Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

He squashed the grin between his lips, his cheekbones prominent, a storm brewing in his eyes. “I won’t dignify that with a response.”

Her emotions were bopping, and she wanted to let fly at him, but thought better of it. Control. She could match him in that couldn’t she?

“More coffee?” He picked up the coffee pot and waited.

At her nod, his mouth cracked a fraction, and he filled her cup to the brim. Rich flavor steamed the air. She cradled the cup between her palms and watched him pour another cup for himself.

His lips curved over straight white teeth, and his lower lip a bit fuller gave his mouth an added sensuality. She could just imagine him nibbling… She lowered her eyes to his hands. The man seized whatever he wanted. A shiver shot through her … whomever he desired. Yet, she couldn’t turn away. His sleeves were pushed up almost to his elbows, golden hair feathered his forearms, his muscles defined even by the simple task of pouring coffee.

Slamming the brakes on her thoughts, she tipped the cup to her lips.

“Easy, it’s hot,” Stan warned.

Too late, Stella felt the unwelcome singe on her tongue. “I know now, it’s hot,” she sputtered, dropping the cup back, liquid splashing into the saucer. Grabbing the glass of water beside her plate, she gulped a mouthful and soothed her stinging tongue.

“Good thing that.” A hint of a smile lingered on his lips, and his gaze strayed to the curve of her breast, barely visible by the tear in her sweatshirt.

His eyes darkened, shuttered, his smile vanished.

Her eyes grew wide, lashes fluttering, shielding.

Signals … danger … combustion.

Stella took another gulp of water. “I-it’s not funny.”

“Never said it was.”

“The burn stung.”

“I know.”

Heat infused her body. Was there a double-entendre in that? She set the glass on the table with more force than necessary; the liquid swirled against the clear walls, but didn’t spill. Too bad. She felt like doing injury to something or, she glanced at the man beside her, someone. He certainly didn’t think she could be contained against her will without retaliating?

Tossing a crumpled napkin on the table, he pushed his chair back and motioned her to the sofa by the window. For a second, she debated whether to sit or stand, but not wanting him to think she was on the defensive, plopped on the settee. He lounged on the armchair across from her, trapping her in the lens of his vision like a high-powered combatant’s target.

Breath pocketed in her chest, and she pushed up her sleeves, on guard.

“Stella, I, or rather we” –he crossed one leg over his knee— “have followed your career as a martial artist for some time. Rare to see a woman master the art of self-defense to the professionalism you’ve achieved.”

“Thank you,” she said, wondering where this was leading. If he thought he could lull her into a false security with compliments to get what he wanted from her, he was wrong.

Dead wrong.

“This woman was worth the risk, after all.” She couldn’t help the jab.

“Financially, yes,” he hit back, his tone all business. “You’ve proved a worthwhile asset.”

A silent growl built in Stella’s throat. How dared he talk like she was some inanimate object. Asset, indeed. “So, why bring me here?”

“I wanted the very best for Troy. No one else would do,” he murmured more to himself than to her.

“You wanted the very best of what?” she asked, her curiosity pushing anger aside. “Who’s Troy? And what does he have to do with me?”

A silent moment passed, and he leaned forward, his midnight blue eyes boring into her. “I want to hire you as my son’s martial arts coach.”

“Troy.”

“That’s right.”

“This is ludicrous. Absolutely wild.” She nearly burst out laughing but some innate sense checked it in her throat. “There are plenty of martial arts schools you could enroll him in. There was no need for you and your … er … friends to go through this farce to bring me here. Even if you wanted me as his Sensei—”

“Instructor.”

She nodded. “I’d have been happy to coach him at my studio.”

“I didn’t want Troy in a public class, stared at, ridiculed by other children.” He brushed a hand across his chin. “My son needs a private coach.” His voice deepened, hinting at a deeper, conflicting emotion. “You, Ms. Ryan, will teach him until he feels confident … strong again.”

Children could be cruel, but for him to take these extreme measures to get her here was beyond her comprehension. “I don’t understand.”

He paused for a moment, the silence deafening. “He must become healthy again. Feel like a valued human being.”

Was he playing on her emotions? Could he have an ulterior motive?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers,” she said, recalling how callous he could be. “I have a full schedule.” Ignoring her erratic pulse, she cleared her throat and scooted forward. “I’ve spent years building my business and Karate is my life.” She’d practically starved to do it, but he didn’t have to know that. “I can’t abandon it for the whim of a father and his son.” Her words sounded abrasive even to her own ears, but she had to be tough.

Tough with him.

And tougher with herself, because the man was dangerous to her heart, her emotions, her mind … to her whole self.

In one fluid motion, Stan hauled himself from the armchair, eyes blazing and nostrils flaring. Startled, Stella squared her shoulders and shuttered her gaze, ready to dodge if necessary.

“What do you know of pain? Of a child tossed about like chattel who’s—” He shoved a hand through his hair and paced the room, his outburst surprising him more than it did her. “I apologize. You’re not to blame.” His jaw clenched. “Trauma, especially recurring, can scar for life.”

Stella uttered not a word.

Dangerous didn’t describe him. Lethal was more accurate.

The man was lethal.

“When a child is involved, one can become ballistic.”

“And are you?”

“What?” He glanced at her, a blank look across his features.

“Ballistic?”

An unwilling smile flittered across his mouth but he neither confirmed nor denied.