The Millionaire and the Maid

She rose, collected their plates and strode into the kitchen. He wanted to go after her, shake her and tell her those boys had been wrong. He curled a hand around the doorframe of the dining room before he could storm through it. If he went after her he’d kiss her. And this time neither one of them would stop.

He strode out to the front veranda, Bandit at his heels, into the chill night. If only he could get his hands on those cruel twerps. If only he could prove to her that she was beautiful.

You can. Go see Russ. For her.

He sat on the top step and held his head in his hands. That would mean something to her. But...

Go see Russ? Though he wanted to, with everything that was inside him, he couldn’t break his promise.

* * *

Jo searched for signs of pity in Mac’s face the next day, when he gave her a brand-new recipe to try out—coq au vin—but couldn’t see any.

What did disconcert her was the way his gaze rested on her lips and the answering hunger that rose through her. She didn’t want to want this man. She wished she hadn’t told him that nasty sordid tale last night. She wished she’d been able to resist his appeal for honesty. He made her feel far too vulnerable.

She gazed at the recipe and gave her brain a metaphorical kick. Think of something halfway intelligent to say.

‘So, this needs to simmer for a long time?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Simmer, boil, poach, stew—all that nonsense should probably go in your glossary of terms.’

He wrote that down on his notepad. ‘A genuine simmer is just below boiling point, but where there’s still the occasional bubble surfacing.’

Right. She filed the information away.

‘C’mon—sit down,’ he ordered, gesturing to the kitchen table. ‘There’s hours before you need to get the stew on to simmer.’

‘There’s a lot of chopping to do,’ she said, referring to the recipe.

He switched on the laptop he’d brought downstairs with him. ‘Jo, not even you need five hours to chop some chicken and vegetables.’

He had a point. If only she hadn’t done the grocery shopping yesterday afternoon she could have used that as an excuse to avoid him now. She sat, but she’d have much sooner grabbed the broom and started sweeping the laundry, or headed outside for a spot of weeding.

Anything except being in the same room as him, sitting so close to him. And if he thought they were going to continue last night’s conversation then he was going to be sadly disappointed.

‘What do you want?’

He raised an eyebrow and she knew she wasn’t being particularly gracious—but then she didn’t feel particularly gracious. She felt grumpy, out of sorts, frustrated...

She stuck her nose in the air. ‘I’ll have you know I’m very busy with important housemaidy things.’

His lips twitched. ‘Do you think you can fit the making of tea into all that important housemaid business?’

With an exaggerated sigh, she rose and made tea while he fiddled around with his computer.

When she set the pot and two mugs on the table and took her seat again he said, ‘We’re going to take a vocational test.’

Something inside her started to shrivel. The sooner she worked out the next stage of her life the sooner she’d leave him in peace, right?

He fixed her with the clear blue of his eyes. ‘You’ve helped me and now I want to help you.’

The shrivelling promptly stopped. He wasn’t trying to get rid of her?

‘Ready?’

She shrugged. ‘I guess.’

He turned to the laptop. ‘“Are you more motivated by achievement or appreciation?”’ he read.

She blinked. ‘Um...’ She liked to see the results of her hard work—as in the way Mac’s house now currently shone after all her dusting and sweeping. ‘Achievement.’

He leaned back in his chair with a frown. ‘Are you sure?’

She glared back at him. ‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘Why do you want to make that macaron tower for your grandmother, then? Aren’t you hoping to gain her appreciation and help her win a bet?’

What she really wanted to do was bring her grandmother and great-aunt’s differences to an end. She knew they loved each other, so why couldn’t they show it?

Because of her? She’d always been a bone of contention between them.

‘Jo?’

She shook herself. ‘Fine—whatever. Appreciation, then.’

His glare deepened. ‘You have to take this seriously.’

She lifted her hands. ‘I am.’

He glared at her for a few more seconds before returning to his computer. ‘“Do you tend to rely on your past experiences or on hunches?”’