Father Most Blessed - Marta Perry

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there, beyond him, was the window seat where she’d curled up as a child. There, on the lowest shelf, were the storybooks she’d read. She had a place here, too.

      He looked at her, a frown sending three vertical lines between his dark brows. “Are you sure this is something you want to do?”

      She took a breath. At least he hadn’t started with “no.” Maybe he was willing to consider it. “Jason knows me, and Aunt Maida would feel better. I’m sure she’d call me five times a day from the hospital if the doctor would let her, just to be sure everything is all right.”

      “That’s not what I asked.” His gaze probed beneath the surface. “How do you feel about it, Paula?”

      How did she feel about it? Mixed emotions—that was probably the best way to describe it. But Alex didn’t need to know that. “I want the job. I think I can do it, although I don’t have much experience.” She remembered Aunt Maida’s concerns, and plunged on. “I know you have some important entertaining coming up in the next month. If you’re worried about that…”

      What could she say? She couldn’t claim expertise she didn’t have. She’d never put on a fancy party in her life, and she didn’t think her usual brand of entertaining was what Alex was used to. He’d probably never ordered in pizza for guests.

      “I’m not.” He glanced toward the portrait above the mantel, then away. “It’s important, of course, but I’ll hire a caterer for that, in any event. Maida’s job would be to oversee the staff.”

      It sounded like a breeze compared to the elaborate cooking she’d been imagining. If someone else was doing the work, she ought to be able to manage a simple dinner party. “I think I could do that.”

      His gaze assessed her, and she stiffened. Maybe she hadn’t lived all her life in a mansion, but she was smart enough to work her way through college. How hard could this be in comparison?

      “Actually, that’s not my concern at the moment.” He looked impossibly remote, as if he viewed her through the wrong end of a telescope. “I want to know how you feel about working for me again, after what happened the last time you were here.”

      It was like a blow to the stomach, rocking her back on her heels. She hadn’t dreamed he’d refer to it, had assumed he’d ignore what he probably saw as an unpleasant episode. Or that he’d forgotten it.

      “That’s all in the past,” she said with as much firmness as she could manage. “You apologized. You said we’d pretend it never happened.” He’d done a very good job of that, as she knew only too well. The humiliation she’d felt when he’d said those words brought a stinging wave of color to her cheeks. “Why are you bringing it up now?”

      “Because I don’t want it hanging between us,” he said. “I don’t want you to spend your time here worrying that I’ll make the same mistake again.”

      A mistake, that’s what it was to him. A moment of weakness when the moonlight had tricked him into a brief, romantic gesture he later regretted. Well, he was never going to know it meant any more than that to her.

      “Please, forget about it.” She forced herself to keep her voice steady and unconcerned. “I already have.”

      She had, of course. For nearly two years she’d forgotten it entirely. Maybe she’d have been better off if she’d never remembered. But just a week ago, the memory had popped out from behind the locked door in her mind. The doctors couldn’t explain why. They’d said she could remember any time, or never.

      She swallowed hard. What else might be hiding there? She still didn’t remember anything about those moments when the plane went down. Would she suddenly find herself reliving every painful second of the crash?

      “Good.” He was briskly businesslike. “In that case, we can start with a clean slate between us. If you’re really willing to take on this position, it seems to be the best solution for everyone.”

      She tried to smile. Position was a fancy word for it. She was about to become an employee in his house. And she’d have to do it without ever letting him know how she felt about him.

      “The best solution for everyone,” she echoed. “We couldn’t ask for better than that.”

      She had to find a way to keep her relationship with Alex businesslike—pleasant, but businesslike. She was just another employee to him, and as far as she was concerned, this was just another job. It was no different than if she’d been filing paperwork in someone’s office.

      Well, maybe a little different. If she were filing papers, she wouldn’t be working for someone who tied her heart in knots.

       Chapter Four

       P aula put the carafe of coffee on a tray and glanced at the schedule Maida had taped to the kitchen cabinet, tension dancing along her nerves. Okay, so far she was on target, although it had probably taken her twice as long as it would have taken Maida. It was a good thing she’d decided to get up early this morning, Paula thought as she headed through the swinging door to the front of the house and up the stairs. Next on the agenda was to take the coffee to Alex’s room.

      The second-floor hallway was as big as the entire living room in the apartment she shared with another teacher back home. She pushed the thought away. If she let herself make comparisons like that, she’d be too intimidated to do her job.

      She tapped first, then opened the heavy door—more English oak. She remembered Maida showing her around the mansion on an earlier visit, explaining how one of Alex’s ancestors had imported the paneling and brought artisans over from Germany to create the stained glass. Maida had been as proud as if it belonged to her.

      “Paula, good.” Alex strode into the bedroom from the bath, still buttoning his shirt. He stopped, looking at her. “Is something wrong?”

      “No. Nothing.” Nothing except that I didn’t anticipate how this much intimacy would affect me. She forced down the flutter in her stomach and lifted the tray slightly. “Where would you like this?”

      Instead of telling her, he took the tray, his hands brushing hers briefly. Her skin seemed sensitized to his touch, reacting with awareness in every cell. For an instant his gaze held hers. Was there more than business-as-usual in his eyes? Before she could be sure, he turned away and set the tray on the mahogany bureau. He busied himself pouring out a cup of coffee, his back to her.

      She’d like to beat a retreat back to the kitchen, but Maida had said Alex would give his daily orders now. Orders. Paula swallowed a lump of resentment. She didn’t take orders well; she never had. But she couldn’t argue with Alex the way she would have with her father or brothers. In this situation, he was the boss, just as he had been when she was Jason’s nanny. Their kiss hadn’t changed that.

      She pulled a pad and pencil from her jeans pocket. She’d taken the precaution of coming prepared, and the sooner this was done, the sooner she could escape. But Alex didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

      “Do you have some instructions for the day?” she prompted. Somehow “instructions” sounded fractionally better than “orders.”

      He glanced toward her, the lines around his dark eyes crinkling a little as he gestured with his coffee cup. “Let me get some of this down first. Then I’ll be able to think.”

      She nodded, glad he couldn’t know how dry her mouth felt at the moment. This was just too awkward—standing in Alex’s private sanctum, watching him drink his morning coffee, noticing the way his dark hair tumbled over his forehead before he’d smoothed it back for the day. But she didn’t have a choice.

      She forced herself to stand still, glancing around the room to keep from staring at him. The heavy forest-green drapes and equally heavy mahogany furniture darkened the room, and the deep burgundy tones of the oriental carpet didn’t help to brighten it. The room looked like a period set, in a museum. In fact, it probably was a period piece, but in a private home. She doubted that the furniture had been

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