The Heart of a Hero

by Janet Chapman

  “You’re not even going to let me think about this, are you?”

  Olivia stepped away with a chuckle. “Did I mention I’m desperate? A bride and her mother are arriving from Germany tomorrow afternoon, expecting to go over last-minute details of a fantasy wedding that’s taking place in three days.”

  “But I don’t have any details.”

  “Did I say the job would be easy?” Olivia shook her head. “There’s a good chance it will turn you prematurely gray—which is why I believe I’m paying you the big bucks. I need a passionate, energetic miracle worker, Julia, who won’t mind working fourteen-hour days and most weekends, who has a high tolerance for frantic brides and pushy mothers, and who thinks controlling chaos and thwarting disasters is the definition of fun. Say yes.”

  Julia scowled at the ground again, wondering what exactly was stopping her. Well, other than her very real fear of making a very big fool of herself. But then, hadn’t she survived thirty years of being repeatedly humiliated? So what did she really have to lose? She blew out a very deep sigh and lifted her gaze. “Yes,” she whispered—only to flinch when Olivia pounced on her with a shriek of delight.

  “Ohmigod, thank you!” Olivia cried as she hugged her again. “Okay, come on,” she said, grabbing Julia’s hand—into which she slapped a key. She started dragging her to the four-passenger cart parked behind Julia’s cleaning cart. “I’ll take you to meet your staff, then come back and finish cleaning your cottage myself.”

  “My staff?” Julia squeaked as Olivia nudged her toward the driver’s side.

  “You don’t expect to create high-priced fantasies all by yourself, do you?” Olivia slid into the passenger’s seat. “You have two assistants who are miracle workers in their own right, two strapping young men for the heavy lifting, a talented carpenter, and a secretary who speaks practically every language known to man. Ariel is worth her weight in gold when it comes to dealing with foreign clients.” Olivia patted the driver’s seat. “Come on, Mac’s mom is already at your office, anxious to meet you.”

  “I . . . I have an office?”

  “Actually, you have the entire downstairs of the conference pavilion.” Olivia waved in the general direction of the summit. “It’s mostly storage for your props, but there’s a beautiful office full of windows facing Bottomless, a workshop and design area, and a meeting room for you to consult with clients.” She patted the seat again when Julia just kept gaping at her. “Evelyn had been working on the Rauch wedding since last spring, so your assistants are right now bringing Rana up to speed because it’s happening in three days,” she growled, patting the seat more firmly.

  “Um . . . why am I driving your cart?”

  Olivia blew out a sigh. “This is your cart.” She leaned over to point at the rear side panel. “See, it even has your name on it, as well as your title.”

  Julia stepped back and saw her name printed in gold lettering on the side of the forest green cart, claiming she’d just agreed to become Nova Mare’s director of special events. “I have my own—Wait,” she said with a gasp, snapping her gaze to Olivia even as she pointed at the panel. “Why is my name already on there if I said yes only two minutes ago?”

  Olivia straightened, her eyes taking on a gleam again as she arched a brow. “Seriously, Ms. Campbell, do you honestly believe I was taking no for an answer?”

  Chapter Ten

  Ms. Campbell. Her entire staff, and every person who had walked through the door of the conference pavilion that afternoon, had called her Ms. Campbell. Julia had actually looked over her shoulder no fewer than three times, wondering if her mom had suddenly come back from the dead. The only exception had been Rana, although it had taken the patient woman most of the afternoon to get Julia to stop calling her Mrs. Oceanus. For crying out loud, she was on a first-name basis with—if rumors were correct—a real live queen. Queen of where, the rumors didn’t know, but probably some defunct country no longer on the map. Still, there was no mistaking Rana was royalty—from her lavender turtleneck and royal purple chambray shirt right down to her Gore-Tex hiking shoes.

  With only the moon shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows lighting her beautiful office, Julia slumped back in her plush leather chair and let her gaze wander over the trappings of her new job laid out on her beautiful cherrywood desk. The tote bag—made of the softest leather she’d ever touched—and matching calendar book had been personal gifts from Rana. The woman claimed they’d been crafted by a designer from her homeland—which appeared to be an island somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, Julia had gathered from their conversations over the course of the afternoon.

  She next slid her gaze to the thin black cell phone she didn’t have a clue how to operate, although Olivia had assured her as she’d plopped the phone in Julia’s hand that it was no more difficult than sewing balsam pillows. After which she’d then plopped a ring of keys, complete with an attached remote fob that went to the pearl white SUV parked outside with Julia’s name written in small gold letters over the large Nova Mare logo on the door.

