The Maid, The Millionaire And The Baby. Michelle Douglas
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