Unleashed: A Hamilton Christmas Novella

by Donna Kauffman

  Being decent, relatively attractive, and ridiculously wealthy should have been the trifecta of good fortune where meeting women were concerned. But he hadn’t found that to be the case, so much. The ridiculous wealth attracted all sorts, as did the good looks, which made it hard to tell if any of them were there for the decent person part.

  Which made the irony of this particular night all the more perverse. Because, in truth, he was behaving quite indecently at the moment. He despised golddiggers, and yet here he was, stealing from the Hamilton family trove. Or hoping to, anyway.

  He’d been waiting a long time to get back into this house, but Lionel was always here, or some brown-nosing assistant who worked for him. This was the first time in five years his uncle had given the entire staff off for the holidays and had left town himself, to boot. Trevor had jumped on the opportunity, despite the chaos it had caused in his own life. Thanks to their somewhat shared grapevine, he’d even known about the hired sitter, and had planned to get what he’d come for and be gone before she’d arrived. Then the storm had delayed his flight to Virginia, and he’d had to rely on luck to get up the mountain before she did.

  Apparently luck wasn’t going to be on his side. But he was here now, and he wasn’t leaving empty-handed.

  “I’m guessing you haven’t worked for Lionel before,” he said, nodding at the small notebook in her hands that she’d clearly been referencing as she’d snooped about. “Anything I can help you find? I make a pretty good tour guide. I’ll even throw in a few colorful family stories, if you’d like. We’ve had more than our fair share.”

  “Why are you here?” was her only response.

  He didn’t mind the bluntness. “I was going to surprise Lionel with a holiday visit, but apparently the surprise is on me.” Which was true enough, just not in the way she’d interpret it. He lifted a hand to stall her response. “I already called. I know he’s in Japan.” He smiled, walked closer. “Must be tough taking on a live-in assignment during the holidays.” He lifted his hands in the universal gesture of peace. “Since I’m here, I’d be more than happy to take on the sitter duties. I was planning on staying, anyway.” Not for two weeks, he mentally added, but if he could get her out of here, he’d have free reign to dig to his heart’s content, then he could always find someone else to come finish up the pet-and house-sitting jobs. It didn’t really matter what Lionel would think about coming home to find a new sitter with his beloved pets. If Trevor took what he’d come for, his great uncle would have a lot more on his mind than a replacement sitter.

  “There’s a storm raging outside,” she said, “in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I didn’t mean you needed to leave this exact instant, just that—”

  “I do the job I’m paid for, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “Oh, I’d pay you your full fee. It’s not your fault I showed up.”

  Her scowl didn’t go away as he’d hoped. For most people, money solved everything. He was admittedly a little intrigued when it didn’t seem to be an immediate attraction for her.

  “I start a job, I finish a job. Unless Mr. Hamilton—Lionel Hamilton—requests that I hand the sitting duties over to you, then I’m here for the duration.”

  He wished he didn’t admire her integrity, as it would make things a lot easier, but he did. “Fair enough. For now.” He allowed his smile to spread when she arched a brow. “I’ll have to figure out the time difference between here and Japan, and check his schedule before I bother my uncle, but we’ll get it all sorted out. Unless you have a pre-planned time to communicate?”

  She regarded him silently for a moment, then shook her head. “But I have contact information, so I certainly could, if I chose to,” she added, clearly still wary of his presence.

  Smart woman.

  He stepped back and turned, sweeping his hand out in front of him. “Why don’t we go downstairs? I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry, and I’m sure the beasts are ready for their supper.”

  A stricken look flashed across her face as she darted a quick glance at her watch. “It’s not—wait a minute.” She looked back up, slightly accusatory. “It’s almost ten o’clock at night. They don’t get fed until the morning.”

  “Treats then,” he said, completely unrepentant. It was nice to know she could be rattled, at least a little. And that she did, truly, seem to take her job seriously. He waved her forward. “Come on. The dogs might be on a strict dietary regimen, but that doesn’t mean you and I can’t raid the fridge.”

