The Millionaire and the Maid

He stared at her and his eyes darkened. He licked his lips and she had a sudden feeling he wasn’t thinking about food, but an altogether different primal need. She pulled her arms back to her sides, heat flooding her veins. Don’t be ridiculous. Men like Mac didn’t find women like her attractive.

Mac turned away from her on his chair as if he’d just come to the same conclusion. She dragged a hand back through her hair to rub her nape.

‘You said something about my car?’

She swallowed back the request that he let her drive it—just once. She swallowed back asking him if he’d just let her sit in it. For all she knew that might be as insensitive as asking him to teach her to cook.

‘I... It’s beautiful.’

He glanced at her, raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged, unsure what to say, unsure what constituted a safe topic—because she never wanted to witness that look of defeat and despair on his face again. So she shrugged again and filled the jug. She measured out tea leaves.

‘Feel free to take it for a spin any time you want.’

The jug wobbled precariously as she poured boiling water into the teapot.

Mac leapt up. ‘Don’t burn yourself!’

She concentrated on setting the jug back in its place. ‘I didn’t spill a drop.’ Her heart thump-thumped. ‘I’m fine.’ She set the teapot and two mugs onto the table. ‘But I gotta tell you, Mac, you shouldn’t offer a girl her heart’s desire while she’s pouring out boiling water—and for future reference probably not while she’s wielding sharp implements either.’

She smiled as she said it. Mac didn’t smile back. He just stared at the jug with haunted eyes, the pulse in his throat pounding.

She sat down as if nothing in the world was amiss. ‘Would you truly let me take your car out for a drive?’

He sat too. He wiped a hand down his face before lifting one negligent shoulder. ‘Sure.’ But he reached out to pour the tea before she could. ‘It could use a run. I turn it over a couple of times a week, but I don’t take it out.’

She gaped at him. ‘You’d let me drive it? Just like that?’

That same slow lift of his shoulder. ‘Why not?’

It took an effort of will to drag her gaze from that broad sweep of corded muscle. ‘I...uh... What if I pranged it?’

‘The insurance would cover it. Jo, it’s just a car.’

‘No, it’s not. It’s...’ She reached out to try and pluck the appropriate description from the air. ‘It’s a gem, a jewel—a thing of beauty. It’s—’

‘Just a car.’

‘A piece of precision German engineering.’

She almost asked how he could not want to drive it, but choked the question back at the last moment. That would be tactless. He’d been in the most dreadful accident, had suffered a long and painful recovery, and would bear the scars for the rest of his life. He’d been hounded by the media. She could see how fast cars might have lost their appeal.

So why hadn’t he sold it?

She stared at him and pursed her lips. Maybe Mac hadn’t given up on life as completely as he thought.

He glared. ‘What?’

‘You wouldn’t consider selling it, would you?’

He blinked. ‘Could you afford it?’

‘I’ve been working in the Outback for the last eight years, making decent money but having very little to spend it on.’

He scratched a hand through his hair. ‘But you’re not earning a decent wage now.’

She was earning enough to cover her needs.

He jabbed a finger at her. ‘And you may, in fact, be training for a new job shortly.’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t be the most practical of moves.’

He glared. ‘You can say that again.’

He didn’t want to sell it! She bit back a grin. There was still some life in Mac after all.

He settled back in his seat with a harrumph. ‘But the offer stands. You can take it for a spin any time you want.’

‘Lord, don’t say that,’ she groaned, ‘or your house will never get cleaned.’

He laughed. It made his eyes dance, it softened his lips, and Jo couldn’t drag her gaze away. ‘You...uh...’ She moistened her lips. ‘You wouldn’t want to come along for a spin?’

His face was immediately shuttered, closed, and she could have kicked herself. ‘Well, no, I guess not. You’re busy writing up your recipes and stuff.’

‘Speaking of which...’ He rose, evidently intent on getting back to work.

She surveyed his retreating back with a sinking heart. Well done, Jo.

In the next moment he returned. He poured himself a second cup of tea before unhitching a set of keys from the wall and setting them in front of her. ‘Ms Anderson, you brew a mighty fine pot of coffee and not a bad cup of tea. Reward yourself and take the car for a spin.’