Hired by Mr. Right

Dylan relented. ‘Okay, it will be nice to catch up with the Taylors but, just to let you know, there won’t be any romance between Monique and I, ever. She isn’t my type.’

His mother was no slouch when it came to matchmaking her only son and she latched on to his last words in a flash. ‘Oh? Then what is your type?’

A petite woman, with short blonde curls, green eyes he could drown in and a cheeky smile that just wouldn’t quit. The thought popped unbidden into his mind and, for the umpteenth time in the last half hour, he wondered if he’d lost a grip on reality since he’d laid eyes on his new butler.

He stood quickly and made for the door. ‘Bye, Mum. I have a meeting scheduled.’

Liz smiled knowingly. ‘Run all you like, Son, but you can’t hide from love for ever.’

Dylan refrained from answering. The day he fell in love would be the day he surrendered his sanity and he had no intention of doing that. He had too much to do yet to fulfil his dad’s wishes, the one driving force that kept him going these days.

Him, in love? No way.

CHAPTER TWO

SAM paced the study while waiting for Dylan. She couldn’t believe the way she’d reacted to him—stupid, stupid, stupid! She’d known what she was letting herself in for when she had applied for this job. After all, she’d heard about Dylan’s charms firsthand from Ebony, whose family had known the Harmons for ever. Ebony had extolled high-and-mighty Dylan’s virtues for a full hour before Sam had covered her ears and yelled ‘la-la-la’. If she’d heard one more word about the rich, handsome, responsible, caring man soon to be her boss, she would’ve thrown up.

So, she’d steeled herself for the challenge at hand, knowing that Dylan’s looks would have little effect if she set her mind to doing a good job to prove a point to her snobby family. She’d focused all her energy on taking a crash course on butler etiquette, Ebony-style. Thankfully, her best friend had come through for her in every way, going as far as giving her a fake reference when Liz Harmon had called after the gruelling interview she’d endured.

Now that she was here at the Harmon mansion in the posh Melbourne suburb of Toorak, she should be ecstatic. If she could last the distance in this job it would prove to her family once and for all that she could eke out an existence for herself, without their prehistoric expectations for her to marry and produce heirs to continue the royal line. Not that her title meant anything here in Australia; in fact, most of her Russian ancestors had reneged on their royal heritage a century ago, but not her family. They were hell-bent on resurrecting the past and restoring glory to the Popov name. Strangely, many historians here were interested in the Popovs too, which was why she’d had the sense to change her surname when applying for this job.

‘So much for obeying orders.’

Sam jumped as Dylan’s voice interrupted her musings and she whirled to face him. ‘I’m here on time, I’ve kept out of your bedroom and breakfast is waiting.’ She gestured to the sideboard. ‘What else did you want?’

He strode across the room and helped himself to a piece of toast and a cup of coffee before sitting behind a large mahogany desk. ‘I thought I told you to lose that uniform.’

She frowned, as memories of their intense exchange in his bedroom flooded back. ‘I don’t think we agreed on that.’

‘You’re right. We didn’t get to finish that conversation, did we?’ He stared at her over the rim of his cup and she could have sworn she read desire in his eyes.

Great. Despite her mental pep talk a few minutes earlier she still harboured ridiculous fantasies where her spunky boss was concerned. He could have any woman in the world and she thought she’d captured his interest in half an hour? Yeah, right.

‘I thought all your staff wore uniforms.’ She tried her best to look demure, clasping her hands behind her back. How she’d last more than a week in this subservient act, she’d never know. For some strange reason this man brought out the worst in her. She felt compelled to trade quips with him, to ruffle his oh-so-suave feathers, to get the better of him in any exchange.

He placed his cup on the desk and rested steepled fingers on his chest. ‘Not my personal assistant.’

‘I’m your butler, not your PA.’ Somehow, the title of PA conjured all sorts of vivid images of how personal she could get with the delectable Dylan.

‘You’ve just been promoted. If you’re up to it, that is.’

He’d done it again, known exactly how to push her buttons. As if she would ever back down from any challenge he threw at her.

‘So you’re that impressed with me, huh?’

