His housekeepers twin ba.., p.1
His Housekeeper's Twin Baby Confession, page 1
“So, what is it?”
Carrie wiped her mouth with a napkin. She looked at Massimo, only about a foot separating them on the couch. He was too close. She stood up and walked over to stand behind an armchair.
Massimo stood too. “Carrie?”
“It’s nothing serious.” She thought about that, then said, “Well...that’s not exactly true.”
Massimo frowned. “Carrie, what the—”
“I’m pregnant.”
Her words hung between them. Massimo looked confused. “What did you say?”
Carrie’s hands gripped the back of the seat. “I’m pregnant.”
Irish author Abby Green ended a very glamorous career in film and TV—which really consisted of a lot of standing in the rain outside actors’ trailers—to pursue her love of romance. After she’d bombarded Harlequin with manuscripts, they kindly accepted one, and an author was born. She lives in Dublin, Ireland, and loves any excuse for distraction. Visit abby-green.com or email abbygreenauthor@gmail.com.
Books by Abby Green
Harlequin Presents
Bound by Her Shocking Secret
A Ring for the Spaniard’s Revenge
Passionately Ever After...
The Kiss She Claimed from the Greek
Hot Summer Nights with a Billionaire
The Flaw in His Red-Hot Revenge
The Marchetti Dynasty
The Maid’s Best Kept Secret
The Innocent Behind the Scandal
Bride Behind the Desert Veil
Jet-Set Billionaires
Their One-Night Rio Reunion
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
Abby Green
His Housekeeper’s Twin Baby Confession
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM IMPOSSIBLE HEIR FOR THE KING BY NATALIE ANDERSON
PROLOGUE
CARRIE TAYLOR WAS too numb to be nervous about her job interview for a very prestigious job as a live-in housekeeper in London. She wasn’t even sure how she’d been deemed a suitable candidate, considering her hospitality experience didn’t stretch beyond working in three-star hotels in Manchester.
Clearly, going by the fact that she was in a detached Georgian mansion in one of London’s most exclusive neighbourhoods, this was very much on another level. But her desire to move to London and the fact that she could start straight away because she had no ties might have had something to do with it.
No ties.
Emotion threatened to break through the numb barrier she’d pulled around herself in the last six months. She forced it down again. Not here...not now.
She would have time to lick her wounds and heal if she could just settle somewhere far away from where she’d been. At least physically, if not emotionally.
She diverted her mind from her recent traumatic past and tried to focus again on the interview. There was no way she was going to get the job. And that assertion was somehow a little liberating. A stream of considerably more glamorous and undoubtedly more experienced women had gone in before her. And one man in a three-piece suit.
They weren’t wearing cheap high street clothes. Carrie plucked at her shirt, trying to straighten it. Her jacket and skirt didn’t even match, but they were the same colour so that would have to do. There was a hole in her nylons, but she was hoping it wasn’t visible. She’d lost almost a stone in weight in the last six months, and she really should have bought a new outfit, but she’d literally had no time to waste before coming to this interview.
The recruiter had said, ‘I won’t lie, it’s a long shot, but nothing ventured nothing gained, eh?’ And then he’d asked curiously, ‘Are you sure you’ve never heard of Massimo Black, Lord Linden? He’s the Earl of Linden.’
Carrie had shook her head, already mentally adding up how much the train ticket to London would cost. ‘No, should I have?’
The recruiter had just said, ‘No reason in particular, I guess...’ But he’d looked at her as if she had two heads.
Carrie wondered about that now. The man was undoubtedly wealthy. And an earl, and a lord. Maybe he was in politics? She couldn’t take her phone out here and look him up. She cursed herself for not doing it on the train when she’d had a chance. Wasn’t that what people did ahead of big fancy job interviews? They swotted up on the employer?
She imagined him to be elderly and very posh. White hair? Booming voice? The other people up for the job had certainly walked out of his office looking a little shell-shocked. Maybe he was very formidable.
‘Miss Taylor?’
Carrie stood up so fast her bag fell to the floor. Flustered, she answered, ‘That’s me,’ as she bent down to pick it up.
The stern-looking assistant swept her up and down with an icy gaze and Carrie fought not to let it affect her.
‘Lord Linden will see you now. This way, please.’
She followed the young man back through the jaw-dropping reception hall, with its classic black and white tiles and a marbled staircase leading up to the first floor. There was a huge round table, polished to a high gleam. In the middle was the biggest vase she’d ever seen, with a stunning display of exotic blooms.
She was so distracted by the grandeur that she nearly ran into the man’s back when he stopped abruptly outside a door. She stepped backwards. She wanted to check her hair to make sure it was still pulled neatly into its bun, but she didn’t dare under his exacting gaze.
