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Mac Carmichael raced his Bentley along the winding streets of Coral Gables and onto his driveway. He stopped at the gate, punched a code into the box on the left, opening the gate, and then roared up the stone drive to the side of his huge house. The garage door opened with another press of a button and he zipped inside. As the door closed behind him, he hopped out of his car, walked through the garage, into the butler’s pantry then into the huge gourmet kitchen.
His blond-haired six-year-old daughter, Lacy, sat at the long weathered-wood table by the French doors, coloring. Nine-month-old son Henry sat in a highchair beside her. His former nanny and current next-door neighbor, Mrs. Pomeroy, wiped baby food off his mouth with a wet cloth.
“How did it go?”
He sighed. “Well, I found someone.”
“Great.”
“I’m not sure. She’s—” Tall and blond and so good-looking he damned near turned around and sought out another agency. “Well, she seems a little spacey.”
Eighty-year-old Elmira Pomeroy laughed. “Spacey? Is she a drinker?”
“No, she’s just—” inappropriately dressed, too pretty for words “—kind of odd.”
“Are you sure you want her around your kids?”
“She’s not that kind of odd. Besides, I don’t have a choice. I need total and complete privacy. I can’t risk hiring a big impersonal firm or someone who doesn’t need me enough to keep her silence.”
“You think she’s made the connection yet that if she does well her boss’s husband could make millions?”
He tossed his suit coat over the back of a chair. “I’m hoping. If she hasn’t yet, one call to anybody in Cain’s office will get her the info. That should be the carrot on the stick that keeps her here long enough for me to find someone.” He leaned in over Lacy. “Hey, baby. What are you doing?”
She gave him a patient look. “Coloring.”
“Why don’t you put on your swimsuit and we’ll take a dip while Mrs. Pomeroy is still here for Henry.”
Her heart-shaped face wreathed in smiles. Her blue eyes danced with delight. “Okay!”
She raced from the room and Mac pulled Henry from his highchair. “And how are you today?”
Blond-haired, blue-eyed Henry slapped a chubby fist on his father’s cheek.
“Feisty, I see.”
“You better believe he’s been feisty.” Mrs. Pomeroy took his bottle from the warmer and tested the temperature. “I’m not sure if he tired himself out enough that he’ll fall asleep immediately after he drinks this or if he’s too wound up to sleep at all.”
“If you have any problems, come and get me from the pool.”
Mrs. Pomeroy’s wrinkled face fell in sympathetic lines. “No. You take the time with Lacy. You both could use a few minutes of fun.”
“I’m fine. I don’t want to shirk my responsibility to the kids.”
“You’re a good dad.”
He pulled in a breath and turned away, trying to make light of her compliment. “I only do what any father should do.”
That was why it never would have even crossed his mind to desert his children the way their mother had. He couldn’t believe any person would be so narcissistic that she’d abandon her kids just because a second child had been inconvenient to her career. Pamela had been so angry to be pregnant again when she’d read the results of her early pregnancy test that she’d packed a bag, left him and filed for divorce within days. She returned to Hollywood, California, where she immediately resurrected her movie career.
Nine months later, she handed Henry over to Mac. She visited once a month, saying it was difficult to fly across the country anymore than that. But on her last visit she told Mac she might not be able to visit in July. The movie she had made while pregnant with Henry was being released and she would be making the rounds of talk shows promoting it. Mac tried not to panic, but he couldn’t help it. If anybody asked Pamela about her divorce or her kids, he had absolutely no idea what she’d say. But he did know that if she mentioned their names, he and the kids would become fodder for the paparazzi.
He’d lived his entire life with bodyguards, alarm systems and armor-plated limos. He’d thought he knew how it felt to live under lock and key, but that was nothing compared to living in a fishbowl. As the ex-husband of a movie star with custody of that movie star’s kids, protection and visibility had risen to a whole new level. Not only were his kids targets for kidnappers and extortionists because of his money, but their mother’s career could put their faces on the front page of every tabloid in the world. He’d had to go to extreme measures to protect them, and even with those measures in place he wasn’t quite sure they were safe.
“You’re thinking about that crappy wife of yours again aren’t you?”
“No.”
Mrs. P. laughed. “Right. You always scowl before a morning of fun with your daughter in the pool.” Satisfied with the temperature of the milk in Henry’s bottle, she took Henry from Mac’s arms. “You know what you need? A good woman to replace the crappy one.”
