Hired by Mr. Right

“Maybe I prefer to indulge in fanciful dreams at night?”

Spurred on by the urge to match wits with him, Samantha 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?”

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.”

Nicola Marsh says, “As a girl, I dreamed of being a journalist and traveling the world in search of the next big story. Luckily, I have had the opportunity to travel the world, but my dream to write has never been far from my mind. When I met my own tall, dark and handsome hero, and learned that romance is everything it’s cracked up to be, I finally took the plunge and put pen to paper.

“I live in the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne with my husband, and a baby on the way. When I’m not writing, I work as a physiotherapist for a vocational rehabilitation company, helping people with disabilities return to the workforce. I also love sharing fine food and wine with friends and family, going to the movies and my favorite—curling up in front of the fire with a good book.”

Books by Nicola Marsh

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3810—THE TYCOON’S DATING DEAL

3818—THE WEDDING CONTRACT

Hired by Mr. Right

Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

SAMANTHA PIPER needed this job, more than she’d ever needed anything in her entire twenty-five years. OK, so maybe she’d tampered with the truth, changed her surname and taken a crash course in subservience, but it would be worth the price. In fact, she would have done a lot worse to gain employment as Dylan Harmon’s butler.

‘So, what do you think?’ Sam pirouetted in front of her best friend, Ebony.

‘Honestly? I think you’re nuts.’

‘Why? Doesn’t the uniform fit? Does it make my backside look too big?’

Ebony rolled her eyes and snorted. ‘Oh yeah, like anything could make you look huge! Puh-lease!’

Sam sat down on the part of anatomy in question. ‘You’re probably right. I am nuts but this is what I want to do. The least you can do is support me.’

Ebony wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. ‘Hey, who’s been your biggest fan all these years? And who gave you a crash course in “bowing and scraping, butler-style”? Not to mention a glowing reference.’

Sam smiled. ‘Point taken. Let’s just hope that I remember your tips when it comes to the crunch.’

‘Oh, when’s that? When the dashing Dylan asks you to hold his warmed towel as he steps from a hot shower, water sluicing down his great bod, from his broad shoulders to his—’

‘Stop!’ Sam clamped a hand over her friend’s mouth. ‘If I wasn’t nervous before, now I’m petrified.’

‘Since when has any guy intimidated you? Supergirl Sam, able to leap tall men and their hang-ups in a single bound.’

‘If you’re referring to my archaic father and his cronies, yeah, I can usually handle them. I hope Dylan Harmon proves to be just as easy.’

Ebony chuckled. ‘I’m sure your five hunky brothers would love to hear you describe them as cronies.’

Sam wrinkled her nose. ‘To you, they’re hunks. To me, they’re major pains in the rear end.’

‘Whatever.’ Ebony glanced at her watch. ‘Isn’t it time you left? Wouldn’t want to miss your flight and be late on your first day.’

Sam noted the time on her bedside clock and grimaced. ‘Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.’

Ebony hugged her. ‘You’ll be fine. Just remember everything I taught you and it’ll be a cinch.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’

Since when had her life been easy? Sam had bucked the system for as long as she could remember, ignoring the old-fashioned views of her parents who were still caught up in the ancient fairy-tale of their royal blood. So she was descended from Russian royalty? Big deal. The more her family treated her like a princess, the more she wanted to rebel. When her five older male siblings joined her parents in reinforcing her ‘duties’ as the only princess in the family she’d been pushed over the edge. And the result? A three-month contract in Melbourne as Dylan Harmon’s butler, as far as she could get from Queensland, family constraints and their expectations.

What better way to shun family ties and prove her independence than accept a position as some rich boy’s servant? Not that she’d told them that. Instead, she’d spun them some lame story about meeting a prospective husband through her friend Ebony and they’d bought it. In fact, her parents had practically pushed her out the door when she’d mentioned the possibility of matrimony to such an influential man as Dylan Harmon. After all, what better way to ensure royal heirs than matching their princess daughter with the prince of Australia’s landowners?

