The Maid, The Millionaire And The Baby

Apologise yourself now.

He opened his mouth. He closed it again. Katherine had rolled her eyes when she’d spoken of her niece—had said she was flighty and impulsive…recovering from the latest in a string of unsuitable relationships…had hinted, without saying as much, that her niece would find him irresistibly attractive. Be that as it may, while she might be irresponsible this girl was untouched by all the ugliness that surrounded him. And he’d like to keep it that way. It’d be better for all concerned if she considered him a temperamental grump rather than a reasonable human being.

He watched, fascinated, as she forced her face into polite lines. ‘The reason I was checking the surf conditions is because I want to swim on the beach out there. My aunt couldn’t tell me. She doesn’t like the surf. If she wants a dip, she swims in the lagoon. You only swim in your pool. So…’

It took an effort of will not to lean towards her. ‘So?’

‘So I wondered if there was something wrong with it. Is there a great white shark colony camped just off the reef? Are there hidden rips or strange jellyfish? I mean, I’ve not noticed anything unusual, but…’

She trailed off with a shrug, her meaning clear. She’d evidently grown up with the same ‘swim safe’ messages that he and most other Australian children grew up with. The main beach here on Tesoura was a sheltered haven with rolling breakers created by the offshore reef, but the thought of her swimming alone disturbed him. ‘Are you an experienced surfer?’

‘I’m not a board rider, but I swim a lot at the local beaches back home.’

He searched his mind for where it was that Katherine’s family called home.

‘Wollongong and Kiama way,’ she clarified. ‘The beaches an hour or two south of Sydney.’

He’d swum those beaches once upon a time. A lifetime ago. A life that felt as if it had belonged to somebody else.

He shook the thought off. ‘The beaches here are similar to the ones you’d be used to back home.’ Tesoura’s beaches were probably safer than most.

‘Thank you.’ The smile she flashed him pierced beneath his guard, making that damn ache start up in the centre of him again. Her smile faded, though, when he didn’t smile back, and he did his damnedest to not feel guilty about it. ‘I’m sorry, I should’ve asked your permission before using your computer.’

Which raised another question. ‘I don’t want you touching any of the equipment in this room, Ms Hartley.’

She nodded and apologised again, hesitated and then said, ‘I guess there’s no chance of you calling me Imogen, is there?’

‘None whatsoever.’ He did his best not to feel guilty about that either. ‘Didn’t you bring a laptop or tablet to the island?’

For some reason that made her laugh. ‘Ah, but, you see, I haven’t been given the keys to the kingdom.’

What on earth was she talking about?

‘The Wi-Fi password,’ she clarified.

Why on earth not?

‘Apparently I don’t have the right security clearance.’ Her lips twitched irresistibly. ‘It must be above my pay grade.’

She quoted that last sentence as if it was a line from a movie, but he wasn’t familiar with it. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched a movie.

He pushed that thought aside. Why on earth hadn’t Katherine given her niece the password?

None of his business. He knew Katherine was keeping secrets from her family, but he had no intention of getting involved. Without a word, he wrote the login details down and pushed them across to her.

She glanced at them and her eyes started to dance. ‘Does that mean I just got a promotion?’

He resisted the urge to smile back. ‘It now means you can log onto the Internet using your own devices rather than mine, Ms Hartley.’

The smile dropped from her lips. Again. Banter with the boss wasn’t going to happen and the sooner she understood that, the better.

Something rebellious and resentful at the strictures he’d placed upon himself prickled through him, but he squashed it. It was for the best.

She shifted from one leg to the other. ‘Look, I wanted to apologise again about earlier. I—’

‘It’s all forgotten, Ms Hartley.’

‘But—’

‘I’d appreciate it if you’d close the door on your way out.’

He turned back to his computer and opened a fresh spreadsheet. She stood there frozen for a moment, and then shook herself. ‘Yes, of course, sir.’

And if her sir held an edge of sarcasm, he didn’t bother calling her on it. He wasn’t interested in winning any Best Boss of the Year awards. Imogen was only here temporarily while Katherine sorted a few things out. She’d be gone again in a flash. And peace would reign once more.

