Page 33 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

‘A driver will take you tomorrow to be fitted for a ball gown.’ He paused. ‘It was remiss of me not to organise it sooner.’

‘Thank you, but I don’t need it. I have a dress sorted.’ Though it wouldn’t be a patch on a designer gown.

Alessio shook his head. ‘I invited...ordered you to attend.’ His mouth firmed. ‘I apologise. I wasn’t at my best that day, and I took it out on you. But I’m not so unreasonable as to expect you to pay for a formal dress that you’ll only wear once, because I demanded your presence.’

Charlotte stared, torn between competing impulses. To smile and accept this olive branch. Because it was just that, with an admission of guilt, no less. Yet at the same time, it rankled that he assumed she’d never wear a ball dress after she left here. Because her life was about serving others, not ever being the belle of the ball.

‘Thank you. Apology accepted. But there really is no need. I have a dress that’s suitable.’

She’d tried the jewel-coloured gown on last night and been stunned. For the first time in her adult life, Charlotte had felt glamorous and seductive. Not at all like the practical, down-to-earth woman she really was.

Alessio frowned as if he didn’t believe her, or maybe didn’t trust her to know what would pass muster at such an exclusive event.

‘Don’t worry, Alessio. I’ve served at some very elite events. I won’t embarrass you.’

‘I know you won’t.’ The certainty in his voice surprised her. ‘What colour is the dress?’

‘Deep blue.’

He angled his head as if to get a better look at her. Why? She hadn’t altered. She wore her usual uniform with her hair neatly up, the barest hint of make-up and no jewellery. Yet as his scrutiny touched her face and hair, dipping briefly to skim her body, that too-familiar heat built in her pelvis.

‘If you change your mind about the dress, let me know.’ Charlotte nodded. ‘And as of today, I’ve assigned someone to assist you.’ He raised his palm as if anticipating a protest. ‘No arguments. You’re doing a fine job, but I don’t want you too exhausted to attend the ball.’

Then, without waiting for further argument, he turned on his heel and disappeared, leaving Charlotte confused. Was he just ensuring he had a hostess available on the night? Or was he genuinely concerned for her?

Hehadapologised for being unreasonable and making her solely responsible for the ball. And he could have offered to get her a dress from a nearby boutique without arranging for her to go to a world-class designer.

She hugged the massive silver tray to herself. The trouble was, she wanted him to be aware of her as a woman when every sensible bone in her body knew that was dangerous. What she felt for him was dangerous.

She’d see the ball done and then leave. Because staying, feeling the way she did about her employer, was a recipe for disaster.

Charlotte paused outside Alessio’s study, smoothing her long skirt. When she’d looked in the mirror, she’d seen a woman she didn’t know. Someone glamorous and intriguing. Not at all like a housekeeper, but like...

Who? Cinderella?

She snorted. She might be going to the ball, but she was still staff. Nothing changed that. Her dress wouldn’t compare with the haute couture of the guests. And when every other invitee was tucked up in bed after the festivities, she’d be the one organising the clean-up.

Tonight is work.

But as she rapped on Alessio’s door she couldn’t scotch a tingle of anticipation at the thought of standing beside him to receive his guests.

‘Come in, Charlotte.’ His low voice curled around her, and strangely, her flutter of nerves settled.

He had his back to her. But he swung around as she approached, and she faltered to a halt midway across the room.

He was magnificent.

Her gaze roved his features, taking in neatly trimmed hair and scrupulously shaved skin that revealed a proud, well-shaped chin. His formal evening suit, snowy shirt and silk bow tie set off his austere good looks so well that he literally stole her breath.

Charlotte pressed a hand to her churning abdomen, trying to still her reaction.

She’d dreamed of Alessio as a marauding pirate who swept her off her feet and did things to her no man ever had. She’d thought nothing could surpass that secret fantasy. Now she realised her error. In formal clothes, the Conte Dal Lago was the sexiest, most handsome man she’d ever met.

And then he smiled.

Pleasure curled his mouth and lit his eyes, and her breath snagged in cramped lungs.

‘You look beautiful,’ he told her.

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