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hoped Antonio King would still have his head in clouds of tea business, at least until she could get a handle on him.

      CHAPTER TWO

      HANNAH’S heart did a hop, step, and jump as one of the great entrance doors to the castle swung open and the man came striding out towards the table by the fountain. Her wits went flying off to limbo in scattered little fragments. Her stomach contracted as though all her female muscles were twanging red alert. It was lucky she was still sitting down or her knees might have melted.

      If this was Antonio King he was a king-size ten on the male Richter scale! Tall, dark and handsome did not sum it up. Dynamic energy came from him in waves. It had a magnetic effect that glued Hannah’s gaze to him. She did manage to keep her mouth closed which stopped any danger of drooling.

      He was dressed in light grey tailored shorts and a grey and white striped business shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled up. Both arms and legs seemed to bristle with athletic muscle power. He wasn’t Mr Universe, but he was very, very masculine, the kind of masculine that made any woman want a bite of him. As many bites as he’d allow. Major sex appeal here! Major!!

      “Nonna…” Arms out ready to embrace his grandmother, a smile full of straight white teeth, a squarish jawline, strong nose. “Thank you so much for filling in for me.”

      “My pleasure, Antonio,” she said, rising from her chair to receive him with affection that was amply returned.

      He enveloped her in a hug and planted a kiss on her forehead while Hannah was occupied admiring the taut cheekiness of his very cute backside, as well as the glossy thickness of his black hair and the neatness of his ears. Flynn’s ears, she remembered, had stuck out, and she’d actually planned on giving her children plastic surgery to pin theirs back if they inherited Flynn’s ears. Not that she had to worry about that anymore, but she couldn’t help thinking Antonio’s ears were quite perfect.

      He swung aside from his grandmother, gesturing towards Hannah, a dazzling smile accompanying the question, “And this is…?”

      “Miss Hannah O’Neill,” his grandmother supplied. “Your third applicant for the job of chef onboard Duchess.”

      “Hannah…” He stepped forward, offering his hand, grey eyes with intriguing bits of hazel in them meeting hers with the impact of an atom bomb, blowing apart the long-held shield around Hannah’s heart. “…I’m Tony King.”

      Tony, Tony, Tony…, some wild voice in her head sang as she stood up to greet him properly.

      Hannah O’Neill sure had a body, Tony thought, noting her eye-catching curves as she rose from her chair. Didn’t mind showing it off, either, the clingy midriff top outlining breasts that would very sweetly cushion a man’s head, hipster slacks laying bare a highly feminine waist and a peek-a-boo navel with…was that a butterfly tattoo around it?

      No time for a closer examination, though Tony found himself fancying precisely that. Satin-smooth skin, honey-tan, a nice soft roundness to her flesh, no bones sticking out, definitely the kind of feminine physique that appealed to him.

      Her choice of clothes had probably turned his grandmother off, but they were a turn-on for guys. No question. A clever piece of calculation for this interview? Misfiring in these circumstances. A black mark against her would have been instantly notched in his grandmother’s mind.

      She lifted her hand to meet his and he automatically grasped it, actually feeling a little jolt of pleasure at the touch of her—a slender hand, long fingers, warm and soft. She smiled and he was momentarily fascinated by the dimples that appeared in her cheeks. Very cute effect.

      Her eyes were green, like the green of forest pools. Thick fair hair waved from a centre parting and was pulled back in a plait, although she hadn’t been able to trap it all. Fuzzy little tendrils gave her face a rather endearing frame that went with the little girl dimples.

      “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr King.”

      Nice voice, sort of musical.

      “Tony,” he corrected, without pausing to think if giving her his first name was appropriate.

      “Tony,” she repeated in a soft sensual lilt that put a tingle in his groin.

      And those green eyes were dynamite, projecting a pleasure in him that could scramble his brains if he wasn’t careful. Already he was thinking he’d like to taste the mouth that had spoken his name like that. He was still holding her hand. He clamped down on the urge to hold more of her—not the right time or place—though he had a strong desire to pursue this woman once the job issue was out of the way.

      Good thing he could blame his grandmother for selecting someone else for the position of chef. Which he had no doubt she would do. It neatly separated business from pleasure. And he could probably wangle some other job in town for Hannah O’Neill if she wanted to stick around.

      “Miss O’Neill is your new chef for Duchess.”

      “What?” The word spilled out before Tony could catch it back. He instantly released Hannah’s hand and spun around to face his grandmother, frowning over her shock announcement. “You’ve chosen already?”

      She smiled serenely at him. “You did leave the decision in my hands, Antonio. Miss O’Neill and I had been chatting for some time before your arrival. There is no question in my mind she will suit you very well.”

      “Oh, thank you, Mrs King!” Hannah flew past him and grabbed his grandmother’s hands, pressing them effusively. “I promise I won’t let you down. And any time you’d like me to cook a barramundi for you, just say the word and…”

      Cook? Tony stared at the thick plait falling down to the delectable curve of her spine, which led to her even more delectable bottom, and couldn’t see Hannah O’Neill in a galley at all. He could only see her in a bed…with him!

      Yet, here she was, dressed in positively provocative clothes, somehow getting on like a house on fire with his grandmother who was smiling at her as though she was the apple of her eye, not minding at all being pounced upon and gabbled at by a woman showing her naked navel with a butterfly tattooed around it!

      Tony was still trying to get his scrambled mind around this incredible state of affairs when Hannah turned back to him and grabbed his hand again, squeezing it in both of hers.

      “I’ll be the best chef you’ve ever had on Duchess,” she gushed, her eyes lit up like Christmas trees, lots of electricity sparking at him and pumping up his heartbeat. “I’ll learn everything that needs to be done double-quick. I promise you won’t be disappointed in me, Tony.”

      Tony… She was doing it again, making his name sound like something she savoured on her tongue. It was almost a French kiss. And he sure as hell was going to be disappointed if she was working for him. Mixing it with an employee would only lead to trouble. Right now, with her hands clasping his, he had a mental image of her body clasping another part of his anatomy which was already giving him trouble.

      “I think we should sit down and talk about this,” he said quickly, deciding that putting a table between them was fast becoming mandatory. Not only would it hide his physical discomfort but it would give him enough distance to view Hannah O’Neill in a business-like light. If that was possible.

      “Oh, yes!” She released his hand to clap her own. “I need to know when you want me to start and…”

      “All in good time,” he instructed, waving her to the other side of the table.

      She virtually skipped around to the chair he’d indicated, her exuberant spirits totally irrepressible and almost mesmerising. Tony had to wrench his gaze away from her to get himself settled on a chair and his mind properly organised to deal with this problem.

      He shot a glance at his grandmother who had resumed her seat. Her complacent air niggled him. She should have taken more time over this, should have consulted with him first before handing the job to Hannah. That bemused little smile on

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