A baby—in his home

…with no instruction manual!

Called on to look after his baby nephew, Jasper Coleman’s flummoxed. He runs a global business but he has no idea about babies! In desperation, he calls on his temporary housemaid, Imogen Hartley, to help. Effervescent, warmhearted, her joie de vivre has irritatingly tempted him ever since she arrived. He even caught her dancing while vacuuming! Turns out Imogen is just what baby George needs. Perhaps she’s what Jasper needs, too…

MICHELLE DOUGLAS has been writing for Mills & Boon since 2007, and believes she has the best job in the world. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero, a house full of dust and books, and an eclectic collection of sixties and seventies vinyl. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website: michelle-douglas.com.

Also by Michelle Douglas

Snowbound Surprise for the Billionaire

The Millionaire and the Maid

Reunited by a Baby Secret

A Deal to Mend Their Marriage

An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire

The Spanish Tycoon’s Takeover

Sarah and the Secret Sheikh

A Baby in His In-Tray

The Million Pound Marriage Deal

Miss Prim’s Greek Island Fling

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Maid, the Millionaire and the Baby

Michelle Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90313-8

THE MAID, THE MILLIONAIRE AND THE BABY

© 2019 Michelle Douglas

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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For Millie,

who is ever-generous with her smiles.

We’re so happy to welcome you to the family.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

IMOGEN ADJUSTED HER earbuds, did a quick little shimmy to make sure they weren’t going to fall out and then hit ‘play’ on the playlist her father had sent her. She stilled, waiting for the first song, and then grinned at the sixties Southern Californian surf music that filled her ears.

Perfect! Threading-cotton-through-the-eye-of-a-needle-first-time perfect. Here she was on an island, a slow thirty-minute boat ride off the coast of Brazil, listening to surf music. She pinched herself. Twice. And then eyed the vacuum cleaner at her feet, reminding herself that she was here for more than just tropical holiday fun. A detail that was ridiculously difficult to bear in mind when everywhere she looked she was greeted with golden sand, languid palm trees, serene lagoons and gloriously blue stretches of perfect rolling surf.

Still, in a few hours she could hit the beach, or go exploring through the rainforest, or…

Or maybe find out what was wrong with her aunt.

Her smile slipped, but she resolutely pushed her shoulders back. She’d only been here for three days. There was time to get to the bottom of whatever was troubling Aunt Katherine.

Switching on the vacuum cleaner, she channelled her inner domestic goddess—singing and dancing as she pushed the machine around the room. This was the only way to clean. Housework was inevitable so you might as well make it as fun as you could.

She’d been so quiet for the last three days, but the lord of the manor, Jasper Coleman, didn’t like noise, apparently.

Each to his own.

She shrugged, but the corners of her mouth lifted. At eleven o’clock every day, however, he went for an hour-long run. A glance at her watch told her she had another fifty minutes in which to live it up before she’d have to zip her mouth shut again and return to an unnatural state of silence—and in which to dust, vacuum and tidy his living and dining rooms, his office and the front entrance hall. She meant to make the most of them.

She glanced around at the amazing beach-house mansion. While she might refer to Jasper Coleman as lord of the manor, his house didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to an English manor house. The wooden beams that stretched across the vaulted ceilings gave the rooms a sense of vastness—making her feel as if she were cast adrift at sea in one of those old-fashioned wooden clippers from the B-grade pirate movies starring Errol Flynn and Burt Lancaster that she used to love so much when she was a kid. A feeling that was solidly countered by the honey-coloured Mexican tiles that graced the floors, and the enormous picture windows that looked out on those extraordinary views.

She angled the vacuum cleaner beneath the coffee table. She should love this house. But the artfully arranged furniture and designer rugs looked like something out of a lifestyle magazine for the rich and famous. Everything matched. She repressed a shudder. Not a single thing was out of place.

Now if she owned the house… Ha! As if. But if she did, it’d look vastly different. Messier for a start. Her smile faded. There were shadows in this house, and not the kind she could scrub off the walls or sweep out of the door. No wonder Aunt Katherine had become so gloomy.

And those two things—Aunt Katherine and gloomy—just didn’t go together. The weight she’d been trying to ignore settled on her shoulders. She had to get to the bottom of that mystery, and not just because she’d promised her mother. Aunt Katherine was one of her favourite people and it hurt to see her so unhappy.

Another surfing song started and she kicked herself back into action. She had a house to clean, and she’d achieve nothing by becoming gloomy herself. She turned the music up and sang along as if her life depended on it, wiggling her backside in time with the music and twirling the vacuum cleaner around like an imaginary dance partner. While the rooms might be tidy, they were huge, and she had to get them done before Mr Coleman returned and locked himself away again in his office to do whatever computer wizardry he spent his days doing. In a suit jacket! Could you believe that? He wore a suit jacket to work here on an island that housed precisely four people. Just…wow.

