Page 15 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

He’d given times for his meals. Contact details for suppliers and a few other, sparse instructions. He’d ended with food preferences: none, and key requirement: privacy.

He was never in the small dining room when she served his meals, and she waited until she heard him leave before clearing away.

The Conte Dal Lago was unlike any employer or guest she’d known. It should have been easy to meet his demands and ignore him, yet perversely Charlotte was more than ever aware of her elusive employer. And, as if his lack of interest were a challenge, working harder than ever to make thecastelloshine and her hermit boss’s meals delicious.

Charlotte heard him on the stairs and would stop, breath tight for reasons she couldn’t identify. She’d enter a room andknowhe’d just left it, though she couldn’t explain why. It was only later that she’d notice something had been moved, like books or those glossy art and antiques magazines.

Making his bed, she was always aware of the imprint of his head on the pillow and that distinctive hint of earthy woodiness and frankincense. The enticing scent was stronger in the bathroom, especially if it was still steamy from his shower. She’d find herself pausing to inhale, a fluttery sensation stirring inside.

Clearing his neatly folded clothes, she was sensitive to the fact he’d worn them. Occasionally she felt the warmth of his body on the fabric and caught that other faint scent, of healthy male, that made her stomach dip.

It was appalling, reacting so to a man who wanted nothing to do with her. Not only appalling but new.

She hadn’t been so stupidly focused on a man since high school, when an earnest science teacher had tried and failed to help her grapple with chemistry.

The Conte was no well-meaning young man. He was like a force of nature. Elemental. Harsh. With an inner darkness that should repel her.

Instead it fascinated her. Perhaps because, while proving himself to be every inch the brusque, demanding lord of the manor, he’d betrayed hints of deprecating self-awareness. He’d apologised for his assumptions about her. And when he’d laughed, the rich sound curling around her as amusement blazed in those extraordinary green eyes...

She bit her lip. This fixation had to stop. Yesterday she’d found herself in the great hall, staring at a painting of a dragon-like creature emerging from a lake. Presumably it was the fabled local monster she’d heard mentioned. But what had drawn her wasn’t any legend but the fact the creature’s scales were the exact deep green of the Conte’s eyes.

That had tugged her closer, and she’d noticed another figure in the small painting. A blonde woman in a long dress. She faced the dragon with a surprisingly calm expression, given the hungry way it surveyed her.

A shiver had sped down Charlotte’s spine. She’d felt an instant affinity with the golden-haired woman, facing down a terrifying beast. Especially as its sharp, devouring stare felt familiar. But in her unruly mind, her boss surveyed her with an entirely different type of hunger.

Charlotte set her teeth and turned for the shore, furious with herself. She didn’t need his company, or for him to look at her the way a man watches an attractive woman. She didn’t need anyone. It was a luxury having time to herself. She spent evenings nestled in her window seat, sewing and watching the sun set beyond the mountains, bathing the lake in peach and gold before the sky turned indigo.

She was putting her feet down to wade out onto the beach when movement behind her made her twist around.

There was a hiss, a powerful ripple and tug in the water that instantly made her think of the legendary monster.

Charlotte’s eyes widened as, through the last patch of mist, a sleek form sped past the island.

Her heart thudded, then eased as she recognised the shape. Not a monstrous creature but a rowing scull, moving at speed. She saw a black hull and a tall figure and exhaled in relief.

That’s how he stays so phenomenally fit.

She’d seen him half-dressed and knew he couldn’t spend all his time at a desk.

He’s got a rower’s shoulders and powerful thighs. And that’s none of your business, Charlotte Symonds.

Pushing back her shoulders and setting her jaw, she marched up the beach and grabbed her towel. She had things to achieve today, and that included cornering the man who’d done everything to avoid her.

The question was, which of them would find the meeting more challenging?

‘Buongiorno.’

Alessio stopped midstride as a door opened and a warm, slightly husky voice slid through him. A pang of something sharp pierced his belly as light spilled into the dark corridor, revealing the trim figure of his housekeeper.

His pulse quickened. Because of the ambrosial smell of coffee and fresh baked pastries she carried.

Not for any other reason.

Yet he couldn’t stop his gaze drifting from her shining old-gold hair down her slender frame.

‘Good morning.’ His voice was gruff.

‘I saw you rowing and thought you might like coffee as soon as you came in. Shall I bring it up to your suite?’

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