Cathy Williams - 8 Magnificent Millionaires

Adrian had only employed Steven out of deference to George; he was well aware of the younger man’s employment history. It was unusual if he managed to hold down a job for more than a couple of weeks, according to his records. Clearly allergic to work, he sought out every opportunity to disappear for a smoke and Adrian knew that George had covered for him on numerous occasions when Steven had hopped off home early. Right now he was holding onto his job by a wing and a prayer. That said…what did he want with Liadan? Sighing, Adrian silently answered his own question. Liadan was young, beautiful and available—just by virtue of the fact that she was living and working in Adrian’s house. To Steven Ferrers she was doubtless easy pickings.

Irritation growing into disquieting, gnawing rage, Adrian swore and turned back to his computer.

‘What are they doing in here? I never have flowers in the house…ever! Didn’t Kate tell you?’

Her whole body tensing, Liadan turned from dusting the beautiful gold carriage clock on the marble mantelpiece and tried to smile. It was all very well coolly trotting out ‘nothing’s set in stone, though, is it?’ to George Ferrers, but now, faced with what she had done in the light of Adrian’s apparent loathing, she couldn’t help feeling she’d made a bad decision. Judging by the furious scowl across his deeply compelling features, a very bad decision.

‘They bring sunshine into the house and light up the room…don’t you think?’ In the face of his obvious hostility, Liadan’s words sounded ineffectual and feeble, like trying to irrigate miles of desert with a watering can. No matter how passionate she was on the subject, she knew she would never convince him that the vivid yellow flowers that filled the beautiful glass vases on either side of the fireplace should stay.

‘Get rid of them!’ Turning his back, Adrian paused in the doorway, clearly too overwhelmed with anger to even face her. Gazing at the tense stance of those impressively broad shoulders beneath his black cashmere sweater, Liadan concluded it must take a massive amount of mental discipline to contain that much fury and emotion twenty-four hours a day. Didn’t he ever get tired of being so angry?

‘I’m sorry you don’t like them. I’ll remove them to my room.’

‘What were you doing talking to Steven Ferrers?’ Like a whiplash he had spun round to face her again, his dark eyes openly hostile and suspicious.

Because he was confrontational and she was genuinely upset about having to remove the flowers, Liadan raised her chin defiantly.

‘Is that against the rules too?’

‘When you live under my roof, Liadan, you obey my rules. I’m not interested in whether you like them or not.’

Biting down on her lip, Liadan held onto her own temper by a thread. It didn’t matter that she wished Steven Ferrers wouldn’t come within ten feet of her, never mind talk to her! What did matter was that she objected to being spoken to like a badly behaved child.

‘So what are you saying? That I’m not to converse with the two other members of your staff, ever? That could make things slightly awkward.’ Her cornflower blue eyes were glittering, and another emotion besides irritation swept through Adrian as he studied her. Even when she was furious—and he could see that she was—with that tumbling red-gold hair that refused to stay bound and her eye-catching figure in jeans and a white ribbed sweater, she undeniably stirred his blood. Sucking in a deep breath, Adrian strained every muscle in his body to try and tamp down the power of his desire.

‘It’s Steven I want you to keep away from, as much as possible. George is a good man—you have nothing to fear from him.’

Her heart knocking against her ribs, a vivid image stealing into her mind of Steven Ferrers’ face hovering angrily too close to her own—so close that she could smell the tobacco on his breath—Liadan blinked in surprise. ‘You’re saying I do have something to fear where Steven is concerned?’

‘Just keep away from him. I don’t want him bothering you.’ He met her eyes with an intense glance that sent a little zing of heat dancing through her blood, but Liadan told herself she must have imagined the distinct note of concern in Adrian’s voice. The only concern he had was to be obeyed to the letter, she thought crossly. Yesterday, when he had confided in her about Petra Collins, now seemed like something she had dreamt—because today he was suddenly a very different man. Today he was definitely the Lord and Master of all he surveyed, and Liadan very much his lowly employee. No doubt he had regretted telling her so much and now sought to establish the proper distance to their relationship, lest she should try and take advantage.

She shouldn’t feel so upset at the idea, but strangely she did. She was alone out here, in this big, aloof house, with a man who was about as sociable as a wounded bear and with a growing sense that whatever she did—however perfectly or wonderfully she did her job—it would somehow never be good enough.

‘Was there anything else, Mr Jacobs? I really should get on.’ Lifting one of the glass vases, Liadan blew a curling red-gold lock of hair from her eyes, striving to keep her gaze as impersonal and unaffected as possible. A frown between his dark brows, Adrian didn’t reply straight away. To Liadan’s increasing discomfort he seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time just staring at her. What he was thinking about, she couldn’t begin to guess.

‘The flowers can stay,’ he said gruffly.

Her blue eyes widened in surprise. ‘Really?’

‘It’s not a big deal.’

‘Oh, but it is!’ Putting the vase back in its place, Liadan straightened, resting her hand momentarily on the marble mantel. ‘If putting them here makes you unhappy, I’ll take them away to my room. This is your home. You have a right to have things the way you like them.’

Home. Adrian’s glance was unremittingly scornful. ‘It’s people who make a home, Liadan, not bricks and mortar. Take away the people who matter and all you have is a shell. Small or grand—it doesn’t matter. It’s still a shell.’

Sensing his anguish and frustration, Liadan didn’t know what to say. For a moment there she’d never seen anyone look more lost…or more alone.

‘Anyway, I’d better put you in the picture about tomorrow.’

‘What’s happening tomorrow?’ Relieved that he’d changed the subject because he would probably only scorn any comfort she tried to offer, Liadan waited with interest for him to tell her.

‘Cheryl Kendall’s newspaper is printing Petra’s claim about the abortion. I fully expect to be invaded in the morning by journalists champing at the bit. My solicitor, Edward Barry, will be here first thing to make a statement on my behalf. Just stay put in the house for a while until they go, will you? I don’t want you getting caught up in the free-for-all, and, believe me, it will be one.’

He had that world-weary look in his dark eyes again and this time Liadan really did feel like comforting him. She knew it wasn’t her place and that she had no right—she was just someone he’d given a job to, and what did she know of the personal torment he was going through? But she was adamant that he shouldn’t have to endure such invasion alone, with nobody on his side but his solicitor.

‘Is there anything I can do for you, Adrian?’

‘Just do the job I’m paying you to do. There’s nothing more you can do for me but that.’

As Adrian turned away from the distinctly hurt look in her lovely blue eyes he wondered when he’d added lying to his list of sins. Right now there was another kind of comfort he’d readily accept from Liadan Willow. And it definitely wasn’t a kind that was within the remit of her job. He should put his lustful thoughts about her firmly to the back of his mind and remember that he needed a housekeeper far more than he needed a woman to warm his bed.