The second song ended and her father’s voice came onto the recording. This was one of the joys of her father’s playlists—the personal messages he tucked away in among the songs. ‘We miss you, Immy.’

She rolled her eyes, but she knew she was grinning like crazy. ‘I’ve only been gone three days.’ She switched off the vacuum cleaner, chuckling at one of his silly stories involving the tennis club. He recommended a movie he and her mother had seen, before finishing with, ‘Love you, honey.’

‘Love you too, Dad,’ she whispered back, a trickle of homesickness weaving through her, before a movement from the corner of her eye had her crashing back to the present. She froze, and then slowly turned with a chilling premonition that she knew who’d be standing there. And she was right. There loomed Jasper Coleman, larger than life, disapproval radiating from him in thick waves, and her mouth went dry as she pulled the earbuds from her ears.

Her employer was a huge bear of a man with an air of self-contained insularity that had the word danger pounding through her. A split second after the thought hit her, though, she shook herself. He wasn’t that huge. Just…moderately huge. It was just… He was one of those men whose presence filled a room. And he filled this room right up to its vaulted ceiling.

A quick sweep of her trained dressmaker’s eyes put him at six feet one inch. And while his shoulders were enticingly broad, he wasn’t some barrel-chested, iron-pumping brawn-monger. Mind you, he didn’t have a spare ounce of flesh on that lean frame of his, and all of the muscles she could see—and she could see quite a lot of them as he’d traded in his suit jacket for running shorts and a T-shirt—were neatly delineated. Very neatly delineated. That was what gave him an air of barely checked power.

That and his buzz cut.

So…not exactly a bear. And probably not dangerous. At least not in a ‘tear one from limb to limb’ kind of way. None of that helped slow the pounding of her pulse.

‘Ms Hartley, am I right in thinking you’re taking personal calls during work time?’

He had to be joking, right? She could barely get a signal on her mobile phone. She started to snort but snapped it short at his raised eyebrow. It might not be politic to point that out at this precise moment. ‘No. Sir,’ she added belatedly. But she said it with too much force and ended up sounding like a sergeant major in some farcical play.

Oh, well done, Imogen. Why don’t you click your heels together and salute too?

‘Not a phone call. I was listening to a playlist my father sent me. He’s a sound engineer…and he leaves little messages between songs…and I talk back even though I know he can’t hear me. So…’ She closed her eyes.

Too much information, Immy.

‘I expected your aunt to have made it clear to you that I demand peace and quiet when I’m working.’

Her eyes flew open. ‘She did!’ She couldn’t get Aunt Katherine into trouble. ‘But, you see, I thought you’d already left for your run.’

She glanced at his office door and had to fight the urge to slap a hand to her forehead. She was supposed to check if that door was open or closed. Open meant he was gone and she could clean this set of rooms without disturbing him. If it was closed that meant he was still working…and she had to be church-mouse quiet. Biting her lip, she met his gaze again. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot to check your office door. It won’t happen again, Mr Coleman, I promise.’

He didn’t reply. Nothing. Not so much as a brass razoo. Which was an odd expression. She’d look it up…if she could get an Internet connection. She eyed him uncertainty. He might not be a big bear of a man, but he fitted her image of a bear with a sore head to a T. Which might not be fair as she didn’t know him, but she wasn’t predisposed to like him either, the horrid old Scrooge.

He turned away, and she sagged with the relief of being released from those icy eyes. But then he swung back, and she went tense and rigid all over again. ‘I’m going for my run now, Ms Hartley. In case my attire had slipped your attention.’

His sarcasm stung. Her fingers tightened about the vacuum cleaner, and suddenly it was Elliot’s voice, Elliot’s mocking sarcasm, that sounded through her head. She thrust out her chin. ‘Did you just call me stupid?’ She might only be the maid, but she didn’t have to put up with rudeness. ‘Look, I made a mistake and I apologised. It doesn’t mean I’m stupid.’

‘Oh, Imogen!’ She could practically hear her mother’s wail. ‘What about Aunt Katherine? You promised!’

Jasper Coleman had been in the act of moving towards the front door, but he turned back now with intimidating slowness. Rather than back down—which, of course, would be the sensible thing to do—she glared right back at him. She knew she might be a little too sensitive on the topic of her sharpness of mind and her reason—her intelligence—but she wasn’t being paid enough to put up with derogatory comments directed at it.

At least, that was what she told herself before she started quaking in her sensible ballet flats. Her sense of self-righteousness dissolved as Jasper drew himself up to his full height. Any idiot knew you didn’t go poking bears.

‘I don’t know you well enough to make a judgement call on your intelligence, Ms Hartley.’ He gestured to his office door. ‘A question mark does, however, hang over your powers of observation.’

