I adjusted the straps of my crisp black-and-white maid uniform in the hallway mirror, smoothing down the fitted skirt that always felt just a little too short for this house. At twenty-two, I had been working as a live-in maid at the Harrington Estate for three months now, ever since my agency placed me here. The pay was exceptional, the mansion breathtaking, but it was the men who lived here who made my pulse quicken in ways I knew I shouldn’t allow.Alexander Harrington, the widowed patriarch, was forty-eight — tall, broad-shouldered, with silver threading through his dark hair and piercing gray eyes that seemed to see straight through me. His older son, Damien, twenty-seven, was a darker, more intense version of his father: sharp jaw, powerful build from years of boxing, and a quiet intensity that made the air feel heavier when he entered a room. Lucas, the younger son at twenty-five, had a more playful charm — tousled brown hair, easy smiles, and a lean, athletic body that moved w
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