The Maid, The Millionaire And The Baby. Michelle Douglas

it if you’d close the door on your way out.’

      He turned back to his computer and opened a fresh spreadsheet. She stood there frozen for a moment, and then shook herself. ‘Yes, of course, sir.’

      And if her sir held an edge of sarcasm, he didn’t bother calling her on it. He wasn’t interested in winning any Best Boss of the Year awards. Imogen was only here temporarily while Katherine sorted a few things out. She’d be gone again in a flash. And peace would reign once more.

      The moment she left he closed the spreadsheet. He’d only opened it to look busy and get Imogen to leave his office. Ms Hartley, he corrected. Not Imogen. He checked his Internet browsing history more thoroughly.

      She’d started precisely one search. That was it. She’d wanted to know the surf conditions. As she’d said. She wasn’t a journalist. She hadn’t lied.

      Good. He hadn’t relished the thought of telling Katherine her niece was a thief, liar or cheat. He eased back in his seat, glad that the open friendliness of Imogen’s face wasn’t a front for deception. He was glad his instincts hadn’t let him down.

       You could’ve made an effort to be a little friendlier.

      He squashed the notion dead. No, he couldn’t. It started with a couple of shared jokes, and evolved to shared confidences, and before you knew it a friendship had formed—a friendship you’d started to rely on. But when it all went to hell in a handbasket you found out that you couldn’t rely on anyone. Not your friends, not your girlfriend and sure as hell not your family. He wasn’t walking that road again.

      It was easier to not start anything at all. He’d learned to rely on nothing beyond his own resources. It’d worked perfectly for the past two years, and if it wasn’t broken…

      A sudden image of Imogen’s face—the fear in her eyes as she’d edged away from him—speared into his gut, making a cold sweat break out on his nape. Who was he kidding? He was broken.

      And a man like him needed to stay away from a woman like Imogen Hartley.

      Shooting to his feet, he strode to the window, his lip curling at the tropical perfection that greeted him. He should’ve chosen the site of his exile with more care—picked some forlorn and windswept scrap of rock off the coast of Scotland or…or Norway. All grey forbidding stone, frozen winds and stunted trees.

      Two years ago, though, all he’d cared about was getting as far from Australia as he could, as quickly as he could.

      He wheeled away from the window. He’d never cared that the island was beautiful before, so why wish himself away from it now? He should never have cut his run short—that was the problem. Running and swimming kept the demons at bay. He should’ve stuck to his routine. And a hard forty minutes’ worth of laps would rectify that.

      He flung the door of his office open at the exact same moment the front doorbell sounded. He blinked. He hadn’t known that the doorbell even worked. It hadn’t rung in the two years he’d been in residence. All deliveries—food and office supplies, the mail—were delivered to the back door and Katherine. The villa was huge and sprawling, and the back entrance was closer to the jetty, which suited everyone. Nobody visited Tesoura. Nobody.

      He’d bet his life it was Imogen Hartley. She’d probably rung it for a lark. She was exactly the kind of person who’d do that—just for the fun of it, to see if it worked. He waited for her to pop her head into the room and apologise. She’d probably feed him some story about polishing it or some such nonsense. He’d even be gracious about it.

      Imogen came rushing through from the direction of the kitchen. ‘Was that the—?’

      The doorbell rang again.

      ‘—the doorbell?’ she finished.

      He gestured towards the front entrance, his gut clenching. ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d answer it, Ms Hartley.’

      Those vivacious eyes danced as she started for the door. ‘Butler is definitely a promotion.’

      Even if he hadn’t put his ‘no smiling’ rule into place, he couldn’t have smiled now if he’d wanted to. Somebody ringing the front doorbell here on his island miles from civilisation could only mean one thing—trouble. ‘If it’s the press…’ he managed before she disappeared into the front hall.

      She swung around. ‘Short shrift?’

      ‘Please.’

      She gave him a thumbs-up in reply before disappearing, and despite himself a smile tugged at his lips. The woman was irrepressible.

      He stayed out of sight but moved closer so he could listen.

      ‘I understand this is the residence of Jasper Coleman,’ a pleasantly cultured male voice said.

      ‘May I ask who’s calling, please?’

      He couldn’t fault Imogen’s tone—courteous, professional…unflappable.

      ‘I have a delivery for him.’ There was a series of dull thuds, as if things were being dropped to the ground, and then a softer click and scrape. ‘Don’t worry, he doesn’t have to sign for it.’

      Unflappable disappeared when Imogen yelped, ‘That’s a baby!’

       What?

      ‘Hey, wait! You can’t just leave a baby here.’

      ‘Those were my instructions, miss.’ The voice started to recede. ‘Just following orders.’

      Jasper shot out from his hiding place in time to see his butler accost a man almost twice her size and pull him to a halt. ‘What is wrong with you? You can’t just go around dumping unknown babies on people’s doorsteps.’

      ‘The baby is neither unknown nor am I dumping him. I was hired to escort the baby to Mr Coleman. And I’m rather pleased to have managed it before his next feed is due. As far as I’m concerned, my job here is done.’

      Ice trickled down Jasper’s spine. Ignoring it—and the baby capsule sitting on his doorstep—he forced himself forward. ‘There has to be some mistake.’

      ‘No mistake,’ the man said, turning towards Jasper. ‘Not if you’re Jasper Coleman.’

      Imogen released the man’s arm and stepped back to let Jasper deal with the situation, but she didn’t disappear back inside the house and he didn’t know whether to be glad of her silent support or not.

      ‘You are Jasper Coleman, right?’

      He wanted to lie, but there was a baby involved. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Then there’s no mistake.’

      His gut clenched. There was only one person who would send him a baby, but… It was impossible! She’d said she hated him. She’d said he’d ruined her life.

      The man gestured to the baby capsule. ‘Mr Coleman, meet your nephew.’

      On cue, the baby opened his eyes and gave a loud wail.

      Jasper couldn’t move. ‘What’s he doing here?’

      ‘Your sister hired me to escort the baby here from Australia.’ He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it across. ‘Belforte’s Executive Nanny Service, sir.’

      ‘You’re a nanny?’

      ‘One of the best. If you check with the office, you’ll see that everything is in order. I believe you’ll find a letter from your sister in one of the bags. I expect it’ll explain everything.’ And then he frowned as if suddenly recalling something. ‘Mrs Graham did say that if I saw you to say the word Jupiter. She said you’d know what that meant.’

      His gut twisted. Jupiter had been their password as kids.

      The baby’s cries grew louder and more