She bit her tongue and kept her mouth firmly shut. Thankfully it appeared that he didn’t expect an answer, as, without any further ado, he strode from the room. A moment later she heard the click of the front door closing. He didn’t do anything as uncouth as slam it.

‘Of course your attire hadn’t slipped my attention,’ she muttered, pushing her earbuds into the pocket of her skirt. She was a dressmaker. She noticed what everyone wore.

Though for some reason she’d really noticed what he’d been wearing. Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense because his attire had been so very generic. Those nondescript running shorts had come to mid-thigh and were neither ridiculously tiny nor ridiculously tight. His T-shirt, though, had hugged his frame as if it’d been spray-painted on, highlighting the flex and play of firm muscle.

Oh, Imogen, who are you trying to kid?

It wasn’t his clothes but the body inside the clothes that had held her attention so avidly.

Scowling, she pushed the image of her perplexing boss from her mind and completed the rest of the cleaning as quickly as possible, vacuuming and dusting immaculate surfaces. But, as her aunt said, they were immaculate because they were cleaned five days a week. Without fail. Because it was what the lord of the manor decreed, apparently.

Jasper’s office was as immaculate as the rest of the house. And just as cold. Unlike her workspace at home, he didn’t have any photographs sitting on his desk, no sentimental knick-knacks or anything personal. His room was functional and blank. He was supposed to be some kind of computer wunderkind, though how on earth he could create in a space that was so beige was beyond her.

She gave a final flick of her duster to the enormous desk, glanced around the room with a critical eye, and was about to leave when her gaze shifted to his computer…for the third time in about as many minutes. She bit her lip. She’d bet—given all the fancy tech gadgetry he had in here—he could log onto the Internet without a single problem.

She’d been trying to find out—for three days now—if the waters surrounding the island were safe. Aunt Katherine had no idea. She preferred the calm waters of the lagoon to the surf.

Jasper swam in his twenty-five-metre pool twice a day—from six to seven each morning and again in the evening. The man was obviously a fitness freak—three hours of cardio a day. Imagine? ‘Kill me now,’ she muttered. Not that she disapproved of fitness. She just couldn’t do fitness for fitness’s sake. She had to do something fun or it just wouldn’t happen. Give her a Zumba or dance class, or the surf. She loved swimming in the ocean.

If it was safe.

Not giving herself any time to hesitate, she slid into her boss’s chair, woke his computer from sleep mode and clicked the Internet browser icon. Surely he wouldn’t mind? It’d be in his best interests to keep his staff safe, right? Occupational health and safety and all that.

She recalled the look in his eyes less than thirty minutes ago, and her own churlish, ‘Did you just call me stupid?’ and grimaced. He might make an exception in her case and feed her to the sharks.

‘So just hurry up and find out what you need to find out,’ she ordered, typing in: Swimming in Brazilian waters.

The search engine results loaded onto the screen. ‘Eureka.’

She leaned forward, intent on clicking the link to a website that looked as if it would give her the information she needed.

‘Do not move a muscle, Ms Hartley,’ a deceptively soft voice said from the doorway.

Imogen froze. She moved nothing but her eyes to meet her employer’s gaze. ‘Is there…?’ She swallowed. ‘Is there a snake or a scorpion about to pounce on me?’ Her voice came out hoarse, but she was too afraid to cough and clear her throat in case she incited some animal to attack.

‘Don’t be ludicrous. Of course there isn’t. Unless you call yourself a scorpion or a snake,’ he added, striding towards her with a purposeful step, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Danger. The word whipped through her for the second time. This man was dangerous. She should’ve followed her first instincts. Leaping to her feet, she shot around the farthest side of the desk, keeping its wide expanse between them. She grabbed a paperweight in one hand, and then seized a pen and held it like a dagger in her other.

He slammed to a halt so quickly he swayed where he stood. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I don’t like the look in your eyes.’

For some reason, her words made him pale. His chest lifted as he dragged in a breath. ‘I don’t like undercover journalists.’

‘I’m not a journalist,’ she spluttered, ‘undercover or otherwise!’

‘I hold the same contempt for industrial spies.’

She pointed the pen at his computer. ‘You think I’m snooping in your personal files or…or your work files?’

Lips that shouldn’t look quite so full twisted. ‘The thought had crossed my mind.’

Wow, was this man paranoid or what? No wonder he lived on a desert island. And no wonder her aunt had warned her to be circumspect around him—difficult and temperamental had been the words she’d used.

‘We seem to be at an impasse, Ms Hartley. I never for one moment meant for you to think that you were in physical danger from me.’

Oddly enough, she believed him.

‘But I want to look at that computer screen to see precisely what it was that had you grinning like a Cheshire cat and shrieking “Eureka”.’

That was probably a very good idea. ‘How about I go this way until I’m standing in front of your desk?’

‘And I’ll go this way—’ he gestured in the opposite direction ‘—until I’m behind my desk.’