‘Good luck, honey, you’ll be fine. And remember, ring me if you need anything.’ Ebony blew her a kiss as she walked out the door, leaving Sam alone with her thoughts.

Picking up her bag and scanning the room one last time, Sam hoped to God her best friend was right. Everything would be fine, as long as she kept her mind on the job and Dylan Harmon didn’t treat her like the rest of the females in his sphere. She’d had enough of egotistical, overbearing men to last her a lifetime and she had it on good authority that he was one of the best. Defying her brothers was one thing, gaining the upper hand with one of Australia’s most eligible bachelors would be another entirely. Not that his good looks would intimidate her. She loved a challenge in any shape or form and handling the likes of Dylan Harmon shouldn’t be a problem.

Now all she had to do was believe it.

Dylan Harmon stepped from the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and reached for a razor. While shaving, he heard the bedroom door slam and assumed it was the new butler his mother had hired. Not that he’d needed one but Liz Harmon seemed hell-bent on making his life easier these days.

‘Is that you, Sam? I’ll be out in a minute.’

Splashing aftershave on his face, he wondered what sort of man his mother had deemed suitable. Sam Piper must be a jack-of-all-trades, as his mum believed he needed someone to lend him a hand in all facets of the business. If he hadn’t been so pig-headed, she’d have hired someone a long time ago. They’d argued about his workload for far too long and he’d finally given in, knowing that his mother’s interference sprang from concern rather than any great desire to rule his life.

Strolling into the bedroom, he came face to face with a woman. Not just any woman, but a delicate waif wearing a navy blue uniform with the Harmon coat of arms over her left breast. Once his gaze strayed to her chest he had a tough time wrenching it back, for the evidence of her femininity, combined with the uniform, could only mean one thing.

‘Hi. I’m Sam Piper. Pleased to meet you.’ The woman held out her hand and he continued to stare, taking in her short blonde curls, wide green eyes and heart-shaped face. He wouldn’t call her beautiful but there was something he glimpsed in those eyes, some indefinable quality he recognised as class.

He shook her hand, surprised at the firmness of her grasp. ‘You’re the new butler?’

She gave a quaint little bow. ‘At your service…sir.’

He noted the cheeky pause, the twinkle in her eye. ‘Call me Dylan. Though it won’t be for long.’

She straightened her shoulders. ‘Why is that?’

‘Because you’re fired.’ He turned away and headed for the wardrobe, wondering what had possessed his mother to pull a stunt like this.

‘If you’re looking for the charcoal suit, white silk shirt and maroon tie, they’re hanging on the back of the door.’

He stopped midstride and turned around, surprised that she seemed unperturbed by his putting an abrupt end to her employment. In fact, she hadn’t moved an inch and didn’t seem at all concerned, when most women he knew would be cowering in the face of the famous Harmon wrath. ‘How did you know?’

She shrugged and he noticed the stubborn set of her shoulders, the clasped hands in front of her body. ‘You’re a man of habit. You always wear that combination on a Wednesday.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Been studying me, have you?’

‘Call it research. All part of the job, sir.’

‘Don’t call me that!’ he snapped. He strode across the room and picked up the clothes, wondering when he’d become so predictable. ‘What are you still doing here? Didn’t you hear me before?’

‘I heard you but I’m not going anywhere.’

He stared at the waif. Rather than being intimidated, as most people were around him, she met his gaze directly, not flinching an inch when he moved towards her. ‘Care to repeat that?’

Sam squared her shoulders and silently wished for an extra few inches. It was difficult to look threatening when she had to tilt her head back to stare her new employer in the eye, though it provided her with the perfect excuse to stop ogling his near-naked body. Her gaze had been drawn to his towel too often for her liking and she needed something, anything, to distract her. ‘You can’t fire me. I’ve signed a three month contract.’

A dangerous glint shone from his eyes, the colour of molten chocolate, and she mentally chastised herself for comparing them to her favourite food.