The moment she left he closed the spreadsheet. He’d only opened it to look busy and get Imogen to leave his office. Ms Hartley, he corrected. Not Imogen. He checked his Internet browsing history more thoroughly.

She’d started precisely one search. That was it. She’d wanted to know the surf conditions. As she’d said. She wasn’t a journalist. She hadn’t lied.

Good. He hadn’t relished the thought of telling Katherine her niece was a thief, liar or cheat. He eased back in his seat, glad that the open friendliness of Imogen’s face wasn’t a front for deception. He was glad his instincts hadn’t let him down.

You could’ve made an effort to be a little friendlier.

He squashed the notion dead. No, he couldn’t. It started with a couple of shared jokes, and evolved to shared confidences, and before you knew it a friendship had formed—a friendship you’d started to rely on. But when it all went to hell in a handbasket you found out that you couldn’t rely on anyone. Not your friends, not your girlfriend and sure as hell not your family. He wasn’t walking that road again.

It was easier to not start anything at all. He’d learned to rely on nothing beyond his own resources. It’d worked perfectly for the past two years, and if it wasn’t broken…

A sudden image of Imogen’s face—the fear in her eyes as she’d edged away from him—speared into his gut, making a cold sweat break out on his nape. Who was he kidding? He was broken.

And a man like him needed to stay away from a woman like Imogen Hartley.

Shooting to his feet, he strode to the window, his lip curling at the tropical perfection that greeted him. He should’ve chosen the site of his exile with more care—picked some forlorn and windswept scrap of rock off the coast of Scotland or…or Norway. All grey forbidding stone, frozen winds and stunted trees.

Two years ago, though, all he’d cared about was getting as far from Australia as he could, as quickly as he could.

He wheeled away from the window. He’d never cared that the island was beautiful before, so why wish himself away from it now? He should never have cut his run short—that was the problem. Running and swimming kept the demons at bay. He should’ve stuck to his routine. And a hard forty minutes’ worth of laps would rectify that.

He flung the door of his office open at the exact same moment the front doorbell sounded. He blinked. He hadn’t known that the doorbell even worked. It hadn’t rung in the two years he’d been in residence. All deliveries—food and office supplies, the mail—were delivered to the back door and Katherine. The villa was huge and sprawling, and the back entrance was closer to the jetty, which suited everyone. Nobody visited Tesoura. Nobody.

He’d bet his life it was Imogen Hartley. She’d probably rung it for a lark. She was exactly the kind of person who’d do that—just for the fun of it, to see if it worked. He waited for her to pop her head into the room and apologise. She’d probably feed him some story about polishing it or some such nonsense. He’d even be gracious about it.

Imogen came rushing through from the direction of the kitchen. ‘Was that the—?’

The doorbell rang again.

‘—the doorbell?’ she finished.

He gestured towards the front entrance, his gut clenching. ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d answer it, Ms Hartley.’

Those vivacious eyes danced as she started for the door. ‘Butler is definitely a promotion.’

Even if he hadn’t put his ‘no smiling’ rule into place, he couldn’t have smiled now if he’d wanted to. Somebody ringing the front doorbell here on his island miles from civilisation could only mean one thing—trouble. ‘If it’s the press…’ he managed before she disappeared into the front hall.

She swung around. ‘Short shrift?’

‘Please.’

She gave him a thumbs-up in reply before disappearing, and despite himself a smile tugged at his lips. The woman was irrepressible.

He stayed out of sight but moved closer so he could listen.

‘I understand this is the residence of Jasper Coleman,’ a pleasantly cultured male voice said.

‘May I ask who’s calling, please?’

He couldn’t fault Imogen’s tone—courteous, professional…unflappable.

‘I have a delivery for him.’ There was a series of dull thuds, as if things were being dropped to the ground, and then a softer click and scrape. ‘Don’t worry, he doesn’t have to sign for it.’

Unflappable disappeared when Imogen yelped, ‘That’s a baby!’

What?

‘Hey, wait! You can’t just leave a baby here.’

‘Those were my instructions, miss.’ The voice started to recede. ‘Just following orders.’

Jasper shot out from his hiding place in time to see his butler accost a man almost twice her size and pull him to a halt. ‘What is wrong with you? You can’t just go around dumping unknown babies on people’s doorsteps.’