‘I want it on record that I take exception to the charge of shrieking, Mr Coleman. I don’t shriek.’

‘Duly noted, Ms Hartley.’

‘Right, well…let’s call that Plan A, shall we?’ Imogen Hartley’s lips lifted, but that didn’t assuage the acid burning in Jasper’s gut. The fear in her eyes as he’d started towards her had nearly felled him. What kind of brute did she take him for?

‘Do you want me to count?’ He didn’t want to give her any further cause for alarm. ‘On the count of three—’

With a frown in her eyes, as if he puzzled her, she shook her head and started moving around the desk. He kept his own steps measured and unhurried as he moved in the opposite direction.

Once they’d switched places, rather than looking meek and mild, or guilty and ashamed, Imogen Hartley made an exaggerated flourish towards the computer like a model in an infomercial.

He muffled a sigh and took his seat. At least she didn’t look frightened any more. Steeling himself, he turned to his computer. He stared at it for several long moments, blinked, and then eased back, his shoulders unhitching. ‘You’re checking the surf conditions?’

She nodded.

He tried to keep a frown from forming. ‘Did you really think Ilha do Pequeno Tesoura—’ he used the full Portuguese name of the island ‘—would be in the database of some surfing website?’

‘Well, no, not exactly. But we’re only a leisurely thirty-minute boat ride from the coast. Which means it’d be quicker by speedboat,’ she added with a shrug, as if that explained everything.

A speedboat would reach the island in less than fifteen minutes. And her shrug explained nothing.

‘So I thought that checking the surfing conditions on the coast might tell me what I needed to know.’

‘Which is?’

She gestured, presumably towards the Atlantic Ocean on display outside his office window. ‘If it’s safe for me to swim on your beach.’

‘Why?’

Two vertical lines appeared on her brow as if he’d just asked the most ridiculous question ever put to her—as if two seconds ago she’d considered him a sensible man and now she didn’t.

Two minutes ago, she’d thought him a scary man. He’d never forgive himself for that.

Still, those lines on her brow were oddly cute…and kind of disturbing. Disturbing in the same way that seeing her dancing and singing while she’d been vacuuming had been disturbing. This woman was full of life and energy and spontaneity—full of unguarded reactions. It reminded him of normal people, and the outside world, and life. It was why he’d been so unforgivably short with her. The ache she’d unknowingly created inside him—an ache he’d thought he’d mastered a long time ago—had taken him off guard. It was why he’d come back early from his run—so he could ask Katherine to apologise to the girl on his behalf.

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?’

‘What negotiations?’ he grumbled. ‘She’s as hard-headed as you.’

Imogen surveyed her perplexing boss. For someone who’d been shocked into white-faced silence at the arrival of the baby, he seemed to have taken it into his stride now, seemed almost…resigned. Why—if he didn’t want the baby here—wasn’t he making arrangements to send the child back?

Katherine turned and patted Imogen’s arm. In a low voice she said, ‘Get him to help with the baby,’ before disappearing into the kitchen.

If she did what her aunt asked, would Katherine stop avoiding her and tell her what was wrong?

‘What did your aunt just say to you?’

She did her best to smooth out her face. ‘Only that lunch is ready.’

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t call her on the lie. She pulled in a breath. ‘Mr Coleman, I think between the three of us we can work something out.’

He widened his stance. ‘You heard your aunt—she’ll have nothing to do with him.’

‘She won’t change dirty nappies or bathe George. But she’ll give him a bottle and be happy to keep an eye on him when he’s napping.’

‘There’s one other thing you need to take into consideration, Ms Hartley, and that’s the fact that I’m not looking after that baby.’

‘Mr Coleman,’ she said very gently, ‘that’s not my problem. It’s yours.’

He knew he was being unreasonable—not to mention irrational—but he could barely check the panic coursing through him. It’d smashed through the walls he’d put up to contain it, and while part of him knew the panic was illogical, another part understood all too clearly that he had every reason to fear the consequences of his nephew’s visit.

Aaron wanted revenge, and Jasper didn’t doubt that his brother-in-law would use George as a weapon—to hurt him or extort money from him. That was the best-case scenario he could come up with—that Aaron wanted money. And Jasper would give money—a lot of money—to keep this child safe.

But he’d learned to not rely on best-case scenarios. With his luck in another day or two police would show up and arrest him for allegedly kidnapping the baby. And then he’d be charged, and there’d be court proceedings…again. The thought had exhaustion sweeping through him.

Ms Hartley was right, though. This wasn’t her problem. It was his. He dropped to the edge of the nearest sofa.

Focus.

Fact number one: the baby was here now, and arrangements needed to be made for his care. Fact number two: he didn’t want the press getting wind of this—whatever this was. Instinct warned him it’d be wiser to scotch any rumours before they started. He had to keep this as quiet as possible, which meant the fewer people who knew, the better. Those were the important facts for the moment. He could worry about the rest later.