He shook his head. ‘No need to fish for compliments, Samantha. I’ve read your résumé and I’m intrigued. Why would a woman with a degree in economics want to work as a butler? And, even better, work for a man with a reputation for being a hard taskmaster?’

She squared her shoulders and hoped that the little white lies she had to tell to keep this job wouldn’t show on her face. ‘I enjoy a challenge. Working for someone with your vast experience in the business world will be a bonus, if and when I decide to enter that field.’ She hoped her answer would satisfy his curiosity—when in doubt, flatter.

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘You’re not some kind of spy, are you?’

Sam sighed. ‘Your mother checked out my credentials and I’m sure you’ve discussed my appointment with her by now. What do you think?’

‘I think that if you’re half as good as your résumé says you are, you’d be perfect as my PA. So, what do you say?’

Okay, she wasn’t completely stupid. Being Dylan’s personal assistant would be a heck of a lot more interesting than bowing and scraping to him and a lot less damaging. After all, she had a lot less chance of seeing him almost naked as his PA than as his butler. ‘I accept. Thanks for the opportunity.’

He nodded his approval. ‘Good. Now that’s settled, let’s get started. I need to dictate some letters that need to be sent ASAP. While I do that, you can sort through this pile of invoices. In monthly and alphabetical order please, with the most urgent bills to be paid uppermost.’

She took the pile and seated herself opposite him, thankful for the huge desk. No chance of accidental contact across a great divide of mahogany, though there’d been nothing accidental about the way he’d caressed her cheek earlier that morning. Though she tried to concentrate on the task at hand, she couldn’t resist sneaking a peek as he spoke into a Dictaphone, his low tones soothing her. He’d dressed in the outfit she’d predicted earlier, though it looked a heck of a lot better on the man than on a hanger.

Visions of their morning interlude drifted into her mind and, before she knew it, she’d mentally undressed him down to the skimpy towel he’d worn as he’d strolled into his bedroom looking a million dollars. How she’d managed to maintain composure, she’d never know. At least those boring drama classes at high school had been good for something. Old Mrs Lincoln would have been proud of her You don’t affect me one bit performance she’d given Dylan that morning.

At that moment, the man in question hit the ‘stop’ button and looked up.

‘Having trouble keeping up?’ He pointedly stared at the pile of invoices in front of her and raised an eyebrow.

Fighting a losing battle with a rising heat that flooded her cheeks, she shook her head. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking.’ Lame, even by her standards, but what could she do when the object of her lustful fantasy was glaring at her with those dark eyes that screamed, Come and get me?

‘About what? Some old boyfriend you’ve left behind in Sydney?’

‘I’m not from Sydney.’ She responded without thinking and, predictably, he pounced on her answer.

‘But I thought you’d been working for the Larkins?’ His stare intensified, leaving her squirming like a bug under a ten-year-old’s magnifying glass in the sun.

Crossing her fingers behind her back, she hoped her voice remained steady. ‘I was, but I’m from Brisbane originally.’

‘Ah.’ Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, he continued, ‘So, what about the boyfriend?’

For a moment, she hoped he was asking out of interest in her as an available woman, before reality set in. The likes of Dylan Harmon would never be interested in the hired help, unless it was for one thing. And she had no intention of making that bed or lying in it.

‘You’re my boss, not my owner. My private life is none of your business.’ She folded her arms in a purely defensive gesture, wishing she could ignore that probing stare. Unfortunately, her action drew his stare downwards before he quickly returned his gaze to her face.

‘That’s where you’re wrong. You’ll be spending a lot of time travelling between our outback property and Melbourne, with little time off for socialising. I need to know that you’re one hundred per cent committed to this job. Otherwise, I’ll find someone else.’ He picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk, as though impatiently awaiting her answer.

Though it went against the grain, she had to tell him about her private life—or lack of one. She needed this job and she hadn’t come this far to lose it now. ‘There’s no one special in my life at the moment. You’ll have my entire focus for the time I’m employed.’

His face softened at her response. ‘Good. I need all your attention…for the tasks at hand.’

His pause, combined with the subtle change in body language as he leaned towards her, sent her imagination spiralling out of control again. She stared at him, caught in the hypnotic intensity of his smouldering eyes, wanting to look away yet powerless to do so. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn that he felt the bizarre attraction she’d conjured up out of thin air too.

