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.’

Sam should have known. Meg was probably five-ten, of perfect proportions and had just stepped off the pages of Vogue. ‘One of your conquests?’ she couldn’t resist adding, though what he did in his private life shouldn’t concern her in the slightest. Funny though, it did.