His Millionaire Maid(23)

Nina went to bed wondering if she'd ever spend another night with him.

 …

Joe shifted in his seat as he tried to stay awake while Nonna Lina  rambled on about the dog she'd owned when she was a little girl. He  never missed his visits to his nonna, and his Sunday visits were longer.  He could've used a morning to sleep in after his long day on Saturday,  but he was up bright and early at the inn to make sure guests were  checked out properly and handle any possible complaints. Then he'd gone  back to weatherizing his B&B before it was time for his soccer  match. He'd almost decided to skip soccer until he realized they had no  substitutes, his team was almost in the semifinals, and he couldn't let  them down at the crucial moment. He'd have to return to his B&B  after his visiting Nonna, but for now he should give her his full  attention.         

     



 

"What was his name again?" Nonna Lina's brow puckered up with the effort  of remembering. "Was it Lucky? Or Patch? Oh, dear. I'm getting too  old."

"Your dog's name was Sampson." Joe had heard about her dog countless  times before. He patted her hand. "And you're not too old. You've got  years and years left ahead of you."

She gave him a fond smile. "You always cheer me up, Joe. You're a good boy."

But as Joe left a half hour later, his heart was heavy. What would  happen if he could no longer afford the fees of the nursing home? What  if he couldn't get his bank loan, and the mortgage repayments on the  potential B&B slowly bled him dry? In that scenario, he would sell  the property to Beaumont, of course. No contest there, not with his  nonna's well-being in the balance. But his soul flinched at the thought  of caving to Beaumont, of losing his dream and saddling the town with a  resort most locals didn't want.

He had to stay positive, he told himself, and get his property weatherproof so he wouldn't have to spend even more money on it.

When he reached his B&B, he was surprised to see Vince and Paul's  trucks already parked there. But inside, the first person he bumped into  was Nina.

She beamed at him. "Hey, boss."

"Nina? I didn't expect to see you here." His spirits lifted. Her hair  was disheveled, her clothes were crumpled, and her garish turquoise  Crocs were dull with dust. And she'd never looked more ravishing.  "Actually, I didn't expect to see anyone here again today."

"Nina roped us in," Vince said as he clomped down the stairs with Paul, a stepladder balanced between them.

"She said she'd buy us each a case of beer," Paul added, winking at Nina.

"A case!" She chuckled. "Liar. It was one beer each."

"One beer." Paul sighed as he shook his head. "You're lucky I'm a sucker for a pretty face."

They all laughed, but Joe felt a tightening in the tendons of his neck.  Paul was one of his closest friends, but damn if he didn't feel a twinge  of jealousy at his blatant flirting with Nina.

"Beers are on me," Joe said loudly. "When we're done."

"Shouldn't take long," Paul said. "We're going to seal up some of the  shutters." The two men trooped out with their stepladder, leaving Joe  alone with Nina.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't used to feeling grateful to her.

She shrugged, looked just as discomfited as him. "It was nothing. I knew  you were busy with soccer and your grandmother today, and you're  worried about the weather, so I was hoping to spare you some hassle … "

Nina rattled on like she was nervous about something. But what? He'd  caught her giving him some strange looks ever since she'd found out  about this B&B, but he couldn't figure out the reason. Maybe she was  worried he'd made a bad investment.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I really appreciate it."

She wriggled her foot, still looking a little jumpy. "You're welcome."

Her soft voice pierced him with longing, and he wished they were alone  so he could kiss her nose. Or, better still, he wished they didn't have  to pretend they were nothing to each other. He wished they could touch  each other in public and not give a damn about onlookers. Well, he could  hardly complain, since he'd made the rules. Only, sometimes, he wasn't  so sure about the reasons for those rules anymore.

On impulse, he stepped right into her personal space and cupped his  hands around her face. She blinked up at him in surprise, her cheeks  cool and creamy beneath his rough palms. Her eyes were deep aquamarine  as she quivered in his hold, and once again he wondered about the cause  behind her tension. Then he dropped his mouth onto hers, a brief,  starving kiss that didn't satisfy, only whetted his appetite. But that  was all he could allow himself right now.

