At His Service: Cinderella Housekeeper. Fiona Harper

He would have gladly spent all his days looking after her.

      Three months after Charlie had found the kitten, when its tummy was round and its fur had a healthy sheen, it had disappeared and never come back. That was the problem with strays. It was in their nature to be selfish.

      So he avoided strays altogether now, both feline and female.

      Oh, women always wanted something from him. But he made them play by his rules, only mixing with women who wanted simpler things: money, fame by association, attention. Those things were easy to give and cost him nothing.

      Mark was pulled back to the present by the aroma of exotic herbs and spices wafting his way. Charlie didn’t need to steer him any more. The smell was a homing beacon, leading him up the corridor and into the dining room. He dropped into a chair opposite Charlie and waited, all his taste buds on full alert.

      There was a glimpse of an apron and blonde hair through the doorway as Ellie disappeared back into the kitchen to fetch the last in a succession of steaming dishes. Mark swallowed the pool of saliva that had collected in the bottom of his mouth. He hoped she wouldn’t be too long.

      She finally appeared. At least he thought it was her. She was cool and collected and quiet, and set down the last dish in an array of lavish Thai recipes. Not a hint of growling or biting about her.

      Good. He was glad she’d pulled herself together.

      His stomach, however, didn’t care how the transformation had happened. It grumbled at him to just get over it and start shovelling food in its general direction. Which he did without delay.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ELLIE dished up. Her heart jumped so hard in her chest she was sure the serving spoon must be pulsing in her fingers. What was happening to her? Mark Wilder had done nothing but walk into the room and sit down and her body had gone wild. She finished doling out the food and sat down, careful to keep her eyes on her plate lest her stampeding hormones concentrate themselves and get ready for another charge.

      The man was insanely good-looking!

      The TV cameras hadn’t done him justice at all. No longer did she want to scold the reporter for drooling; she wanted to congratulate her for forming a coherent sentence.

      Last night she’d been too shocked to register the weird physiological response he provoked in her, and this afternoon she’d been too angry. At herself, mainly, but she’d vented at him instead. It was her stupid brain injury that was to blame. She’d never had problems with runaway emotions before that. Now, any little thing could trigger overwhelming frustration, or rage, or despair.

      Of course! She’d inadvertently stumbled upon the answer.

      Her sigh of relief drew glances from her dining companions. She caught Mark’s eye and quickly returned her gaze to the king prawn on the end of her fork while she waited for her heartbeat to settle.

      How could she not have remembered?

      The doctors had warned her that some people noticed a change to their sex drive after a traumatic head injury. This intense attraction, this wobbly feeling, it was all down to her head injury. She didn’t like him that way at all, really. It was just her stupid neurons getting themselves in knots because of the damage they’d suffered.

      What a relief!

      It explained everything. She could never normally be attracted to a man like him—a man so … well, she didn’t have words for what he was so … But she’d never seen the attraction of bad boys. Who needed the heartache? Give her a man like Sam—warm, dependable, faithful—any day. Not a charmer who thought everything with two X chromosomes ought to fall at his feet and worship.

      Now she had that sorted out in her head she could relax a little and enjoy the food. But as she ate questions started to float to the surface.

      Why now?

      Why, after four years of seeming perfectly normal in that department—even completely uninterested at times—had this symptom decided to rear its ugly head?

      It didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, she needed to get a handle on it. This job was important to her and she didn’t want to lose it. She’d just have to read up a bit on the subject, introduce measures to cope with it, just like she had with her other symptoms. By the time he got back from his next trip she’d have it completely under control.

      She made the mistake of glancing up at that point, just as Mark smiled at something Charlie said. He wasn’t even looking at her, for goodness’ sake, but Ellie still felt her body straining at the leash.

      Down, girl!

      Oh, my. This evening was going to be torture.

      Thankfully, she had an excuse to keep herself busy. She would pay attention to the food, and only the food. And when the meal was over she’d plead tiredness and escape to her room. Charlie would understand. She’d have to.

      Mark stole a handful of looks at Ellie as the clattering of serving spoons gave way to silence. She kept her eyes on her plate, only lifting them once to dish out another spoonful of rice.

      The only information she’d volunteered during dinner had been about the plumbing disaster in the housekeeper’s apartment, which cleared up the final mystery of why she’d been sleeping in the room next door to his. She’d barely acknowledged his thanks for organizing the repairs.

      So much for ‘breaking the ice’. It seemed the dining room was in the grip of a rapidly advancing cold snap. But he wasn’t going to push.

      Instead, he turned to Charlie and asked after her brother, which led to a raft of hilarious anecdotes about his recent backpacking trip to Indonesia.

      Ellie said nothing. It was almost as if she knew she was sitting a few feet away from him but was desperately trying to wish herself invisible, or at the very least make herself blend into the background. Whatever she was trying to do, it wasn’t working.

      It was odd. She wore virtually no make-up, and the reckless curls were piled on top of her head and secured with a clip, and yet he couldn’t stop glancing at her. It must be pheromones or something, because she wasn’t his usual type at all.

      Not any more, anyway.

      A curl escaped from the long silver clip on top of Ellie’s head and threatened to dunk itself in her meal, but before it could slim fingers tucked it behind her ear. That tiny hand had packed quite a punch last night. He stared at it, watched her fingers as they pleated her serviette, closed around her fork …

      Charlie caught him with his cutlery frozen between his mouth and his plate, eyes fixed on Ellie. She smirked. He retaliated with a warning kick under the table. He knew how much of a blabbermouth Charlie was, and he didn’t want her complicating things by teasing him, especially as he and Ellie had reached an icy truce. Besides, there was nothing to tease him about. She was his housekeeper.

      Charlie glared at him and leaned underneath the table to rub her leg. A second later searing pain radiated from his shinbone.

      ‘Ouch!’

      Ellie glanced up, puzzled by the exchange, and Mark decided to deflect the attention from himself before she realised the food wasn’t the only thing that was causing his mouth to fill with saliva.

      He could do polite and businesslike. He could behave like a proper employer rather than a best buddy. And, with a sideways look at his cousin, he decided to prove it.

      ‘So … Where are you from, Ellie?’

      Ellie chased some glass noodles round her plate. Mark stretched out, then rested his hands behind his head and waited.

      ‘Kent,’ she replied quietly.

      ‘The whole of Kent, or one spot in particular?’

      ‘Barkleigh.’

      What was that edge in her voice? Was she angry with him?