Magnate's Make-Believe Mistress by Bronwyn Jameson Read Free Book Online Page A

couldn’t imagine he heard no too often. But he did put down the wine, and in his eyes she read a measure of respect. “You do take your job seriously, don’t you?”
    â€œOf course,” she replied briskly, sitting up straighter and folding her hands neatly in her lap as some sort of counterfoil to the pleasure his approval generated. “At Your Service would not employ me if I didn’t.”
    â€œDo you like the job?”
    â€œIt’s a good job.”
    â€œBut do you like it?” he countered, his subtle emphasis demonstrating the distinction between the question he asked and the one she had answered.
    â€œThere are aspects I like very much and some I don’t,” she said carefully. “As with any job, I imagine.”
    Their starters arrived, and Isabelle was distracted by the plump prawns dressed in lime and hazelnut. She leaned closer to inhale the flavours and struggled not to drool.
    â€œThe cooking, I gather, is the part you like.”
    His insight brought her gaze up from her plate, and she didn’t bother hiding her smile or the pleasure in her eyes. “You noticed.”
    â€œImpossible not to,” he said, his mouth slanting into a responsive smile. “If food is your passion, then why do you not cook as a career?”
    â€œPerhaps I would if I could work somewhere like this.”
    â€œAnd you can’t…why?”
    â€œBecause they’re rather selective,” she said dryly, “and I don’t have the training or qualifications.”
    â€œYou could put together excellent references from your boss and clients, I imagine. If that is the direction you wished to take.”
    Isabelle’s brow creased into a frown as she played her fork through her dish. How had he managed to home in on the exact question Chessie had been nagging her about for the past year? A question she’d been considering herself until her options had taken on new restrictions. “There is nothingwrong with being a housekeeper, and what I’m doing for At Your Service includes a lot of cooking in brilliantly equipped kitchens.” Then, because her chest was tightening with the anxiety that came from thinking of the future and how she would cope, she had to lighten the mood. “Plus the pay and tips can be brilliant, as well.”
    â€œAnd money is important.”
    â€œOf course it is.” She responded automatically, but then felt the weight of his gaze on her face. Was he judging her for placing too much importance on her pay packet? How easy for him, in his position. “That is how I pay the bills,” she said with more than a touch of irritation. “And keep a roof over my head.”
    â€œOnly your head, Isabelle?”
    He asked easily enough, but there was something in his stillness and quiet attention that set her suspicions alight. Driving to the restaurant he’d said he was starving, yet he’d barely looked at his plate. Something was on his mind. This was more than small talk.
    Frown deepening, Isabelle put down her fork and met his gaze. “What are you asking, exactly?”
    â€œOnly if you live alone,” he replied smoothly. “Yesterday you mentioned a grandmother.”
    â€œGran’s been gone for six years.”
    Even after all those years, memories of Gran caused a thickening of emotion in Isabelle’s chest and throat. Perhaps that showed in her voice or her eyes, because Cristo dipped his head slightly, in acknowledgement and perhaps respect for her loss, before asking, “Do you have other family?”
    â€œA sister. We do share a roof,” she added. “Just the two of us, at the moment.”
    The last phrase slipped out before she could stop herself. If she’d not been fixed on his face, drinking from the steadystrength of his coal-dark gaze, she might have missed his response.
    But she was fixed and she did notice the darkening of his eyes, the tightening