Page 19 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

His pain, the dark void of suffering glimpsed in an unguarded moment, had stunned her.

And made her thoughts skew to the gorgeous modern bedroom she’d found on the far side of the castle, complete with a huge ensuite wet room, and through an adjoining door, a nursery in sunny shades of yellow. Her heart had clenched as she stood in that bright room with its empty cot, knowing instinctively it had never been used.

It clenched again now.

How much had this man lost?

The press spoke about his wife. But was there more...?

‘Not so quickly, Ms Symonds.’

His words stopped her as she turned towards the kitchen.

Charlotte pulled up, head swivelling towards him. There was no grief or weakness in that severe, aristocratic face. The Conte Dal Lago looked totally in control. More, the gleam in his moss-dark eyes hinted at something disturbingly like anticipation. That, coupled with his air of untamed masculinity, accentuated by his darkly stubbled chin and unruly hair, made tension dance across her nerves.

‘Yes, sir?’

Frown lines appeared on his broad forehead as if he didn’t like being calledsir. But formality seemed appropriate.

Charlotte clasped her hands and waited. What he said next stunned her.

‘I’d like your assistance. Let’s discuss it over coffee.’ He nodded in the direction of the kitchen and reached out to open the door at the same time she did.

Long fingers brushed hers, brushed and tangled. For that skimming touch sent a sizzle of shocking heat through her, making her hand curl instinctively so that instead of sliding free it caught his. Her breath hissed in but didn’t fill her lungs. Her eyes rounded on the sight of long olive fingers locked with her paler ones.

Fire swept her features as she realised she was holding his hand. The moment was brief yet seemed to stretch forever. Trying to persuade her locked fingers to open. Trying to pretend her body hadn’t gone into spasm at the merest touch. Trying to ignore the awareness that shot through her, settling like a glowing ember deep in her pelvis.

‘Sorry.’ It sounded like she spoke over grated glass. Felt like it too.

Charlotte dropped her hand, curling her fingers tight over the hypersensitive throb where they’d touched. She didn’t look up, didn’t want to read his expression, but watched those long fingers turn the knob and open the door.

This wasn’t static electricity. It was more. Something connected to the disquiet she experienced whenever she was with the Conte. Or thinking about him. Or recognising that dark velvet voice as it wound through her dreams.

The door opened, and Charlotte shot into the kitchen, relieved to be in her own territory.

Yet it felt different now.

The vast space, a vaulted room that combined massive stainless-steel ovens and refrigerators, several pantries and an ancient fireplace big enough to roast a bullock, shrank in size when her employer entered. He didn’t loom but sat in a chair at the enormous table. Yet his presence changed the atmosphere completely.

Or maybe that was embarrassment. She’d overreacted to a chance touch like some cloistered virgin.

Fiery trails still ran along her veins. What did that mean?

The air crackled, and Charlotte felt his scrutiny as she moved to brew fresh coffee. There was a clatter and she looked over her shoulder to find him piling fresh pastries on not one, but two plates.

The Conte met her stare with a raised eyebrow. ‘It was early when you accosted me in the corridor. I’m assuming you haven’t eaten breakfast either.’

Accosted? He made it sound like physical assault rather than a request for guidance. But she said nothing, too busy digesting the fact he not only wanted her assistance but planned to share a meal. What had happened to her reclusive employer?

‘Don’t scowl. You’ll put me off my food.’

Given the voracious bite he’d taken out of a pastry, it was on the tip of her tongue to scoff, for he was clearly a man with a healthy appetite, much healthier, it seemed to her, than when she’d first arrived.

Which is none of your business.

Even if she’d been reluctantly worried about her unfathomable boss.

She focused on the coffee and calming her pulse rate.

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