The Millionaire and the Maid

He sent up a prayer of thanks when she lowered her cases and turned. ‘Are you really? I suspect you’re merely sorry someone’s called you on whatever game it is you’ve been playing.’

Game? Game! He closed his eyes and reined in his temper. He couldn’t afford to alienate her further.

‘Please don’t take tales back to Russ that will cause him worry. He...he needs... He doesn’t need the stress.’

She stared at him. She had eyes the colour of sage. He briefly wondered if sage was the elusive ingredient he’d been searching for all morning, before shaking the thought away.

Jo tilted her chin and narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t take anyone’s wellbeing or health for granted, Mac. Not any more. And—’

‘This is my life we’re talking about,’ he cut in. ‘Don’t I get any say in the matter?’

‘I’d treat you like an adult if you’d been acting like one.’

‘You can’t make that judgement based on five minutes’ acquaintance. I’ve been having a very bad day.’ He widened his stance. ‘What do I need to do to convince you that I am, in fact, neither depressed nor suicidal?’

He would not let her go worrying Russ with this. He would not be responsible for physically harming yet another person.

She folded her arms and stuck out a hip—a rather lush, curvaceous hip—and a pulse started up deep inside him.

‘What do you need to do to convince me? Oh, Mac, that’s going to take some doing.’

Her voice washed over him like warm honey. It was a warmth that didn’t sting.

For no reason at all his pulse kicked up a notch. He envied her vigour and conviction. She stalked up to him to peer into his face. To try to read his motives, he suspected. She was only an inch or two shorter than him, and she smelt like freshly baked bread. His mouth watered.

Then he recalled the look in her eyes when she’d recovered from her first sight of him and he angled the left side of his face away from her. Her horror hadn’t dissolved into pity—which was something, he supposed. It had been scorn. Her charge of selfishness had cut through to his very marrow, slicing through the hard shell of his guilt and anger.

‘Stay for a week,’ he found himself pleading.

His mouth twisted. Once upon a time he’d been able to wrap any woman around his little finger. He’d flash a slow smile or a cheeky grin and don the charm. He suspected that wouldn’t work on this woman. Not now. And not back then, when he’d still been pretty, either.

Mind you, it seemed he’d lost his charm at about the same time he’d lost his looks. Now he looked like a monster.

It doesn’t mean you have to act like one, though.

Her low laugh drizzled over him like the syrup for his Greek lemon cake.

‘I believe you’re serious...’

Yeah? Well, at the very least it’d buy Russ another week of rest and—

What the hell? This woman didn’t know him from Adam. She had no idea what he was capable of. He pulled himself upright—fully upright—and the stretch felt good.

‘Name your price.’

He wasn’t sure if it was more scorn or humour that flitted through her eyes. She straightened too, but he still had a good two inches on her. She could try and push him around all she wanted. He—

He grimaced. Yeah, well, if he didn’t want her worrying Russ she could push him around. Whoever happened to be bigger in this particular scenario didn’t make a scrap of difference.

He thrust out his chin. Still, he was bigger.

‘Name my price?’

He swallowed. She had a voice made for radio—a kind of solid-gold croon that would soothe any angry beast.

‘Well, for a start I’d want to see you exercising daily.’

It took a moment for the import of her words rather than their sound to reach him.

Risk being seen in public? No! He—

‘During daylight hours,’ she continued remorselessly. ‘You need vitamin D and to lose that awful pallor.’

‘You do know I’ve been ill, don’t you?’ he demanded. ‘That I’ve been in hospital?’

‘You haven’t been in hospital for months. Do you have any idea how much you’ve let yourself go? You used to have a strong, lean body and lovely broad shoulders.’

Which were still broader than hers. Though he didn’t point that out.

‘And you used to move with a lanky, easy saunter. Now...? Now you look about fifty.’

He glared. He was only forty.

‘And not a good fifty either. You look as if I could snap you in half.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t advise you to try that.’

She blinked and something chased itself across her face, as if she’d suddenly realised he was a man—a living, breathing man—rather than a job or a problem she had to solve.

Not that it meant she fancied him or anything stupid like that. How could anyone fancy him now? But...

For the first time since the fire he suddenly felt like a living, breathing man.

‘If you want me to change my mind about you, Mac, I want to see you walk down to the beach and back every day. It’s all your own property, so you don’t need to be worried about bumping into strangers if you’re that jealous of your privacy.’

‘The beach is public land.’ He had neighbours who walked on it every day.

‘I didn’t say you had to walk along it—just down to it.’

‘The land that adjoins my property to the north—’ he gestured to the left ‘—is all national park.’ There’d be the occasional hiker.

‘So walk along that side of your land, then.’ She gestured to the right and then folded her arms. ‘I’m simply answering your question. If you find daily exercise too difficult, then I’ve probably made my point.’

He clenched his jaw, breathed in for the count of five and then unclenched it to ask, ‘What else?’

‘I’d like you to separate your work and sleep areas. A defined routine to your day will help me believe you have a handle on things. Hence a workspace that’s separate from your bedroom.’

He glared at her. ‘Fine—whatever. And...?’