The assistant knocked and a deep voice answered, ‘Come in.’
For some reason a little tingle went down Carrie’s spine. The door opened and the man stood back to let her by. Carrie walked in, and for a second the sun was in her eyes, so all she could make out was a very tall, broad shape by the window.
Then she took another step and she could see. She heard herself suck in a breath. The first thing that came into her head was: Young, not old. And the second thing was that she’d never seen anyone more beautiful in her life. He was like a Greek statue brought to life.
Thick dark blond hair, swept back from his face. Strong jaw. Firm mouth. Powerful physique. Every line of his face and body screamed power and privilege and something far more disturbing. An earthy sensuality—an innate sexiness that she’d never experienced before.
He was saying something, but Carrie couldn’t actually hear it for a moment. She tried to pull herself together. But she was shaken. This was the first time anyone or anything had pierced through the numbness in her body. And heart.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
* * *
Massimo Black, Lord Linden, curbed his irritation. ‘I said, please take a seat.’
The woman who had just entered was looking at him as if she’d never seen a man before. He was used to slightly less obvious reactions. Maybe his assistant had been wrong when he’d said, before he went to summon her, ‘This is the last one, boss, and apparently she’s never heard of you.’
That had made Massimo sit up. It was rare for him to meet anyone who didn’t know him and his lurid life story: inheriting the vast Linden wealth and his father’s title of Earl of Linden at only eighteen, after the premature scandalous deaths of his parents—his mother of a drugs overdose at their family country pile after a debauched party and his father only a few weeks later, while piloting a helicopter with his latest lover. And then the tragic death of his beloved younger brother, who had inherited the destructive gene from his parents, in spite of Massimo’s best efforts to keep him on a straight path.
Massimo pushed all that aside.
So far none of the candidates for housekeeper had impressed him, in spite of their more than adequate CVs and references. So he didn’t hold out much hope for this one, who came with none of that.
The woman—he checked her name...Carrie Taylor—sat down gingerly on the edge of a chair. Massimo wondered why she was sitting like that, and looked down and saw she was tugging at her skirt, as if to pull it over her knee. He saw a flash of pale skin. A hole in her tights.
Massimo felt something stir in his blood. Awareness. He immediately scoffed at himself. For this scrap of a thing? Because she was a scrap. Her clothes hung off her, and she looked as if she needed to be sent to the sun for a few months, to put some colour in her cheeks.
Her blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, but tendrils were trying to escape. Her face at first glance was plain enough, but as Massimo took a seat opposite her and watched her looking around the room he could see fine bone structure, a straight nose, and a surprisingly lush mouth. Her eyes were huge, and very green. Unusual.
She looked at him then, and Massimo had to use all of his control to stop himself reacting.
He looked down at her file. ‘It says here that you’re widowed?’ He looked back up just in time to see her flinch slightly.
‘Yes.’
His conscience pricked. He knew what it was to lose someone you loved. The pain of his b
‘I’m sorry. It was recent?’
She avoided his eye. ‘Six months ago.’
‘It also says here that you’re available to start right away and are available to live in?’
‘Yes.’
Massimo felt curious now, about this woman who had travelled all the way from Manchester to apply for a job that she really had very little hope of getting.
He asked, ‘What makes you think you’d be qualified to take on a job as housekeeper of this house?’
He saw her draw in a breath and her breasts rose under her shirt, fuller than he would have expected. He diverted his gaze up, once again incensed to be caught like this.
Affected like this.
She looked at him now, her gaze direct. Her voice was soft but clear, with a surprising hint of steel. ‘I know I don’t have any fancy university qualifications, but I’ve been working since I was sixteen.’
‘Is that when you left school?’
She lifted her chin. ‘Yes.’
Massimo couldn’t help but admire her defiance.
She said, ‘I started working in a local hotel, making beds and cleaning bathrooms, and I made it all the way up to become manager by the age of twenty. I hired staff, managed them, and was responsible for ensuring the smooth running of...everything really.’
Massimo put down her file and sat back. He found that he could well believe it. The unmistakable pride in her voice impressed him. She didn’t have an academic qualification to her name, but she had more experience in her little finger than any of the other candidates he’d just met. Who had all been as dull and boring as he might have expected.
He said, ‘So my question now is, why leave all that to come and manage one house in London?’
She avoided his eye again. A shadow passed over her face. ‘Because I have no ties and I would like a change. I want to gain experience in the private sector.’
Massimo had a sense that there was more to it than that, but he resisted pushing. Then he made a split-second decision—very unlike him.
He said, ‘You’re hired. One month’s trial. My outgoing housekeeper will be on hand for a week, to show you the ropes and get you acquainted with how we run things here. How long do you need to pack up and move down?’
