Revelations Of A Secret Princess. Annie West

she afraid of men?

      But then she lifted her chin and their gazes collided. He felt the impact as a wave of heat.

      Jake stared back, intrigued. What was this sensation? Attraction? Surely not for such a sparrow, even if she did have nice legs and an intriguing face. Suspicion?

      Something about her made him cautious.

      ‘Tell me about yourself, Ms Rivage.’ He leaned back, elbows on the chair arms, and steepled his fingers under his chin.

      Jake Maynard’s voice was a delicious rumble that she felt like a burr of pleasure in her veins. Caro blinked, ordering herself not to be fanciful. She was immune to male charm—once bitten, twice shy. Yet even as the thought surfaced, she knew this man wasn’t trying to charm. Despite the gesture of welcome and the barest hint of a welcoming smile, she sensed an intensity of purpose that made her pulse quicken.

      Or maybe it was the laser-sharp keenness of his grey eyes beneath coal-black eyebrows. It made his eyes seem diamond bright and knowing, as if he saw beyond her carefully constructed appearance to those secrets she hoarded close.

      It took everything she had not to shift in her seat or betray any other sign of weakness. Or break away from that glittering stare.

      She drew a deep breath, conscious of the unfamiliar new suit, the pantyhose and heeled shoes that felt so different from the comfortable jeans, skirts and flat shoes she’d worn for the past few years.

      The very act of putting on these clothes made her simultaneously grateful for the camouflage and unsettled by the reminder of her other life.

      One black eyebrow climbed his broad forehead towards thick, ebony hair, reminding her he was waiting. With that hard but handsome face, powerful physique and enormous fortune Jake Maynard probably wasn’t used to women making him wait.

      The thought dampened the worst of Caro’s nerves, helping her focus. She’d been distracted by the aura of strength emanating from him, courtesy of broad shoulders. By even features and that slash of a dimple in one cheek when he offered his half-smile. By his air of strength and dependability.

      As if any man could be relied on!

      She folded her hands and began. ‘My application speaks for itself. I love working with children and I’m very good at it. As you’ll see from my references.’

      Her chin lifted as if anticipating an argument. Even now her father’s habit of squashing her self-confidence had its effect. She expected Jake Maynard to disagree with her claim, though it was true.

      For too long those cool eyes held hers, then his gaze fell to the papers before him. Caro’s breath rushed out in relief. She’d have to do better than this if she were to convince him and win the job.

      The possibility of being rejected was unthinkable. She bit her lip as he looked up, brows contracting as he read her features.

      ‘You don’t have formal qualifications.’

      ‘A degree in early childhood education?’ She shook her head. ‘My experience is all hands on. But you’ll see I’ve done a number of short courses on specific early learning issues.’

      He didn’t bother to check her application again, letting it fall to the desk. Caro’s heart plunged with it. Surely that wasn’t it? He wouldn’t write her off so easily, not when he’d decided to interview her!

      ‘I have to tell you the other short-listed applicants have both practical experience, years of it, plus excellent formal qualifications.’

      There it was, the brush-off she’d feared. Nausea churned at the idea of being given her marching orders.

      ‘Have you read my references? I believe you’ll find them persuasive.’

      He sat back further in his chair, as if getting comfortable while he watched her squirm. He didn’t bother glancing at her application.

      Maybe the contrast between his bronzed skin and the dark jacket he wore teased her imagination, or perhaps it was his almost insulting air of indolence, but for a second Caro fancied something demonic in the knowing slant of those dark brows. Something fierce and compelling and totally at odds with this comfortable room full of old, leather-bound books.

      ‘I’m supposed to be awed because one of your referees is a countess?’ Had he memorised her application? Caro was surprised he recalled that level of detail. ‘Unfortunately for you, Ms Rivage, I’m not swayed by an aristocratic title.’

      His sneer rankled. Stephanie was a dear friend as well as a client. She’d given her reference in good faith. Caro sat taller, fixing her slouching interviewer with a stare.

      ‘The key part of the reference is the description of my work, Mr Maynard, not my employer’s title.’

      Those straight eyebrows rose as if he was surprised at her response. Did he expect her to sit silently while he picked her application and her friends apart?

      ‘Her son faced a range of difficulties when I began working with him. Together we made considerable progress.’

      ‘You claim all his improvement was because of you?’

      ‘No. It was a team effort that included some specialised programmes. But I was there with him every day, a major part of that.’

      That might not sound as good as I did it all myself, but it was the truth.

      No sign of approval on those stark features. Maybe that was how Jake Maynard looked while processing information—gaze sharp, brow frowning and mouth pursed. The expression emphasised the heavy planes of his jaw and the slant of his high cheekbones. He reminded Caro of a picture that had fascinated her as a child, of a medieval knight frowning in concentration as he pinioned a flailing dragon the size of small Shetland pony with his lance.

      Her sympathies had always been with the little dragon.

      ‘You think four or five years working as a nanny and preschool assistant make you the best person to look after my niece?’

      She’d been wrong. The steely glint in his eyes was more condescending than the medieval knight who hung in a dark corner of the upstairs corridor. It reminded her of her father’s chilly stare. The one that through her childhood had reduced her to apologetic silence.

      That, as much as her desperation, stiffened Caro’s spine.

      Slowly she shifted position, sitting back in her seat and lifting one leg, crossing it over her other knee, feeling the slide of silky pantyhose. A flicker in that grey-eyed stare told her Jake Maynard noted the movement.

      For some reason her chest constricted, as if the air turned thick and hard to breathe. She refused to let it show, instead adopting what she hoped was a relaxed pose.

      ‘I can’t speak about the other applicants, but if I’m given the opportunity I’ll devote myself to your niece totally. You won’t have any complaints.’

      ‘That’s a big claim.’

      ‘But true. I know my capabilities, and my dedication.’ In that at least she was absolutely the best person for the job.

      Her stomach plunged. He didn’t look impressed. Why should he? No doubt he had hordes of ultra-qualified specialists at his beck and call. The very real possibility of being ejected without a chance to prove herself seemed more likely by the moment. Then where would she be? What other opportunity would she have?

      Caro re-crossed her legs. ‘Clearly you were interested enough in my application to interview me.’

      Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stifled fear at the prospect of failing. She’d known her chances were slim yet she’d obstinately clung to hope. This was her one opportunity to make things right. If Jake Maynard had any inkling of why she was really here she’d be out of the