Chapter 1
Emmaline Rossi strolled into the huge master bedroom closet of the Malibu, California estate where she worked and thanked whatever hand of Fate that had landed her the job.
Reaching up, she hung onto a nearby hook the plastic-shrouded suits delivered by the dry cleaners. Then she adjusted the long, gray linen apron she wore over her uniform. The black morning coat remained in her own quarters, but she had on the white shirt, black tie, gray vest, and gray-striped trousers. Perhaps some would consider the pieces too formal for every day—her two best friends, employed similarly in nearby homes dressed in a more laidback style—but Emmaline enjoyed wearing the outward sign that she was a graduate of the first all-female class of the prestigious Continental Butler Academy.
It also leant her an air of much-needed dignity. At twenty-six, and gifted with unarguably attractive genes from her Italian-American father and her French-American mother, more than one potential employer—read wife—had taken a single look at her and said she wouldn’t do as their household manager.
Emmaline hadn’t blamed them any more than she took vain satisfaction in the way her face and body had been put together by the fortunate combination of her parents’ DNA. Maybe she’d have begun to resent both if this employment opportunity hadn’t presented itself. But before she’d gone flat broke, Mr. Curry had come into her life.
Mr. Curry.
To prevent her mind from wandering in his direction, she turned her attention to stripping the plastic from his suits and placing them in their proper position on the closet pole—the gray finding its way beside the others of that shade, the blue suit nestled next to a second with a faint tan pinstripe, the dark olive just to the left of one that was the color of deep, bittersweet chocolate.
Then she stood back and surveyed the sectioned space as a whole, breathing in the faint scent of starch from the dress shirts, the richness of the fine wool of the suits, the tang of fresh polish on the gleaming leather shoes, the pairs arranged in precise order on slanted shelves. One of her fingertips traced the length of a silk tie draped on a custom rack, and warm pleasure as well as a distinct sense of well-being swelled inside her.
Maybe because the silent space and luxurious clothes reminded her of her early years before her mother’s death, when she’d often played in Colette’s closet with her own dolls and stuffed animals. Emmaline had created entire worlds behind silk skirts and blouses that smelled of a delicate French perfume.
She’d felt safe there, away from booming voices and the dark tension that sometimes filled their house in Palm Springs.
The thought of that place shadowed her current contentment. Was Malibu too close to those old stomping grounds? Her instincts tried telling her so. But after five years on the run, she’d just had to come back to the United States, and Malibu was where the friends she’d made at the Academy—the two women who were her only family now—had settled.
Glancing down at her own clothes, she ran her hand over the nubby fabric of her apron and reminded herself she was more than one hundred twenty-five miles from the city where she’d grown up and the dangerous men who lived there. And it had been five years. Not to mention the pretty effective disguise that was her butler’s uniform.
Because, when dressed in it, even Mr. Curry hadn’t recognized her from the first occasion they’d met—at the airport’s missing luggage desk—the night she’d arrived in LA.
She leaned against the large walnut dresser in the middle of the closet space and allowed her eyes to drift closed as she recalled that night. Jet lag had lain heavy on her shoulders like a cape, its metaphorical hem dragging along the dirty linoleum of the baggage claim floor as she’d shuffled to the end of the line where dozens of other passengers queued up to make their complaints. Each of her lashes had been an individual weight, dragging down her lids. She’d swayed on her feet, but hadn’t been able to drum up the energy to strengthen her noodly knees.
And then a man had touched her arm. “Miss?”
Startled, her muscles had jerked, and she’d glanced around.
Tired blue eyes had met her brown ones. With a lift of a stubbled jaw, the handsome but weary-looking man behind her had indicated the line was moving on without her.
Embarrassed, she’d scurried forward.
But even with her back turned to him she’d suddenly been hyper-aware of his tall, rangy body and the heat radiating off his skin. A new, electric energy had infused her.
When a disgruntled passenger ahead of them had grown irate, arms flailing, voice rising, Emmaline had shrunk into herself to avoid the commotion. Her stranger had wrapped his fingers around her upper arms and drawn her back against his bigger, hotter—God, so hot, so solid—form.
