Page 20 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

‘That’s better,’ he sighed, minutes later after his first sip. He was already halfway through a second pastry. Charlotte pushed some fresh fruit in front of him and a jar of heaven-scented honey that came from his own bees. She was rising, intending to cook some eggs, when he reached out.

He stopped short of touching, yet she felt the phantom weight of long fingers on her wrist. The sizzle under her skin was familiar now. Did he feel it too? Is that why he’d stopped short?

‘Sit, Charlotte. I want your attention.’

He had it. Especially when he called her Charlotte rather than Ms Symonds in that dark chocolate voice.

A shiver ripped through her, and her nipples peaked against her bra. Disconcerted, she reached for her coffee and hugged it close. Maybe she was succumbing to a fever.

‘I’m listening.’

A quick look confirmed his haunted expression had disappeared. So too had the anticipation she’d seen lurking in his eyes. But she couldn’t relax. The curl at the corners of his expressive mouth warned he was enjoying himself. Was he about to test her? Set an impossible task she had to perform or get the sack, because she’d had the temerity to question his motives?

What had she been thinking in the chapel? The client was always right. She’d learned that years ago. Why persist in questioning him?

Because she’d hated to think he was like her venal father.

‘I have a special favour to ask, Charlotte.’ His eyes locking with hers made her pulse slow to a ponderous beat. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Charlotte, do you?’

Was it his deep, smooth voice, or that musical lilt of an accent that made her prosaic, old-fashioned name seem almost alluring?

‘Please do.’ To her relief, the words emerged crisp and clear. Unlike the rest of her, which seemed to be melting.

‘Thank you.’ He paused. ‘What I’m about to ask doesn’t fall within your duties. It’s far more...personal than that.’

Charlotte told herself she imagined his emphasis on the wordpersonal.

Yet she didn’t imagine the satisfaction in his tone. Or the lambent heat in those stunning sea-green eyes, or the half-lidded expression of expectation as he sprawled back in his seat. It was the look of a confident man, fully expecting her to say yes to his request.

Her heart hammered as she considered what he might ask.

Charlotte recalled the man her father had wanted her to marry. She’d barely known him, but he’d had the same air of lazy self-assurance, of casual anticipation as he undid his bow tie and backed her into an empty room, telling her there’d be no engagement until he’d had a chance to ‘try before buying’.

‘I hope you don’t mind bending the rules a little and providing a little extra service. I’d be very grateful.’

The Conte had caught her gawping at his muscle-packed body when he came in from rowing. Had he registered her response to his touch? The way her skin flamed and her breath seized from the casual brush of flesh on flesh? A man with his reputation knew when women were attracted. He’d been a renowned playboy before he settled down to marriage.

Did he think she was available on request?

CHAPTER FIVE

‘DON’TLOOKSOWORRIED, Charlotte. I’m not asking you to slay a dragon or do anything morally questionable.’

He wasn’t?

‘I’d ask Anna, but I don’t want to interrupt her in Rome.’

Charlotte sagged back in her chair, torn between relief and...was that disappointment? If this was something Anna could help with, he wasn’t talking about physical intimacy.

She lifted her coffee cup to hide her burning cheeks.

Of course he wasn’t going to ask you for sexual favours.

Look at him! He probably had women queuing from here to Naples, eager for his attention. He might be reclusive, but he was a fit, healthy man in his prime. Until his marriage, he’d dated a long line of gorgeous, talented women, and then married the most beautiful, most talented of them all. His little black book probably bulged with the numbers of amazing women.

He would never be interested in a housekeeper whose idea of a fun evening ran to a long bath, then watching a film or doing needlework, or preferably both at the same time. Whose own father had dismissed her as a domestic dormouse.

‘Though, now I think about it, I suppose Iamlooking for a dragon tamer.’

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