Under the Millionaire's Mistletoe

When she left again to go back to the main house, Sam let his smile widen as he imagined the look on Anna’s face when she arrived to give Mrs. Soren an estimate, only to find out he was the one who had initiated the call. She wouldn’t be happy, but Sam needed to know her. If only to prove to himself he’d been right to break up her and his brother.

Smiling to himself, Sam stepped out of the multi-bayed garage. He studied the view and let his mind wander to the green-eyed redhead whose memory was torturing him.

“The living room is this way.”

Anna followed the fiftyish woman down a parquet hallway to an arched doorway that opened into a huge room. Clearly masculine, the decor was mostly big leather chairs, heavy tables and brightly colored rugs scattered across the inlaid wood floor. A stone fireplace took up most of one wall and floor-to-ceiling windows displayed a view of the wide front lawn.

A huge, beautifully decorated Christmas tree stood in one corner, with wrapped gifts beneath it. Which reminded Anna just how much she needed this job.

“It’s lovely,” she said, meaning it. But she couldn’t help wondering, “This is your husband’s lair, isn’t it?” she asked with a smile.

“My husband?” The woman laughed and waved one hand. “Oh, my, no. My husband died twenty years ago. This is my employer’s house.”

She was the housekeeper? Anna frowned and looked around the room, as if searching for a hint to the owner’s identity. When she found nothing, she said, “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to talk to me about painting a mural in here.”

“No,” a deep, familiar voice said from behind her. “Mrs. Soren made the call, but I’m the one who wants to hire you.”

Anna went completely still. A setup. And she’d walked right into it. Turning around slowly, she looked up into Sam’s blue eyes and, keeping her voice cool, she said, “I’m sorry. There’s been a mistake.”

He scowled at her. Small consolation, she knew, but she was pleased that she’d disrupted whatever plan he’d concocted.

Shifting his gaze to the other woman in the room, he said, “That’s all, Jenny. Thanks.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered and nodded at Anna as she left.

“You had her lie for you. That’s just low.”

“She didn’t lie.”

Anna tipped her head to one side and tapped the toe of her boot against the floor. “So you want to hire me? Please.”

His eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “Are you always this crabby with a prospective customer?”

“You’re not a customer, prospective or otherwise,” she said firmly and clutched her portfolio closer to her chest.

He walked into the room and Anna couldn’t help but notice how at home he looked in faded black jeans and the dark red T-shirt that clung to his broad chest. His black work boots hardly made a sound as he walked across the deep blue and green rug to stand in front of her.

“Business that good, then?” he asked. “You can turn down customers?”

“In my shop, I can do what I like.”

“True, but seems shortsighted to turn down a job just because you’re embarrassed about kissing me.”

“What?” Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Are you delusional?”

He smirked. “You seem a little sensitive.”

“I’m not sensitive. I’m insulted.”

“Don’t know why. It was a great kiss.”

True. Damn it.

“Look,” Anna said, clinging to every stray fiber of her dignity, “we’re wasting each other’s time here and even if you can afford it, I can’t.”

“You agreed to give me an estimate on a wall mural,” he reminded her. “The least you can do is keep your word.”

Anna glared at him and the dirty look she gave him had zero effect on the man. If anything, he looked supremely pleased with himself. Well, fine. She’d keep the appointment and then when she quoted him an outrageous price, he’d tell her no and she’d leave. All she had to do was take control of this situation.

“Fine, then,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”

He gave her a wide smile that tugged at something deep inside her. The man was a walking hormone party. Anna gave herself a stern, if silent, talking-to. There would be no more kissing. No more flirting. No anything with Sam Hale.

“Actually,” he said, spreading his arms wide to encompass the room, “I’d prefer to hear your opinion. What kind of murals do you usually suggest?”

Anything would look fabulous in the opulent room, but Anna wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. She gave a quick look around and fixed her gaze on the wide, empty space above the fireplace.

“A window and garden scene would look nice there.”

“A window?”

“Trompe l’oeil,” she told him patiently.

“Optical illusion?”

“You could call it that,” she said and in spite of what she was feeling, she found herself warming to her theme. She loved faux finishing. Loved the trompe l’oeil murals that mimicked reality so completely, she’d once seen a man try to pick up a marble that had been painted onto a tabletop.

“A close translation of the French name means trick the eye. With the right artist, you can pretty much remodel your entire home without lifting a hammer.”

“And you’re the ‘right’ artist?”

“I’m really good,” she said simply.

“I bet you are.”

She flushed a little and hated herself for it. But she would defy any woman in the world to remain completely cool and unruffled with this particular man focusing all of his attention on her.

He watched her. “Explain what you mean about the painting.”

She didn’t know what he was up to, but as long as she was there anyway, she couldn’t resist talking about her favorite kind of work. “For instance, on that long wall over there, I could paint a set of French doors opening onto an English garden. It would look real enough to convince you that you could step outside and smell the flowers.” She looked back at him. “Or I could give you an ocean scene complete with crashing waves and seabirds overhead. I could really, within reason, give you anything you wanted.”

Oh, boy, that had come out a lot different than it sounded in her head. He must have been thinking the same thing, because something hot and wicked flashed in his eyes.

“And what do you charge for this amazing service?”

She cleared her throat, inhaled sharply and told herself that he didn’t really care. He wasn’t actually interested. So she gave him a price well above what she would normally charge for a mural.

He didn’t even blink.

“I’ll give you twice that if you can have it done before Christmas.”

“Are you serious?” He couldn’t be, she told herself. This was all part of some twisted game. He’d brought her here for his own purposes, whatever they were, and now he was dangling a great job in front of her like bait.

The hell of it was, it was working.

“Yes, I’m serious,” he told her, and walked toward her with slow, measured steps.

“Why?” Anna stared up into his deep blue eyes and didn’t flinch from the gleam of passion she saw shining at her. “Why would you hire me? Why would you offer so much money?”

“Does it matter?”

She wrestled with that question for a second or two. Her mind raced with arguments, pro and con. One part of her wanted to throw his offer in his face and march out the door, head held high. The other, more practical side of her was shrieking, Are you crazy? Take the job!