  She consulted her notebook again, but he wasn’t sure she was really looking at anything meaningful, given he was pretty sure she was lost anyway.

  He stepped forward to take a peek and she all but slapped the book shut in his face. “Fine,” she said. “But you’re on your own in the kitchen.”

  “Not much of a cook?”

  She stepped around him. “I’m a great cook. But I’m not your cook.” She walked away.

  Stalked might have been a more accurate term, he thought, grinning as he watched her staunch retreat. He’d been right, he noticed. Quite a nice swing on that back porch of hers.

  “Right, then down the steps, then left,” he told her, when he caught up to her at the end of the hall in time to see her pondering which direction to take next.

  “I can find my way,” she told him sharply, then seemed to realize she was being overly tense about the situation, and relented slightly. “But thank you for the assistance.” She started down the short hall, but paused at the top of the steps and looked back at him. “I’m going to settle the animals in for the night, then get my things and settle in as well. We can figure out how to handle…everything else in the morning.”

  She turned to go, but he put a hand gently on her arm. “I know my visit isn’t in your little notebook, but I’m sure we can figure out how to stay under the same roof without all the tension. It’s a big house. It shouldn’t be too hard to stay out of each other’s way. If we want to, that is.”

  Her gaze darted from his hand on her arm to his face. “Meaning what, exactly?”

  He couldn’t help it. He smiled. He hadn’t meant that to sound as suggestive as it had. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he’d tacked that little part on. It was to his advantage to have her want to steer as far clear of him as she could during his, hopefully very brief, stay. In fact, as soon as she tucked herself in, he planned to resume his hunt. If his luck changed, he’d be gone as soon as the sun came up and he could get off the mountain.

  He lifted his hand, palm out. “Just that we’re both here, we both have a right to be here, so we might as well make the best of it. Most people find me a relatively decent sort of chap, charming, even. So I just thought—”

  “I’m here to take care of the animals’ needs, not—”

  “I wasn’t asking for that. In any capacity.”

  Pink bloomed on her cheeks then, and she ducked her chin. “I’m…I apologize. You’re right, it was silly to think—my mistake.”

  “No worries,” he said, tilting his head just slightly as he continued to regard her. The sitter was turning out to be quite the puzzle. He already had one mystery to solve, however. No time to take on another.

  When she didn’t turn to leave, he gestured to the stairs. “Ladies first.”

  She jerked her gaze away, as if unaware she’d been staring. The pink still in her cheeks, she started down in front of him, then abruptly stopped on the next landing. She almost plowed into him when she suddenly swung around. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t know you were so close.”

  It’s your hair, he could have told her. He’d had to curl his hands into his palms to keep from reaching out to touch it. Even now he found himself wondering what scent of shampoo she used. “What?” He cleared his throat. “What’s the problem?”

  “No—no problem. But, can I see some identification? No insult, it’s just—”

  “No, no,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. He smiled. “Lionel was smart to hire you. I’ll be
glad to put in a good word for the thorough job you’re doing.” Not that Lionel would have any interest in his great nephew’s opinion, but she didn’t have to know that. “Make up for scaring ten years off your life up there in the hallway.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, peering at the driver’s license he flashed at her. “Chapel Hill?” she said, looking up.

  He nodded. “Went to college in North Carolina and stayed there. Go Tarheels.” He got the tiniest flicker of a smile from her then.

  “You’re speaking to a Hokie, here, so don’t expect any enthusiasm on that score from me.”

  He made the sign of the cross with two of his fingers. “An ACC rival. However will we survive under one roof?”

  “As long as that roof isn’t the one covering Cassell Coliseum, you—and your Tarheels—are probably safe.”

  The stubborn had been replaced by smug. It was a damn cute smug, too. He really had no business noticing. “Very amusing. It won’t be so funny when your boys are at the Dean Dome this weekend.”

