The Millionaire and the Maid

‘And tomorrow I think we should try something different. Tomorrow you’ll come down here and cook one of your complicated recipes, barking your instructions as you go, and I’ll jot them down.’

Did he dare?

‘Mac, it’s time to decide what’s more important—your self-imposed punishment or getting this cookbook written.’

With that she left.

Mac fell back into his seat. He let out a long, slow breath from cramped lungs. Man, that really had been one hell of a way to stop him kissing her.

CHAPTER NINE

THE NEXT DAY Jo swept, vacuumed and beat rugs. She did three loads of laundry, washed dishes and wiped down shelves. She cleaned windows—inside and out. This close to the coast, the easterly sea breezes laced the windows with salt. They needed cleaning. A lot.

She tried to fill her mind with salt, dust and cleaning, but over and over it returned to Mac and yesterday’s kiss, to the words Mac had spoken, to the hunger in his eyes. And every single time her heart fluttered up into her throat, her thighs softened and her eyes burned. Did he really think her beautiful?

She collapsed on the top step of the veranda and stared at the glorious scene in front of her, hugging a bottle of window cleaner and a cleaning cloth to her chest. She could look at it any way she wanted, but Mac wasn’t feigning his desire for her. She might not be able to explain the attraction between them, but that didn’t make it any less real. He found her attractive. Beautiful.

He wanted her.

You are divine, desirable and all I can think about is kissing you.

When he’d said that he’d made her believe it. Hearing his voice in her head now made her believe it. When she saw herself reflected in his eyes she liked what she saw. He had no reason to lie. So why couldn’t she keep on believing it?

Her heart did a strange little skip.

Bandit came to sit beside her and even tolerated it when Jo fondled her ears. ‘Has he shut you out too, girl?’

Jo hadn’t clapped eyes on Mac once so far today and...she glanced at her watch...it was nearly three o’clock. He’d been down for coffee while she’d been pegging clothes on the line—and he’d taken the entire pot back upstairs with him. He’d obviously made himself sandwiches and taken them back up to his room too, while she’d vacuumed the front rooms. She knew he was up there. She’d heard his heavy footfalls as he’d paced back and forth, back and forth.

She scowled. It was time for him to come out of this self-imposed exile and live again.

‘If he doesn’t come down to cook one of those absurd recipes of his, Bandit, then he’s getting fish fingers for dinner.’

‘Now, that would be a fate worse than death.’

Bandit raced across to the door.

Jo took her time turning around.

It still didn’t ready her for the shocking bolt of heat that stabbed through her. She found herself repeating over and over: One-night stands are bad. One-night stands are bad.

She didn’t mean to be judgmental. One-night stands were all well and good between consenting adults. But instinct warned her that a fling with Mac would be a very bad idea. He made her feel too much. Which was a real shame, because she’d be prepared to pay a lot for the physical release he could give her, but in this instance she suspected the price would be too high.

‘How are you on this fine day, Jo?’

Was it a fine day? She went to rise, but he motioned for her to remain where she was before taking a seat beside her.

‘I was hoping you were about to put me to work,’ she said. ‘That would make it a fine day.’ His eyes suddenly gleamed and she choked. She wanted to add, In the kitchen—writing down your recipes... but decided it would be wiser to remain silent.

‘Soon,’ he said, growing sober. ‘I think the suggestion you made yesterday has a lot of merit. So I’ll cook and you can make notes.’

Yes! And tomorrow she’d hassle him to show her how to assemble the macaron tower. ‘Smart move. It’ll save you from the fish fingers.’

‘First I want to clear the air about yesterday’s kiss.’

Was that even possible?

‘Or at least try to explain myself.’

The shrivelling started—the dying inside. She stared directly out in front of her. Here it came—the let-her-down-gently speech. For a short time she’d believed... She shook her head and swallowed.

‘I don’t want you to think I want a fling with you, Jo.’

Ditto. But she remained silent. She didn’t have the heart to take part in the conversation. If she had the energy she’d cut him off and ask if they couldn’t just get on with the cooking.