The Maid, The Millionaire And The Baby. Michelle Douglas

      She glanced at George, noting the way he worried at his dummy. ‘He’s due for his bottle.’

      ‘You’d better take him, then.’

      She suspected that if he’d had more confidence in handling babies, he’d have simply handed him over, and she’d have had no choice but to take him. As it was, he stared at her expectantly, evidently expecting her to obey him immediately, and she had to fight her instant response to do exactly that. ‘I will, but first I want to make a request.’

      His brows rose. Yep. He’d expected her to jump to do his bidding immediately.

       It’s what he’s paying you for, Imogen.

      ‘Is it possible for us to drop the Mr Coleman and Ms Hartley and call each other by our first names? I know I’m only a housemaid with a promotion to a third of a nanny’s position while you’re a genius billionaire, but I can promise you I won’t forget the distinction. The thing is, I’ve never worked in an environment that maintained such formalities, and I just know I’m going to slip up and call you Uncle Jasper to little George here at some point. “Go to Uncle Jasper, Georgie,”’ she sing-songed to demonstrate what she meant. ‘It’d be really nice if we could eliminate that worry right now.’

      She couldn’t work out if he was trying not to smile or trying not to frown.

      ‘You don’t look particularly worried, Ms Hartley.’

      Was that a no? ‘I can assure you that I’m shaking on the inside.’

      She bit back a sigh when he didn’t smile. Mind you, he didn’t frown either. She tried again. ‘You and my aunt call each other by your first names. I promise not to take any liberties just because we move to a more informal mode of address.’

      He stared at her for several long seconds. ‘Are you familiar with the movie The Sound of Music?’ he finally asked.

      ‘Intimately.’ It was one of her favourites. ‘An oldie but a goodie.’

      ‘I’m vividly reminded of the moment in the film where the captain asks Maria if she was this much trouble at the abbey.’

      A bark of laughter shot out of her. ‘And she answers, “Oh, much more, sir.”’ She glanced at the baby in his arms. ‘I have to say I’m very glad you weren’t just landed with seven children.’

      As if they couldn’t help it, his lips lifted. Her pulse shimmied and all the fine hairs on her arms Mexican-waved.

      ‘Very well, Imogen, first names it is. Perhaps now you’ll be good enough to take the baby?’

      He angled the side holding the baby towards her, and she moved closer, ordering various parts of herself to stop tripping the light fantastic. ‘Hey there, beautiful boy.’ George came willingly, but not before Imogen had sucked in a deep breath of Jasper-scented air.

      He smelled of the sea and the sweat from his run and something darker and spicier, like cardamom. The smell of sweat especially should’ve had her nose wrinkling, but it didn’t. She edged away before she could be tempted to drag in another appreciative lungful.

      His sister’s letter still sat unopened on the arm of the sofa. Why hadn’t he torn it open and devoured its contents yet? She adjusted her weight from one leg to the other. ‘May I make a suggestion?’

      ‘You may.’

      ‘I think you should read your sister’s letter. And before you accuse me of taking those liberties that I promised I wouldn’t, I want to assure you that I’m not trying to pry. Your family’s concerns are none of my business. But we need to know if George has any medical issues or medications that he’s taking or any allergies.’ She lifted the schedule of feeding and nap times she’d found in the same bag that held some ready-made bottles of formula. ‘None of those things are mentioned here, which probably means that there’s nothing to worry about,’ she added quickly at the look of absolute horror that passed across his face. ‘But with knowledge being power and all that,’ she finished on a weak shrug.

      Surely no mother would send her baby somewhere so remote—so far from medical facilities—if he had a known medical condition like asthma, though. At least…not a good mother. She glanced at the baby in her arms. Sympathy, compassion, pity and foreboding all churned in her stomach. Why on earth would any mother send her child away? Was Jasper’s sister a good mother or—?

      ‘Why are you frowning, Imogen?’

      She started. ‘Oh, I…’

      ‘I’d rather know. Especially if it pertains to the baby.’

      He hadn’t called the baby by his name yet—not once. What was that about? Though she wasn’t silly enough to ask that question either…yet.

      ‘Your sister would tell us if there were any issues we should be aware of where George is concerned, right?’

      She waited for him to reassure her. He didn’t. His shoulders didn’t slump, but it felt as if they ought to, that they were only remaining in place due to some superhuman effort on his behalf. ‘I don’t know. My sister and I have been estranged for the last two years.’

       Why?

      She didn’t ask that either. He didn’t look as if he had the heart for it. She focussed her attention on the baby instead. ‘How about we make a pact, little George? While you’re here you’re only going to get all good things. What do you say to that?’

      He spat out his dummy and gave a grumpy grunt that reminded her so much of his uncle it made her laugh. ‘I’m glad we got that sorted. It’s going to be nothing but sun and fun and kisses and cuddles and good times, right?’

      He nodded, copying her, and he looked so darn cute she found herself automatically swinging back to Jasper to share the moment. She found him staring at them with an arrested expression on his face, and it had her smile freezing and all of that shimmying and Mexican-waving happening all over again.

      She had to get that under control because that wasn’t going to happen here. Instinct told her that if Jasper thought for a single solitary second that she was attracted to him, he’d boot her off his island faster than she could sew a side seam. She couldn’t let that happen until she’d found out what was troubling Katherine.

      She swung away, grabbing up the bag with the bottles and formula. ‘I’ll go and warm up George’s bottle.’ And she didn’t glance back once as she marched from the room. She kept her gaze trained on little George, who clapped his hands together and chanted, ‘Yum, yum, yum.’

      Both she and George were chanting, ‘Yum, yum, yum,’ as they entered the kitchen.

      Katherine glanced up from where she sat at the table with a glass of iced tea. ‘I expect you’re both hungry.’

      ‘Ravenous,’ she agreed, pulling a bottle from the bag and setting it in the microwave.

      ‘Here, give him to me,’ Katherine said when the bottle was ready. ‘I’ll feed him while you eat your sandwich.’

      Imogen did as she bid. Maybe little George here could be the icebreaker she needed with her aunt?

      They both watched as the baby fed greedily, his eyes closing in bliss. ‘Eat up, Immy, because you’re burping him. I don’t do vomit. Or nappies.’