  She would have to vacate the apartment she and Trisha were staying in, her boss had then gone on to tell her, but only so they could move into the event planner’s cottage tucked down a wooded driveway beside the resort road’s upper guard booth. A deliberately chosen location, Olivia had said with a familiar gleam in her eyes, because guards worked much better than small brass bells when it came to keeping frantic brides and pushy mothers from intruding on her private sanctuary. Julia was still free to buy a home of her own, Olivia had assured her, and only use the cottage when she needed to be close by for major events or if she simply didn’t feel like navigating the mountain road late at night or in foul weather.

  The thought of actually buying her own home made Julia slide her gaze to the legal-size envelope on the desk as she remembered having to sit down when she’d started reading the paperwork—already filled out with her name and all her personal information—that stated her outrageous salary, a medical plan that included eyes and teeth and probably splinters, an almost obscene retirement package, and the generous number of perks that came with the job.

  Julia liked that she got free weekly massages at the resort’s spa, but she couldn’t really see herself paying even half price for a friend or family member to stay at the resort or taking advantage of free dining at Aeolus’s Whisper. Well, okay; she wouldn’t mind treating Trisha to a gourmet meal when the girl came home on leave from college. And Julia figured she’d know the menu pretty well by then, since she was expected to wine and dine clients there.

  She was also expected to chauffeur both signed-on and prospective clients to town or down to Turtleback to visit all the artisan shops that had multiplied like bunnies since the earthquake had made the area a huge tourist draw. She was also, apparently, supposed to use either of the two credit cards she’d been issued to pay for and occasionally accompany clients who wanted to cruise Bottomless on one of the ever-popular whale watching and autumn foliage tours.

  It was at that point that Rana had taken over explaining the full scope of Julia’s new position, first by imploring her not to worry about spending money to make money, then stating that an effective event planner was really just an illusionist with battle skills. Julia’s main goal, Rana had told her, was to always appear as if she had everything under control, especially when an event was imploding right before everyone’s eyes. And then Olivia’s regal mother-in-law had opened the Rauch file with an utterly feminine snort and stated that Julia was about to get her first lesson in creating miracles, since she really couldn’t understand why anyone wanted an outdoor wedding on the top of a mountain in Maine in November.

  Julia leaned forward and pulled her baby-soft leather tote in front of her, then laid her head on it on her desk. She hadn’t really signed that contract, had she? Both copies? In indelible ink?

  What in Hades had she done?

  Julia sat up. Where had that come from? Hades? Really? For crying out loud
, she’d spent one afternoon with Rana and already was sounding like the elegant woman!

  Wait, wasn’t that a good thing? Didn’t she want to be as confident and collected and apparently as unflappable as Rana Oceanus? Wasn’t that the point of having a mentor? The woman’s influence had obviously rubbed off on her daughter-in-law, because when Olivia had been running Inglenook for the Baldwins, she’d been known as the town mouse. And now here she was running her own world-class resort and apparently taking no prisoners when it came to recruiting staff.

  Julia smiled, trying to picture Olivia browbeating Nicholas into becoming her director of security—only to still in surprise when she saw the devil himself standing in the doorway of her office, smiling back at her.

  Well, darn it to Hades; that should teach her to be careful who she thought about. Julia laid her head back down on her tote. “Go away, Nicholas. I’m very busy.”

  Even though he walked quieter than his cats, she knew in her next heartbeat that he was standing on the other side of her desk. “Anything that I can help you with?” he asked, the deep timbre of his voice washing over her like a warm summer rain.

  Speaking of which . . . “Can you make sure it doesn’t rain this Sunday?” she asked without bothering to sit up. “And that the temperature is at least sixty degrees?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “How did you know I was here?” she asked, still without straightening. “All the lights are off and the doors locked.” To which he had keys, she realized, seeing how he was the director of security.

  “Your cart is still parked outside.”

  Oh, she’d forgotten she had a cart and probably would have walked right past it when she finally found the energy to go home. Odd that she’d spent the last three months bicycling to work because she didn’t want to spend money on her old truck, and now she had a brand-new pearl white SUV and a personal cart with her name on them. And then there was the irony of having spent the last four years paying off credit card bills she hadn’t run up, and now she had two cards—again with her name on them—that apparently had limitless funds.