Mac laughed. “It will be a cold frosty day in hell before I trust another woman.”
Mrs. P. harrumphed as she headed for the door. “Don’t let one bad apple spoil the whole bunch.”
Lacy skipped into the room dressed in a bright blue one-piece swimsuit. Mac lifted her into his arms. It was very easy for Mrs. P. to spout quaint sayings, quite another for Mac to heed their advice. Pamela had broken Lacy’s heart when she left. Henry would know a mother who only popped in when the spirit moved her. Mac couldn’t risk the hearts of his children a second time.
Ellie debated sliding into one of her Happy Maids uniforms. Nothing said hired help better than a bright yellow ruffled apron and a hairnet. But Mac had suggested she wear jeans and she wasn’t taking any chances. If she had to endure being a full-time maid, then she intended for Cain to get the recommendation into Carmichael Incorporated. The best way to do that would be to follow Mac’s instructions to the letter.
She slowed her car as she wound through the streets of Coral Gables, looking for the address scrawled on the back of the business card. Finally finding the property, she turned onto the driveway only to come face-to-face with an iron gate. She rolled down her car window, pressed a button marked “visitors” on a small stand just within reach of her car and watched as a camera zoomed in on her. She expected a voice to come through the little box, asking for identification. Instead, within seconds, the gate opened.
Good grief. How rich was this guy?
Slowly maneuvering up the wide stone driveway that was a beautiful yellow, not brick-red or brown or even gray, but beautiful butterscotch-yellow, Ellie swiveled her head from side-to-side, taking in the landscaping. Trees stood behind the black iron fence that surrounded the huge front yard, increasing the privacy. Flower gardens filled with red, yellow and orange hibiscus sprang up in no particular order, brightening the green grass with splashes of color. But it was the house that caused her mouth to fall open. Butterscotch-yellow stucco, with rich cocoa-brown trim and columns that rose to the flat roof overhang, and a sparkling glass front door, the house was unlike anything she’d seen before.
She followed the stone driveway around to the side where she found cocoa-brown garage doors and a less auspicious entryway than the front door. She parked her car and got out.
Oppressive heat and humidity buffeted her, making her tank top and jeans feel like a snowmobile suit. The sounds of someone splashing in a pool caught her attention and she walked around back and stopped. Her mouth gaped.
Rows of wide, flat steps made of the same butterscotch-colored stone as in the driveway led from a wall of French doors in the back of the house to an in-ground pool. Shiny butterscotch-colored tiles intermingled with blue and beige tiles, rimming the pool and also creating a walkway that led to a patio of the same stone as the stairs. Behind the patio was a huge gazebo—big enough for a party, not merely a yard decoration—and beyond the grassy backyard was the canal where a bright white yacht was docked.
“Ellie?”
She glanced at the pool again. Mac Carmichael was swimming with a little girl of around six, probably his daughter.
She edged toward them. Trying to sound confident, she said, “Hi.”
The little blonde wearing water wings waved shyly.
Mac wiped both hands down his face and headed for the ladder in the shallow water on the far side of the pool. “I’ll be right with you.”
She wanted to say, “Take your time,” or “Don’t get out on my account. I’ll find my way to the kitchen,” but the sight of Mac pulling himself onto the ladder stopped her cold. His dark swimming trunks clung wetly to his firm behind. Water pulled them down, causing them to slip as he climbed the ladder. By the time he got out of the pool his trunks clung precariously to his lean hips. He walked to a beige-and-white-flowered chaise and grabbed a huge towel.
“You got here quickly.”
She stared. With the blue skies of Florida as a backdrop, his eyes turned a color closer to topaz. Water ran in rivulets down the black hair on his chest. His still-dripping swimming trunks hung on to his hips for dear life.
“I…um…” She cleared her throat as attraction rumbled through her. It had been so long that she’d been overwhelmingly attracted to a man that she’d missed the symptoms. But here they were. Sweaty palms. Stuttering heart. Inability to form a coherent sentence.
Now she knew why her intuition wouldn’t let her allow Mac to leave the Happy Maids office. It wasn’t because of Cain. It was because she was attracted to Mac.
