Taming The Billionaire. Dani Wade

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СКАЧАТЬ are you?”

      Her sudden lunge forward took him by surprise. He loosened his grip and let her go, not wanting to injure her just to keep her contained. After all, she couldn’t escape. There wasn’t a place in this house he couldn’t find her.

      But she went only as far as the stairs, sinking down to grab her flashlight. From her crouch against the railing she let the beam slowly travel up the length of him. “You can’t be Mr. Kingston,” she breathed as the light paused right below his face.

      “Clearly I am.”

      “No...” That breathless quality distracted him more than he cared to admit. “Mr. Kingston is...um...”

      “Is what?”

      This time she didn’t answer.

      “Look, I don’t care why you’re here. But if you leave right now, I won’t contact the police.”

      Behind her flashlight he could barely make out a frown.

      “But I’m supposed to be here,” she said.

      What? “I don’t think so.”

      “I am,” she insisted, her voice quickly firming up. “I’m the new housekeeper.”

      For a moment Tate’s very active brain froze. Somehow this scenario had never occurred to him. “Absolutely not.”

      Now it was her turn to ask. “Why?”

      “You cannot be my new housekeeper.”

      Murdoch would not have done that to me.

      Tate let his own powerful flashlight travel up her body, till the beam hit her full in the face. His author brain kicked in automatically, narrating the view. Pale, creamy skin. Hair that glinted fire, even in the strong light. And a thin, soaked T-shirt that outlined her curves perfectly beneath an open rain jacket.

      She eased to her feet, blinking to adjust her sight. “I am the new housekeeper,” she insisted. “Murdoch hired me.”

      “You can’t be. The new housekeeper is a man. Will Harden.”

      She slapped her hand on her hip. “Uh, no. It’s me. Willow Harden.”

      Damn Murdoch.

      “I know I was supposed to be here earlier,” she explained, “but things got pretty complicated with the storm moving in early. The power was out here and I worried, um, that you were okay.”

      “As you can see, I’m neither old nor in need of assistance.” Yet. Though some days he felt every one of his thirty-eight years and more. He ignored the discomfort of that thought and continued, “I’m perfectly prepared for the weather. I certainly didn’t need you to break into my house to check on me.”

      “I didn’t break in. Murdoch gave me the keys.”

      Of course he did. “And the codes?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      As her voice grew small, Tate recognized that the bully method of questioning wasn’t helping anything. Obviously he’d been fed incorrect information on purpose. Murdoch knew Tate would view a woman as a threat. An unwanted intrusion to a life spent making amends for his mistakes. Deadly mistakes.

      Heck, that was probably why Murdoch had done it. He’d been different since finding his daughter again, since deciding to visit her for the first time. But that didn’t mean Tate had to live with his friend’s decisions.

      This woman had to go.

      They stood there in the dark, flashlights trained on each other like weapons. Tate would have found the situation amusing if he wasn’t faced with the complications she represented. There was no way he could tolerate this intrusion.

      “Well, I appreciate your concern, Ms. Harden—”

      “Willow.”

      “—but I’m well equipped for this kind of thing. If you’re a Savannah native, you know that the power goes out on these islands quite easily. I have lanterns, a portable cookstove, stored water, a generator—everything I need.”

      Her light dipped. Tate wondered what she was thinking. Why the hell would Murdoch hire a woman to come in and take care of Sabatini House while he visited his new grandchild? Granted, Tate hadn’t specified gender when they’d discussed Murdoch’s stand-in, but it should have been a given considering his history.

      When she didn’t speak further, he figured he needed to spell it out. “Well, Willow, since I’m not what you wanted. And you aren’t what I...”

      He caught the lift of one eyebrow. Somehow he could read the warning for him to choose his words carefully. The fact that he understood that unspoken communication, and the earlier joy that had streaked through his body as he’d been pressed against her softness, convinced him she definitely had to go.

      Joy was the last thing he deserved...and having her in this house would be nothing more than a temptation.

      He continued carefully, “You aren’t what I expected, so I think it would be best if we called this whole thing off. Don’t you?”

      He wasn’t certain, but he thought she mumbled Are you sure about that? under her breath. The sound of the rain doubling down outside made it hard to tell.

      “Obviously Murdoch made a mistake,” he said.

      “Nooo,” she countered, shaking her head. “No, he didn’t. He was very specific in his instructions. And after all this time, he knew I would follow them to the letter.”

      Tate tried to squelch his curiosity, but the words slipped out anyway. “How long have you known Murdoch?”

      He could see her muscles loosen a little, softening her stance. “We met early last year. He’s such a sweet man, once he lets you get to know him.”

      That’s exactly how Tate would describe the man who’d been with him through the last twenty years of self-imposed exile from most of the world. Murdoch had been with him through the death of both his parents, the sale of his first book, but mostly he’d been there for Tate as he dealt with the grief that seemed never-ending. Murdoch had mentioned on more than one occasion that Tate’s lifestyle wasn’t healthy, but that simple opinion wouldn’t change the choices Tate had made.

      Couldn’t change them.

      Then Murdoch had said he was leaving...and now here Tate was facing the only woman to be in this house since his mother died.

      “Look,” she said, taking a step closer. “Murdoch would never forgive me if I walked away after all of the trouble he went through to make sure this place was taken care of while he was gone. Please. Just give me a chance.”

      Tate let his eyelids slide shut. The first thing that came to mind weren’t words, as was often the case, but the memory of her body against his. The close heat. The sweet scent. The softness of curves.

      Nope. Bad idea. He crossed his arms over his chest, СКАЧАТЬ