‘Contracts can be broken.’ He took a step closer, making her all too aware of his broad, bare chest merely centimetres from her own.

Resisting the urge to run her hands over his muscular pecs and see if they felt as firm as they looked, she struggled to maintain composure. ‘I had an intensive interview. I’m sure your mother can vouch that I possess all the necessary skills for this job.’

His gaze perused her body, leaving her in little doubt as to what skills he thought she possessed. ‘So, you think you’ve got what it takes to be my butler?’ He quirked an eyebrow, as if daring her to agree.

Sam bit back a smile. Dealing with Dylan Harmon would be child’s play after facing her brothers’ inquisitions for the last umpteen years. ‘If you’re after someone with the right attitude, the right qualifications and a genuine love of the job, then yes, I’m your woman.’

Her breath hitched as he smiled at her and she wondered where the helpless, fluttery feeling deep in her gut had come from. She’d never reacted to any man like this, especially one who obviously turned on the charm when it suited him.

‘Okay, Miss Piper. Consider yourself on trial for the next three months.’ He tipped up her chin and stared directly into her eyes. ‘But if you make one wrong move, you’re out.’

Sam battled the urge to shut her eyes and block out the hypnotic intensity of his stare. Instead, she took a steadying breath, wishing her erratic pulse would calm down. As a waft of expensive after-shave hit her she clenched her teeth, wishing her traitorous senses would stop misbehaving. So the guy had a great body, soulful eyes, a killer smile and smelled good enough to eat? She’d dated better and come away unscathed.

Then why the jittery feeling that just wouldn’t quit?

‘Call me Sam.’ She turned away before she did something stupid, like manhandle her boss on the first day.

‘Samantha.’

She knew that tone, the one that most males got when they’ve been beaten and don’t want to give in too easily. So he wanted to prove a point by calling her Samantha? No big deal. At least she’d survived his attempted sacking and it had proved to be a lot easier than expected.

‘Can I get you anything?’ She fiddled with the clothes he’d laid on the bed, hoping he’d send her on an errand that involved being as far away from him and his skimpy towel as possible.

‘Actually, yes. Your first job can be to reorganise my underwear drawer. I want it colour coded, neatly arranged and segmented for every day of the week.’ His accompanying smirk, casual stance and quirk of an eyebrow left her in little doubt as to the challenge he’d just laid down. He wanted to make her squirm and, strangely enough, the idea of touching his underwear was doing exactly that.

Heat flooded her cheeks, though she bit back a host of retorts that sprang to mind about what he could do with his underwear. ‘Fine.’

‘Oh, while you’re at it, please choose me something to wear today. Under my suit, that is.’

Sam risked a glance over her shoulder. She could have sworn he was laughing at her. However, he stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped over the front of his towel, trying his best to look innocent. She almost snorted at the thought.

Sam stalked across the room, opened the top drawer of the dresser and rummaged around. To her surprise, the first undergarment she laid her hands on was a thong. Leopard print, no less!

Stifling a grin, she hooked it with her index finger and held it out to him. ‘Perhaps this would be suitable for today?’

His jaw dropped. There was no other way to describe it, for she’d never seen a guy with so much poise look so totally and utterly shocked. ‘But that’s not mine!’ he said, a look of distaste marring his handsome features.

‘Oh? It’s in your drawer.’ The corners of her mouth twitched as she struggled to maintain composure.

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ He placed his hands on his hips and glowered as the towel around his waist slipped an inch.

The action distracted her and, for one horrifying yet thrilling moment, she thought it might slide down his legs and pool on the floor, along with what was left of his dignity.

Before she could reply, he hitched the towel up, strode across the room and snatched the offending garment out of her hand. ‘Give me that! Meg’s been up to her tricks again.’

Sam should have known. Meg was probably five-ten, of perfect proportions and had just stepped off the pages of Vogue. ‘One of your conquests?’ she couldn’t resist adding, though what he did in his private life shouldn’t concern her in the slightest. Funny though, it did.

‘My wayward niece,’ he snapped, ‘who takes great delight in tormenting me.’

