One Summer At The Lake: Maid for Montero / Still the One / Hot-Shot Doc Comes to Town
MAID FOR MONTEROIsandro Montero cannot believe that his new housekeeper is so inept! But firing beautiful Zoe Grace would ruin his reputation, as she has two young charges to care for. So Isandro will put Zoe where he can keep his eye – and maybe his hands – on her… In his bed!STILL THE ONETen years ago, globe-trotting photojournalist Lainey ran from her home town, leaving the man she adored at the altar. Now she’s back and it isn’t long before they’re driving each other crazy all over again. This could be their second chance at forever – if Ethan can forgive her…HOT-SHOT DOC COMES TO TOWNWhen city doc Taylor Stiles swaps speeding tickets for community medicine it brings back bad memories. The only silver lining? Delectable doctor Shelby Wayne! But Shelby deserves a home and family – something Taylor has always sworn he’ll never have… "
Читать One Summer At The Lake: Maid for Montero / Still the One / Hot-Shot Doc Comes to Town онлайн беплатно
One Summer at the Lake
Maid for Montero
Kim Lawrence
Still the One
Michelle Major
Hot-Shot Doc Comes to Town
Susan Carlisle
Contents
Isandro’s gaze lifted from the logo plastered across the tee shirt she was wearing. Not that he had read a word of the inscription—the words had mingled with the mental image of him peeling the shirt over her head.
Surely not…She couldn’t be…could she?
No, she couldn’t, he decided, clinging to his mental image of the perfect housekeeper—a woman of a certain age with an immovable irongrey helmet of hair and a brisk manner. He didn’t expect the new housekeeper to possess all the attributes of her predecessor, but this woman… girl…couldn’t be…
‘This part of the house isn’t open to the public, actually,’ Zoe admitted, softening the gentle remonstration with a smile.
Madre di Dios, she was!
‘None of it is, but people keep wandering…’ She heard the sharp note of anxiety that had crept into her own voice and closed her mouth, shaking her head as she smiled brightly and concluded, in her best fasten-your-seat-belt tone, ‘So if you’d like to follow me…?’
Would he like to follow her…? Yes—up the sweeping staircase and into his bedroom…
KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons, and the various stray animals which have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!
SOME MEN IN Isandro’s position would have whined about press intrusion. He didn’t. He considered he had little to complain about in life, and he knew it was perfectly possible, even for someone whose financial empire drew the sort of global media attention that his did, to have a private life.
Of course, if his taste had run to falling out of nightclubs in the small hours or the routine attendance of film premieres with scantily clad models, it might have been more difficult, but neither pastime held any appeal for him.
He viewed security as a necessary evil, a side effect of success—like midges in the Highlands—but he was hardly a recluse who lived his life behind ten-feet-high walls.
If he had had a family to consider, possibly he might have seen potential danger lurking around every corner, but he didn’t. He only had an ex-wife, with whom he exchanged Christmas cards these days rather than insults, and a father he had very little contact with. Given that he was confident in his ability to look after himself, Isandro was not alarmed when the electronic gates that guarded the entrance to his English estate—which did actually have ten-feet-high walls—did not swing open as he approached, for they were already open.
Slowing his car, he swept the area with narrow-eyed, irritated speculation. While he didn’t automatically assume this suggested anything dark and sinister, it did suggest a carelessness that he did not expect from those who worked for him.
The groove between his dark, strongly defined brows and his level of irritation deepened as his glance lighted on a brightly coloured bunch of balloons attached to an overhanging branch that looked incongruous beside the discreetly tasteful sign that simply read ‘Ravenwood House: Private’.
He had owned Ravenwood for three years, and in that time on the admittedly rare occasions he had visited he had never found cause for complaint, which was nothing less than expected. He employed the best, be they corporate executives or gardening staff, paid them extremely well and expected them to earn their salary.
It was not a complicated formula but one that he found worked, and if it didn’t…He was not a man renowned for patience or sentimentality in his professional or personal life. If those in his employ didn’t perform to the high standards he expected and deliver the goods they did not remain in his employ.
He opened the window, reached out and caught hold of the string dangling from the balloons. As he tugged two popped on the branches and the rest rose into the air, embracing their freedom. Following their merry progress with his eyes, he frowned before he pulled his head back in. He was not ready to read anything significant into the open gates or the balloons, but there had been a recent staff change, and the housekeeper did play a pivotal role at Ravenwood.
