The Maid, the Millionaire and the Baby Read online

  A baby—in his home

  ...with no instruction manual!

  Called on to look after his baby nephew, Jasper Coleman’s flummoxed. He runs a global business but he has no idea about babies! In desperation, he calls on his temporary housemaid, Imogen Hartley, to help. Effervescent, warmhearted, her joie de vivre has irritatingly tempted him ever since she arrived. He even caught her dancing while vacuuming! Turns out Imogen is just what baby George needs. Perhaps she’s what Jasper needs, too...

  Jasper swallowed down his panic and channeled the coldness he’d spent the last two years perfecting. He would find a way to deal with this and—

  Imogen pushed past him to sweep the crying baby up into her arms and cuddle him. “Hey there, little dude. What’s all this fuss about? You feeling a bit discombobulated? I don’t blame you.”

  The baby batted his face into her shoulder a couple of times, rubbed a fist across his eyes while Imogen cooed nonsense and then he finally looked up at her. She sent him a big smile before blowing a raspberry into his hand. To Jasper’s utter astonishment, the baby not only stopped crying but smiled back, as if Imogen was the best thing he’d seen all day.

  And Imogen Hartley visibly melted.

  Right, she’d said she’d wanted a promotion. He wondered how she’d feel about the position of nanny.

  Dear Reader,

  If I ever held a baby and it started to cry, I always thought it was my fault—obviously I must’ve done something wrong. My worry always overshadowed my delight. Until recently. My nephew and his partner have ushered in the next generation, and I took one look at baby Millie and fell in love. I couldn’t wait to have a hold! :)

  Which started me thinking... Wouldn’t it be fun to write a hero who was unexpectedly landed with a baby—a hero who was clueless and had no idea how to look after a baby, and who then fell in love with it? And that’s how this story was born.

  I gave Jasper and baby George my favorite kind of heroine—sunny, irrepressible and oodles of fun. Baby George falls for Imogen immediately. Jasper does his best to resist her charms, but frankly, Dear Reader, I never did like his chances. Especially when you throw in a gorgeous tropical island that simply oozes romance.

  I hope you enjoy Jasper and Imogen’s journey to their happy-ever-after and fall as head over heels in love with baby George as I did.

  Hugs and happy reading!

  Michelle

  The Maid, the Millionaire and the Baby

  Michelle Douglas

  Michelle Douglas has been writing for Harlequin since 2007 and believes she has the best job in the world. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero, a house full of dust and books, and an eclectic collection of ’60s and ’70s vinyl. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website, michelle-douglas.com.

  Books by Michelle Douglas

  Harlequin Romance

  The Vineyards of Calanetti

  Reunited by a Baby Secret

  The Wild Ones

  Her Irresistible Protector

  The Rebel and the Heiress

  The Redemption of Rico D’Angelo

  Road Trip with the Eligible Bachelor

  Snowbound Surprise for the Billionaire

  The Millionaire and the Maid

  A Deal to Mend Their Marriage

  An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire

  The Spanish Tycoon’s Takeover

  Sarah and the Secret Sheikh

  A Baby in His In-Tray

  The Million Pound Marriage Deal

  Miss Prim’s Greek Island Fling

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  For Millie, who is ever generous with her smiles. We’re so happy to welcome you to the family.

  Praise for

  Michelle Douglas

  “Captivatingly sweet!... Great characters, a heartwarming story line and just a whole lot of feel good reading!”

  —Goodreads on The Spanish Tycoon’s Takeover

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM CRAZY ABOUT HER IMPOSSIBLE BOSS BY ALLY BLAKE

  CHAPTER ONE

  IMOGEN ADJUSTED HER earbuds, did a quick little shimmy to make sure they weren’t going to fall out and then hit ‘play’ on the playlist her father had sent her. She stilled, waiting for the first song, and then grinned at the sixties Southern Californian surf music that filled her ears.

  Perfect! Threading-cotton-through-the-eye-of-a-needle-first-time perfect. Here she was on an island, a slow thirty-minute boat ride off the coast of Brazil, listening to surf music. She pinched herself. Twice. And then eyed the vacuum cleaner at her feet, reminding herself that she was here for more than just tropical holiday fun. A detail that was ridiculously difficult to bear in mind when everywhere she looked she was greeted with golden sand, languid palm trees, serene lagoons and gloriously blue stretches of perfect rolling surf.

  Still, in a few hours she could hit the beach, or go exploring through the rainforest, or...

  Or maybe find out what was wrong with her aunt.

  Her smile slipped, but she resolutely pushed her shoulders back. She’d only been here for three days. There was time to get to the bottom of whatever was troubling Aunt Katherine.

  Switching on the vacuum cleaner, she channelled her inner domestic goddess—singing and dancing as she pushed the machine around the room. This was the only way to clean. Housework was inevitable so you might as well make it as fun as you could.

  She’d been so quiet for the last three days, but the lord of the manor, Jasper Coleman, didn’t like noise, apparently.

  Each to his own.

