The Millionaire and the Maid

In her heart she knew it was for the best.

‘I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet what a sight for sore eyes you are.’

She was wearing an old pair of tracksuit pants and an oversized T-shirt that had once been blue but was now grey. She was a sight, all right, but not the kind he meant.

She spun around. ‘What are you doing here, Mac?’

His gaze lowered to her mouth. Beneath tanned flesh the pulse at the base of his jaw pounded. Hunger roared through her. They swayed towards each other, but at the last moment he snapped away.

‘If I kiss you now I’ll be lost, and I did promise your grandmother I’d make this meal.’ He ground that last from between clenched teeth. He glared at her. ‘And you promised her that darn macaron tower.’ He suddenly seized her shoulders in a strong grip. ‘But after this party we’re talking.’

‘Right.’ She swallowed. ‘Good.’

Except... He wasn’t going to go over old ground, was he? He wouldn’t ask her to return to the beach house as his housekeeper, would he?

He had to know that wasn’t enough.

His fingers tightened, although she sensed how he tempered his strength.

‘What’s the plan for this evening? Is there anything you’d like me to do?’

Love me.

She swallowed that back, shrugged. ‘Just follow my lead, I guess. I think I have it under control.’

Fingers crossed.

They stared at each other for a long fraught moment. She swung away, her heart surging in her chest. One thing was clear—she and Mac still generated heat. Not that it made a bit of difference. Other than to make working with him in the confines of a suburban kitchen all the more fraught, uncomfortable...and exciting.

Focus on making the tower.

She’d been concentrating on this event for weeks now. She couldn’t afford to let Mac derail her.

She made the macaron tower—carefully inserting toothpicks into the iced cones and then painstakingly attaching the coloured macarons. When that was done she decorated it all with swirls of pink, green and lemon ribbon.

She stood back to admire it and almost stepped on Mac.

She glanced back at him. ‘What do you think?’

Ugh! Think you could sound any needier?

She tossed her head. ‘It’s pretty fabulous, isn’t it?’

‘It’s beautiful.’

But he was looking at her when he said it, not at the tower. The air between them shimmered. He took a hasty step away and Jo had to bite back the moan that rose through her.

Mac cleared his throat. ‘What flavours did you decide to go with?’

She kept her gaze on the tower. ‘Lime with passionfruit cream, and strawberry with a vanilla buttercream.’

‘Nice.’

She picked up the tower and very very carefully walked it into the pantry.

Then she made a second tower, identical to the first. It was just as perfect. She set it in the pantry beside the first one.

Mac raised an eyebrow. She merely shrugged.

‘Jo, dear.’ Her grandmother came bustling in. ‘Guests will start arriving in forty minutes and you’ve yet to shower and dress.’

‘And take the puppies out for a pee and a romp in the back yard,’ Jo added. ‘Go ahead and finish getting ready, Grandma. I won’t be late. I promise.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

JO ROMPED WITH the puppies for fifteen minutes, but all the while she was aware that Mac was in her childhood home and...and...

And what?

She settled the puppies back in their baskets and went to shower. She’d splurged on a new dress for the occasion. And heels. She’d almost be the same height as Mac in them.

Almost, but not quite.

Her grandmother was shooting last-minute instructions at Mac when Jo returned to the lounge room. During her absence Great-Aunt Edith had arrived. They all broke off to stare.

Jo turned on the spot. ‘Now I’m a sight for sore eyes,’ she shot at Mac.

Her dress was a simple shift in a startling geometric pattern of orange, purple and black. It stopped a couple of inches short of her knees. She’d never worn anything so short before, and certainly not with heels. She had legs that... Well, they practically went on forever—even if she did say so herself.

Mac’s eyes blazed obligingly. Fire licked along her belly in instant response.

‘Nice,’ he croaked.

‘Good Lord, Jo! What are you wearing?’ Her great-aunt tut-tutted. ‘It’s far too short for a girl of your height.’

‘The shop assistant assured me it was perfect for a girl of my height,’ Jo countered.

‘You look very pretty, Jo, dear,’ her grandma said.