Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

Her pulse leaped. His demeanor oozed sexual energy. Moisture glazed her upper lid. She swabbed it with her thumb, and his eyes zoomed in on her mouth.

A silent moment, a tense moment, a telling moment.

She didn’t want to know … acknowledge the shift in the atmosphere between them. She had to be smart, strong, deliver her blow and get out of there. Fast.

So, she said the only thing that came to her mind, “What’s the matter with him? Your son?”

“That’s not your concern.” His words were like ice chaffing her skin.

“All right,” she said. “Why don’t you teach him how to fight.” She scrutinized the length and breadth of his body to the detriment of another leaping heartbeat. “You … uh … look capable.”

“I could teach him to use his fists, but street fighting isn’t the best for him.” He caught and held her in his sights, a wry twist on his mouth.

Stella struggled, yet didn’t move an inch. But her vitals were going haywire. She had to get out of here, get out … get some air.

“Martial arts, the ancient art of self-defense, exercising the spirit, mind and body would suit him better,” he insisted.

A time bomb was ticking.

“Take the job.”

“No!” She leaped to her feet.

“No?”

She mocked a cough to hide her discomfort, and reverted to her business persona. “I’d like to help, but it’s out of the question.”

“Think again,” he said, voice smooth, silky. “Do it for three months.”

“I couldn’t teach your son Karate in that time,” she said, voice soft. Was she weakening?Where was her tough stance? “It’s a lifetime thing.”

“I understand.” In two strides, he bridged the gap between them, crowding her. “But it would give him a start. Some basics.”

“True.”

He was so close, his body heat warmed, his breath fanned her cheek, the faint scent of Scotch making her want to taste … him. She folded her hands into fists, determined to chase away this overwhelming rush that had her heart battering her chest.

“A philosophy, a discipline underscores the Martial Arts.” She forced the words out. “More important is when and how to use defense technique.”

“I know,” Stan said. “That’s why I didn’t want to hire just anyone.”

“You’re flattering me, Mr. Rogers,” Stella said, lowering her lashes a fraction. “However, three months is impossible.” Good, when she didn’t look at him, she sounded herself, the savvy businesswoman. “I’ve scheduled events I can’t get out—”

“Can’t or won’t.”

“You’ll find someone else to help your boy.” She dared lift her lashes … a mistake. Her breath swept out of her, leaving her deflated. “Someone willing to be on call…” She was fighting herself more than him.

His gaze turned steely. “As you could find another to refinance your mortgage next term.”

He’d beat her to it, delivering his blow first. A hit to the gut.

“You’re playing dirty.”

“I have no choice.”

“I’d have no problem renewing my mortgage from another investment firm,” she tested, every muscle in her body contracting. “Financially, I’m a worthy asset, remember.”

He laughed, the harsh sound grating in the tense atmosphere between them. “A solid investment would be considered.” He curled his mouth into a cruel smile. “With so many foreclosures in this business, very few would bite anything else. Too risky.”

“I have good credit,” she blurted, a slight waver in her voice.

“Sure now?”

Stella shoved him back, another blunder; touching him rocked her to her toes. He didn’t move, so she did. Back two steps, three … a raging flame ignited her words. “You wouldn’t dare mess with my credentials.”

His jaw jutted, and the flecks of navy in his eyes turned granite. “We’ll have you, Ryan, or no one.” His veiled threat hung in the air.

She glared at him long and hard. Oxygen fueled her lungs and shot out of her. She’d never run from anyone in her life and she didn’t intend to start now. “What you want,” she advanced two steps closer to reclaim her space, “you get, by fair means or foul,” another step brought her within an inch of him, “is that it?”

“You have a problem with that?” He bent his head within an inch of her mouth, his breath a caress.

She would not start hyperventilating. She would not. Steeling her nerves, she gave him stare for stare. Dear God, she was falling into the ocean of his eyes.

He shifted.

Relief. Breathing room.

Or was that an illusion. Was he preparing for another hit?

Doubts zigzagged through her mind; her temples throbbed. She had learned never to allow an opponent to sense her uncertainty and here she was, letting him shake her confidence. Quickly regrouping, she stiffened her spine and raised her chin. She wouldn’t wait to see what he would do. She’d go on the offensive, deliver her strike and get out of the ring.

“I’m sorry you went to all the trouble to get me here, but I must decline your offer of employment.” She prayed her refusal sounded intractable this time. Without the renewal of her mortgage on terms she could afford, she could lose her business, her livelihood, her future. A quiver tore through her, but she stood resolute.

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Haven’t learned to cut your losses yet, have you, Ryan?”

“I don’t intend to have any.”

“Don’t push my hand,” he growled, stalking to the window and contemplating the outdoors.

Stella stared daggers at his rigid back.

Finally he turned, his gaze frosty. “Fred will drive you back to town.”

She started in surprise. “You’re letting me go?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he queried.

Chapter 3 (#udc75cf4d-f44c-53ab-8730-fd3dfb77d5bb)