The Millionaire and the Maid

‘I’d also want you to give up alcohol. Or at least drinking bourbon in your room on your own.’

She’d seen the bottle. Damn!

‘Finally, I’d want you to take your evening meal in the dining room with me.’

So she could keep an eye on him—assess his mental state. He could feel his nostrils flare as he dragged in a breath. He was tempted to tell her to go to hell, except...

Except he might have given up caring about himself, but he hadn’t given up caring about Russ. His brother might be eleven and a half years older than Mac, but they’d always been close. Russ had always looked out for him. The least Mac could do now was look out for Russ in whatever limited capacity he could. With Russ’s health so tenuous Mac couldn’t risk adding to his stress levels.

Jo’s phone rang. She pulled it from the back pocket of her jeans. He stared at that hip and something stirred inside him. And then desire hit him—hot and hard. He blinked. He turned away to hide the evidence, adjusting his jeans as he pretended an interest in the horizon.

What on earth...? He liked his women slim and compact, polished and poised. Jo Anderson might be poised, but as for the rest of it...

He dragged a hand back through his hair. There was no denying, though, that his body reacted to her like a bee to honey. He swallowed. It was probably to be expected, right? He’d been cooped up here away from all human contact for four months. This was just a natural male reaction to the female form.

‘I don’t know, Russ.’

That snapped him back.

‘Yeah...’ She flicked a glance in his direction. ‘I’ve seen him.’

Mac winced at her tone.

‘You have yourself a deal.’ He pitched his words low, so they wouldn’t carry down the phone to Russ, but they still came out savage. He couldn’t help it. He held up one finger. ‘Give me one week.’

‘Hmm... Well, he’s looking a little peaky—as if he’s had the flu or a tummy bug.’

He seized her free hand. Startled sage eyes met his. ‘Please,’ he whispered.

The softness and warmth of her hand seeped into him and almost made him groan, and then her hand tightened about his and his mouth went dry in a millisecond.

When she shook herself free of him a moment later he let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding.

‘I expect it’s nothing that a bit of rest, gentle exercise, home-cooked food and sun won’t put to rights in a week or two.’

He closed his eyes and gave thanks.

‘Nah, I promise. I won’t take any risks. I’ll call a doctor in if he hasn’t picked up in a few days. Here—you want to talk to him?’

And before Mac could shake his head and back away he found the phone thrust out to him.

He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and took it. ‘Hey, Russ, how you doing?’

‘Better than you, by the sounds of it. Though it explains why you haven’t answered my last two calls.’

He winced. ‘It’s all I’ve been able to do to keep up with my email.’ I’m sorry, bro. He hadn’t been good for anyone. Least of all his brother.

‘Well, you listen to Jo, okay? She’s got a good head on her shoulders.’

He glanced at said head and noticed how the wavy dark hair gleamed in the sun, and how cute little freckles sprinkled a path across the bridge of her nose. She had a rather cute nose. She cocked an eyebrow and he cleared his throat.

‘Will do,’ he forced himself to say.

‘Good. I want you in the best of health when I come to visit.’

He choked back a cough. Russ was coming to visit?

‘Give my love to Jo.’

With that, Russ hung up. Mac stared at Jo. ‘When is he coming to visit?’

She shrugged and plucked her phone from his fingers.

‘Why is he coming?’

‘Oh, that one’s easy. Because he loves you. He wants to see you before he goes under the knife.’ She met his gaze. ‘In case he doesn’t wake up after the operation.’

‘That’s crazy.’

‘Is it?’

‘Russ is going to be just fine!’ His brother didn’t need to exert himself in any fashion until he was a hundred per cent fit again.

She stared at him for a long moment. ‘Are you familiar with the Banjo Paterson poem “The Man From Snowy River”?’

Her question threw him. ‘Sure.’

‘Can you remember what comes after the first couple of lines? “There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around that the colt from old Regret had got away...”.’

‘“And had joined the wild bush horses—he was worth a thousand pound, So all the cracks had gathered to the fray”,’ he recited. His class had memorised that in the third grade.

‘Wild... Worth... Fray...’ she murmured in that honeyed liquid sunshine voice of hers.

‘Why?’

She shook herself. ‘No reason. Just an earworm.’

She seized her suitcases and strode back towards the house with them, and he couldn’t help feeling his fate had just been sealed by a poem.

And then it hit him.

Honey! The ingredient he’d been searching for was honey.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_8934e604-3133-58b3-a952-f630d3d46eb6)

JO TOOK A couple of deep breaths before spooning spaghetti and meatballs onto two plates. If Mac said something cutting about her efforts in the kitchen she’d—

She’d dump the contents of his plate in his lap?