Page 21 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

His mouth curved infinitesimally higher, and she wondered, if he did that often enough, whether he’d actually smile. She recalled how his unexpected laughter the first day had cut through her professional reserve and tapped into a shockingly responsive part of her.

Light danced in those devilish green eyes.

Was that a dimple in one lean cheek? It was gone so fast she might have imagined it, yet sheknewhe was amused. It was there in the smug way he folded his arms over that broad chest and the almost-smile ghosting his lips.

The effect was devastating. If he ever really smiled at a woman, or, Lord help her,withher, the female in question would dissolve with delight.

Charlotte sat straight, pressing knees and ankles together and clasping her cup tightly, annoyed that she couldn’t keep her thoughts in order.

‘You’ve got me worried.’ Though not as worried as she’d been, wondering if she could withstand a proposition from the only man who’d ever made her feel so sexuallyaware. ‘Can you please explain?’

‘It’s quite simple, and I’m sure you’ll be just the person to deal with it.’

‘Itbeing your dragon?’

‘Figuratively speaking.’ He shook his head, and Charlotte was intrigued to see his expression soften. ‘I lost track of dates. It’s my great-aunt’s birthday soon, and I need an appropriate gift.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘You seem like a people person.’ At her questioning look, he shrugged. ‘You were very concerned not to disappoint our visiting priest, whom you haven’t even met.’

There was a hint of steel in his tone, reminding Charlotte that she’d pressed her case perilously far.

‘I’m hoping you can find something to satisfy her.’

Charlotte was about to protest that she knew nothing about his great-aunt. But hadn’t she done that sort of thing before? Chosen gifts for high-paying guests to take home? She’d even found the perfect eternity ring at short notice for a guest who’d forgotten his wedding anniversary.

This was no different. Except she sensed the Conte enjoyed the prospect of her failing.

She had no intention of failing. She needed this job, she was good at it, and she’d excel.

‘Tell me about your aunt.’

‘Great-Aunt Beatrice.’ He paused. ‘Eagle-eyed. Sharp-tongued. She doesn’t suffer fools and has an opinion on everything, particularly the foibles of her relatives.’ Including, Charlotte guessed, her great-nephew.

‘What does she like?’

‘Apart from telling everyone what to do? Travel. Gossip. Fine food and wine. Jewellery.’

‘What did you give her for her last birthday?’

‘A Renaissance gold ring with a flawless cabochon ruby.’ He paused. ‘She complained it didn’t have a secret cavity for poison she could use to dispose of annoying time wasters.’

Charlotte stifled a giggle and was surprised to see amusement lighten his stern features. ‘And the year before?’

‘Ruby earrings.’ At her raised eyebrows, he spread his hands. ‘Red is her favourite colour.’

‘But she doesn’t want more jewellery?’

‘No, that year she complained the rubies were too heavy on her ears.’

‘She sounds like a woman of definite opinions.’ Charlotte rather liked the sound of the old lady, but she didn’t relax. This would be a tough challenge. ‘What else does she enjoy?’

‘Quaffing champagne with cronies and bemoaning the younger generation. You’d think her harmless, sitting with her needlework, until you realise she heard every salient point of every conversation and has an uncanny knack of dredging them up at the most inconvenient—’

‘What sort of needlework?’

‘Sorry?’ The Conte stared, and Charlotte stifled a groan. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but it was the first real lead he’d given. ‘I don’t know. Decorative stuff. Embroidery. I remember she made a tapestry cushion cover too.’ For the first time since they’d met, he looked unsure of himself.

‘Cross-stitch?’

He spread his hands wide, shoulders lifting, and she repressed a smile at his cluelessness in this, at least.

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