‘Way to go, Meg,’ she mumbled, thrilled at the thought of any woman getting the better of her suave boss.

‘I beg your pardon?’

Resisting the urge to imitate his plummy tone, Sam schooled her face into what she hoped was a mask of respect. ‘Nothing. Should I get started on my first assignment?’ She pointedly stared at the thong in his hand.

‘Forget it.’ He scrunched and flung it across the room, where it landed neatly in the bin. ‘As of now, your duties will consist of business affairs only. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Consider this room off-limits.’

Fine with her. The less time she spent around the semi-naked tyrant, the better. In fact, everything about the job had worked in her favour to date and she hoped her luck would hold out.

Fixing a placating smile on her face, she nodded. ‘Certainly. Where would you like me to start?’

He stared at her for an interminable moment, before turning away and heading to the bathroom. ‘Meet me in the study in fifteen minutes. We’ll discuss today’s agenda then.’

Feeling suitably dismissed, she gave a mock salute behind his back and headed for the door.

‘Oh, Samantha. There’s one more thing.’ His commanding tone halted her and she swivelled to face him. ‘Lose the uniform.’

‘Now?’ The response slipped out before she knew it, typical of the feisty banter she was used to exchanging with her brothers’ friends, who were like family. However, Dylan’s response was far from familial.

He strolled across the room and leaned a hand on the door, effectively barring her escape. ‘Since when did the hired help get so provocative?’ His gaze skimmed her face before dropping lower, sending her heart galloping at breakneck speed.

‘Since when did the employer think he could ask questions like that?’ She stilled as he reached towards her and ran a finger down her cheek, sending her nerve endings haywire in the process.

‘Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to answer a question with a question?’ His finger dropped away as it reached her jaw and, strangely, she missed his brief touch.

‘No, but she taught me to stay away from men like you.’ She tilted her chin up, determined not to let him see how he affected her.

‘Men like me?’ He folded his arms, drawing attention to his broad, naked expanse of chest.

Her mouth dried as her gaze strayed to his pecs, noting a light smattering of dark hair that attracted rather than repelled. Swallowing, she looked him in the eyes, hoping her interest didn’t show. ‘You know. Egotistical, over-confident, world-beaters. Used to getting what they want and letting nothing or nobody stand in their way.’

He smiled, the self-satisfied grin of a cat toying with a mouse. ‘Didn’t know I was so transparent. Lucky my butler has a degree in psychology as well as servitude. What other talents are you hiding?’

Sam bit back a host of retorts. Thankfully, her mouth and brain had finally decided to work in sync. ‘None. Now that we’ve got you sorted out, perhaps I should make a start on the rest of that servitude stuff and organise breakfast in the study for our meeting?’ She had to escape and soon. Having her sexy, bare-chested boss standing too close for comfort was doing strange things to her insides. Not to mention addling her brain.

The warmth drained from his face in an instant and she wondered at the abrupt change. ‘Fine. See you there.’

He opened the door and she brushed past him on her way out, wishing he didn’t look and smell so darn good. Just her luck that her new boss would be thirty-something and gorgeous rather than ancient and decrepit like most of the rich landowners in Australia.

‘One more thing, Samantha.’ His serious tone stopped her.

‘Yes?’ She turned to see him framed in the doorway, looking every bit the consummate millionaire, even without clothes.

‘Welcome to the Harmon world.’

Before she could respond he closed the door, leaving her with a distinct feeling that while he’d welcomed her to his world, he’d just turned hers upside down.

Dylan stalked into his mother’s sitting room after a brief knock on the door.

Liz Harmon looked up from the newspaper she had spread across the table. ‘Good morning, darling. Sleep well?’

With a perfunctory nod, he sat opposite her. ‘I met the butler.’

His mother’s face lit up. ‘Isn’t Sam wonderful? She came highly recommended.’

‘From where? Butlers-R-Us?’

‘Don’t take that tone with me, young man. What seems to be the problem?’