‘Can…can you just stay there with the baby while I make a phone call?’

She frowned but nodded. Not giving her a chance to change her mind, he grabbed his phone and speed-dialled his assistant in Sydney. He needed information. ‘Evan, my sister has just had a nanny service deliver her baby to my house without warning.’

Two seconds of silence greeted him before Evan said, ‘What do you need me to do?’

‘Can you find out what Emily and Aaron’s movements are at the moment? Discreetly.’

‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I find anything out.’

‘The sooner the better, please.’

He tossed his phone to the coffee table and scratched a hand across his head. It was entirely unreasonable to ask Imogen to be on call with the baby all the hours of the day and night. It contravened every workplace agreement he subscribed to. It was unethical. He’d taken great pains to ensure his company’s workplace practices were above reproach. It was especially important now to continue in the same vein.

Besides, neither Katherine nor Imogen were the kind of women to be browbeaten by a domineering boss. Not that he was domineering, but he wouldn’t be able to cajole either one of them into doing something they didn’t want to do. There was a part of him that was glad about that. It indicated that they had integrity. It was important right now to surround himself with people of integrity.

The sofa dipped a little as Imogen sat beside him. ‘I want to pat your back much the same way as I am little George’s at the moment.’

He met warm brown eyes flecked with green and filled with sympathy. He straightened. ‘Please don’t.’ The thought of her touching him…

He cut the thought off.

George had nestled his head in against her shoulder and noisily sucked a dummy, while she rubbed slow, soothing circles to his back—lulling and hypnotic. It took a force of will to lift his gaze back to her face. Up this close he could see the light spattering of freckles across her nose.

‘Of course I’d not do anything so forward. But it’s obvious your nephew’s arrival has come as something of a shock.’

Understatement of the century.

‘I think I should leave you in peace for the next hour or so to read your sister’s letter, and to take stock of the situation. I’ll keep this little guy with me for the present.’

That was kind, but…

‘Wait,’ he said as she started to rise.

She subsided back to the sofa. He let out a low breath. He wasn’t ready to read Emily’s letter yet. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to believe a single word it said. ‘You honestly believe that between the three of us, we’d be able to look after the baby?’

‘Yes.’

‘How would you see that working?’

She shrugged, and her chin-length hair—a mass of dark curls—bounced and bobbed. ‘A little bit of give and take on all sides, I expect. Though probably mostly from yours.’

He didn’t like the sound of that much. Still…needs must. ‘In what way?’

‘You’d need to cut down on some of your working hours to help out with George.’

He’d expected that.

‘Mind you, that could be a good thing. Seems to me you work too hard anyway.’

The moment the words left her mouth, she shot back in her seat. ‘I can’t believe I just said that. It was way too personal and completely out of line. I’m sorry.’

She was holding his nephew, rubbing his back—and she spoke the truth—so he let it pass. He worked long hours because, like the swimming and the running, it helped to keep the demons at bay. Keeping busy kept him sane. For the duration of the baby’s stay he’d simply be busy helping look after him instead of wrestling with complicated computer code. It wouldn’t have to be any different from his current routine.

‘And while George is here, you might need to…’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘Lower your standards of cleanliness.’

He blinked.

‘If I’m looking after George for part of the day and night, I’m not going to have the same amount of time to devote to cleaning your house.’

‘That’s fine with me.’ In fact, it was more than fine. ‘Ms Hartley, you’ve vacuumed and dusted these rooms every day since you arrived. Now far be it from me to question your work practices—I’ve never been to housekeeping school, so I don’t know what the norm is—but don’t you think vacuuming every day is overkill? I’m tidy in my habits, don’t tramp mud into the house on a regular basis, and don’t have children or dogs—’ He broke off to glance at the baby in her arms. ‘I don’t usually have children or dogs to stay.’

‘But Aunt Katherine said you had the highest expectations when it came to—’ She broke off, biting her lip.

What on earth had Katherine been telling her niece?

He pushed the thought away. He had more pressing concerns at the moment. ‘I’m happy to relax the current cleaning standards.’ He pulled in a breath. ‘There’s just one other little problem in your proposed plan.’

‘Which is?’

His stomach churned. ‘I don’t have the first idea about babies. I don’t have a clue how to feed them or what to feed them or how to prepare whatever it is that you do feed them. I’ve never changed a nappy. The thought doesn’t fill me with a great deal of enthusiasm, admittedly, but evidently it’s a chore I’m not going to be able to avoid. And precisely how do you bathe a baby without drowning it? Don’t they get slippery and hard to hold? That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, if you ask me.’

She smiled, the green sparks in her eyes dancing, and the impact of it hit him in the middle of his chest, making his heart thump.