“I’ve got you,” he’d said into her ear, his breath hot, too, his lips brushing against the outer curve. “Nothing to worry about.”
Maybe it was because she’d been worrying so damn much for the previous five years that those four words in that masculine rumble had touched her straight to the core.
Everything inside her had melted.
“What’s the word?” his voice continued. “Did you hear from Marshall?”
Emmaline frowned. Wait. What? That wasn’t the way the memory went. That night he’d—
Her eyes popped open. Through the closet’s half-open door, she could see Mr. Curry striding across his bedroom’s antique rug, his coat and tie already discarded, his free hand working at the buttons on his shirt.
He wasn’t supposed to be home until tomorrow.
It pleased Emmaline—for him, because she’d heard him say he was heartily sick of business trips—that he was back early, but now she felt like a fool, skulking in his closet.
A voyeuristic fool, because she found she couldn’t move her gaze from him as he dropped his shirt to the floor and sank onto the bed to toe off his shoes.
The discussion with the unseen person on the other end of the call was decidedly business. She couldn’t just waltz out of the closet and disrupt the conversation, could she? But now he was moving his hand to his belt. She heard the buckle’s metallic clink, and then the slither of leather being pulled from loops sent a shiver down her spine.
When he plucked at the button at his waist, she jerked up her gaze.
That wasn’t better. Because now she was staring at his hard, sculpted chest. Muscled shoulders and biceps. All the masculine territory she’d been studiously avoiding since taking up residence as his live-in butler. Amazing how one could communicate with the boss by talking to a space three inches to the right of his ear.
That first call ended and he instantly made another. “Hey, Stella.”
His sister. The reason, Emmaline figured, that he’d decided to hire her. His younger sibling was getting married in a few short weeks, and with their parents gone he was the one hosting all the pre-wedding events and the big day itself. Emmaline was there to keep his personal and home life smooth as the nuptials approached.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low. He’d spoken to Emmaline in a similar tone as they’d left the airport in a taxi.
En route to her hotel room.
En route to her first rendezvous with a stranger.
He continued talking to Stella, his voice growing fainter, and Emmaline dared to stick her head around the closet door to see him disappearing into the attached bathroom—bare back, boxer briefs-clad buttocks.
The sound of the shower flipping on broke her from the stupor brought on by that quick glimpse of his strong, muscled ass. Swooping down to gather the discarded dry cleaner’s plastic film, she ordered her pulse to settle and then made for a quick, silent getaway.
With both feet having just breached the hallway, something hot circled her neck, not a hand, but a new, sudden awareness.
Her feet stuttered.
Cold chills ran down her spine.
She didn’t even blink when he said her name.
“Emmaline.”
As if she’d turn around. “Yes, Mr. Curry?” His given name was Lucas, but he’d shared neither the first nor the last that odd, airport night. In any case, she thought it added just the right note of professionalism—or another piece to her armor—to keep her mode of address as formal as her uniform. “Good to see you back, sir. I hope your trip went well.”
She took another step, hoping it appeared she’d just been passing by the open doorway. “I trust I didn’t disturb you.”
“Oh, but you do that, Emmaline,” he murmured.
What? Had she heard him right? “Um, I—”
“Stella tells me you made a last-minute alteration of a dress for her yesterday?”
“Yes.” Emmaline, still with her back to him, tried calming her jumping nerves. Would she ever get used to living with this man?
“Can you look at me?” Mr. Curry asked.
She’d been trying not to! Ever since she’d moved into his beautiful home. “Of course,” she answered, brisk and matter-of-fact.
The Continental Butler Academy would expect no less from her. Clutching the plastic in both hands, she turned, keeping her gaze trained at that favored spot, three inches from his left ear.
Damn her excellent peripheral vision. She could tell his chest remained bare. Was he covered below the waist? Oh, God, he wouldn’t just stand there without anything between her and his…his naked member, would he?
Naked member. The phrase sounded somewhat respectable. Very much unlike how she’d felt in the backseat of that cab with the hard, solid heat of the thing pressed against her hip as they’d kissed like crazy. She’d been in his lap, and he’d held her face in one large hand, positioning her mouth in just the way he wanted it for a deep, shame-free kiss.
