To All A Good Night. Jill Shalvis

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Название To All A Good Night
Автор произведения Jill Shalvis
Жанр Короткие любовные романы
Серия
Издательство Короткие любовные романы
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780758248725



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laughter. Which, despite being sexy as all hell, did little to calm her down. Because, though she’d been joking, the idea that she’d been on the job for less than two hours and had already allowed a thief into the house was just a perverse enough thing that it would actually happen to her.

      The large shadow moved closer and she was deep into the fight-or-flight debate when a soft click sounded and the hallway was illuminated with a series of crystal wall sconces. Emma’s first glance at her unexpected guest did little to balance her equilibrium.

      Whoever he was, he beat her five-foot-nine height by a good half foot, which made the fight thing rather moot. Flight probably wasn’t going to get her very far, either. He had the kind of broad shoulders, tapered waist and well-built legs her defensive line coach dad would recruit in a blink, and charming rascal dimples topped by twinkling blue eyes her Irish mother would swoon over as she served him beef stew and biscuits.

      Emma, on the other hand, had absolutely no idea what to do with him.

      2

      Trevor Hamilton took in the unexpected sight before him. She was tall and quite capable-looking. Certainly looked up to the task of riding herd over the ungainly Martha, while staring down Cicero even on his most demanding days. She was doing a pretty damn good job of staring him down, and he knew that to be a challenge. When he wanted it to be, anyway. He wondered where Lionel had found her. Despite her quite capable demeanor, she didn’t look nearly stressed out enough to be on his regular payroll.

      “Lionel Hamilton is my uncle,” he told her. “My great uncle, that is. His younger brother, Aloysius, was my grandfather. He passed on when I was little, so Lionel was sort of my substitute grandpa.”

      If his family cred did him any justice in her eyes, it was hard to tell from her steady regard. She was attractive, in an unconventional way, he decided. She had a head of thick, very unruly russet curls that tumbled over her shoulders and down her back and made a man want to bury his hands fist-deep. Her cheekbones were sharp, probably more so due to the set of her jaw at the moment. Her eyes, so far as he could tell, were a nondescript hazel, and yet easily held his own in a way that, admittedly, intrigued him. Her mouth…now there’s where he got tripped up just a little. It was wide, with a deep bottom lip that begged to be nipped at while being kissed. He’d bet big money they were as soft as they were lush.

      Her lips were so diverting, in fact, that it took him an extra moment to take in the rest of her. She wasn’t slender, but not heavy either. Sturdy was the word that came to mind. And curvy. Strong shoulders and legs were offset by breasts that would more than fill a man’s hands, and the kind of hips that would likely draw attention when she walked away.

      And he should know. He’d had a lot of experience watching women walk away. Most often per his request.

      Being decent, relatively attractive, and ridiculously wealthy should have been the trifecta of good fortune where meeting women were concerned. But he hadn’t found that to be the case, so much. The ridiculous wealth attracted all sorts, as did the good looks, which made it hard to tell if any of them were there for the decent person part.

      Which made the irony of this particular night all the more perverse. Because, in truth, he was behaving quite indecently at the moment. He despised golddiggers, and yet here he was, stealing from the Hamilton family trove. Or hoping to, anyway.

      He’d been waiting a long time to get back into this house, but Lionel was always here, or some brown-nosing assistant who worked for him. This was the first time in five years his uncle had given the entire staff off for the holidays and had left town himself, to boot. Trevor had jumped on the opportunity, despite the chaos it had caused in his own life. Thanks to their somewhat shared grapevine, he’d even known about the hired sitter, and had planned to get what he’d come for and be gone before she’d arrived. Then the storm had delayed his flight to Virginia, and he’d had to rely on luck to get up the mountain before she did.

      Apparently luck wasn’t going to be on his side. But he was here now, and he wasn’t leaving empty-handed.

      “I’m guessing you haven’t worked for Lionel before,” he said, nodding at the small notebook in her hands that she’d clearly been referencing as she’d snooped about. “Anything I can help you find? I make a pretty good tour guide. I’ll even throw in a few colorful family stories, if you’d like. We’ve had more than our fair share.”

      “Why are you here?” was her only response.

      He didn’t mind the bluntness. “I was going to surprise Lionel with a holiday visit, but apparently the surprise is on me.” Which was true enough, just not in the way she’d interpret it. He lifted a hand to stall her response. “I already called. I know he’s in Japan.” He smiled, walked closer. “Must be tough taking on a live-in assignment during the holidays.” He lifted his hands in the universal gesture of peace. “Since I’m here, I’d be more than happy to take on the sitter duties. I was planning on staying, anyway.” Not for two weeks, he mentally added, but if he could get her out of here, he’d have free reign to dig to his heart’s content, then he could always find someone else to come finish up the pet-and house-sitting jobs. It didn’t really matter what Lionel would think about coming home to find a new sitter with his beloved pets. If Trevor took what he’d come for, his great uncle would have a lot more on his mind than a replacement sitter.

      “There’s a storm raging outside,” she said, “in case you hadn’t noticed.”

      “I didn’t mean you needed to leave this exact instant, just that—”

      “I do the job I’m paid for, Mr. Hamilton.”

      “Oh, I’d pay you your full fee. It’s not your fault I showed up.”

      Her scowl didn’t go away as he’d hoped. For most people, money solved everything. He was admittedly a little intrigued when it didn’t seem to be an immediate attraction for her.

      “I start a job, I finish a job. Unless Mr. Hamilton—Lionel Hamilton—requests that I hand the sitting duties over to you, then I’m here for the duration.”

      He wished he didn’t admire her integrity, as it would make things a lot easier, but he did. “Fair enough. For now.” He allowed his smile to spread when she arched a brow. “I’ll have to figure out the time difference between here and Japan, and check his schedule before I bother my uncle, but we’ll get it all sorted out. Unless you have a pre-planned time to communicate?”

      She regarded him silently for a moment, then shook her head. “But I have contact information, so I certainly could, if I chose to,” she added, clearly still wary of his presence.

      Smart woman.

      He stepped back and turned, sweeping his hand out in front of him. “Why don’t we go downstairs? I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry, and I’m sure the beasts are ready for their supper.”

      A stricken look flashed across her face as she darted a quick glance at her watch. “It’s not—wait a minute.” She looked back up, slightly accusatory. “It’s almost ten o’clock at night. They don’t get fed until the morning.”

      “Treats then,” he said, completely unrepentant. It was nice to know she could be rattled, at least a little. And that she did, truly, seem to take her job seriously. He waved her forward. “Come on. The dogs might be on a strict dietary regimen, but that doesn’t mean you and I can’t raid the fridge.”

      She consulted her notebook again, but he wasn’t sure she was really looking at anything meaningful, given he was pretty sure she was lost anyway.

      He stepped forward to take a peek and she all but slapped the book shut in his face. “Fine,” she said. “But you’re on your own in the kitchen.”

      “Not much of a cook?”

      She stepped around him. “I’m a great cook. But I’m not your cook.” She walked away.

      Stalked might have been a more accurate term, he thought,