Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

“My men—”

“Thugs.”

“—left a memo at your studio explaining your absence.”

“Disappearance.”

He shuttered his eyes to blue slits, considering her veiled warning. “Ms. Ryan, I’m offering you my hospitality as my guest.”

“I’m not your guest.” She tossed her head. “And don’t need or want anything from you.”

He hiked a brow, and she swallowed a lump in her throat. Of course, he had control of her core asset and—

“You’re on a publicity tour … Tokyo, Toronto … family demands,” he explained, his words saturated with meaning. “You’d be returning soon.”

“You dared to—” A tremor vibrated from her head to her toes, shivers prancing on her spine.

He shrugged. “A risk worth taking.”

Stella paled, their one and only meeting zooming to the forefront of her mind.

“Something wrong, Ms. Ryan?” Casually, he slid his hands in his pockets, confident he’d cornered her.

Stella groped for the back of a chair, the wood smooth and hard beneath her fingertips.

Like the man—unbreakable.

“Do you often take such risks?” she tested, her voice brittle.

“Occasion—”

“Why?”

“High stakes.”

“How lofty are they this time?” She tightened her grip on the chair, her heart pounding a warning.

“Riskiest bet of my life,” he admitted.

She wouldn’t be bridled. “Must be, to ditch your life of the rich and famous for that of a recluse.”

He laughed, a dark, ominous sound. “It is.” A shadow swept across his eyes, and a nerve pinched his jaw. He shrugged and didn’t elaborate.

Tenderness pierced through her frustration. She must be mistaken, or nuts. Nuts to feel anything but contempt for the ogre. She shoved the pinch of feeling away. She didn’t care, couldn’t care, refused to care.

“I don’t play cat and mouse games, Mr. R.”

“You do remember.”

The gray at his temples and his beard had thrown her at first. His electrifying blue eyes and commanding tone, capped off with his baiting remarks, cued her a second time in as many hours, how well he knew the game of finance and how well he wielded the rules for his benefit. Yes, she remembered him. He was not a man she could easily forget, nor could she forget how ruthless he could be.

“How do I fit into your scheme of things this time?” Stella asked, her voice crackling with ice.

“Predominantly.”

Chapter 2 (#udc75cf4d-f44c-53ab-8730-fd3dfb77d5bb)

Stella’s gaze clashed with his, taut emotion vibrating between them.

Seconds ticked by, seeming endless.

Minni walked in with their lunch and the tension in the air snapped.

“Come, you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.” Stan stepped to the table and pulled out a chair for her.

Stella didn’t move.

“Hope you’re hungry, dear,” Minni said, her mouth tilting at the corners. “I’ve cooked my favorite Italian recipe with a Scottish zing.” She giggled and her hand fluttered to her mouth.

“It smells delicious.” Stella eyed the hot rolls, the salad, the sticky chocolate cake that was for dessert.

Stan draped an arm around his housekeeper’s shoulders and winked. “Minni is the best cook in town and I’ve got her.”

Stella’s pulse faltered. He wanted, he got. Well, he hadn’t gotten her.

She should feel more joy … maybe it was because she was hungry.

Minni blushed. “Oh, get on with you.” She smoothed an imaginary crease on her apron and pushed the trolley from the room.

Another uncomfortable silence ensued … delectable aroma of lasagna, crowned with bubbly cheese wafted to her and her stomach growled. Stella plunked down on the chair across from the enemy, hoping he hadn’t heard.

He took his own seat and began serving.

“You should try some,” he said between mouthfuls. “It’s good.”

She hesitated, her mouth mutinous, her taste buds watering. Finally … “I’ll have a little.”

A smart man, he said nothing, simply grunted his approval.

Not that she needed his approval about anything, but she was ravenous … no use letting good food go to waste.

At last, she placed the remaining piece of cake in her mouth and stole a glance at him from beneath her eyelashes. Why was he grinning? She licked her lips. His grin disappeared, his gaze darkening. Thinking, chocolate smudged her chin, she swiped at it with her finger and licked the tip. A sound from deep in his throat … a low growl?

“Someting amusing?” she snapped, a flush warming her cheeks.

“You look like a sixteen-year old stuffing that cake in your mouth.” His lips twitched in wry amusement.

“Good thing I’m not, or you’d be compounding the charge of kidnapping with that of a minor.”