‘The baby is neither unknown nor am I dumping him. I was hired to escort the baby to Mr Coleman. And I’m rather pleased to have managed it before his next feed is due. As far as I’m concerned, my job here is done.’

Ice trickled down Jasper’s spine. Ignoring it—and the baby capsule sitting on his doorstep—he forced himself forward. ‘There has to be some mistake.’

‘No mistake,’ the man said, turning towards Jasper. ‘Not if you’re Jasper Coleman.’

Imogen released the man’s arm and stepped back to let Jasper deal with the situation, but she didn’t disappear back inside the house and he didn’t know whether to be glad of her silent support or not.

‘You are Jasper Coleman, right?’

He wanted to lie, but there was a baby involved. ‘Yes.’

‘Then there’s no mistake.’

His gut clenched. There was only one person who would send him a baby, but… It was impossible! She’d said she hated him. She’d said he’d ruined her life.

The man gestured to the baby capsule. ‘Mr Coleman, meet your nephew.’

On cue, the baby opened his eyes and gave a loud wail.

Jasper couldn’t move. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘Your sister hired me to escort the baby here from Australia.’ He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it across. ‘Belforte’s Executive Nanny Service, sir.’

‘You’re a nanny?’

‘One of the best. If you check with the office, you’ll see that everything is in order. I believe you’ll find a letter from your sister in one of the bags. I expect it’ll explain everything.’ And then he frowned as if suddenly recalling something. ‘Mrs Graham did say that if I saw you to say the word Jupiter. She said you’d know what that meant.’

His gut twisted. Jupiter had been their password as kids.

The baby’s cries grew louder and more persistent.

He was aware of Imogen glancing from him to the nanny and back again, but he couldn’t meet her eye. He couldn’t move.

‘You’ll have to excuse me. I’m expected in Rio for my next assignment by nightfall. Have a nice day.’ And then he turned and strode away, evidently washing his hands of them all. And who could blame him? It wasn’t his baby.

It didn’t stop Jasper from wanting to tackle him to the ground and force him to take the baby back. Damn! What game was Emily playing now? He swallowed down his panic and channelled the coldness he’d spent the last two years perfecting. He would find a way to deal with this and—

Imogen pushed past him to sweep the crying baby up into her arms and cuddle him. ‘Hey there, little dude, what’s all this fuss about? You feeling a bit discombobulated? I don’t blame you.’

The baby batted his face into her shoulder a couple of times, rubbed a fist across his eyes, while Imogen cooed nonsense, and then he finally looked up at her. She sent him a big smile before blowing a raspberry into his hand. To Jasper’s utter astonishment the baby not only stopped crying but smiled back, as if Imogen was the best thing he’d seen all day.

And Imogen Hartley visibly melted.

Right, she’d said she’d wanted a promotion. He wondered how she’d feel about the position of nanny?

CHAPTER TWO

IMOGEN BOUNCED THE baby on her hip and winced at Jasper’s white-faced shock. A baby turning up on his doorstep was obviously the last thing he’d expected. Cool eyes darkened and a bitter resignation twisted his lips, making her heart thump. She fought an urge to go over and put her arm around him, to try and comfort him the way she did the baby.

But why should he need comforting?

She moistened her lips. ‘This is your nephew?’

He nodded.

She waited, but he didn’t offer anything else. ‘What’s his name?’

‘George.’

It was too hard to look at Jasper, so she smiled at George instead. ‘Hello, gorgy Georgie!’

Jasper swore. Not particularly badly, but with a venom that made both her and the baby jump. Okay. So he really hadn’t expected the arrival of this baby. And he was really unhappy about it.

But little George stared at his uncle with wide fear-filled eyes and looked as if he was about to start crying again. So she bounced him gently and started singing, ‘I’m a little teapot.’

The baby turned to her again and his face broke out into a big smile. He waved his hands and made lots of inarticulate noises. What an adorable bundle of chubby-cheeked cuteness!

‘Hey, you going to be a singer, little guy?’ She glanced at his uncle. ‘How old is he?’

‘Nine months.’ Jasper stared at her oddly. ‘You’re very good with him.’