  Her smile went from smug to downright insouciant. “Big talk. Care to make a wager on that, Mr. Hamilton?”

  He smiled, pleasantly surprised by the sudden shift to what could be described—almost—as easy banter between them. Amazing what college rivalries could do to lower defenses. Or at least distract them for a short time. “A betting woman, huh? And it’s Trevor. Please.”

  “Okay, Trevor Please, I’ll wager twenty and spot you the spread.”

  “Very generous. Why don’t we go double or nothing? Seeing as you’re so sure and all.”

  “I’m a loyal alumni, but I’m also a new business owner, so—”

  “Say no more. I understand the fiscal fears there.” She smiled, but her eyes said she didn’t believe for one second he understood what it was like to lose sleep, sweat bullets, and yank out your hair over the start-up of a new company. He was a Hamilton, after all. They had piles of money just lying around. Which, was not altogether untrue. He’d just never once happened to touch his own pile, that was all. But why bother explaining?

  “I’ll tell you what,” he offered. “Skip the monetary bet. We can wager food.”

  Her eyebrow edged up until it was lost beneath the cascade of curls. “Food?”

  “You said you were a great cook. I win, and you’re my cook. For one meal. Your pick which one.”

  “And, if I were to agree to this bet, and win, which I probably will, what would I get out of the deal?”

  He gave her a mock affronted look. “I’ll have you know the chicken Marsala I personally prepared for my last dinner party is still talked about in certain circles.”

  “As long as those circling weren’t standing in the emergency room at the time, then I suppose I can agree to that. Except, how do you propose one of us collects on this bet? FedEx the ingredients?”

  “Still trying to get rid of me?” He pushed open the doors to the kitchen, where they were both enthusiastically greeted by Martha, Jack, and Cicero.

  “Welcome! Right this way!”

  It wasn’t until she moved past him as she crouched down to scratch Jack’s head that he finally got a whiff of those softly scented curls, and he realized…“I don’t know your name.”

  She stood but misjudged her footing, and he had to make a quick grab for her arms to keep her from stumbling backwards and falling over Martha. Which had the added benefit of bringing her flush into his personal space. They were, indeed, hazel, he thought, looking into her startled eyes, leaning toward green when her pupils dilated, as they were now. He discovered he was in no hurry to let her go.

  “Emma,” she managed, the word hardly more than a whisper. “Lafferty.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Emma Lafferty.” He smiled. “So, what are you going to cook for me?”

  3

  “A wfully sure of yourself, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “I thought we’d progressed to Trevor. Please.”

  Her lips curved a little at that, but she stepped back, breaking his hold. “Trevor, please let me know when you’re done in the kitchen. I’m going to go unpack and settle in, and I don’t want to be in your way.”

  “We haven’t settled the terms of the bet.”

  “Why don’t we leave it at this: If you’re still here on game night and you win, I’ll cook you the meal of your choice the following day. I win, I get your infamous chicken Marsala.”

  “So, I have to be present to win.” He grinned and was entirely too charming about it. “Are you encouraging me to stay now?”

  Emma picked up her satchels and slung the straps over her shoulder. Not that she didn’t trust him, leaving them there while she hiked back out to the garage, but she suddenly felt like she needed to do something, anything, with her hands. Mostly because she couldn’t stop thinking about his. On her. All warm and broad and strong and—“We’ll work out the shipping details later if it comes to that. I’m sure you’re good for it.”

  His grin only broadened at that, which she took as her sign to skedaddle. The low chuckle as she scooted toward the door leading to the enclosed passageway didn’t help much, either. Lord, but he was one very fine-looking man, with far too much charm and the kind of confidence that naturally came along with it.

  “And, he’s richer than Croesus,” she muttered beneath her breath, feeling the heat bloom in her cheeks all over again as she recalled her bold assumption that he’d been suggesting some kind of intimate arrangement between the two of them. Not that she lacked at least a basic level of self-esteem—she loved dogs, but didn’t consider herself one—however, a super-model she was clearly not. And Trevor Hamilton could easily score in that range and probably did every damn day of the week. She cleaned up okay, but she wasn’t, and never would be, in that range. She chalked up the flirting to what was likely his natural condition around women of any age, size, and flavor.

