The Reluctant Billionaire by Danielle Duncan
Chapter 1
Sophia Teisburg had something in the oven. The mansion’s owner, William Blackwell, had been away since before she’d started working there two weeks before. But tonight, he’d be returning, and she wanted his first taste of her cooking to be sublime.
She loved working in her new kitchen and spent much of her time there. Built to accommodate enough cooks to handle a big party, it was easily the size of a restaurant kitchen and had all the finest accouterments. The gleaming chrome and white might seem clinical to some but to her, it spoke of cleanliness and beauty and made an excellent place for cooking.
For dinner, she’d planned a spice-rubbed game hen with rhubarb-date chutney, and for dessert, a chocolate soufflé with chocolate Grand Marnier sauce. She cut vegetables for a salad as she waited for the soufflé to bake.
She had just finished with the carrots when the back door opened. Yet another new face appeared. Every time she thought she’d met everyone in the mansion, someone new showed up. Case in point.
The man stood a good six feet tall, or maybe a little taller. At five foot herself, she had never been good at judging heights. His short dark hair looked wind-tossed and a smudge of dirt marred his otherwise perfect square jaw. More dirt covered his hands and select spots on his faded jeans and t-shirt. If anything, the dirt made him look even more masculine.
“Who are you?” With a slight grin, he gazed at her, his dark eyes scanning her from top to bottom.
She felt a fluttering in her stomach. How long had it been since a man looked at her like that? “I’m Sophie.” She wiped her hands off on a towel and extended one of them toward him. “I’m the new chef.”
He dusted off his hand on his jeans. “Rhys.” When he took her hand in his, she felt a warm tingle travel halfway up her arm. He held her hand tight and didn’t let go. “So Janet finally hired a new chef. About time.”
Sophie pulled her hand free, ignoring the tug in her belly. She was here to do a job, not have a fling with the gardener or stable hand or whatever the hell he was. No matter how cute.
Before she could say anything, he said, “What are you making?” He looked over her head at the cutting board. “Smells good.”
Sophie headed back to the vegetables, determined to put her attraction to him out of her mind. “Game hens and chutney for Mr. Blackwell, along with a salad.” She put the carrots back into the fridge so they’d stay cold until dinner. “It’s nearly prepared and just needs to cook a while.”
When she turned she bumped into Rhys who had come up behind her. He steadied her with his hands on her elbows. “Careful.” He let his hands linger a moment before removing them.
Her skin burned where he touched her. She should’ve stepped away but she couldn’t get around him. “Have you ever heard the term ‘too many cooks in the kitchen?’”
He chuckled. “I get it.” His eyes stayed on hers but he took a step back. He leaned his elbows back against the side counter and stretched his legs in front of him. “I’ll be good, if you promise me you’ll bake some cookies for me.”
She went to the center island to her cutting board and put her back to him. No matter what, she had to get control of the situation. “I’m here to cook for Mr. Blackwell,” she said. Not quite true; she cooked for the staff, too. But Mr. Blackwell was her primary concern.
“Just so. Cookies.”
Infuriating man. Infuriating sexy man. “I suppose you know what kind of cookies Mr. Blackwell would like?”
“Chocolate chip. With walnuts.”
Sophie had no doubt that chocolate chip with walnuts was Rhys’ favorite cookie. Who knew what Mr. Blackwell wanted. “I’ll take it under advisement.” She continued to cut vegetables.
A few minutes passed, and while she didn’t hear him leave, she didn’t hear him moving around either. Finally she looked behind her and found him gazing at her, a hooded look in his eyes.
All of a sudden, Sophie knew she’d been down this road before. Been down it and crashed at the end. She rounded on Rhys. “Are you waiting for something?”
“Just thinking.” But he straightened from his slump.
“Listen. I’m here to do a job, not flirt or...or whatever else it is you want. Mr. Blackwell is coming home today and I want him to like my food.”
Rhys shoved his hands in his pockets. “You don’t have to worry about Mr. Blackwell.” He gazed at her another moment while she fought to ignore the butterflies starting a riot in her stomach. Finally, he said, “He really does like chocolate chip cookies.” With that, he stalked out of the room and into the main part of the house.
It took her a few minutes before she moved. What had just happened? And how could she keep it from happening again?
Chapter 2
As he headed down the long corridor from the kitchen to the main foyer, Rhys couldn’t get the image of Sophie out of his head. Normally, he’d never mess around with the staff, but she was exactly his type–short, soft and curvy. He wanted to see what her dark brown hair looked like when she took it out of that loose bun at the top of her head. Even more than that, he wanted to see her eyes light up the way they had when she talked about cooking...when he kissed those kissable lips.
But he really should stay away from her. No good could come from it, and in the end, he’d lose another chef. Worse, he might end up in another lawsuit.
Janet stopped him as he headed up the wide stairs to the second floor. “Mr. Blackwell.”
He didn’t even bother trying to tell her to call him Rhys. Most of the staff did, but his housekeeper refused to be informal. “Yes?”
She stood at the foot of the stairs, two steps below him. Sun streamed through the two-story windows on either side of the front door, bathing the foyer in a warm glow. “I hired a new cook, as you’d asked.”