‘Back in the real world I’m Auntie Immy to four of the cutest babies on the planet.’

‘I thought you were an only child?’

Ah, so Aunt Katherine had told him a little about her, then. What other confidences had she shared? ‘An honorary aunt.’ She stuck her nose in the air. ‘Which everyone knows is the best kind.’

He stared at her for a moment before one side of his mouth hooked up. Her heart stilled mid-beat, before pounding again with ferocious abandon. That half smile transformed him completely—the stern mouth curved with a sensual lilt that chased away some of the shadows in his eyes. It made her think of summer and fun and…ice cream. She fought to catch her breath. From the first moment she’d clapped eyes on Jasper, everything about him had screamed undeniable maleness. But now he was also unmistakably gorgeous.

He sobered, the frown returning to his face, and she dragged her gaze away. Dear God, please don’t let him have misconstrued her scrutiny.

She scuffed a toe against the ground and tried to hide a grimace. What was there to misconstrue? She’d been ogling him, which was seriously poor form. But it didn’t mean she had designs on him or anything, and—

‘Are you feeling all right, Ms Hartley?’

She realised she’d scrunched her face up, and immediately set about un-scrunching it. ‘Thought I was going to sneeze.’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘It didn’t seem like a good idea with an armful of baby,’ she improvised. She wanted—no, needed—him to stop looking at her in that way. She gestured to the series of bags that George’s minder had dropped to the doorstep. ‘I guess we should get these out of the sun.’ Without another word, she grabbed the baby capsule at her feet and strode through into Jasper’s impeccable living room.

She grinned at the baby. ‘Oh, you’re going to mess this up perfectly, master George.’

‘How is he going to mess it up?’ Jasper said, coming in behind her. ‘Is he old enough to walk?’

‘Unlikely, though he might be crawling. Hey, little dude, are you speeding around yet?’ She sent Jasper a grin. ‘I’ll show you what I mean.’ She went to hand him George, but he took a physical step away, a look of horror speeding across his face.

Whoa.

She gulped down the words that pressed against the back of her throat. There was something going on here that she didn’t understand, and the last thing little George needed was for her to make it worse. So she instead pointed to the bags. ‘In one of those there are bound to be some toys and a baby blanket.’

Without another word, he started rummaging and eventually found what she’d asked for. Handing her the blanket, he held a toy out in each hand—a plastic set of keys on a key ring in primary colours, and a plush bunny rabbit with long ears. With a squeal, George reached for the keys.

Very carefully, Jasper handed them over.

Imogen spread the blanket on the living room’s thick designer rug and then upended the rest of the contents of the bag across it.

‘What the—?’

Setting a boomerang pillow in the middle of it all, she very gently settled George into its curve before pulling the toys closer. He threw the keys, waved his arms about and started making broom-broom noises.

She reached for a toy car. ‘Is this what you’re after, little guy?’

He grabbed it, immediately shoving one corner of it in his mouth.

Imogen rose and gestured to the baby, the rug, and the assortment of toys. ‘Hey, presto, your living room isn’t quite so immaculate.’

He eyed her carefully. ‘You sound as if you approve of the change.’

‘It’s very hard to disapprove of babies, Uncle Jasp—Mr Coleman,’ she amended in a rush, heat flushing through her cheeks.

What on earth…? Just because there was a baby in the house didn’t mean she could dispense with normal boss-employee formality.

He let her near slip pass, just continued to stare at her. Um…?

Oh! She was supposed to be working. He was probably wondering what on earth she was still doing here lingering in his living room as if she owned it. Swallowing, she backed up a step. ‘I guess I better get back to work and—’

‘No!’

She halted, mentally tutoring herself on the appropriate levels of deference due to an employer. ‘Sir?’

‘I have a proposition to put to you, Ms Hartley.’

She glanced at baby George, who was happily banging a plastic hammer against his foot, and she started to laugh. ‘I just bet you do.’

Damn! Couldn’t she maintain a semblance of polite dutifulness for even thirty seconds?

He eyed the baby and then her. ‘You did say you wanted a promotion.’

She’d been joking! And while it hadn’t been a joke that’d made him laugh, or even smile, she knew he hadn’t taken her seriously. ‘Is nanny a promotion?’