‘Are you free tonight?’

She blinked and resisted the impulse to nod like a schoolgirl being asked out on her first date. ‘That depends on you.’

He smiled, the rare flash of brilliance illuminating his face and sending her heart hammering in her chest. ‘Oh, really? How so?’

Ignoring her pounding pulse and wondering how she could control her treacherous reactions to her handsome boss, she said, ‘I didn’t know the hours I’d be expected to work. Your mother suggested I discuss it with you.’

‘So, if I say I need you tonight, you’re mine for the evening?’

Oh-oh. She didn’t need this sort of encouragement. Her overactive imagination was doing fine on its own, thank you very much, without help from his innuendo.

She cleared her throat. ‘As your butler, I would’ve expected to work evenings. As your PA, I thought most work could be accomplished during the day.’

His smile broadened, if that were possible. ‘Not for what I have in mind.’

Thankfully, the intercom buzzed on his desk, saving her from answering. She took a deep breath and wondered if he played word games with all his female staff. Was he actually flirting with her or was her limited experience with men rearing its head?

Dylan hit the speaker button. ‘Yes, Mum?’

Liz Harmon’s voice filtered through the intercom. ‘I was wondering if you could spare Sam for a moment? I need to discuss a few things with her.’

He looked up at his new personal assistant, who had her head bent over the stack of invoices and was sorting them into several neat piles as if her life depended on it. ‘Sure, as long as it doesn’t take too long. I’ve upgraded her position from butler to PA and we have a mountain of work to get through.’

His mother chuckled. ‘This, from the man who said he didn’t need help?’

He studied the way Sam’s hair fell in loose curls around her face, the slight frown that marred her smooth forehead, the flicker of her tongue as it darted out to moisten her top lip. He’d noticed she’d done that earlier, when he’d first strolled out of the bathroom and seen her standing in his bedroom, and several times since; he assumed it was a nervous reaction, though it sure as hell drove him crazy every time she did it. How could such an innocuous movement elicit the wayward thoughts he’d been experiencing about what the gorgeous Sam’s tongue could be doing to him?

‘Dylan, you still there?’

Wrenching his thoughts out of the gutter, he replied, ‘Yes, Mum. I’ll send Samantha right up.’

‘Thanks. Oh, and by the way, you’re welcome.’

He smiled as his mother’s chuckles petered out and he disconnected. ‘Leave those for now. You can get back to it later.’

Sam looked up and, once again, the luminous green of her eyes hit him like a blow to the solar plexus. It wasn’t the colour so much as the clarity that shone like a beacon, beckoning him to challenge her, taunt her, flirt with her, anything to get her looking at him with more than a passing interest from an employee for her boss. That was what had prompted him to offer her the job as his personal assistant—the more time she spent in his company, the more chance she might look at him with the spark he’d glimpsed when he’d caressed her cheek that morning. That one, fleeting flare of fire in her eyes had aroused him more than any other woman had in a long, long time.

She stood up and he had a chance to admire the snug fit of the uniform. He had a real hankering to see her without it—hell, he wished he could see her trim body with nothing at all—but, right now, he’d settle for anything else in her wardrobe. For some strange reason she had too much poise, too much class, to be wearing a uniform and he didn’t need any reminder of her status as his employee. If he had his way she’d be far more than that by the end of her three month stint; it had been far too long since he’d had a lover.

‘About my working hours?’

He resisted the urge to shake his head; ever since she’d walked into his life this morning, his mind had been enveloped in a fog that clouded his every thought. Even now, he could barely remember what they’d been discussing before his mother had interrupted.

‘We’ll discuss it later.’ He waved her away, noting the stiffening of her shoulders, the straightening of her spine. Once again, it hit him that she didn’t like taking orders and he wondered what on earth had prompted her to take this job. Something about Sam Piper didn’t ring true and, lovely as she was, he had every intention of finding out exactly what secrets she hid behind that sexy façade.

‘Fine.’ She nodded before turning on her heel and walking towards the door, giving him free rein to ogle her slim legs and tantalising butt.

