Maid for Montero

The feeling he had wandered into some sort of alternative universe intensified as a balloon that had presumably followed him up the drive floated past his head. It snagged on a branch and popped—the sound breaking Isandro free of his teeth-clenched scrutiny of the disaster scene.

His dark eyes as warm as ice chips, he reversed with a screech of rubber back to the intersection in the drive and took the secondary road that led directly to the stable block at the rear of the house, which seemed blessedly free of the insanity taking place elsewhere on his property.

Entering the house via the orangery, he snapped grapes from the vine that grew in coils across the roof as he went. He made his way to his study, not encountering a soul to demand an explanation of or vent his simmering anger on. When he reached the inner sanctum, however, he did discover someone: a small child he had never seen before, who was almost hidden by his desk as she spun around in his swivel chair.

The child saw him and grabbed the desk to slow herself, leaving a neat imprint of sticky finger marks on the antique wood. His lips twisted in a grimace of distaste. He had few friends with children and his exposure to them had been limited to brief appearances at baptisms bearing appropriate gifts. None had reached this child’s age yet…Five? Six? he speculated, studying the grubby freckled face.

‘Hello. Are you looking for the toilets?’

The question was so unexpected that for a moment Isandro did not respond.

‘No, I am not.’ Was it normal for a child to be this self-possessed? She definitely didn’t seem even slightly fazed to see him.

‘Oh.’ Hands on his antique desk, she began to twist in the seat from side to side. ‘The lady was but the other man was looking for Zoe. Are you looking for Zoe, too? I can do fifty spins and not be sick. I could probably do more if I wanted to.’

Glancing at the Aubusson carpet underfoot, he cautiously caught the back of the chair before she could put her boast to the test. ‘I’m sure you could.’

‘You picked grapes.’ The kid stared at the grapes he had carelessly plucked from the vine as he had walked through the orangery. ‘You’re not meant to do that,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You’ll be in big trouble, and maybe even go to jail.’ The thought seemed to please her.

‘Thanks for the warning. Want some?’ She seemed so at home he almost began to wonder if the place had been invaded by squatters and nobody had seen fit to mention it to him!

‘Can’t. You’re a stranger. And they’re sour.’

‘Georgie!’

Isandro’s head lifted at the sound of the musical voice with just a hint of attractive huskiness.

‘I’m in here!’ The kid bellowed back into his right ear, making him wince.

A moment later a figure appeared in the doorway. The body that matched the voice was not a let-down—anything but! Tall, slim, dark-haired with the sort of figure that filled out the faded denim jeans she wore to perfection. His immediate impression was of sinuous supple grace and an earthy sexuality that hit him with the force of a hammer between the eyes. Though the main physical response to her appearance was somewhat lower than eye level.

Isandro’s aggravation levels reduced by several notches as he studied this new arrival, who didn’t just have a great body but a vivid, expressive face he found himself wanting to look at. Stare at.

She possessed the most extraordinary eyes—electric blue that tilted slightly at the corners—and a mouth that made any man looking at it think of how it would feel to taste those plush pink lips…Isandro exhaled and reined in his galloping imagination. He had a healthy libido but he prided himself on his ability to control it.

‘Georgie, you shouldn’t be in here. I’ve told you. Oh…!’ Zoe stopped halfway through the open doorway of the study. Her blue eyes flew wide as she sucked in a tiny shocked breath, registering the presence of the tall figure who was towering over her niece.

The strange reluctance she felt to enter the room was strong, but not as strong as her protective instincts, so, with a cautious smile pasted in place, Zoe stepped forward.

There had been many occasions in her adult life when she had been accused of being too trusting, too inclined to assume the best of others, but since Zoe had acquired responsibility for her seven-year-old twin niece and nephew she had developed a new caution that bordered, she suspected, on paranoia, at least when it came to the safety of her youthful charges.

Under the pleasant smile, her newly awoken protective instincts were on full alert. She moved towards the man whom she had not seen outside. And she would have noticed him, because despite the casual clothes—expensive casual—he definitely wouldn’t have blended in with the carefree and relaxed people milling around outside.

She doubted that face did relaxed or carefree.

Without taking her eyes off the incredibly handsome stranger any more than you’d take your eyes off a stray wolf—and the analogy was not inappropriate, as he had the entire lean, hungry look going on—she held out her hand to her niece.

‘Come here, Georgina,’ she said in a tone meant to convey a sense of urgency without overly alarming her niece. Not that the latter would be likely—Georgie was friendly to a fault and she had no sense of danger whatsoever. Real parents probably knew how to make their kids sensibly cautious without scaring them witless and giving them umpteen issues later in life…but Zoe wasn’t a real parent and most of the time she felt like a pretty sorry substitute for not one but two brilliant parents.

She took a deep breath and fought her way clear of the oppressive weight of emotions that continued to hit her when she wasn’t expecting it. There wasn’t time to feel angry at fate or the drunk driver whose carelessness had taken away the twins’ parents. There was barely time to comb her hair some days!