  She shrugged, but the corners of her mouth lifted. At eleven o’clock every day, however, he went for an hour-long run. A glance at her watch told her she had another fifty minutes in which to live it up before she’d have to zip her mouth shut again and return to an unnatural state of silence—and in which to dust, vacuum and tidy his living and dining rooms, his office and the front entrance hall. She meant to make the most of them.

  She glanced around at the amazing beach-house mansion. While she might refer to Jasper Coleman as lord of the manor, his house didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to an English manor house. The wooden beams that stretched across the vaulted ceilings gave the rooms a sense of vastness—making her feel as if she were cast adrift at sea in one of those old-fashioned wooden clippers from the B-grade pirate movies starring Errol Flynn and Burt Lancaster that she used to love so much when she was a kid. A feeling that was solidly countered by the honey-coloured Mexican tiles that graced the floors, and the enormous picture windows that looked out on those extraordinary views.

  She angled the vacuum cleaner beneath the coffee table. She should love this house. But the artfully arranged furniture and designer rugs looked like something out of a lifestyle magazine for the rich and famous. Everything matched. She repressed a shudder. Not a single thing was out of place.

  Now if she owned the house... Ha! As if. But if she did, it’d look vastly different. Messier for a start. Her smile faded. There were shadows in this house, and not
the kind she could scrub off the walls or sweep out of the door. No wonder Aunt Katherine had become so gloomy.

  And those two things—Aunt Katherine and gloomy—just didn’t go together. The weight she’d been trying to ignore settled on her shoulders. She had to get to the bottom of that mystery, and not just because she’d promised her mother. Aunt Katherine was one of her favourite people and it hurt to see her so unhappy.

  Another surfing song started and she kicked herself back into action. She had a house to clean, and she’d achieve nothing by becoming gloomy herself. She turned the music up and sang along as if her life depended on it, wiggling her backside in time with the music and twirling the vacuum cleaner around like an imaginary dance partner. While the rooms might be tidy, they were huge, and she had to get them done before Mr Coleman returned and locked himself away again in his office to do whatever computer wizardry he spent his days doing. In a suit jacket! Could you believe that? He wore a suit jacket to work here on an island that housed precisely four people. Just...wow.

  The second song ended and her father’s voice came onto the recording. This was one of the joys of her father’s playlists—the personal messages he tucked away in among the songs. ‘We miss you, Immy.’

  She rolled her eyes, but she knew she was grinning like crazy. ‘I’ve only been gone three days.’ She switched off the vacuum cleaner, chuckling at one of his silly stories involving the tennis club. He recommended a movie he and her mother had seen, before finishing with, ‘Love you, honey.’

  ‘Love you too, Dad,’ she whispered back, a trickle of homesickness weaving through her, before a movement from the corner of her eye had her crashing back to the present. She froze, and then slowly turned with a chilling premonition that she knew who’d be standing there. And she was right. There loomed Jasper Coleman, larger than life, disapproval radiating from him in thick waves, and her mouth went dry as she pulled the earbuds from her ears.

  Her employer was a huge bear of a man with an air of self-contained insularity that had the word danger pounding through her. A split second after the thought hit her, though, she shook herself. He wasn’t that huge. Just...moderately huge. It was just... He was one of those men whose presence filled a room. And he filled this room right up to its vaulted ceiling.

  A quick sweep of her trained dressmaker’s eyes put him at six feet one inch. And while his shoulders were enticingly broad, he wasn’t some barrel-chested, iron-pumping brawn-monger. Mind you, he didn’t have a spare ounce of flesh on that lean frame of his, and all of the muscles she could see—and she could see quite a lot of them as he’d traded in his suit jacket for running shorts and a T-shirt—were neatly delineated. Very neatly delineated. That was what gave him an air of barely checked power.

  That and his buzz cut.

  So...not exactly a bear. And probably not dangerous. At least not in a ‘tear one from limb to limb’ kind of way. None of that helped slow the pounding of her pulse.

  ‘Ms Hartley, am I right in thinking you’re taking personal calls during work time?’

  He had to be joking, right? She could barely get a signal on her mobile phone. She started to snort but snapped it short at his raised eyebrow. It might not be politic to point that out at this precise moment. ‘No. Sir,’ she added belatedly. But she said it with too much force and ended up sounding like a sergeant major in some farcical play.

  Oh, well done, Imogen. Why don’t you click your heels together and salute too?

  ‘Not a phone call. I was listening to a playlist my father sent me. He’s a sound engineer...and he leaves little messages between songs...and I talk back even though I know he can’t hear me. So...’ She closed her eyes.

  Too much information, Immy.

  ‘I expected your aunt to have made it clear to you that I demand peace and quiet when I’m working.’

  Her eyes flew open. ‘She did!’ She couldn’t get Aunt Katherine into trouble. ‘But, you see, I thought you’d already left for your run.’

  She glanced at his office door and had to fight the urge to slap a hand to her forehead. She was supposed to check if that door was open or closed. Open meant he was gone and she could clean this set of rooms without disturbing him. If it was closed that meant he was still working...and she had to be church-mouse quiet. Biting her lip, she met his gaze again. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot to check your office door. It won’t happen again, Mr Coleman, I promise.’