Though she’d said everything was fine, he seriously doubted it. Her rigid posture screamed that it wasn’t, not by a long shot. And, if his confused libido were anything to go by, he’d have to agree.

Sam slowly exhaled as she closed the study door. She must be insane to contemplate going through with her plan if she couldn’t even last the morning in Dylan’s company. Heck, could he see how she practically swooned when he smiled at her? And, as for his asking if she was free tonight, she’d had to restrain herself from leaping over the desk and straight on to his lap!

Men had never affected her this way; she’d always managed to keep her relationships strictly platonic, preferring male friends to the groping Neanderthals that some of her dates had turned into at the slightest encouragement. Even some of the ‘pillars of society’ that her brothers had set her up with had turned out to be marauding sex maniacs and she’d managed to avoid their embarrassing advances with aplomb. So maybe that made her naïve when it came to men, but did it totally explain her over-the-top reaction to Dylan?

What made him so special that every self-preservation mechanism she’d ever used seemed to malfunction whenever he so much as looked at her? Whatever it was, she needed to get a handle on it quick smart. Heck, that was all she needed, her new boss to think she had some childish crush on him.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door to Liz Harmon’s sitting room.

‘Come in, Sam.’

Sam opened the door, wondering what the older woman could want. After the initial interview they hadn’t crossed paths, though she’d taken an instant liking to the elegant Liz.

‘You wanted to see me, Mrs Harmon?’

Liz waved towards a chair. ‘Take a seat, child. And please, call me Liz.’

Keeping her surprise from showing, Sam perched on the overstuffed chair and folded her hands in her lap.

Liz reached for a leather-bound book on a nearby table and opened it. ‘I know all about you, dear.’

She fixed Sam with a piercing stare, leaving her in little doubt as to what she meant. Sam clenched her hands till the knuckles whitened, trying to buy valuable time to compose an answer that wouldn’t incriminate yet sounded honest at the same time.

However, Liz continued before she had the chance to speak. ‘There was something about you that looked familiar at the interview, so I followed a hunch. I’m a great fan of history, you know.’

In that instant, any hope Sam harboured that the older lady was just fishing for information vanished. Schooling her features into a polite mask, she said, ‘I can explain—’

‘Please.’ Liz held up her hand. ‘Indulge an old lady for a moment.’ She flicked a few pages before stopping at what looked like a family tree and tracing a line with her finger. ‘You must be Princess Samantha Popov. Am I correct?’ She looked up expectantly, not a trace of anger on her face.

Sam didn’t know where to look, an embarrassed heat flooding her cheeks. She’d been caught out in her lie and on the first day! She nodded, not quite understanding the excited look on the other woman’s face. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry for lying to you but I really needed this job.’ She stood quickly, wishing the Persian rug beneath her feet would disappear and the ground underneath would open up and swallow her. ‘I’ll pack my things and be out of your way as soon as possible.’

Liz slammed the book shut, sending a cloud of dust into the air. ‘Don’t be hasty, child. We have so much to talk about.’

Sam shook her head in bewilderment. If Liz had appeared excited a moment ago, she now looked downright ecstatic. ‘I don’t understand. You want me to stay?’

Liz waved her back to the chair she’d just vacated. ‘Of course. I’m sure you had a very good reason for lying to obtain this job and I want to hear it. I also want to hear every last detail of your story, without a single omission.’

‘So, I’m not fired?’ Sam held her breath, praying for a miracle yet knowing they rarely happened, at least to her.

‘Fired? My dear, you’ve just made my day.’

‘How so?’

Liz grinned, the expression on her face rivalling that of a child on Christmas Day. ‘If my son thought finding an attractive woman as his butler was a surprise, wait till he finds out I chose him a princess to boot!’

Sam’s heart plummeted. If Dylan found out her background she’d be out of the Harmon mansion so fast her head would spin. She needed to stay, at least till the trial three months were up. Anything less and her family wouldn’t be convinced she could make it on her own and she’d be back to square one, enduring their rigid conditions and stipulations regarding her life.