  “The multimillionaire and the pet sitter,” she muttered. “Yeah. That would happen.” She dug out her phone. Chelsea would flip out when she described the place. And it would help take her mind off of her unexpected houseguest. Only, there was no way she was going to be able to keep from telling her best friend about that part, too, and Chelsea had a much higher opinion of their collective worth on the dating market than Emma did. But then, Emma was a realist. She pocketed the phone and went into the garage. Looking over the gleaming cars, she wondered which one belonged to Trevor, then immediately rolled her eyes at her continued interest in the man. “Eye on the goal, head in the game,” she said through gritted teeth as she fought with the tailgate window of her Land Rover. “And Trevor Hamilton is not, I repeat, not, the goal. Nor are you even in the game.”

  “Need some help?”

  She spun around, hand clutched to heart, to find Trevor leaning against a shiny black Mercedes. Cheeks hot—again—she tossed her hair back and prayed he hadn’t overheard her little self-lecture. “If one of us is supposed to be a burglar, I’m thinking you’re definitely the one with the stealth skills.”

  He shrugged and pushed away from the car. “Just thought you might need a hand. No need to get prickly.”

  “You could help by not handing me a heart attack every five seconds. And I’m never prickly. I’m cheerful and sunny.” Even she had to smile a little at that acerbically delivered statement. “Animals love me for my warmth,” she added, dryly.

  Grinning, he said, “I’m sure they do.” He stepped closer and nudged her out of the way, then popped the back door of her Land Rover with an easy twist of the handle. At her little huff, he turned to her. “I had this problem with mine, you just have to tug the handle down a little as you turn it. Here.” He closed it again, then took her hand and put it on the handle.

  She was so flustered by his assertiveness, and maybe a little by his hands being on her again, that she let him.

  “Pull down a little, like this, and—” The door popped open quite easily. “See?”

  She was too happy to have a solution to any of the myria
d problems her ancient Land Rover gave her to give him a hard time about being so pushy. But she did slide her hand out from under his. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

  He peered inside. “Where’re all the bags?”

  “What bags?”

  “You’re staying for a few weeks, right?” He hefted out an old canvas army bag and a smaller gym bag. “Where’s the rest?”

  He’d hefted the strap of the canvas bag over his shoulder and slung the red nylon gym bag under his arm like they weighed nothing, when Emma knew damn well the canvas bag alone felt like it weighed three tons when she’d loaded it into the car. “Remind me to call you when I need a Pyrenees or a Newfie loaded into the back of this thing.”

  He just laughed. “In the front?”

  “Dogs go in the back.”

  “No, I mean the rest of your stuff.”

  “You’re carrying pretty much my entire wardrobe, which probably says everything about me you never needed to know. Essentials are in the red bag.”

  “Essentials?” His confusion cleared. “Oh, you mean all the girl gear. Potions, lotions, magic makeup.”

  “Uh, sure.” Let him think that. It was far more flattering than the truth. And she wasn’t about to tell him that her idea of essentials had more to do with reading material, her glasses, and, yes, her retainer, than eyeliner and manicure supplies. “Some snacks I packed are in the front. I’ll get those. If you’re sure you don’t mind.” She nodded toward the load he was carrying. She still had the satchels to carry in. Again.

  “This? No, not at all.” He poked along behind her, like a nosy puppy, when she moved around to the passenger-side door. “What kind of snacks?”

  She grinned as she turned and opened the plastic supermarket bag. “Dental bones and liver treats. Your pick. Or, maybe you’re more a millet seed guy.”

  He looked in the bag, and back at her, pity clear on his face. “You need remedial road trip lessons. Where are the chips, sodas, and cookies?”