The Millionaire's Redemption

by Therese Beharrie

  She kept their touch brief, barely polite, and removed her hand smoothly so she couldn’t have felt the zing that shot through him. Neither did she sound as impressed as he’d like her to be, though there was no reason for him to care. Or for his fingers to involuntarily try to hold on. He definitely liked the slightly rough edge to her voice.

  ‘And you don’t approve. Any particular reason?’

  She laughed again, triggering the same response. ‘I never make hasty judgements. I admire the way she portrays you, your siblings and cousins as paragons of virtue; I’m just convinced she’s oblivious to your faults.’

  He suspected she was baiting him, didn’t rise. ‘She brings out the best in us. Who exactly are you and what are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m a declutterer.’

  ‘A what?’

  * * *

  Cassie wasn’t fazed by his bewilderment, and quite liked the baffled expression on his handsome rugged face. Payback for not letting her know he was observing her ungainly exit from under the table. She’d caught her breath as they’d made contact and wondered if he’d felt the same electrical spark that zapped up her arm.

  ‘I help people sort out and downsize their belongings.’

  ‘Mel’s not a hoarder.’ Quick and sharp.

  ‘No, she’s not, and she’s expecting us for coffee.’

  She walked past him and went to the kitchen to wash her hands. The tingle on her nape told her he’d followed. She dismissed it, refusing to gush over cowboy hero features and eyes the colour of buffalo grass after spring rain. Or to surrender to the urge to finger comb his ruffled light brown hair. Even if his voice was deep and smooth like the old-time crooners on her mum’s CDs.

  ‘So she’s hired you. Why keep it quiet?’

  His sharp tone irked. Counting to fourteen before turning rather than the universal ten was her safety valve. Failing to get any employer’s relative onside could backfire on her.

  She enjoyed her work and satisfied customers spread the word, ensuring she rarely had to advertise for clients. He was the first of Mel’s relations she’d met, though a niece had visited prior to her arrival this morning, and there’d been a few phone calls.

  At her interview, Mel had explained her family regularly checked up on her since she’d insisted she no longer needed a live-in carer. Her hairline fracture had healed with minimal after-effects, and she took care moving around. She still slept in a made-up room downstairs and never went to the second storey when alone.

  Today, as they’d worked, she’d chatted about the younger generation, and the way they fussed over her. Cassie’s heart had clenched at the thought of having numerous relatives who cared.

  Running her hand over her hair, she turned to find Jack almost within touching distance.

  If one desired physical contact. Which she did not.

  Legs apart, hands tucked into rear pockets and eyes narrowed with suspicion, he appeared to be spoiling for a confrontation.

  She met his unblinking stare with confidence, regarding the ripples in her stomach as natural under the circumstances. Showing him she wouldn’t be intimidated, she began a slow scroll down his face, noting the high forehead, the wide generous mouth and the strong stubbled jaw. Sculpted biceps and pecs were clearly defined under a fawn work shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and folded at the wrists, revealing tufts of fine brown hair.

  Unfortunately, it was her pulse quickening and her temperature rising as her gaze slid over firm blue denim-clad thighs and past long legs to black tradies’ boots. Keeping tight control on the speed, she made the journey up to a gratifying flush and a very masculine scowl.

  ‘I wasn’t aware she hadn’t told you.’ She heard the hitch in her voice, hoped her features didn’t betray her reaction. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you in the lounge in a few minutes.’

  She walked towards the door, head held high, shoulders rigid.

  He moved aside. ‘It will be my pleasure.’ A tone or two deeper than his last remark, with a definite hint of cynicism.

  Upstairs, in the bedroom Mel had invited her to use, she slumped against the closed door, shaken by the encounter with her employer’s handyman nephew. The guy wouldn’t be out of place on the pages of the celebrity magazines Narelle, her best friend, avidly studied. She could imagine those full, firm lips...no! She would not.

  Cassie had escaped from him to gather her thoughts, and wasn’t sure she’d succeeded even after brushing her hair until it shone. Not for him, she told herself as she went downstairs. Being neat and tidy was a matter of pride.

  Her career choice had been a natural progression after assisting the woman she’d called Mum all her life help different friends prepare for the move into retirement villages or homes. At first she’d been fascinated by the variety of, to her teenage eyes, useless items, some not even decorative. There were always old postcards and souvenirs, hardly used presents, and so many photographs in albums, boxes and drawers.

  Talking to these people at this crucial moment in their lives, she’d empathised with their anxieties and their pain at having to let go of items that defined their lives. Growing up with no relatives except Mum, she’d found the differences in family interactions intriguing. She’d also discovered she had a talent for sensing the emotional reasons behind the spoken need to cling to certain pieces. The appeal of working in the same building every day, no matter what the job, had diminished in comparison.

  * * *

  Jack’s baritone was audible as Cassie approached the lounge room door, though the actual words were indistinguishable. Their combined laughter triggered a yearning for the closeness she’d shared for twenty-three years with Julie, her maternal aunt, to her, now and for ever, Mum.

  At two days old, her birth mother had brought her to Julie then left for America. She’d made spasmodic short visits while Cassie was very young and occasional telephone calls after. There’d been no contact for fifteen years.

  The cancer that had taken Mum four years ago had been short and aggressive, but thankfully there was no heart-wrenching guilt for missed opportunities. Every memory was precious, any reminder, however painful, evoked grateful thanks for the time they’d had.

