The Taming of Xander Sterne. Кэрол Мортимер

my ego!’ Xander answered her more harshly than he had intended. Slightly regretting that harshness as she appeared to recoil and withdraw into herself.

      What had she expected? That he was just going to laugh it off as childish exuberance?

      Damn it, she and her daughter had only just arrived; he hadn’t even had chance as yet for the talk about rules regarding her daughter’s behaviour.

      ‘Ah, just in the nick of time,’ Xander muttered as the lift doors opened a second time and Paul stepped out carrying several bags, obviously the mother and daughter’s luggage. ‘Paul can help me get up, if you would like to take your daughter with you into the kitchen and make a pot of tea,’ he bit out.

      Sam knew it was an order rather than a request, and a means of getting she and Daisy out of the way.

      And who could blame the man? He had already suffered the indignity of being knocked off his feet; he didn’t need the further embarrassment of having to be helped back up in front of an audience.

      Xander Sterne didn’t give the impression he was a man who liked to show any sort of weakness. Ever. Which didn’t bode well for the next two weeks, Sam acknowledged with a wince, when she was supposed to be helping him, as well as cooking for him.

      She gave Paul a grateful smile before leaving him to help Xander back onto his feet, while she and Daisy went down the hallway in search of what turned out to be a beautiful red and black high-gloss kitchen, its numerous and expensive appliances all in gleaming chrome.

      The sort of kitchen that she would have loved to explore further, if she weren’t feeling quite so much trepidation about whether or not she and Daisy would be here long enough for her to see any more of this apartment than the kitchen. And the inside of the lift again, as they left!

      She lifted Daisy up onto one of the bar stools before finding a carton of orange juice in the huge American-style fridge, and pouring some into a glass for her.

      ‘I thought we had a rule about running in the house?’ she chided Daisy gently as she moved to put the kettle on before looking for the tea, aware of the murmur of male voices out in the hallway as she did so.

      ‘Sorry, Mummy.’ Her daughter gave a guilty grimace. ‘I just saw the huge television and I wanted to— Sorry,’ she muttered again contritely.

      Sam’s expression immediately softened. ‘I think you owe Mr Sterne an apology for running in his home, don’t you?’

      ‘Yes, Mummy. Do you think he’ll let us stay now?’ Daisy added anxiously.

      It didn’t help that Sam was wondering the same thing.

      She raised her brows. ‘Do you want to stay?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ Daisy enthused.

      Sam had no doubts that the huge TV was the reason for her daughter’s enthusiasm. It certainly couldn’t be because Daisy liked Xander Sterne, when all he had done so far was growl at them.

      Xander had just been about to enter the kitchen, with the intention of giving the woman a blistering piece of his mind before then ordering her to leave, when he overheard the conversation between mother and daughter.

      At which point his chest gave a tight and unexpected squeeze at how subdued the previously exuberant Daisy now sounded.

      Because he had reacted like a bad-tempered idiot. To a five-year-old.

      Damn it, he was not turning into his father.

      He was not!

      It wasn’t as if the little red-haired tornado had meant to knock him off his feet. It had been a complete accident that she had managed to clip his elbow as she passed.

      But why was he making excuses for her, when he had just been presented with the perfect opportunity—the perfect excuse—to dismiss Ms Smith? Before she’d even had chance to unpack the few belongings in the bags he had instructed Paul to leave out in the hallway before he left.

      And what happened if Xander did dismiss her? He did still need her help and he would mess up Darius and Miranda’s honeymoon plans if he dismissed her now.

      The fact that Sam might be counting on the money she would earn by working for him for the next two weeks was also a consideration.

      Despite his reservations, even Xander wasn’t selfish enough to want to be responsible for causing Ms Smith, or her daughter, unnecessary hardship.

       CHAPTER THREE

      SAM HAD HER back turned towards Xander when he finally entered the kitchen, allowing him to enjoy the sight of that gloriously curling red hair as it flowed loosely down the narrow length of her spine, the pertness of her shapely bottom clearly outlined by her skinny jeans.

      Xander veered his scowling gaze sharply up and away from all that femininity, to instead look at the little girl seated at the breakfast bar, and currently watching him with huge and anxious amethyst-coloured eyes over the top of the glass of orange juice she was drinking.

      It was an anxiety Xander remembered from his own childhood.

      An anxiety he was now responsible for causing, as his father once had for him.

      Xander’s knowledge and experience of children was limited, to say the least, but even he could see that the child was a beauty, with her riot of long, red curls. Her features were more rounded than her mother’s, although the promise of the same beauty was definitely there. It was a cherubic face at the moment, dominated by large and serious eyes, and she had a similar endearing smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her tiny nose.

      She now struggled down from the tall bar stool to look up at him from beneath long dark lashes. ‘I’m very sorry for knocking you over, Mr Sterne.’

      Oh, hell, she even had an endearing lisp when she talked, caused no doubt by that noticeably missing front tooth.

      ‘I didn’t mean to,’ she continued to lisp. ‘It’s just that I’ve never seen such a big television before.’ Her eyes filled with unshed tears. ‘But Mummy has told me re—re—’

      ‘Repeatedly,’ Samantha supplied helpfully as she placed a cup of steaming-hot tea and the sugar bowl down on the breakfast bar in front of where Xander stood.

      ‘Re— Lots of times,’ the little girl substituted endearingly, ‘not to run in the house.’

      ‘I’ve labelled it “the whipped puppy look”,’ Sam confided softly even as she ruffled her daughter’s red curls affectionately.

      ‘What?’ Xander had to drag his gaze away from the contrite-looking child in order to look at her mother.

      ‘The tears welling up in the big eyes, the trembling bottom lip; “whipped puppy” look,’ the mother supplied ruefully. ‘It’s a look my daughter, most young children in fact, have mastered to perfection by the time they’re three!’

      ‘Oh.’ How to feel foolish in one easy lesson; he was being played, and by a five-year-old, at that!

      Sam gave a rueful smile as she obviously saw the confusion in his expression. ‘I assure you, the contrition is perfectly genuine, and you really shouldn’t feel bad about responding to “the look”; it usually works on me too.’

      Xander had the distinct impression he was fast losing control of this situation. If he’d ever had control of it in the first place!

      But it was well past time that he did.

      Xander looked coldly down the length of his nose at the two Smith females. ‘Paul left your bags out in the vestibule, which for obvious reasons you will have to carry to your rooms yourself. You have the two adjoining bedrooms on the right at the end of the hallway. My own suite of rooms is behind the doors on the left. An area that, under no circumstances, will either of you enter without permission. For any reason,’