”
    â€œI don’t think frying potatoes would be considered complicated. I think I’m just hopeless when it comes to cooking. But thanks for taking care of me. It’s been a really long time since someone has done something nice for me. Someone besides my mom, anyway.”
    â€œYour husband didn’t do nice things for you?” He didn’t mean to ask the question. He didn’t give a flying fig what her husband did or didn’t do. It just sort of popped out.
    â€œLenny took very good care of me,” she said, an undercurrent of bitterness in her voice. “I didn’t want for a single thing when I was married to him.”
    But she wasn’t happy, her tone said.
    Well, she had made her own bed. Emilio would have given her anything, done anything to make her happy. But that hadn’t been enough for her.
    Her loss.
    She pulled off her gloves, wincing a bit when it jostled her bandaged finger.
    â€œIt still hurts?” he asked, and she shrugged. “Any signs of infection?”
    â€œIt’s fine.”
    That was her standard answer. It could be black with gangrene and she would probably say it was fine. “When was the last time you changed the dressing?”
    â€œLast night…I think.”
    From the condition of the bandage he would guess it was closer to the night before last. Clearly she wasn’t taking care of it. He didn’t want to be responsible if it got infected.
    He held out his hand. “Let’s see it.”
    She didn’t even bother arguing, she just held her hand out to him. He peeled the bandage off. The cut itself hadclosed, but the area around it was inflamed. There’s no way she could not have known it was infected. “Damn, Isabelle, are you trying to lose a finger?”
    â€œI’ve been busy.”
    â€œToo busy to take care of yourself?” He dropped her hand. “You still have the antibiotic ointment?”
    She nodded.
    â€œUse it. I want you to put a fresh dressing on it three times a day until the infection is cleared