"I'd better go check up on those two," he said gruffly, "seeing as I promised them beer."





Chapter Eight

"Got any plans for today?" Joe's eyes gleamed at Nina, indicating he  definitely had a plan or two. The last of the weekend guests had just  checked out, meaning Nina had no more duties at the inn that day.

Nina grinned, trying and not succeeding to tamp down the fluttery  feelings he always triggered in her. Honestly, her feelings for Joe were  beginning to verge on serious, which was kind of scary.

"Why?" She couldn't stop herself batting her eyelashes at him. "What do you have in mind?"         

     



 

"I thought I could make it up to you for being so preoccupied these past  couple days." His admiring gaze slipped over her, lingering on her  breasts. "I was going to start that last night, but it didn't turn out  that way."

She understood. Last night at the bar¸ Paul had drunk too much and got  mushy about some girl who'd dumped him. Joe had had to drive him home.

"How is Paul?" she asked.

Joe lifted a shoulder. "I called him this morning. He's hungover, but  he'll survive." He leaned closer. "But I don't want to talk about Paul.  What are you doing today?"

The hunger in his eyes made her sigh. When Joe wanted something, he was  irresistible. "I'm helping Mrs. Stewart with her charity stall this  morning, but I should be free after that."

His eyebrows shot up. "You're helping Mrs. Stewart?"

"Yeah." She put a hand on her hip. "Why are you so surprised?"

"I guess I wasn't expecting it."

Feeling awkward, she huffed out a breath. "Well, I want to. Okay?"

"Okay." Joe chuckled. "I'll pick you up here around three, then."

"You seem very sure that I want to be picked up."

Leaning in, he traced a finger along the line of her jaw, sending a  quiver of pleasure through her. "Yes, sweet pea, I'm very sure about  what you want." He ghosted his mouth over hers, hot with promise, but  only for a second before he stepped back.

"Don't be late."

And damn if he didn't pat her ass as he walked off.

 …

Donations for the charity stall had been coming in for days. Nina, Mrs.  Stewart, and Patty Williams, another volunteer, set to work combing  through them for any quality pieces they could sell at the festival.

"People donate stuff like this?" Nina wrinkled her nose at a moth-eaten  coat she pulled out of a black garbage bag. "No one will want this."

"Don't be so hasty," Mrs. Stewart said. "It's not good enough for the  festival, but we'll put it in the dollar bargain box here in the store.  Winter's coming, and some folks around here can't be too choosy."

Nina instantly felt bad. What did she know about real poverty? "You're  right, and I should know better." She folded the coat and placed it in  the box for the thrift store.

"No, it's good you haven't reached that level." Mrs. Stewart smiled at  her. "You seem to be settling in. Everything okay at the Comet Inn?"

Nina nodded. "I'm still breaking dishes, but I'm getting better."

"Joe's a good boss to have. And a good friend, too." Mrs. Stewart  paused, and Nina knew she was thinking about last week when she'd seen  Nina and Joe together on the balcony.

"Yeah, Joe's nice," Nina replied, keeping a straight face.

She delved into the next garbage bag. Expecting another bunch of ratty clothing, she wasn't prepared for what she found.

"Hey, Mrs. Stewart, look at these." She held up several dresses, all of  them simply designed in muted shades of taupe, mushroom, and ivory.

Mrs. Stewart gave them a cursory glance. "They look nice."

Patty squinted at the dresses. "I dunno. They seem a bit dull to me."

"But they're Favreau." Nina didn't need to check the labels to know  these were the same chic, expensive French-designed dresses that her  high-society stepmother favored. Favreau wasn't as instantly  recognizable as other big French designers, but wealthy people like  Ellen preferred the exclusivity. "They're made in France. These dresses  should definitely be in the charity stall."