  He didn’t reply. Nothing. Not so much as a brass razoo. Which was an odd expression. She’d look it up...if she could get an Internet connection. She eyed him uncertainty. He might not be a big bear of a man, but he fitted her image of a bear with a sore head to a T. Which might not be fair as she didn’t know him, but she wasn’t predisposed to like him either, the horrid old Scrooge.

  He turned away, and she sagged with the relief of being released from those icy eyes. But then he swung back, and she went tense and rigid all over again. ‘I’m going for my run now, Ms Hartley. In case my attire had slipped your attention.’

  His sarcasm stung. Her fingers tightened about the vacuum cleaner, and suddenly it was Elliot’s voice, Elliot’s mocking sarcasm, that sounded through her head. She thrust out her chin. ‘Did you just call me stupid?’ She might only be the maid, but she didn’t have to put up with rudeness. ‘Look, I made a mistake and I apologised. It doesn’t mean I’m stupid.’

  ‘Oh, Imogen!’ She could practically hear her mother’s wail. ‘What about Aunt Katherine? You promised!’

  Jasper Coleman had been in the act of moving towards the front door, but he turned back now with intimidating slowness. Rather than back down—which, of course, would be the sensible thing to do—she glared right back at him. She knew she might be a little too sensitive on the topic of her sharpness of mind and her reason—her intelligence—but she wasn’t being paid enough to put up with derogatory comments directed at it.

  At least, that was what she told herself before she started quaking in her sensible ballet flats. Her sense of self-righteousness dissolved as Jasper drew himself up to his full height. Any idiot knew you didn’t go poking bears.

  ‘I don’t know you well enough to make a judgement call on your intelligence, Ms Hartley.’ He gestured to his office door. ‘A question mark does, however, hang over your powers of observation.’

  She bit her tongue and kept her mouth firmly shut. Thankfully it appeared that he didn’t expect an answer, as, without any further ado, he strode from the room. A moment later she heard the click of the front door closing. He didn’t do anything as uncouth as slam it.

  ‘Of course your attire hadn’t slipped my attention,’ she muttered, pushing her earbuds into the pocket of her skirt. She was a dressmaker. She noticed what everyone wore.

  Though for some reason she’d really noticed what he’d been wearing. Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense because his attire had been so very generic. Those nondescript running shorts had come to mid-thigh and were neither ridiculously tiny nor ridiculously tight. His T-shirt, though, had hugged his frame as if it’d been spray-painted on, highlighting the flex and play of firm muscle.

  Oh, Imogen, who are you trying to kid?

  It wasn’t his clothes but the body inside the clothes that had held her attention so avidly.

  Scowling, she pushed the image of her perplexing boss from her mind and completed the rest of the cleaning as quickly as possible, vacuuming and dusting immaculate surfaces. But, as her aunt said, they were immaculate because they were cleaned five days a week. Without fail. Because it was what the lord of the manor decreed, apparently.

  Jasper’s office was as immaculate as the rest of the house. And just as cold. Unlike her workspace at home, he didn’t have any photographs sitting on his desk, no sentimental knick-knacks or anything personal. His room was functional and blank. He was supposed to be some kind of computer wunderkind, though how on earth he could create in a spac
e that was so beige was beyond her.

  She gave a final flick of her duster to the enormous desk, glanced around the room with a critical eye, and was about to leave when her gaze shifted to his computer...for the third time in about as many minutes. She bit her lip. She’d bet—given all the fancy tech gadgetry he had in here—he could log onto the Internet without a single problem.

  She’d been trying to find out—for three days now—if the waters surrounding the island were safe. Aunt Katherine had no idea. She preferred the calm waters of the lagoon to the surf.

  Jasper swam in his twenty-five-metre pool twice a day—from six to seven each morning and again in the evening. The man was obviously a fitness freak—three hours of cardio a day. Imagine? ‘Kill me now,’ she muttered. Not that she disapproved of fitness. She just couldn’t do fitness for fitness’s sake. She had to do something fun or it just wouldn’t happen. Give her a Zumba or dance class, or the surf. She loved swimming in the ocean.

  If it was safe.

  Not giving herself any time to hesitate, she slid into her boss’s chair, woke his computer from sleep mode and clicked the Internet browser icon. Surely he wouldn’t mind? It’d be in his best interests to keep his staff safe, right? Occupational health and safety and all that.

  She recalled the look in his eyes less than thirty minutes ago, and her own churlish, ‘Did you just call me stupid?’ and grimaced. He might make an exception in her case and feed her to the sharks.

  ‘So just hurry up and find out what you need to find out,’ she ordered, typing in: Swimming in Brazilian waters.

  The search engine results loaded onto the screen. ‘Eureka.’

  She leaned forward, intent on clicking the link to a website that looked as if it would give her the information she needed.

  ‘Do not move a muscle, Ms Hartley,’ a deceptively soft voice said from the doorway.

  Imogen froze. She moved nothing but her eyes to meet her employer’s gaze. ‘Is there...?’ She swallowed. ‘Is there a snake or a scorpion about to pounce on me?’ Her voice came out hoarse, but she was too afraid to cough and clear her throat in case she incited some animal to attack.

 
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