“Yes, I saw. Is it irony her name is Sophia?” He didn’t think his voice sounded sharp. But he had to admit, her name was the thing he liked least about his new chef.
Janet colored. “I almost didn’t hire her because of that, but her cooking is excellent and she had very good references. I don’t think there will be any problem.”
Not like last time. Yet another reason to stay far, far away from the new Sophia. “It’s fine. Let her know I’ll be ready to eat at six.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sir. He hated that almost more than ‘Mr. Blackwell.’ “Janet.”
“Yes, s–. Yes, I know you dislike that. I won’t say it again.”
“Thank you.” He headed up the stairs, once again wondering why he bothered living in such a big house. It had been handed down through his family for three generations and the duty fell to him as the eldest son to take care of it. But it was too much. Too large for one person, too ornate for his tastes, having too many rooms that he never entered.
The only thing that wasn’t too big for him was the garden. He loved gardening, no matter how much his mother had tried to convince him to stay out of the dirt. After he’d been away for a long trip like this last one, one of the first things he always did was to go tend his plants.
He had a gardener, of course. He didn’t have time to take care of it all himself. But he liked to dabble and he’d made sure his gardener knew that before he’d been hired.
A little dirt never hurt anyone.
Later that evening, after Rhys ate what was arguably the best dinner he’d ever eaten at the mansion, his butler Raymond brought out the dessert–a beautiful chocolate soufflé. Raymond placed it in front of him at the tail end of the empty dining table capable of seating twenty. Rhys picked up his fork. “Raymond.”
“Yes.”
“I assume Sophie is still in the kitchen?”
“She’s cleaning up.”
“Could you ask her if she has any cookies?”
Raymond smiled. “Of course.” He disappeared into the back of the house.
It wasn’t the first time Rhys had asked Raymond for coo
kies.
Rhys went ahead and ate the soufflé. He had no idea how quickly Sophie might have acted on his cookie request. She definitely hadn’t seemed to realize he was Mr. Blackwell, so it was very possible she had no plans to act on it at all. But his request this evening would at least get her to bake in the morning.
A few minutes later, Raymond returned with a small plate with two warm, nearly perfect chocolate chip cookies...with walnuts.
Then again, what did it mean that she went ahead and baked the cookies when she didn’t realize he was Mr. Blackwell? Rhys smiled. Maybe the sexual attraction wasn’t as one-sided as it had seemed.
He finished eating, enjoying every bite, then decided to go to the kitchen. Two cookies wasn’t enough. He tried to convince himself that was the only reason he was going, but he knew he was lying. He wanted more cookies, sure. But he also wanted to see Sophie again.
Stopping in the kitchen doorway, Rhys watched Sophie bustle around the room putting things away. It looked like too much work for one person, but all of his cooks along the line had insisted they didn’t need help.
He liked watching her move. She had a grace to her, a smooth sureness about where she stepped and where she put each object. He never would have thought watching someone clean a kitchen would be sexy, but she made everything sexy.
Finally, he decided he’d moved from casual voyeur to peeping tom. It was time to let her know he was there. “Do I smell chocolate chip cookies?”
Sophia jumped. “You scared me to death.”
“I’ve been here a few minutes.” More than a few. He sauntered into the room, his hands shoved into his slacks. “You were really focused on your work.”
“Well...of course.”
He stopped a couple of feet away from her. “Cookies?”
Her cheeks turned pink. As she pulled a plastic storage container off a shelf, she said, “You were right about the cookies. Thanks for the tip.” She opened the top and the scent of fresh-baked chocolate chips wafted out.
Before she could give him a measly two cookies again, he stuck his hand in the container and grabbed a handful.
“Hey!” Sophie pulled the container out of his reach. “Those are for Mr. Blackwell.”
He shoved one in his mouth. Should he tell her he wasn’t who she thought he was? It might be more fun to see how long it took her to figure it out. “Mmmm.” As he moaned in pleasure, he caught a glimpse of her face–bright pink, rapt, a little glassy-eyed, gazing at his mouth. What was his little cook thinking of?
After swallowing, he held one cookie out. “Want one?”
“I shouldn’t.”
He stepped closer. “Why not?”
“A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.”
It took him a second. “You aren’t suggesting you’re fat.”
She turned a darker red. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Rhys grabbed her arm. “You aren’t fat. You’re perfect.” His voice dropped. “Perfect and incredibly sexy.”
Her eyes grew wide.
Leaning closer, he said, “You believe me.”
“But–“
He got closer and closer. Another second and their mouths would touch. “No. You believe me.” He felt her breath against his lips. “You’re perfect.”
Rhys bridged the small gap between them and kissed her, his heart beating loudly in his ears. She kissed him back for a second, then another, then just when he was ready to pull her fully into his arms, she stepped back. He stepped forward, not wanting to let her go, and crowded her against the counter.
Sophie put her hands on his chest. “I can’t.”
He stopped millimeters from her lips. “Why not?” His voice sounded rough.
She was quiet a second, then said, “I just can’t. I have my reasons.”
If she thought he was going to let it go at that, she couldn’t be more wrong. “I like you. I think you like me, too. So what’s the problem?”