But now her cheeks were heating up. “Is there something else you wanted, sir?”
“‘Sir,’” he echoed, and there might have been a thread of laughter in his voice.
But she couldn’t decide because his cool expression didn’t change. He was a very difficult man to read, even that night when she’d acted on impulse and thrown caution to the wind with a very un-Emmaline proposition.
“I missed hearing that the last few days.”
Okay, this was getting seriously weird. Because before he’d left on the trip, he’d treated her as impersonally as a potted plant—albeit one that could schedule the dry cleaners and pay the landscape company from the household checking account.
Mr. Curry cleared his throat. “Well, it’s about Stella.”
“Oh?” As fair as he was dark, his sister was an appealing young woman who obviously doted on her big brother.
“She’s taken a fancy to you,” her boss continued. “The upcoming wedding is making her nervous, and you seem to be a calming influence.”
“It can be a trying time for a woman.” Emmaline had been that nervous bride-to-be—well, in her case, terrified.
Still, Stella was marrying into the family of a new business partner of Mr. Curry’s. The man’s son. Emmaline understood well how that increased expectations.
“I want you to know I appreciate the extra effort.” He hesitated. “And anything you can do in the near-future for Stella…”
“Of course.” Without her permission, Emmaline’s gaze wandered to his mouth. He had lips that were full, but not too full, and white teeth. They’d gleamed in the darkness of the taxi when he’d smiled at her that night, seeming to anticipate being alone with her after the short ride to the nearby hotel.
Now it was her turn to clear her throat, and she once more forced her thoughts away from that embarrassing encounter. “I’m here to do whatever is necessary to make your life easier, sir.”
She thought she saw his lips quirk at that repeat of “sir.”
“Well,” he said, “don’t think I’m unaware that went above and beyond. We’ll have to think up some sort of…bonus.”
The way he weighted that last word made her heart slam against her ribs and her gaze jerk to his. Oh, God. Wrong move, because his eyes could be anyone’s undoing. They were blue, the hot sort of blue, the kind of blue that made a woman think of the summer sky above a Malibu beach and a tiny bikini and the man whose hands would strip it off them.
“My compensation is entirely adequate as is, Mr. Curry,” she choked out, trying to look anywhere but at him. But his eyes were not only blue, they also had some sticky quality that made it impossible for Emmaline to tear her gaze from him. “Entirely adequate.”
“You’re so…well-trained,” Mr. Curry murmured. “I’ll have to send on my compliments to the Continental Butler Academy.”
“I’m sure they’d appreciate hearing from you,” Emmaline said primly. “Now, if we’re finished…”
“Almost.”
She held herself still and pasted a polite expression of inquiry on her face. “Yes?”
“Just know I won’t forget,” Mr. Curry said, so slowly she wanted to scream then demand he answer why he’d detained her at the open doorway of his room when he was half-dressed and wholly scrumptious.
And about ready to get naked in the shower.
If he wasn’t in that state already. Not that she dared let her gaze drop—they were still staring at each other like it was a contest.
And oh, God, she must be losing her mind because the air between them felt so…so electrified, causing her nerves to hum and the small hairs on her body to stand at attention, even though his expression seemed as inscrutable as ever.
Except for those intense, fiery eyes.
“Yes, Emmaline,” he said now. “I won’t forget that I owe you…something.” Then he smiled, and her fingers twisted in the plastic wrapping as her pulse scrambled and her stomach flipped over, shot dead by that blast of potent testosterone. “Rest assured I’m determined to find a way to settle my debt.”
Then he nodded, clearly dismissing her. She didn’t linger, instead dashing down the hall to put as much distance between them as she could. And to think she’d been thanking the hand of Fate just a short while before!
She’d completely forgotten that the bitch could be a cruel mistress and also that the master of the house might mean big trouble for his butler. I’m determined to find a way to settle my debt, he’d said.
It sounded like a threat, right? And suddenly Emmaline didn’t feel the least bit safe.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve spoken.”