Dylan fiddled with the knife-edge crease of his trousers. ‘She’s totally unsuitable. Too young, too feisty, too—’

‘Beautiful?’ Liz interrupted. ‘You did notice, didn’t you, or has all work and no play made you a dull boy?’

A vision of Sam flashed into his mind, those startling green eyes staring at him as he’d touched her silky-soft cheek. Thankfully, she’d been looking at his face and not lower, where the evidence of how she’d affected him would have been plain to see beneath the cotton towel.

‘I noticed,’ he said, wondering if it sounded like the understatement of the year. ‘Though what her looks have to do with it, I’ll never know. It’s her qualifications I’m interested in.’

Liz nodded and gave him one of those knowing smiles, the kind she’d been bestowing since he’d eaten his first bug against her instructions and thrown up, at four years of age. ‘She came highly recommended. I spoke with Ebony Larkin, her main referee.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘She’s worked for the Larkins?’

Liz nodded. ‘Trust me, darling. I wouldn’t have hired just anybody to be your butler. I know how much you need the help.’

‘I’m doing fine on my own, Mum.’

‘No, you’re not. Between running the business, inspecting the lands around Budgeree and looking after the family, you’re worn out.’ She paused and he waited for the inevitable reference to his single status. Predictably, his mother didn’t disappoint. ‘Besides, you never have time for fun any more. When are you going to meet a nice young woman to make your life complete?’

‘My life is complete and I like it just the way it is, thanks very much.’ He ignored the swift rising bitterness whenever the subject of women entered their conversations. He’d tried the relationship merry-go-round and had hopped off as soon as humanly possible, managing to get his heart trampled in the process. As far as he was concerned, women and serious commitment didn’t belong in the same sentence, especially with females who looked good, had the right family credentials yet lied through their expensively-capped teeth to get what they wanted. Which, in his case, happened to be the Harmon name and fortune.

And he’d worked too damn hard to let his family’s wealth fall into unscrupulous hands.

‘You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Son. You’ve taken this business to the next level all on your own.’

‘But Dad would’ve wanted more.’ Hell, his ambitious father wouldn’t have stopped till he owned the whole of Victoria and then some.

‘He would’ve wanted you to be happy, not running yourself into the ground.’ She didn’t have to add, like he did.

His workaholic father had taken the word ‘work’ to new levels, driving himself to skyrocketing profit margins but into an early grave in the process. Dylan still missed him after ten years.

‘Besides, don’t you think you’re taking the role of family protector a tad too seriously? Most of us can take care of ourselves, you know.’

Dylan rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, sure. Then why is Meg running around placing racy underwear in my drawer? And why is Allie traipsing round the world like a lost soul?’ He stared at his mother, noting her wrinkle-free skin, the clear eyes, the black hair with barely a grey streak. ‘Not to mention you.’

The corners of Liz’s mouth twitched. ‘Your nieces are more than capable of taking care of themselves. Besides, what have I done?’

He tried a frown and failed. ‘You’re trying to matchmake yet again. And I’m not interested.’

His mother smirked. ‘I’m not trying anything. If you’ve got romantic thoughts where the new butler is concerned, that’s not my doing.’

‘The butler?’ Sam Piper and him, romantically linked? Not a hope in hell. He shook his head, trying to ignore her alluring image again. ‘No, Mum, I was talking about Monique and that dinner party you’ve organised. Didn’t you think I’d see through the ruse?’

This time Liz laughed outright. ‘You’re getting paranoid, love. There’s no ruse, no hidden agendas. I just thought it was time we got together with our oldest family friends. If you find Monique attractive, that’s up to you.’

Funnily enough, the thought of spending a sophisticated evening dining with the exquisite Monique Taylor and her parents didn’t hold half the appeal it once had. He’d grown up with the leggy brunette and had dabbled in a kiss or two once they’d reached their late teens, but he’d never been interested in taking it further. Though Monique was beautiful, educated and attuned to his world, there was no spark to light his fire. Not that she hadn’t tried, many times.