Right now, she needed to convince Liz Harmon that keeping her identity a secret was the best thing for all concerned, even if it meant keeping it from her precious son. Taking a steadying breath, she looked up and met the older lady’s gaze directly. Seeing the twinkle in her eye, she hoped to God that Liz wanted in on the secret, otherwise she’d be back in Brisbane and pledged to some ancient groom before she could blink.

Tied to some fossil in matrimony because it suited her royal parents and their antiquated ideas? Uh-uh.

Liz leaned forward. ‘Start at the beginning, dear. And tell me everything.’

Resisting the urge to grimace, Sam did as she was told.

CHAPTER THREE

SAM hated confusion. She preferred order, precision and being in control. However, as she joined Dylan for a late night supper in his study so they could continue working, she knew that her preferences had flown straight out the window following her meeting with his mother. Rather than berating her for lying and sacking her, as she’d expected, Liz Harmon had almost clapped her hands in glee as Sam regaled her with a truthful account of her life to date. In fact, the older woman had been only too pleased to keep Sam’s secret so she could continue in her farcical role as Dylan’s PA.

But why? Sam needed to know people’s motivations; it was the only way to stay one step ahead. However, she had no intention of giving Liz Harmon the third degree when the woman had done her a huge favour. In fact, for someone who barely knew her, Liz had accepted her version of events with few qualms. In her place, Sam knew she wouldn’t have been as trusting.

‘Daydreaming again?’

Sam jumped as Dylan strode into the room and wondered if she’d ever get over the fluttery feeling in her gut whenever her boss came within ten feet of her. In over a week, her absurd physical reaction to the man hadn’t dimmed one iota. If anything, her responses made her want to do all sorts of wild and wicked things, such as strip off and lay across his desk! Maybe then she’d have some hope of grabbing his attention, for that was all he seemed interested in—the endless stream of paperwork crossing his desk, taking up every minute of his day.

She must have imagined his flirtation and innuendo on her first day, for he’d lived up to his reputation as a cold, calculating business tycoon ever since. In fact, his love for the family business bordered on obsession and she wondered if he ever loosened his tie, took off his shoes and took a stroll barefoot in the lush gardens surrounding the mansion. By the serious look on his face as he glared at her, she doubted it.

‘Daydreaming is healthy. You should try it some time.’ She noted the tense neck muscles, the lines around his mouth, the smidgen of dark rings under his eyes and hoped that her banter might lighten his mood.

He piled a plate with club sandwiches and grabbed a caffeine-laden soft drink from the sideboard before responding. ‘Who says I don’t?’

‘You don’t look like the type to indulge in fanciful dreams.’ Heck, he couldn’t look any more uptight if he tried. He wore a different suit, shirt and tie for every day of the week, each outfit expertly tailored but boringly conservative and she’d yet to see him with a hair out of place. Except that first morning in his bedroom—though she’d managed to effectively block out that provocative memory.

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Daydreams are wasted. Maybe I prefer to indulge in fanciful dreams at night?’

Sam looked up quickly, wondering if she’d imagined his lowered tone, the slight husky edge. He stared at her, dark eyes unreadable, as he took a casual bite out of a tuna and mayonnaise sandwich. She swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden wish that she could replace the sandwich as his supper. She wouldn’t mind him nibbling on her, not one little bit.

Spurred on by the urge to match wits with him, she took a sip of her coffee and feigned innocence. ‘What you do at night is no concern of mine.’

‘Would you like it to be?’

Damn, he was good. Just when she thought she’d got the better of him, he sent her a loaded comeback like that.

Resisting the urge to grin, she said, ‘Depends. I thought I’d worked enough nights lately. There’s only so much typing, filing and bookkeeping a girl can take.’

‘I wasn’t talking about work.’

‘Oh?’ Her heart hammered in her chest as she tried to hide behind her coffee mug. She loved playing games, especially with a man as sharp as Dylan and she wondered how far she could push it, though every ounce of common sense urged her not to match wits with her boss.

‘You’ve been doing a great job, Samantha. I’m pleased with your work and you’ve hardly had a night off since you started. How would you like a tour of Melbourne by night?’ He devoured the last of the sandwiches, concentrating on his plate as if her answer meant nothing to him. However, she noticed he ran a finger around the inside of his tight collar, a gesture she’d noted only when he seemed rattled.