‘Absolutely. It comes with a higher pay grade, for a start.’

She didn’t care about the money. The money wasn’t the reason she was here.

‘With all the associated security clearances.’

Had he just made a joke? She grinned—partly in shock but mostly in delight. ‘Now that is an attractive fringe benefit.’

‘Is that a yes, then?’

She glanced at the baby. It’d be way more fun to look after George, but it wasn’t why she was here.

‘You’re hesitating. May I ask why?’ He gestured to the baby. ‘You seem a natural. While I understand there may be some allure to dancing with vacuum cleaners, you did seem to enjoy singing nursery rhymes too.’

She’d definitely rather look after George than dust and vacuum, but she’d promised her mother she’d find out what was troubling Aunt Katherine. Looking after a baby 24/7 could put a serious dent in the amount of time she could give to that.

‘Ms Hartley?’

‘Mr Coleman, I have a feeling that your idea of what being a nanny involves and my idea of the same are worlds apart.’

He blinked.

She nodded at the letter he held—the letter from his sister that he still hadn’t opened. ‘You don’t know how long George is here for. You don’t know what his mother’s wishes are and—’

‘How will our ideas about a nanny’s duties differ?’

She eyed him uncertainly. ‘I think you’ll expect me to be on duty twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. And I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in working those kinds of hours. That’s not the reason I came to Tesoura. I’m here to spend some time with my aunt. And in my free time I plan to lap up all of the tropical gorgeousness that I can.’ Until she returned home, and her real life started. A thrill rippled through her at the thought…along with a growing thread of fear. ‘The former is going to prove difficult and the latter impossible with a baby in tow.’

He tapped a finger against his lips. ‘Asking you to work those hours would be completely unreasonable.’ He said the words with such a deep regret that in other circumstances she might’ve laughed.

She didn’t laugh. She edged towards the door before she weakened and did what he wanted—became a full-time carer to that gorgeous bundle of baby.

‘Where are you going?’

His sharp tone pulled her to a halt. ‘To go and perform the duties you’re currently paying me for.’

‘You can’t leave me alone with the baby.’ Panic rippled across his face. ‘Please.’

That please caught at her, tugged on all of her sympathies and completely baffled her. ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know a single thing about babies.’

George had been staring at them as if aware of the tension that had started to zing through the air, and he promptly burst into tears. She didn’t blame him. She swooped down and lifted him in her arms, patting his back as he snuffled against her neck. ‘Well, lesson number one is to not yell around them. It upsets them.’

Aunt Katherine came into the room with her brisk step. ‘Goodness, I thought I heard a baby. So the cot and pram that were just delivered weren’t mistakes, then?’

Jasper gave a curt shake of his head and gestured towards George. ‘Emily’s baby.’

Her aunt’s eyes widened. ‘Well, now, that’s a turn up for the books.’ She moved across and clasped one of George’s hands. ‘Hello, little man, it’s nice to meet you. I knew your mummy, back in the days before you were born.’ She glanced back at Jasper. ‘Poor little tyke looks tired. How long is he here for?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

Imogen refrained from pointing out that if he read his sister’s letter, they might get an answer to that particular question.

Katherine pursed her lips. ‘Right.’

Imogen glanced from one to the other, trying to make their relationship out. Katherine had been on the island for the past two years. Before that she’d worked for the Coleman family for seventeen years. Were they friends? She bit her lip. Were they lovers? The question disturbed her, though she couldn’t have said why. At forty-nine Katherine was still young, and she was certainly attractive. While Jasper would be what—mid-thirties? It didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility.

Her aunt was keeping secrets. Every instinct Imogen had told her that. Was Jasper one of those secrets?

If he were either a friend or a lover, though, he’d have given Katherine the week’s leave she’d requested at Christmastime.

Her aunt’s laughter hurtled her back. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Jasper, because the answer is a big fat no. If I’d wanted to look after a baby, I’d have had one of my own.’

That made Imogen smile. Katherine didn’t have a maternal bone in her body.

‘But—’

‘No buts,’ Katherine said without ceremony. She glanced at Imogen and then Jasper again, and her eyes started to gleam. ‘I’ll let you continue your negotiations with Imogen, shall I?’