She looked at him, her eyes wide, dazed.
‘You mean it?’
He nodded. He was fascinated by the colour coming into her cheeks. Pink. His blood grew warm. He doused it with ice. This woman would be his housekeeper. Out of bounds. If she accepted the job, from this moment on he would not allow her to affect him again.
‘Um... I just need a day or two... I could be back here after the weekend?’
Massimo stood up and held out his hand. ‘Perfect, my assistant will give you any help you need with packing and moving.’
* * *
Carrie couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. She stood up and her legs felt shaky. She put out her hand to Lord Linden and he took it, engulfing her in heat. His touch was like an electric shock, zapping through her body and blood.
She told herself it was the shock of the job offer. And because he was so charismatic and impressive. And young. She’d have to be made of stone not to be affected by a man like this.
She pulled her hand back and somehow managed to get out, ‘Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.’
A wave of relief went through her to think that she could move away from all the grim reminders of her life up to now. She could make a new start. In a new place. Heal herself. And maybe some day move on with her life again.
Lord Linden’s gaze was hard to look away from. It was very dark. Hard to read.
Good, she told herself. She did not want to be reading this man’s emotions. He was her boss, and there was too much at stake to be allowing him to affect her in any way. Emotionally or physically.
‘Thank you,’ she said again, and vowed to make sure that he would have no reason to regret giving her this chance.
CHAPTER ONE
Four years later
MASSIMO FELT SLIGHTLY GUILTY—but only slightly. He’d just walked out of an interview with a leading financial newspaper. The car phone rang. He looked at the display and scowled. It was one of his assistants, no doubt wondering what was going on.
He ignored it and hit the accelerator to move around some traffic, the powerful throttle of the engine doing little to lighten his mood. For that he’d need the open road and no limits on speed.
He smiled grimly. Maybe his destructive family gene was finally kicking in? The one that had taken the life of his baby brother. He’d died on a race track, chasing an impossible speed.
The journalist had irritated him from the off, asking him coquettishly how he felt about being named the richest man in the world—again. And then, ‘Do you feel a responsibility to ensure that the next generation carries on your legacy of philanthropy?’
In other words, would he be settling down and having children? He was hardly going to confide in a journalist that he had no intention of siring another generation of Lindens. Not after the sterling example his parents had provided with their destructive, chaotic parenting.
He and his brother had been farmed out to nannies and boarding schools. There had been little to no consistency in their lives. The effect on Massimo, as the eldest, had been to make him develop a strong sense of responsibility. A desire to have structure and create order from chaos.
His younger brother had gone the other way, taking after their parents. Massimo had often wondered if he’d been less careful, would his brother have felt the need to rebel? But that way lay madness.
In any case, Massimo had the reckless blood of his Italian countess mother and his feckless playboy father in his veins too, and no way was he going to risk passing it down to another generation. He’d watched his brother crash and burn—literally. He wouldn’t do that to his own child.
He chose his lovers scrupulously and only spent one night with them, so there could never be a hint of anything more. After witnessing his father decimate what little self-confidence his mother had had, by taking lovers without even trying to hide it, Massimo had no desire to test his own ability to be faithful. He wouldn’t risk doing that to a woman.
So far, one night had always been enough. Well, up until about six months ago. Since then... He hadn’t had the appetite.
Massimo drove through the electronic gates of his London home. The prickliness of his exchange with the journalist faded as he stepped out of the car. The late summer city air was still. He walked to his front door and it opened as if operated by some kind of magical device.
But there was no magical device—just his housekeeper, Miss Taylor, on the threshold. She was dressed in her usual uniform of black short-sleeved shirt and black trousers. Flat shoes. Blonde hair pulled back neatly in a bun at the base of her neck. No overt make-up. No jewellery.
And there it was. That little beat in his blood. Awareness. No matter how much he tried to ignore it or push it down. And lately it had been harder to ignore.
She held the door open. ‘Welcome back, sir.’ She frowned a little. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back this early...is everything all right?’
The irritation prickled back to life. Was his life so regimented, so predictable, that he couldn’t even come back to his own home ahead of time? And that was strange, because Miss Taylor was one of the few people who didn’t irritate him.
No, she had a unique effect on him. It was a mix of that illicit awareness and something far more disturbing...like a balm. How could he be both aware of someone and feel calmed by them? It was ridiculous. He was losing it.
She’d worked for him for four years now, and he’d often congratulated himself on trusting his gut and hiring her. She’d become one of his most trusted employees. And, as such, he was about to request of her that she do him a massive favour.
He said, ‘Actually, there’s something I need to ask you. Can you come to my office?’
* * *