‘I can teach you all of those things easy-peasy. But there are a couple of other things you’ll need to learn too, like cuddling and playing. Both are vital to a baby’s development.’

Before he knew what she was about, she’d leaned forward and set the baby on his lap, and he wanted to yell at her to take him back. But recalled, just in time, that he wasn’t supposed to yell around the baby. He wanted to shoot to his feet and race away. But he couldn’t because he had a lap full of baby.

He wasn’t sure how the kid would’ve reacted if he’d been fully awake—with a loud verbal protest he suspected—but, drowsy as he was, he merely nestled in against Jasper’s chest. The warm weight made his heart thud, made him wonder when was the last time he’d actually touched someone? Hell! He—

‘Stop frowning,’ she chided gently from where she’d moved to kneel in front of him, adjusting his arm so it went fully around the baby with his hand resting on the child’s tummy. ‘We don’t want George glancing up and being frightened out of his wits by the scary man glaring at him.’

The thought that he could so easily frighten his nephew sickened him.

‘I mean, that’s hard enough for a grown-up to deal with.’

Her voice held laughter, but that didn’t stop his gaze from spearing hers. ‘I’m sorry I scared you earlier. I really didn’t mean to.’

‘I know that now. I overreacted, but—’

He looped his fingers around her wrist. ‘Never apologise for trusting your instincts and being cautious. It’s better to feel a little foolish than it is to get hurt—every single time. No exceptions.’

She stared at his hand on her wrist and nodded. She’d gone very still. Had he frightened her again? He didn’t hold her tightly. She could move away at any time… Her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips and something hot and sweet licked along his veins.

He let her go in an instant.

She eased away, colour high on her cheekbones. ‘Do you mind if I check the bags?’ She gestured to the muddle of bags that apparently came with a baby.

‘By all means. Are you looking for anything in particular?’ If she took the baby back he’d look for her.

‘George’s schedule.’ He must’ve looked clueless because she added, ‘Feed times, nap times…those sorts of things.’

He tried to do what she was doing—focussing on the situation with the baby rather than that moment of…

He didn’t know what to call it. A moment of awareness that had taken them both off guard. He pulled in a breath and counted to ten.

Emotions were running high, that was all. He was holding his nephew, for heaven’s sake. A nephew he’d thought he’d never get to meet, let alone hold. It was making him hyper-aware of everything. What he didn’t need to notice at the moment, however, was the silkiness of his housemaid’s skin or the shininess of her hair. He gritted his teeth. Or the beguiling shape of her mouth.

He forced his gaze to the baby who, with half-closed eyes, continued to suck on his dummy with a kind of focussed fierceness. His chest clenched. What kind of unfairness or…or whim had turned this little guy’s life upside down? The innate fragility and helplessness of the baby, the sense of responsibility that suddenly weighed down on him, had his former panic stirring. How could he do this? How—?

‘I didn’t go to housekeeping school either,’ Imogen said out of the blue. ‘Just so you know. In case you hadn’t worked that out for yourself yet.’

She sat cross-legged on the rug, going methodically through each of the bags. And she was telling him this because…?

‘I wouldn’t want you accusing me at some distant point in the future of being here under false pretences.’

He recalled how she’d puffed up earlier when she’d thought he’d been slighting her intelligence. Did she feel lesser because she’d not been to the right school or wasn’t properly qualified or something? Focussing on her issues was certainly better than focussing on the baby he held. ‘It doesn’t necessarily follow that you’re not a hard worker, though, right?’

‘Exactly!’ Her smile was so bright it could blind a man. He blinked but he couldn’t look away. And then she grimaced. ‘I don’t have the subservient thing down pat yet, though.’

His lips twitched. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Ooh.’ Her grin widened and she pointed a finger at him. ‘You just made a joke.’

He ignored that. Making jokes at the moment was no doubt highly inappropriate. For heaven’s sake, he was holding a baby. ‘Ms Hartley, let me put your mind at rest. I trust Katherine’s judgement.’

‘Even though I’m family?’

She’s a bit flighty and irresponsible.

He didn’t see any evidence of that. ‘Even then,’ he said. He spoke without hesitation. He’d trust Kate with his life. He knew she was keeping secrets from her family, but they were harmless enough. He couldn’t blame her for protecting her privacy when he’d all but exiled himself to a remote island.

She’s a bit flighty and irresponsible. He suspected Kate had lied about that to put an invisible wedge between him and her niece. He didn’t blame her for wanting to protect Imogen from a man like him. He didn’t consider himself a good prospect either.

Imogen halted from her rifling of bags. ‘I want to apologise for my rudeness earlier.’

She’d been rude?

‘I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that for calling me stupid.’

‘I did not call you stupid.’

‘You know what I mean.’

She’d only been responding to his rudeness. ‘I shouldn’t have been so short with you.’

One shoulder lifted. ‘I’m a bit sensitive on the subject, and I shouldn’t have flared up like that.’