Lucas blinked then turned his head to look at the sister he’d been tuning out as she chattered on about something-or-other. “Sorry,” he said to Stella. “What were you talking about?”
“You were off on another of your head-journeys,” she scolded and then shook her finger at him. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to get lost in your brain someday and never make it back.”
“You’re right,” he conceded. “I’m bad.”
“You’re not bad, Lucas,” Stella corrected. “Just consumed by business.”
Except that business had been far from his mind the past few minutes. And though sprawled on the overlarge couch in his Malibu place, with the panoramic doors folded open onto the patio and the spectacular ocean view, he hadn’t been consumed by the incredible vista spread before him, either.
A figure flitted at the edge of his vision, her black, white, and gray uniform a contrast to the greens and blues of the walls and furniture.
He’d been preoccupied by thoughts of his butler. Which wasn’t smart. Before this last trip, he’d been careful to keep things between them all professional, all the time. But after a week away, his first glimpse of her had rocked him. So damn beautiful. In their first conversation in days, he’d found himself lowering his voice and sliding into a little flirtatious innuendo.
Stupid.
Gathering his focus, he angled his body to face his sister more fully and gave her his complete attention. “Okay. Let’s start over. Tell me what’s going on with the wedding.”
She launched into a rundown of what had been done about it while he’d been out of town, what needed to be done very soon, what she feared might never get done in the time remaining before she walked down the aisle.
He smiled, listened, and reassured her when he could get a word in edgewise. Stella had been his responsibility for ten years, since he’d been twenty-two and she a slip of thing at twelve. After their parents died in a car crash, it had been up to him to raise her as well as keep together the computer-security business his father had started.
Though he’d never resented either obligation, the fact was, Stella’s upcoming marriage would ease him in more ways than one. With her happiness secured and the business merger solidified, he could at last relax and enjoy a simplified life. A more free-and-easy future.
His butler crossed the room behind the couch, once again snagging his attention. What was it about the damn woman?
No doubt she was beautiful—there wasn’t a man on Earth that wouldn’t notice those lush curves, even camouflaged as they were by that prim and proper uniform. And her skin…so smooth, and a warm apricot color that went well with her glossy dark hair and remarkable, black-lashed brown eyes. The whole package—stunning, and even with twenty-seven straight hours of travel and the beginnings of a flu bug in his system, it had hit him right between the eyes the night they’d encountered each other at the airport.
But Lucas had met many beautiful women over the years, and not one of them had managed to dig so deep into his head and stay there, even after he’d zombie-walked out on her at that hotel room.
Maybe there was the trouble. He’d felt like shit about how the evening had ended—well, thanks to the flu, he’d been beginning to feel like shit as he followed her fine ass through the door of Room 1712—and when he’d recovered days later he’d remembered her name and had done a little digging himself.
That had led him to the Continental Butler Academy and to the fact that she was looking for a position in Southern California. On a whim he couldn’t explain, he’d secured her number, telling the school’s placement agency he could use someone with her training and skills. Then he’d asked Stella to make the initial contact and to conduct a phone interview, hoping his sister would nix the idea because…shit, he’d just hoped his sister would find Emmaline objectionable in some way and save him from his own unwise impulse.
Instead, Stella had been delighted by the other woman during their call and had badgered Lucas into meeting her in person himself.
He should have known better…he always knew better! He was a focused, in-control, no-nonsense businessman, one who had built up his father’s modest business into a new-century, new-tech success story. Pretty faces and lovely breasts—okay, gorgeous faces and an impressive rack—didn’t distract him. But Stella had insisted and insisted that a butler was just what her busy brother needed.
Still, his good sense had warned him it wasn’t the time to come face-to-face with the lush beauty again. With a wedding in the offing, a little sister to soothe through any bridezilla moments, a merger as part of that deal because Stella was marrying a VP of the other company who was also the son of its CEO, Lucas didn’t have time for a…for a…dalliance.
Because it was a distinct possibility he’d want that way more than full-time household help.
