Page 16 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

‘No need. I’ll carry it myself.’

Her thoughtfulness pleased him, but he didn’t want to encourage her. He’d been unsettled all week, unable to give work his usual total focus, mind straying too often to the stranger in his home.

The stranger who looked remarkably svelte in plain black trousers and a crisp white shirt. Even her severe hairstyle, scraped back in a bun, accentuated the purity of her features, the wide eyes, straight nose and cupid’s bow mouth that was surely even more plush than he recalled.

Slamming a door on those thoughts, he reached for the tray, only to see her shake her head.

‘I need to speak with you, so I might as well bring it.’

And have her in his rooms again? He didn’t need that distraction.

All week her presence had curtailed his concentration. Everywhere he looked he saw reminders of her. From the meticulously plumped cushions to neat stacks of books and magazines that he’d left open and spilling across surfaces. Vases of foliage and flowers had appeared in all the rooms, even in the deep window ledge of the turret staircase. Not huge, ostentatious arrangements, but artfully simple concoctions that pleased the eye and made him feel grumpy with himself about resenting them. As for the luscious hint of vanilla and cinnamon on the air after she’d passed by...

He crossed his arms, belatedly feeling chilled as his body cooled from that workout. ‘I’m busy this morning. What do you need to know?’

She blinked, and he realised her gaze was fixed not on his face, but on the ancient T-shirt that stuck to his sweaty chest. Slowly she lifted her head, her expression glassy, and his pulse revved.

Half-forgotten sensations stirred. Foremost was satisfaction, because there was no mistaking that look for anything other than feminine appreciation. The other was anticipation.

Once he’d have taken her interest as a green light for—

Alessio stiffened. Women had no place in his life, not even for short affairs. As for messing around with an employee... Absolutely not.

‘It’s the chapel,’ she said finally, her voice thick in a way that made his blood beat slow and heavy. ‘One of the stained-glass panels is broken. You said to speak to you about significant repairs, and I didn’t want to have it fixed without consulting you. That glass looks very old.’

‘It’s medieval. One of thecastello’s treasures.’

Alessio swallowed a sigh. So much for losing himself in work. He took the espresso from her tray, careful not to brush his hand against hers. Yet he couldn’t avoid that light drift of enticing scent. Was it a commercial perfume, or had she been baking?

‘Give me time to shower and dress,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll meet you in the chapel.’

Fifteen minutes later they stood below a high, arched window. Sunlight poured through, bringing a kaleidoscope of colour.

‘It’s such a shame,’ she said, looking at the glass. ‘It’s beautiful.’

She hadn’t met his eyes since he’d arrived.

Because she knew he’d read her earlier lascivious stare? The idea both pleased and annoyed him. Pleased because there was no room for a male-female relationship between them. Annoyed because, despite that, part of him, the dark, dangerous part, responded eagerly to the notion.

Alessio gritted his teeth. What madness had invaded his blood?

He wasn’t pining for female company. He’d been content all this time. His eyes narrowed on her upturned face. She was unremarkable, pleasant but not stunning.

He yanked his gaze away. This wasn’t about looks. There was something about Charlotte Symonds that teased him, hooked him and wouldn’t give him peace. Something that, impossibly, had woken a vital part of him.

‘It was my favourite window as a child. All those animals lined up ready to go onto the ark fascinated me.’

Blue eyes caught his, and heat shimmered in his belly.

‘Really?’ Her crooked smile was somehow enchanting. ‘I have trouble imagining you as a little boy.’ Her eyes widened. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’

‘It’s okay. I suspect I was always older than my years.’

As the only child of absentee parents with high expectations, he’d spent his time under the control of a series of strict tutors, working hard to become worthy of the proud Dal Lago name.

Stolen hours with Anna, Mario and other locals had never made up for a lack of parental love. Was it any wonder that when he was old enough to attract female adulation, he’d sought respite from the demands of family responsibility in hedonistic indulgence?

Alessio moved to the window. ‘It must have been that storm a few weeks ago.’ He swung around when he sensed the housekeeper’s eyes on him, and a once-familiar frisson rippled down his backbone. Awareness. Sexual interest.

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