Telling herself not to panic, she could handle one little attraction, she smiled. Her intuition might have brought her here for a frivolous reason, but once Ava had told her about Cain wanting an “in” with Mac, she knew she couldn’t back out. Liz had saved her when she desperately needed someone. Now she finally had a chance to repay the favor. This was a mission. “I just had to run home to put on jeans and pack a bag.”
He motioned to the steps. “You go on up. It’s too hot for you to stand out here in this heat in those jeans. As soon as I get Lacy from the pool I’ll be in.”
This time she could say, “No hurry. I’ll be fine,” because she seriously needed a minute alone to compose herself. How did one man get so lucky as to not only be rich and live in a house that took her breath away, but also be so good-looking he rivaled the pristine Florida sky?
“Just go up the stairs and turn left, into the kitchen. We’ll be there in a minute.”
She nodded and started up the steps, feeling as if she were walking the stairs to a museum or some other prestigious building rather than someone’s residence. Of course, she wasn’t exactly well versed in what a “normal” home should look like. She’d grown up in foster homes until she was seventeen when she ran away. Then she’d slept on the streets and fought tooth and nail just to find something to eat each day until she met Sam. She’d stayed with him, enduring increasing verbal and emotional abuse until the night the abuse became physical. Then she’d run. A Friend Indeed couldn’t take her in because they were a charity chartered to care for women with children, but Liz had offered her her couch and ultimately a job. After four years with Happy Maids, interacting with Liz and the friends she’d made through A Friend Indeed, she was only now coming to understand what normal relationships were.
So, she could forgive herself for being a tad awestruck by this house. She might clean for Miami’s elite but this guy was in a class by himself, and from the outside, his house absolutely looked like a museum.
Pushing open the second door of the four French doors lining the back wall of the house, she found herself standing between a huge kitchen on the left and a comfy family room on the right. Decorated with an overstuffed brown leather sofa and chairs with shiny cherrywood end tables and a huge flat-screen TV between bookcases that ran along the entire back wall, that part of the open floor plan appeared to be where the family did most of their living.
That she liked.
But only a few steps into the kitchen, she swallowed hard. The stove had eight burners. The refrigerator was actually hidden behind panels of the same cherrywood as the cabinets. Copper pots and pans hung from a rack above the stove. Pale salmon-colored granite countertops accented the rich cabinets. A sink with a tall copper faucet sat in the middle of the center island and another sat in a counter along a far wall. Crystal gleamed behind the glass doors of all the cabinets on the right wall.
She looked around in awe. She’d been in kitchens almost as elaborate as this one. She did, after all, clean for some fairly wealthy people. But men in Mac’s caliber weren’t wealthy. They were beyond wealthy. They didn’t hire weekly cleaning services. They had full-time employees and gourmet kitchens big enough to cook food for parties attended by hundreds of people. As a Happy Maid she only cleaned, didn’t cook for any of her clients.
She glanced around again, her mouth slightly open, fear tightening her chest.
She grabbed the cell phone she had stashed in her jeans pocket and hit a speed dial number.
“Ava, I think I’m gonna need a cook book.”
Chapter Two
A FEW minutes later, Mac and Lacy entered the kitchen. “Lacy, this is Ellie.”
Ellie smiled at the wet-haired little girl wrapped in a bright blue towel. “Nice to meet you.”
Lacy glanced down shyly. “Nice to meet you too.”
“Ellie’s going to be staying with us while we look for a replacement for Mrs. Devlin.”
Lacy nodded.
“So why don’t you go upstairs and change out of your swimsuit?”
“I could help her,” Ellie suggested, eager to do a good job more than to get out of the kitchen. She no longer had a problem being alone with Mac. He was definitely good-looking, and everything female inside of her had absolutely taken notice of his ropey muscles and firm butt in his swim trunks. But being attracted to him was wildly inappropriate. People in his tax bracket didn’t mingle with the help. And people in her tax bracket would be foolish to drool or harbor crushes. She’d be safe with him.
Mac shook his head. “Lacy’s fine on her own. I’d like to show you to your room and talk about the job a bit while Henry’s still napping.”
“Henry is your son?”
“Yes.” Mac winced. “He’s only nine months old. I hope that’s not a problem.”
Spending a few weeks with a baby a problem? Ellie nearly laughed. She didn’t have brothers and sisters. The foster homes she’d lived in only took children, not babies. And after Sam she’d vowed she’d never have another “serious” relationship, which put kids out of reach for her. She’d babysat a time or two for new mothers who lived in A Friend Indeed houses, so she knew how to care for a baby. But she’d never be a mother herself. Having such a lovely block of time with a baby would be pure joy.
