Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

Moments later, Stella set the tray in the hallway and listened.

Whispers of voices filtered up the stairs, and she closed the door. Stepping across to the bed, she bounced on the edge a couple of times and lay down.

Her eyelids felt heavy. She stretched her arms above her head, contemplated the wooden beams of the ceiling and counted backwards from one hundred. By the time she got to one, she closed her eyes. Bliss. The bed was so comfortable and she was so very tired … she mustn’t fall asleep, mustn’t …

The sound of a door slamming echoed through the walls and startled her from her semi-doze. She pushed hair off her face, rubbed her eyes and yawned. A pause, and she slid off the bed. It creaked. She froze. When she didn’t hear anything, she tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack.

The tray was gone and tranquility filled the lodge. She closed the door, leaned her head on the jamb and counted to ten. Twisting around, she hurried to the window and raised the already half open shutter. Pungent forest scents sailed to her. The night was dark as a witch’s cauldron and still as a cat about to pounce. A nervous giggle bounced its way up her throat, and she slammed her hand over her mouth. A moonbeam flitted from behind a cloud, and trees swayed in the breeze, creating ghostly images.

Stella took a deep breath, exhaled, and climbed over the ledge onto the roof. Crouching like a cat burglar, she was ready to jump but changed her mind and crawled forward, peeking over the edge. A drainage pipe swiveled down the side of the building. She grabbed onto it, the metal felt cold and hard beneath her fingers as she inched her way to the ground. Almost there, she missed her footing, swallowed her scream and careened off, landing with a thud. She scrambled to her feet, dusted herself off, thankful that no bones were broken. Bruised, she rubbed her tush.

Night breeze smacked her hot face and pierced through her one layer of clothing, chilling her sweaty skin. She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself. Staring at the trail disappearing into the eerie forest, Stella wondered if she’d made a smart decision.

The tense moment passed, and she chuckled, shaking off the foreboding. Tiptoeing to the garage, she stepped through the half open door and rummaged the shelves for a flashlight. She would return it by mail; she eased her conscience.

Suddenly, lights blazed.

Her heart vaulted into her throat. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness and someone grabbed her. She screamed.

Chapter 4 (#udc75cf4d-f44c-53ab-8730-fd3dfb77d5bb)

“I should’ve known you’d try something foolhardy.”

Stella struggled to pull out of his arms. “Leave me alone, Rogers.” She stomped hard on his foot and he loosened his hold a fraction. In that instant she wrenched free, served him a front kick to the abdomen and dashed from the garage.

“Spitfire.” He tackled her and she tumbled to the ground, breath knocked out of her. Flipping her on her back, he straddled her and pulled her arms over her head, imprisoning them in his grip. “What now, my Karate gal?”

“You infuriating, no good—”

“Didn’t think you’d run from a challenge, Ryan.”

Wriggling beneath him, she kicked her legs in the air and twisted her arms to escape him.

“Thought you were tougher.” Stan leaned closer and looked deep into her eyes, the bristle of his chin a stimulant on her skin. “Hmm, could I have made a mistake … rarely known to happen, but with you—”

“You pompous a—”

He yanked her up so fast, she slammed into his chest, breath bursting out of her. Moonlight cast shadows across his features—his eyes, his cheekbones … his mouth … him.

Dark. Mysterious. Sensual.

He lowered his head, his lips a feather breadth from her own, his breath a warm caress upon her skin. A puff of air caught in her throat. Beneath her hands, his heart pounded to the wild beat of her own.

“Come on.” With his hand firmly on her elbow, he walked her to the house, an impatient rhythm to his stride. “I told you Fred would drive you home tomorrow. Now, go to bed.”

“All right, all right.” She skirted around him into the hallway, the sting of her words scouring her tongue. Anger was directed more at herself than at him, because what he said made sense.

***

Stella fluttered her eyelashes open and squinted at the clock on the wall. Six-thirty a.m. In limbo for a second, she yawned and everything rushed back in her mind. She groaned. Throwing off the covers, she slid out of bed and headed to the window. She peered up at the sky. Sunshine filtered through fluffy clouds.

Relief. No snow.

Forest creatures heralded the beginning of a new day, and nature’s serenity washed over her. She turned away, lifting the flannel nightgown Minni had left for her the night before, over her head.

A scream pierced the air.

She froze in mid-motion, and the nightie fell back in place over her body. The shrill sound penetrated the walls again. She yanked the door open and flew into the hallway, pausing a second to determine its direction.

Muffled weeping.

Stella hurried to a half-open door several yards away and tiptoed inside. Except for a faint nightlight, the drawn drapes shrouded the room.

She blinked to adjust her eyes to the dimness and saw him. The child lay curled beneath the blankets on the bed, his head half buried under the pillow, his sobs echoing around her. She stepped nearer and brushed his shoulder with a gentle hand.

“Mommy.” He hiccupped on a sob and peeked at her from beneath his woolen fortress, his damp lashes fringing his blue eyes.

A hit in the gut. They were the exact replica of the ogre’s.

She swiped her moist palms on her nightgown and sat on the edge of the bed; he fell into her arms. Rocking him into a semi-doze, she was about to tuck him beneath the covers, when the door burst open.

“What’s wrong?” Stan demanded, strain carving his features. “Is he all right?” He fastened the belt around his robe, but the material sagged across his chest, revealing the scatter of gold curls.

“Shh.” Stella placed a forefinger on her lips and tried to ignore her pulse bruising her ribs.

He shook his hair off his brow, his drowsy gaze catching and holding her own. She held his greatest treasure in her arms. Swallowing, she bit her lip and tried to analyze her reaction to him. She couldn’t. At that moment, the child stirred in her arms and put a stop to her troubling thoughts.

“What’s up, sport?” Stan asked.

The boy snuggled closer to Stella.

“I see you’re okay.” He stepped nearer to help put him to bed, and his foot caught on the frayed mat. Toppling off balance, he grabbed for the bedside table, the lamp crashed to the floor and he followed.

Jarred awake, the child gaped at Stella, then at his father sprawled on the carpet. “Let go, witch.” He pummeled her chest with his fists. “Witch!”

Stella let him go. He scrambled from the bed and knelt beside his father, crying.

“I’m all right, Troy.” Stan shuffled to a sitting position and hugged him close. “Poppa’s okay.”

The scene tugged at her heart, and feeling like an intruder, Stella walked for the door.

“Hold it, Ms. Ryan,” Stan said.

Stella paused, every nerve in her body tensing.

“Time you met my son, Troy.” He pushed himself to his feet and whispered to the boy.

“Ho-ow do you do, Ms. Ryan.” Troy drew closer to his father and clutched onto his pyjamas. Slowly, he stretched out his thin hand.