But Lucas hadn’t been able to stifle his curiosity. He’d gone to the damn interview for just that reason—to determine if she was half as incredible-looking as he’d thought in his flu-addled state. To decide if that magnetic pull he’d felt for her was anything more than an initial symptom of the ravening illness that had overtaken him hours later.
They’d met on the patio of a Malibu coffee place, and he’d been poleaxed. Momentarily rendered speechless by her beauty and his instant reaction to it, he’d somehow given Emmaline the impression he didn’t remember their airport encounter and the mutual seduction he’d abruptly cut short that night.
Much later, he’d realized the most direct cause of his sudden departure had been the three pills he’d tossed back in the missing-luggage line. Instead of pain relievers, he’d mistakenly downed over-the-counter sleeping tablets. On top of those was the mini-bar bottle of vodka he and Emmaline had shared, straight up, upon entering Room 1712. When she’d retreated to the bathroom, his head had taken three woozy spins, and he’d realized he was in sudden danger of going corpse at her feet. So, with his head and senses still reeling, he’d stumbled from the room and blearily found his way home.
Did he explain that on the patio, when he’d had a moment to collect his wits? Did he tell her why he’d made that disappearing act?
No. Because he’d recalled then too that she’d expressed concern to the airport counter clerk about how soon her luggage might be returned. She didn’t admit it would be a hardship to fork over the cash to replace even some of the missing items, but she didn’t have to confess to being hard-up for money. He’d read it in the tense set of her shoulders and the battered state of the backpack hanging from her narrow hand.
So Lucas had been damn glad he’d paid from his own wallet when they’d collected the key card for the hotel room she’d reserved .
And thinking of all that while sitting across from her, her slender fingers cupping a paper latte cup, her expression slightly anxious, he’d realized she needed a job much more than another go at a casual hook-up. Particularly with a man who wasn’t in the market for anything else.
Ten seconds later, bowing to impulse once again, he’d hired the woman…putting her, as his employee, firmly into the “Don’t Touch, Don’t Flirt” category.
“You’re still not listening,” his sister said now, poking at him with the toe of her shoe. “I’m going to talk to Emmaline instead.”
Guilt pinched him again. “Ste—”
“Hey, Emmaline,” Stella said, raising her voice. “I love that new manicurist you recommended.”
The butler appeared from the direction of the bedrooms, a cloth in hand, smiling. “Oh, I’m so glad.”
She glowed, Lucas thought. Light came from inside her when she was pleased.
“I hoped that would work out for you,” she continued, still beaming.
Light came from inside her when she pleased other people, he amended.
“I’ve set up a standing weekly appointment and a special one for the day before the wedding,” Stella said. At that last word, she began to twist her engagement ring around and around on her finger. “How did you find her?”
“The credit goes to my friend Charlie—Charlotte—who has been settled in Malibu longer than I have. She has list upon list of quality service providers of all kinds.”
“She’s one of your two friends from the butler academy who work nearby, right?”
“Right. Charlie works for Ethan Archer and his son, Wells. My pal Sara works for Joaquin Weatherford—well, worked for. They’re now engaged.”
Stella continued twisting her ring. “That’s nice…and nice that you could find work near each other.”
“It’s why I came. They’re like family.”
“You wouldn’t rather still be in Europe?”
The butler gave a slight shrug. “I traveled around there for years, working as a nanny or au pair and teaching some English.”
“All on your own?” Stella eyes widened. “That was so brave of you.”
Lucas glanced at his sister, thinking Emmaline would have been younger than Stella was right then when she’d taken off overseas on her own. Yes, brave. Stella hadn’t exercised her own independence beyond moving from this house to a town home with a girlfriend.
“Oh, I’m a free spirit,” Emmaline said in a breezy tone, with another of her smiles that this time didn’t seem near as bright. “I’ve never needed roots to bloom.”
Never needed roots to bloom? Lucas narrowed his gaze. Somehow that didn’t ring true to him. A woman who wanted to live a nomadic life would train to be a trapeze artist in a traveling troupe, not a caretaker of hearth and home.
As if Emmaline felt him studying her, she threw him a quick glance. Their gazes clashed for a moment, then held.