“Actually, it’s kind of a thrill for me to take care of a baby.”
Her words appeared to startle Mac. His face bloomed with happy surprise. His eyes gleamed. His lips bowed upward, into a breathtaking smile. It was so appealing, so genuine, so gorgeous, she was sure it could move mountains. The air thinned in her lungs and for a few seconds she struggled for breath, but she’d already recognized this attraction would come to nothing. He was her employer and she was his employee. That was that. Even if she had to pretend to cough to recoup her air supply every time he smiled at her, he’d never have a clue that he took her breath away.
“Is your bag in the trunk?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll get that first then I’ll show you to your quarters.”
“Great.” She headed for the door and he followed her. Confused that he was coming with her, she stopped. “I only have one small suitcase. I can get it.”
Mac shook his head. “My mother would shoot me for making a lady carry her own bag.”
His courtesy caught her off guard. Employers were not supposed to help their employees. Or even be overly nice to them for that matter. And she didn’t want him to. She wanted their relationship to be as professional as possible. Decorum was what would keep her safe. She hadn’t slept alone in a house with a man since Sam and part of her would be shimmying with fear except this wasn’t a personal relationship. It was a professional relationship. And as long as they both abided by that, she’d be fine.
“The bag won’t weigh any more than the laundry baskets I’ll be carrying down the stairs to the washer.”
“Washer and dryer are upstairs.” He headed to the left. “Besides, this will be a good opportunity for me to familiarize you with this part of the house.”
Relieved that the trip to her car had more of a purpose than just a courtesy—which was inappropriate—she nodded and he led her through the butler’s pantry. The cupboards were the same rich cherrywood as the kitchen. The countertops the same salmon-colored granite. When he reached the door at the back, he opened it and motioned for her to precede him.
Stepping into the garage, she took note of the four cars—a Bentley, a Corvette, a black Suburban and a Mercedes—and could have happily swooned. But she knew better. Just as she couldn’t even once let her attraction to her new employer show, it was bad form to admire his possessions.
He stepped in front of her again to quickly open the door. Her beat-up compact car came into view. He said nothing—commenting on her possessions would have been bad form for him—and waited while she hit the button on her key fob and popped the trunk.
Without a word, he pulled out her suitcase. Because he still wore his swimming trunks she could see the muscles of his arm bunch and his chest ripple with the simple movement. She averted her eyes instead of reacting, firmly putting herself in “household employee” mode where she belonged.
Retracing their steps, she reached the garage entry first and pulled open the door for him.
“Your suitcase weighs about two pounds. I could have gotten the door.”
“I know.”
Still, she hustled to get ahead of him to open the door to the butler’s pantry. She knew her place and she fully intended to stay in it.
Seeing her stilted smile, a shiver of something worked its way through Mac. He’d grown up around servants and knew that technically Ellie should have gotten her own bag. He also knew she felt duty-bound to open the door for him. Yet, when she mentioned going out to her car an odd stirring of unease started in his stomach and worked its way to his chest. He couldn’t let her carry her own bag. It felt ungentlemanly.
He chalked it up to their unusual meeting. He hadn’t met her as a household employee, but as a woman who was currently running the company he’d needed to cajole into his employ. So he wasn’t seeing her as an employee first, but a woman. An equal. Though that wasn’t exactly good, he could control that. He could even shift their positions back to employer and employee.
Just as soon as he got her settled.
After all, he had sort of manipulated her into taking a job she hadn’t wanted. And he wasn’t being forthright even now. When he discovered Pamela’s new movie was to be released next month, he’d bought the empty house next to Mrs. Pomeroy and put it in the name of one of his family’s smaller corporations so he and his kids could disappear.
Ellie didn’t know any of that. She didn’t need the information, but more than that her being in the dark was another layer of protection for Mac. As long as she didn’t know anything, she couldn’t accidently talk to a reporter in disguise as a grocery bagger.
He was keeping her in the dark, forcing her into a job she normally wouldn’t have done. A little social nicety wasn’t out of line.
In the kitchen, she faced him with a pretty smile. Her full lips turned upward. Her amber eyes sparkled. The blond hair that floated around her head to her shoulders gave her the look of an angel.
