Not Quite Married by Christine Rimmer Page A

asked me. Which you did not.”
    “I wanted to surprise you.”
    “And you did. At first, I thought she was a home invader.”
    That kind of got to him. For a split second, he actually looked a tiny bit regretful. “I had no idea she would frighten you.”
    “She didn’t do it on purpose. She was trying to be quiet. And I got over it. It’s not the real issue. The real issue is that this is my house and I decide who comes to work in it. Also, you gave her a key. You don’t just get to give people keys to my house.”
    “She’s bonded and insured.”
    “Give me the keys to your house. I’ll find some people to give them to and then not bother to mention what I’ve done.”
    “Clara.” Tender. Patient. “I think you may have some issues with control.”
    That had her gaping. “ I have issues with control?”
    He took a step toward her. “Clara...”
    “Stop that.”
    One black eyebrow arched. “Stop what?” He took another step.
    “Getting closer.”
    He looked way too pleased with himself. “I like being closer.”
    She almost fell back, but it seemed a bad idea to show weakness. “Um. Mrs. Scruggs?”
    “Yes?”
    “I like her,” she grumbled. “She can stay.”
    “See?” Too smug by half. “I knew she was the right choice.”
    “But don’t do anything like that again. If you want to hire someone or change the way things work around here, you come to me and we discuss it. And I have to give my approval ahead of time if someone’s getting a key.”
    “Fair enough. Agreed.”
    “And how much does the amazing Mrs. Scruggs charge, anyway?”
    “I hired her.” Mr. I-rule-the-world was back. “I’ll pay her wages.”
    “Once again, Dalton. That wasn’t the question.”
    A frown of mild irritation. “If I’m paying her, you don’t need to worry about the cost.”
    “I most certainly do have to consider the cost. She’s working for me. I should pay her wages.”
    “Clara, we don’t need to argue about this.”
    “No, we don’t. And we’re not. We’re discussing this. How much does she charge?”
    “You’re like a damn bulldog when you set your mind to something, you know that?”
    “Whereas you are so easy-natured and laid-back.” She piled on the irony.
    “I’m just trying to be helpful, just doing what I can to make things easier on you.”
    “I had a question back there. You didn’t answer it.”
    “What question?”
    “How much does my new housekeeper charge?”
    “Shouldn’t you be lying down?”
    That did it. She leveled her darkest scowl at him and threatened, “I’m not going to ask you again, Dalton.”
    His expression turned infinitely weary. And then he actually quoted a figure.
    It was more than she wanted to pay, but having seen what Mrs. Scruggs could accomplish in a day, she knew that the housekeeper would be worth it. “All right. I can manage that.”
    A muscle ticked in his square jaw. “But you’re not going to manage it, because I’m going to pay Mrs. Scruggs, and my paying her is only fair.”
    “Fair? Suddenly you’re all about what’s fair?”
    “I’m living in your house, using your upstairs office and not paying rent. Paying the housekeeper—whom I hired—is the least I can do.”
    When he put it that way, it sounded way too reasonable. “All right. You can pay her for as long as you’re staying here. But as soon as you move out, I pay her.”
    “Agreed.”
    She eyed him warily. “There’s a gleam in your eyes. I don’t trust that gleam.”
    “Gleam? Clara, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    And then the baby kicked. She winced and rubbed her side.
    “Let me feel.” He said it softly. Hopefully.
    And she just stood there, staring up at him as he took that last step that brought him up close and personal, and then put his warm, long-fingered hand over hers.
    It felt good, his hand on hers. It felt really, really good.
    “Um...here.” Her voice kind of broke on the word. And then she slid her hand out from under