God. There it was all over again. The click of connection, followed by that hot current running between them. It had been the same that night at the airport. He’d turned from the luggage counter to see her lingering nearby, as if hoping her suitcases would make a miraculous appearance. Their eyes had met.
And it was the damnedest thing, but he’d walked toward her like he was hand-over-handing a line that was wrapped around her delectable body. She’d been still, as if truly bound by that imaginary rope, and clearly apprehensive. But when he came to stand a foot away, she’d tilted her chin even as a flush broke over her beautiful face.
At that little sign of challenge, he’d reached out to wrap an errant lock of her hair around his index finger. Instead of moving away or protesting or both, she’d merely swiped her puffy bottom lip with her tongue.
He’d swallowed his groan. “Can I take you somewhere, buy you a drink?” he’d asked, his voice husky.
“Um.” A small tremor had shaken her frame. “I have an idea of where we can go.”
“…okay, Lucas?”
Stella again. Once more, he’d forgotten all about her. Snapping his gaze to her face and noting the expectant expression there, he tried recalling what she’d been saying. Total blank. “Excuse me?”
She rolled her eyes, just like the teenager it seemed she’d been just a day before. “You aren’t paying attention.”
“Yeah.” He glanced at Emmaline, glanced back. “Repeat, please, Stella.”
“I reminded you about that charity event you promised to attend with me tomorrow night.”
He drew another complete blank. “Uh…”
Stella sighed extravagantly. “Posies and Ponies?”
“What?” He frowned at her. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d agree to.”
Which produced another eye roll. “It’s for an excellent program that brings together autistic kids and horses. The theme for this year’s dinner dance is Posies and Ponies.”
The program itself rang a bell. “Okay, the horses and kids thing sounds like something I’d agree to. But posies?” Lucas grumbled. “Geez, Stella. Will my balls shrivel and fall off if I attend?”
“Don’t be crude,” his sister said, scowling at him. “Just get yourself into a dinner jacket and bring a beautiful corsage for your date.”
“Wait.” He didn’t know why he flicked a glance toward Emmaline. “When did I get a date?”
“When we ended up with an extra ticket for Aaron’s cousin, Valerie. You’ll like her.”
“Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.” Now it was Lucas’s turn to scowl. “I don’t do set-ups.”
“It’s Aaron’s cousin. Since he’s my fiancé, she’s practically your family.”
Without forethought, he looked at Emmaline again, sending out an SOS. She was his butler. Wasn’t it part of her duties to get him out of shit like this?
The corners of Emmaline’s luscious lips lifted as she shifted her attention to his sister. “I can take care of ordering the necessary flowers.”
It was apparent Emmaline hadn’t received his alarm signal, damn it.
“And may I make a suggestion?” the woman continued. “Your group could start off your evening with pre-dinner drinks at Top Shelf.”
Stella sighed. “Great idea, but it’s the hottest place in town, and nobody can get seats there, even in the bar.”
“Well…,” Emmaline said, “it’s possible I can.”
With a delighted gasp, Stella clasped her hands under her chin. “Really?”
“Really.” Emmaline grinned, that high-wattage, gratified kind. “We butlers have our ways.”
She wouldn’t have any “ways” after he wrung her neck, Lucas thought, trying to ignore what the “I’m-happy-to-make-you-happy” display did to him. Because that bright smile of hers brought to life a wolf that now seemed to be living beneath his skin. He wanted to howl. Pounce. Drag her away for his private consumption. But he didn’t voice any further protest because Stella was already far into a new round of glad-chatter, and he didn’t have it in him to smother his little sister’s upbeat mood.
Not after that weird ring-spinning she’d been doing earlier.
So shit, crap, damn, he was going on a blind date.
“It’s going to be wonderful,” Stella gushed at Emmaline now. “Right?”
“Of course,” Lucas’s butler said. “I’ll make sure you all have a perfect night.” This time her blinding smile included him too.
He didn’t return it, working hard to keep his growls and snarls to himself. But still, he wondered what she might do if he told her his own idea of a “perfect night” had been playing out in his fantasies since the moment they’d met.
And included a very bare and blushing Emmaline Rossi in his bed.