He stared at her for a moment. ‘Why are you sensitive?’

She ducked her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

He had a feeling it mattered a great deal.

He wasn’t sure what she saw in his face when she glanced back up, but whatever it was had her heaving out a sigh. ‘I don’t think I’m stupid, Mr Coleman. I know I’m not. I’m just a bit sensitive about it at the moment because last week, before I came here, I ran into an old boyfriend—my high-school sweetheart.’

From the look on her face he’d been anything but a sweetheart.

‘When he found out I had no plans to go to university—like him—he told me I was…’

‘Stupid?’

‘I believe the words he used were uneducated yokel.’ She shrugged. ‘Naturally I kicked his sorry butt to the kerb.’

‘Smart move.’

‘But, you know, that was seven years ago, and people grow up, so when I saw him last week I said hello.’ Her lips thinned. ‘That wasn’t quite so smart.’

A hard ball settled in the pit of his stomach. ‘He called you stupid again?’

‘Implied it.’

What a jerk! ‘Why?’

She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

He didn’t believe that for a moment.

‘I’m not stupid and what I’m doing with my life isn’t stupid or risky. It’s just…his voice has wormed its way inside my head, and I haven’t been able to shake it. I’m sorry you were the one who had his head snapped off, though.’

‘I have broad shoulders.’ He shrugged. ‘And if you want the truth, I came back early from my run to apologise for being so grumpy.’

She folded her arms and stared at him. ‘You know what? You’re not the slightest bit difficult or temperamental.’

What on earth had made her think he was?

Katherine. The answer came to him swiftly. Katherine didn’t want him messing with her niece, and he had no intention of giving the older woman cause for concern. He might not be difficult and temperamental, and Imogen might not be flighty and irresponsible. But their lives were poles apart. And he had every intention of keeping them that way.

CHAPTER THREE

THE MYRIAD EXPRESSIONS that chased themselves across Jasper’s face pierced Imogen with unexpected force. Her heart beat too hard—a pounding that rose into her throat and made it ache.

She didn’t bother tempering the sympathy that raged through her. She doubted she’d be successful even if she tried. He’d stared at his nephew with a mixture of such shock and wonder, pain and hope and desolation, that it had almost overwhelmed her. She understood the shock and the hope, but not the pain and desolation. And certainly not the fear.

A bit of panic—yes.

Worry and anxiety—absolutely.

But not that bone-crushing fear that had seemed to be directed both inwards and outwards at the same time. She’d been desperate to rid him of that expression, so she’d overshared. Again.

But that was better than staring at his awful expression and doing nothing about it. The lines fanning out from serious grey eyes were still strained and the grooves bracketing his mouth were still deep, but he no longer looked so worn or overwhelmed.

The grey of those eyes was quite extraordinary. She’d never seen eyes like them—silver in some lights, they held a hint of blue in others, but could deepen to charcoal and concentrate so intensely you felt spotlighted…and seen, really seen.

‘All right, Ms Hartley, let’s try your suggestion and see if, between the three of us, we can manage. I’ll increase your and your aunt’s salaries for as long as the baby is here and—’

‘Oh, that’s not necessary.’ He was already paying her a generous salary.

‘You’ll both be taking on extra duties and I have no intention of taking advantage of your good natures. We’ll do things by the book. You’ll be compensated accordingly.’

He wanted this to be a work arrangement, rather than a favour between friends. Which suited her fine because they weren’t friends. She recalled the awful expression that had overtaken his face and couldn’t help thinking that the one thing Jasper Coleman could do with at the moment, though, was a friend.

She glanced at George, noting the way he worried at his dummy. ‘He’s due for his bottle.’

‘You’d better take him, then.’

She suspected that if he’d had more confidence in handling babies, he’d have simply handed him over, and she’d have had no choice but to take him. As it was, he stared at her expectantly, evidently expecting her to obey him immediately, and she had to fight her instant response to do exactly that. ‘I will, but first I want to make a request.’

His brows rose. Yep. He’d expected her to jump to do his bidding immediately.

It’s what he’s paying you for, Imogen.

‘Is it possible for us to drop the Mr Coleman and Ms Hartley and call each other by our first names? I know I’m only a housemaid with a promotion to a third of a nanny’s position while you’re a genius billionaire, but I can promise you I won’t forget the distinction. The thing is, I’ve never worked in an environment that maintained such formalities, and I just know I’m going to slip up and call you Uncle Jasper to little George here at some point. “Go to Uncle Jasper, Georgie,”’ she sing-songed to demonstrate what she meant. ‘It’d be really nice if we could eliminate that worry right now.’

She couldn’t work out if he was trying not to smile or trying not to frown.

‘You don’t look particularly worried, Ms Hartley.’

Was that a no? ‘I can assure you that I’m shaking on the inside.’