She sucked in a breath. “This would be easier if you stepped back.”
“Maybe I don’t want to make it easy.”
Her face hardened. “Fine. Look, in my last job I...I fell in love with someone. And it didn’t go well and I had to leave. I like it here. I don’t want to leave.” She pushed him back. “So I can’t do this.”
Rhys took a half-step backwards and gave her a little space. The thought of her falling in love with someone else didn’t set well with him, although he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he had any hold on her. He barely knew her. Still, he didn’t like it. “Who was he?”
“That doesn’t matter.” She pushed on his chest again, but couldn’t budge him.
“It matters to me. You’re putting the brakes on something that could be really good, and I want to know who the jackass is who caused this.” He couldn’t explain why he felt so angry.
She rubbed the back of her neck. “He was the owner of the house, okay? Can we drop it?”
The owner of the house. Just like Rhys. If she had any idea who he was, she’d stop this twice as hard and twice as fast as she already was. Which meant he needed to tell her.
And now he really didn’t want to. Before it had been a game to see how long it took her to discover his identity. Now it was more. As soon as she knew who he was, she’d clam up, treat him as formally as Janet did. He couldn’t stand it. He didn’t want her to know.
But he still had to stop.
It took a big effort to move away from her. Her lips begged to be kissed. Her soft skin screamed for his touch. But he did it anyway.
He still had a fistful of cookies. He shoved one in his mouth as he headed for the door. “Good cookies. Thanks.” He didn’t look back. If he did, he might not leave.
Chapter 3
The next afternoon, Sophie sat on a stool at the island in the kitchen poring over cookbooks. Raymond had told her Mr. Blackwell enjoyed her dinner the evening before. She already knew what she wanted to fix for the next few days but wanted to plan out farther than that.
Her mind kept straying to the night before. How could Rhys have just left like that? And what did it mean? Was he being polite and giving her what she’d asked for–or did he lose interest as soon as he found out she wasn’t going to be an easy conquest? Why was it she always felt like she had whiplash when he walked away?
Worse, part of her wished she hadn’t sent him away. She’d done the right thing. But that kiss.... She’d questioned all her hard-won decisions when he’d kissed her like that.
Sophie flipped the page in the cookbook. She needed to focus. Forget about Rhys. The cooking was the thing.
A figure walked through the door at the far end of the kitchen. She had the lights off, enjoying the sunlight pouring through the windows. That made it a little harder to see who had come in.
Just as she was about to call out, Rhys stepped into view. He didn’t look at her, but went straight for the cookies. At this rate, she’d have to make a double batch every couple of days.
He pulled out a handful of cookies, shoved one in his mouth and turned, freezing when he spotted her at the island. He chewed, swallowed. “They’re really good.”
If that wasn’t the lamest thing either one of them had ever said. “Thanks.”
The two of them stared at each other for several long seconds then Rhys pulled a stool up to the island and sat down catty-corner to her. “This is silly. We can still be friends, even if you’re not interested in me.” He took a bite of cookie.
“It isn’t that I’m not interested–“
”Stop. If you are interested, I don’t want to know. It’ll make everything that much harder.” He shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth.
He sure liked those cookies. “Okay. So you just stopped by to steal some more cookies?”
“Steal?” He reared back, putting his hand on his chest. “They were made for me.”
“They were made for Mr. Blackwell.” Shaking her head, she flipped a couple of pages in the cookbook.
“Picking out recipes for the next week or so. Raymond told me Mr. Blackwell liked the dinner last night. I want him to keep on liking them.” What she wanted more than anything was to feel secure and not like she might be uprooted at any second. If she could get Mr. Blackwell to love her food, she’d be well on her way to establishing herself here.
Rhys leaned closer. “He likes veal.”
“How do you know so much about what he likes?” Rhys had been right about the cookies. Maybe she should listen to him about the veal, too.
Rhys shrugged. “I’ve been here a while.” Without missing a beat, he continued, “So where have you worked before? You don’t seem old enough to make such fabulous cookies.” He grinned.
“Before my last posting, I went to Le Cordon Bleu culinary school. Top of my class.” She’d always loved cooking but had had no idea how much she didn’t know until she went to school. School had been fabulous, and running her own kitchen was even better. At the Montgomery’s she’d been the sous chef. Here, it was all hers.
“I’m not surprised.” He took a bite out of his last cookie. “You seem driven.”
She paused a moment. “Really?” She’d never thought of herself that way.
“Yeah. That’s a good thing.”
Their eyes met. She realized his approval warmed something inside her then felt annoyed that it did. What should it matter whether this man she barely knew thought it was a good thing that she was driven? “I just want to do a good job,” she said.
“Exactly. Driven. Do you know how many people wouldn’t say that? They’d say they want to do enough to get by. Or they want to make money but not have to work for it. This world is full of slackers.”
Sophie sat back on her stool. Is that really what he thought? Did she think the same thing? After a second, she realized she didn’t. “I think most people want to do a good job. But when society’s stacked against you, it’s hard.”
“You’re doing a good job in spite of society being stacked against you. Why can’t they?”
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