Now all she had to do was believe it.

Dylan Harmon stepped from the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and reached for a razor. While shaving, he heard the bedroom door slam and assumed it was the new butler his mother had hired. Not that he’d needed one but Liz Harmon seemed hell-bent on making his life easier these days.

‘Is that you, Sam? I’ll be out in a minute.’

Splashing aftershave on his face, he wondered what sort of man his mother had deemed suitable. Sam Piper must be a jack-of-all-trades, as his mum believed he needed someone to lend him a hand in all facets of the business. If he hadn’t been so pig-headed, she’d have hired someone a long time ago. They’d argued about his workload for far too long and he’d finally given in, knowing that his mother’s interference sprang from concern rather than any great desire to rule his life.

Strolling into the bedroom, he came face to face with a woman. Not just any woman, but a delicate waif wearing a navy blue uniform with the Harmon coat of arms over her left breast. Once his gaze strayed to her chest he had a tough time wrenching it back, for the evidence of her femininity, combined with the uniform, could only mean one thing.

‘Hi. I’m Sam Piper. Pleased to meet you.’ The woman held out her hand and he continued to stare, taking in her short blonde curls, wide green eyes and heart-shaped face. He wouldn’t call her beautiful but there was something he glimpsed in those eyes, some indefinable quality he recognised as class.

He shook her hand, surprised at the firmness of her grasp. ‘You’re the new butler?’

She gave a quaint little bow. ‘At your service…sir.’

He noted the cheeky pause, the twinkle in her eye. ‘Call me Dylan. Though it won’t be for long.’

She straightened her shoulders. ‘Why is that?’

‘Because you’re fired.’ He turned away and headed for the wardrobe, wondering what had possessed his mother to pull a stunt like this.

‘If you’re looking for the charcoal suit, white silk shirt and maroon tie, they’re hanging on the back of the door.’

He stopped midstride and turned around, surprised that she seemed unperturbed by his putting an abrupt end to her employment. In fact, she hadn’t moved an inch and didn’t seem at all concerned, when most women he knew would be cowering in the face of the famous Harmon wrath. ‘How did you know?’

She shrugged and he noticed the stubborn set of her shoulders, the clasped hands in front of her body. ‘You’re a man of habit. You always wear that combination on a Wednesday.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Been studying me, have you?’

‘Call it research. All part of the job, sir.’

‘Don’t call me that!’ he snapped. He strode across the room and picked up the clothes, wondering when he’d become so predictable. ‘What are you still doing here? Didn’t you hear me before?’

‘I heard you but I’m not going anywhere.’

He stared at the waif. Rather than being intimidated, as most people were around him, she met his gaze directly, not flinching an inch when he moved towards her. ‘Care to repeat that?’

Sam squared her shoulders and silently wished for an extra few inches. It was difficult to look threatening when she had to tilt her head back to stare her new employer in the eye, though it provided her with the perfect excuse to stop ogling his near-naked body. Her gaze had been drawn to his towel too often for her liking and she needed something, anything, to distract her. ‘You can’t fire me. I’ve signed a three month contract.’

A dangerous glint shone from his eyes, the colour of molten chocolate, and she mentally chastised herself for comparing them to her favourite food.

‘Contracts can be broken.’ He took a step closer, making her all too aware of his broad, bare chest merely centimetres from her own.

Resisting the urge to run her hands over his muscular pecs and see if they felt as firm as they looked, she struggled to maintain composure. ‘I had an intensive interview. I’m sure your mother can vouch that I possess all the necessary skills for this job.’

His gaze perused her body, leaving her in little doubt as to what skills he thought she possessed. ‘So, you think you’ve got what it takes to be my butler?’ He quirked an eyebrow, as if daring her to agree.

Sam bit back a smile. Dealing with Dylan Harmon would be child’s play after facing her brothers’ inquisitions for the last umpteen years. ‘If you’re after someone with the right attitude, the right qualifications and a genuine love of the job, then yes, I’m your woman.’

Her breath hitched as he smiled at her and she wondered where the helpless, fluttery feeling deep in her gut had come from. She’d never reacted to any man like this, especially one who obviously turned on the charm when it suited him.

‘Okay, Miss Piper. Consider yourself on trial for the next three months.’ He tipped up her chin and stared directly into her eyes. ‘But if you make one wrong move, you’re out.’

Sam battled the urge to shut her eyes and block out the hypnotic intensity of his stare. Instead, she took a steadying breath, wishing her erratic pulse would calm down. As a waft of expensive after-shave hit her she clenched her teeth, wishing her traitorous senses would stop misbehaving. So the guy had a great body, soulful eyes, a killer smile and smelled good enough to eat? She’d dated better and come away unscathed.

Then why the jittery feeling that just wouldn’t quit?

‘Call me Sam.’ She turned away before she did something stupid, like manhandle her boss on the first day.

‘Samantha.’

She knew that tone, the one that most males got when they’ve been beaten and don’t want to give in too easily. So he wanted to prove a point by calling her Samantha? No big deal. At least she’d survived his attempted sacking and it had proved to be a lot easier than expected.

‘Can I get you anything?’ She fiddled with the clothes he’d laid on the bed, hoping he’d send her on an errand that involved being as far away from him and his skimpy towel as possible.

‘Actually, yes. Your first job can be to reorganise my underwear drawer. I want it colour coded, neatly arranged and segmented for every day of the week.’ His accompanying smirk, casual stance and quirk of an eyebrow left her in little doubt as to the challenge he’d just laid down. He wanted to make her squirm and, strangely enough, the idea of touching his underwear was doing exactly that.

Heat flooded her cheeks, though she bit back a host of retorts that sprang to mind about what he could do with his underwear. ‘Fine.’

‘Oh, while you’re at it, please choose me something to wear today. Under my suit, that is.’

Sam risked a glance over her shoulder. She could have sworn he was laughing at her. However, he stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped over the front of his towel, trying his best to look innocent. She almost snorted at the thought.

Sam stalked across the room, opened the top drawer of the dresser and rummaged around. To her surprise, the first undergarment she laid her hands on was a thong. Leopard print, no less!

Stifling a grin, she hooked it with her index finger and held it out to him. ‘Perhaps this would be suitable for today?’

His jaw dropped. There was no other way to describe it, for she’d never seen a guy with so much poise look so totally and utterly shocked. ‘But that’s not mine!’ he said, a look of distaste marring his handsome features.

‘Oh? It’s in your drawer.’ The corners of her mouth twitched as she struggled to maintain composure.

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ He placed his hands on his hips and glowered as the towel around his waist slipped an inch.

The action distracted her and, for one horrifying yet thrilling moment, she thought it might slide down his legs and pool on the floor, along with what was left of his dignity.

Before she could reply, he hitched the towel up, strode across the room and snatched the offending garment out of her hand. ‘Give me that! Meg’s been up to her tricks again.’