She bit back a sigh when he didn’t smile. Mind you, he didn’t frown either. She tried again. ‘You and my aunt call each other by your first names. I promise not to take any liberties just because we move to a more informal mode of address.’

He stared at her for several long seconds. ‘Are you familiar with the movie The Sound of Music?’ he finally asked.

‘Intimately.’ It was one of her favourites. ‘An oldie but a goodie.’

‘I’m vividly reminded of the moment in the film where the captain asks Maria if she was this much trouble at the abbey.’

A bark of laughter shot out of her. ‘And she answers, “Oh, much more, sir.”’ She glanced at the baby in his arms. ‘I have to say I’m very glad you weren’t just landed with seven children.’

As if they couldn’t help it, his lips lifted. Her pulse shimmied and all the fine hairs on her arms Mexican-waved.

‘Very well, Imogen, first names it is. Perhaps now you’ll be good enough to take the baby?’

He angled the side holding the baby towards her, and she moved closer, ordering various parts of herself to stop tripping the light fantastic. ‘Hey there, beautiful boy.’ George came willingly, but not before Imogen had sucked in a deep breath of Jasper-scented air.

He smelled of the sea and the sweat from his run and something darker and spicier, like cardamom. The smell of sweat especially should’ve had her nose wrinkling, but it didn’t. She edged away before she could be tempted to drag in another appreciative lungful.

His sister’s letter still sat unopened on the arm of the sofa. Why hadn’t he torn it open and devoured its contents yet? She adjusted her weight from one leg to the other. ‘May I make a suggestion?’

‘You may.’

‘I think you should read your sister’s letter. And before you accuse me of taking those liberties that I promised I wouldn’t, I want to assure you that I’m not trying to pry. Your family’s concerns are none of my business. But we need to know if George has any medical issues or medications that he’s taking or any allergies.’ She lifted the schedule of feeding and nap times she’d found in the same bag that held some ready-made bottles of formula. ‘None of those things are mentioned here, which probably means that there’s nothing to worry about,’ she added quickly at the look of absolute horror that passed across his face. ‘But with knowledge being power and all that,’ she finished on a weak shrug.

Surely no mother would send her baby somewhere so remote—so far from medical facilities—if he had a known medical condition like asthma, though. At least…not a good mother. She glanced at the baby in her arms. Sympathy, compassion, pity and foreboding all churned in her stomach. Why on earth would any mother send her child away? Was Jasper’s sister a good mother or—?

‘Why are you frowning, Imogen?’

She started. ‘Oh, I…’

‘I’d rather know. Especially if it pertains to the baby.’

He hadn’t called the baby by his name yet—not once. What was that about? Though she wasn’t silly enough to ask that question either…yet.

‘Your sister would tell us if there were any issues we should be aware of where George is concerned, right?’

She waited for him to reassure her. He didn’t. His shoulders didn’t slump, but it felt as if they ought to, that they were only remaining in place due to some superhuman effort on his behalf. ‘I don’t know. My sister and I have been estranged for the last two years.’

Why?

She didn’t ask that either. He didn’t look as if he had the heart for it. She focussed her attention on the baby instead. ‘How about we make a pact, little George? While you’re here you’re only going to get all good things. What do you say to that?’

He spat out his dummy and gave a grumpy grunt that reminded her so much of his uncle it made her laugh. ‘I’m glad we got that sorted. It’s going to be nothing but sun and fun and kisses and cuddles and good times, right?’

He nodded, copying her, and he looked so darn cute she found herself automatically swinging back to Jasper to share the moment. She found him staring at them with an arrested expression on his face, and it had her smile freezing and all of that shimmying and Mexican-waving happening all over again.

She had to get that under control because that wasn’t going to happen here. Instinct told her that if Jasper thought for a single solitary second that she was attracted to him, he’d boot her off his island faster than she could sew a side seam. She couldn’t let that happen until she’d found out what was troubling Katherine.

She swung away, grabbing up the bag with the bottles and formula. ‘I’ll go and warm up George’s bottle.’ And she didn’t glance back once as she marched from the room. She kept her gaze trained on little George, who clapped his hands together and chanted, ‘Yum, yum, yum.’

Both she and George were chanting, ‘Yum, yum, yum,’ as they entered the kitchen.

Katherine glanced up from where she sat at the table with a glass of iced tea. ‘I expect you’re both hungry.’

‘Ravenous,’ she agreed, pulling a bottle from the bag and setting it in the microwave.

‘Here, give him to me,’ Katherine said when the bottle was ready. ‘I’ll feed him while you eat your sandwich.’

Imogen did as she bid. Maybe little George here could be the icebreaker she needed with her aunt?

They both watched as the baby fed greedily, his eyes closing in bliss. ‘Eat up, Immy, because you’re burping him. I don’t do vomit. Or nappies.’

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