  Hearing Jack’s voice again, she closed her eyes, pressed her open hands to her lips and breathed in and out twice. Channelling her inner strength, she walked in.

  Jack’s expression was inscrutable though his lips curled a little as their eyes met. He’d taken the huge armchair in the corner, body at ease, legs stretched out. She’d tried it when they’d had morning tea, felt lost in its size and preferred a corner of the family-sized sofa. Sam, Mel’s medium-size, scruffy mixed breed dog, was curled up on the rug in front of him.

  ‘Jack’s been enjoying the Queensland sunshine,’ Mel explained as she poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Cassie. ‘He makes it sound very tempting.’

  His velvet tongue would tempt the devil into a trip to the Arctic. Cassie bent to select a chocolate biscuit from the long, low table then sat, arching against the big comfortable cushion. Who needed pricy gyms when they bent, stretched and lifted all day? She worked hard and slept soundly.

  ‘He’s a little testy because I hired you without consulting the family first, Cassie. As if I can’t decide for myself.’

  ‘Not what I said, Aunt Mel,’ he interrupted, eyebrow quirking. ‘I asked why you’ve hired someone when you’d get all the help you need from us.’

  Being fit and healthy, he wouldn’t understand his aunt’s wish to regain independence after relying on her extended family’s care and attention for so long. This was a major step in her rehabilitation.

  ‘And I appreciate it, dear.’ Her employer grinned at Cassie. ‘I can also detect censure. It’s the Aunt Mel. If he’s really cross I become Great-Aunt Melanie.’

  Her affection was so clear Cassi
e smiled then swung in Jack’s direction as he burst out laughing. It was a rich crackly sound, generating an image of a campfire in the Outback. Bizarre, as she’d never had the experience.

  ‘Guess who I learnt that from. I knew I was in big trouble whenever you called me Jackson Randell in that quiet, resolute tone guaranteed to have any of us kids confessing every misdemeanour.’

  ‘Jackson?’ Never ever would Cassie have visualised him with such a distinctive name. All she’d heard and seen—apart from his movie star looks—said regular working guy who’d had normal teenage disputes with his parents. Yet now, as she studied him, she became aware of an innate assurance that tested her ever-present caution. Evidence of well-to-do family and a private education.

  ‘Only ever used on official documents or by aggrieved mother and aunts.’ His eyes sobered, locked with hers. Straightening up, he put his coffee mug down and leant his elbows on the chair arms. Sam crept forward, laying his head on Jack’s boot.

  ‘Mel insisted you be present when she explained what’s going on, Cassie.’

  Although he pronounced it like everyone else, his timbre as he said her name triggered tingles across her skin. She detected a slight undertone, a hint of warning and was glad Mel spoke first, causing him to turn her way.

  ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think lately about life, and being dependent on people, Jack. It’s made me realise I’m not as resilient as I’ve always believed. I need to get my home and affairs in order before I become doddery and senile.’

  Jack shook his head and chuckled, and the image of a wide plain and starlit sky flared again.

  ‘Mel Frampton, you’re one of the brightest, sanest people I know, and I’m grateful to be part of the same gene pool. I also have every intention of leading you onto the dance floor at your centenary celebration.’

  ‘It’s a date. Right now, not being game to access the top floor without help is frustrating. I decided to begin with a cull of my clothes and shoes. Apart from my bedroom walk-in, I have two wardrobes full of garments, most of which no longer fit.’

  ‘You were never overweight.’ Jack’s forceful exclamation surprised both women.

  ‘No, but it’s crept on over the years. Not good for an inactive middle-aged woman. Eating more salads and limited baking means I’ve lost some. Now it’s time to get rid of anything that doesn’t suit me or fit comfortably. My accident was a reality check.’

  ‘Okay, it doesn’t...’

  ‘Cassie, you explain how it works.’

  Gee, thanks, Mel. Now I have to confront him and pretend I’m not affected by his piercing green eyes.

  The owner of those disturbing eyes shifted in his chair, aligning his body to hers, his posture challenging. He flexed the fingers of his left hand on his thigh. Convincing his sceptical mind that her employment was the better option required tactful honesty.

  It wasn’t unusual to have relatives question her motives or trustworthiness. There were so many dodgy crooks trying to take advantage of older people, especially women living alone.

  Jack Randell in protective mode was going to be tougher than most to placate. He wasn’t budging until he’d been fully informed of her role in his aunt’s objectives. Cassie’s heart warmed at the unmistakable love and concern driving his determination.

  ‘Every situation is different, depending on the needs of my clients. I never try to influence their choices. Satisfied referrals are my main source of employment.’

  His body eased and his furrowed brow cleared.

  She continued. ‘All items are listed on a tablet which stays at the client’s home. On completion, they receive a printout and backup on USB then my files are cleared.’

  ‘Completely?’ His shirt tightened across his chest as he breathed in and squared his shoulders. It was a very I’m-the-male-here action that ought to rankle yet didn’t.

  She steeled her resolve. Macho didn’t impress her but...her practical mind appreciated a man this fit would be handy on many of the assignments she accepted. At least his muscles would; the effect his proximity seemed to have on her might not be so welcome.

  ‘Jackson.’ Mel’s tone was sharp and every sign of intimidation evaporated.

  Copyright © 2017 by Harriet Nichola Jarvis

  ISBN-13: 9781488015038

  The Millionaire’s Redemption

  Copyright © 2017 by Therese Beharrie

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com