‘I’m sorry. I hope Georgina wasn’t bothering you.’ It was more polite than ‘what the hell are you doing in here?’ but in her experience it was always better to try a smile before you brought out the big stick.

Though it would take a very big stick indeed or even a small army to make this intruder leave if he didn’t take the hint, she thought, sliding a peek at him under her lashes and looking away quickly. The heat climbed into her smooth cheeks as she realised her scrutiny was being returned, though there was nothing remotely surreptitious or apologetic about the way his dark eyes were wandering over her.

She flicked her plait back in a businesslike manner over her shoulder and, raising a brief cool hand to her cheeks, she wished that her protective instincts were the only reason she could feel the heavy, frantic beat of her heart in every inch of her body.

She’d never come across a man who exuded such a raw, sheer maleness before and it was deeply weird, not in a pleasant way, to find her indiscriminate hormones reacting independently to the aura he projected. She pressed her hand protectively to her stomach, which was quivering the way it did when she found herself in any situation that involved high places and the possibility of falling.

Logic suggested he was no danger to Georgie, just another visitor to the Fun Day who’d got lost or was just plain nosy but…the fact that she was the person whose job it was to protect the twins from everything bad in the world meant that Zoe was taking no chances.

‘Now, Georgie, please.’

With a show of reluctance and a big sigh the copper-headed little girl responded finally to the note of command and slid out of the chair. But Isandro wasn’t watching. His eyes were trained on the sliver of pale, toned midriff that was on show. The tantalising flash of flesh vanished as the woman’s hand closed over the child’s. Drawing her in, she bent to speak, saying something to the kid that made her nod before running out of the door.

Isandro watched as the young woman straightened up, throwing the fat plait of glossy dark hair over her shoulder again, exposing the firm curve of her jaw and the long elegant line of her pale throat.

The recognition that his response to her had been primal, out of his control, produced a frown that faded as he put the situation in perspective. Just because he had experienced an unexpectedly strong physical response did not mean he couldn’t control it…Since his failed marriage he had never been in any form of relationship that he couldn’t walk away from, and he never would.

She straightened up. ‘Sorry about that.’

Now the child was gone some of the tension seemed to have left her slender shoulders, though a degree of caution remained in the blue eyes that studied him now with an undisguised curiosity mingled with a critical quality he was not accustomed to seeing when a woman looked at him.

Isandro’s smile held a hint of self mockery…If she had not been beautiful would he have chosen to be amused…?

His appreciation of beauty was not restricted to architecture. He put this woman somewhere in her early twenties, young enough at least to wear no make-up and look good. Her clear skin was flawless, pale tinged with the lightest of roses in her smooth, rounded cheeks. She was not just sexy, she was beautiful.

Not in the classical sense perhaps, and absolutely nothing like the sort of woman he normally found attractive. For starters he dated women who worked hard at and took pride in their appearance. This woman’s grooming left a lot to be desired, but her oval face with wide-set, slanting blue eyes, delicate carved cheekbones and wide, full lips had an arresting quality that combined sexiness with a sense of vulnerability.

Vulnerability was another thing he avoided in women. Needy was just too time-consuming, and time was a precious commodity.

His response simply proved that sexual attraction was not an exact science. Her look was not even smart casual, more scruffy casual. Despite his unflattering assessment of her style he was conscious of a heaviness in his groin by the time his eyes had made the journey up the length of her lusciously long, denim-clad legs. Tall and slender but with feminine curves that the oversized white shirt she wore did not hide, she really did have a delicious body—and she would scrub up well, he decided, picturing her in something silky and insubstantial, and then in nothing at all.

He found his mood mellowing some more. The day might not be a total washout after all. He found himself more attracted to her than he had to a woman in months…It was possible that part of the appeal was she was not his type, not a samey clone. That and the clear-eyed stare, plus the extraordinarily sexy mouth, and the fact he felt confident that he could slide his fingers into her hair and not come away with a handful of hair extensions. Now that had been a real mood killer!

What had the kid called her…?

Not Mum, and she wasn’t wearing a ring, but that didn’t mean anything, so he remained cautious.

There were enough complications in life without inviting them, so Isandro kept his love life simple. He didn’t do long-term relationships and was upfront about it, and even so he had never had to work hard to get a woman into his bed.

Married women, single parents, women who wanted commitment were not conducive to simplicity, so he ruled them out. He had learnt from his mistakes, and an expensive divorce that had lost him both a wife and a best friend provided a steep learning curve. Quite frankly there was no point in inviting problems when there were any number of attractive unattached women who did not come with baggage.

He could fight for a prize when it was required, but it was not his style to fantasise over the unattainable. He had no problem walking away from temptation, however attractively packaged, so he was surprised to recognise that in this instance it was a struggle to adopt his normal take-it-or-leave-it attitude.

Now that her niece was safely away from strangers she should have been able to relax slightly, but Zoe discovered she wasn’t.

Obviously she had registered the fact he was not ugly the moment she entered the room, but she hadn’t noticed the ludicrously long eyelashes, the jet-black, deep set heavy-lidded eyes they framed, or the incredible sculpted structure of his patrician features. Each strong angle and plane of his face was perfect.