  “Where’s Trisha? I checked, but she hasn’t come through the lower gate yet.”

  Hoping that if she kept lying on her soft leather tote he’d get the message that she really wasn’t in the mood for company, Julia said, “She’s spending the night at her friend Kimberly’s house because band practice was going to run late tonight.” Which was just as well, Julia had already decided, because she really needed some time alone to decide if she’d just made the smartest decision of her life or the dumbest.

  “I had planned to take both of you to Aeolus’s for dinner,” he said, “but it appears it will be just the two of us celebrating your new job.”

  Nope, he wasn’t taking the hint. “That’s very kind, but I really can’t be seen having dinner with you at Aeolus’s Whisper.”

  “Why not?”

  Julia finally sat up and shot him a crooked grin. “You’re kidding, right? I’d be found dead on a cart path tomorrow morning after being run over by an entire herd of female coworkers.”

  “Then we’ll go into town and have dinner at the Drunken Moose.”

  She shook her head. “Same problem.”

  “We’ll drive down to Turtleback,” he said, a bit of an edge creeping into his voice.

  Not really wanting to explain why they couldn’t be seen in public together, Julia stood up and started placing all the trappings of her new job into her tote. “It’s really very kind of you to want to celebrate my new position, but I think it would be better if you just sent me flowers.”

  “I’m not being kind; I’m trying to take you to dinner.”

  Nope, not only not taking the hint, but not backing down, either. “I’m not going out with you, Nicholas. It’s nothing personal. I just don’t date men.”

  “Why not?”

  Julia slung her new tote on her shoulder, walked around her new desk, and headed out of her new office. “Because I prefer women.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  She stopped at the door and shot him a smile. “Thank you for clearing that up for me. I’ve been so confused,” she said, bolting down the hall on rubbery legs before that look in his moonlit eyes reached his brain and he chased after her.

  Was she suicidal? Who in Hades tugged a giant tiger by the tail?

  She made it all the way to the common green before he silently fell in step beside her, and Julia silently continued walking toward the guard booth, nearly reaching it before he finally spoke. “Is your cart not running properly?” he asked.

  She came to a halt and blinked up at him, then looked back up at the conference pavilion with a shrug. “I forgot I had one.” She arched a brow. “Where’s your cart?”

  He gave a soft grunt. “I can run faster.”

  She started off again, waved at the guard in the booth on her way by, and headed down the tree-shadowed driveway to check out her new home—Nicholas still silently walking beside her. Not that she minded all that much, she decided when they’d gone quite a ways and she still hadn’t seen any sign of a cabin yet.

  “You’ll be perfectly safe back here, Julia,” he said, making her realize she’d been inching toward him until they were almost touching.

  She tried inching away, but apparently his big strong muscles were magnetized. “I’m not afraid of—” She bumped into him with a gasp and grabbed his hand when something scurried through the leaves beside them. “The dark,” she muttered as she tried to let go, only to give up when his fingers gently tightened on hers.

  “Do you like to fish, Julia?”

  “I used to—when I was ten.”

  He stopped walking, and since he wouldn’t let go of her hand, Julia also had to stop. “You haven’t been fishing since you were a child?”

  “No, I’ve been since. But it’s so boring that I don’t go unless I absolutely have to, like when I lost a bet to Vanetta while working for her at the Drunken Moose.”

  She felt his hand twitch, and there was enough moonlight streaming through the trees for her to see his eyes narrow. “Boring?” he quietly repeated.

  “Well, yeah. Fishing is really just hours of sitting in a boat holding a long stick, interrupted by two minutes of a small tug-of-war with some angry little fish, followed by more hours of sitting in a boat, only now your hands are all slimy and smelly—and in some cases bloody—from having wrestled the hook out of the angry fish’s mouth.” She turned away to hide her smile and started walking again, having to all but drag Nicholas because he still refused to give up her hand. “So now that I think about it, fishing isn’t only boring, but also messy and dangerous.”

  “That’s what makes it a sport,” he said, the edge back in his voice causing her smile to widen as she glanced away—because she really didn’t dare let him see how much she was enjoying herself.

  She knew Nicholas owned a fast fishing boat loaded with fancy technology, because she’d heard more than one male employee mention it; their tones were more admiring than jealous as they’d wondered why he always fished alone.

  She shrugged the shoulder of the hand he was holding. “It must be a guy thing. Oh,” she said, halting when she spotted the two-story, log-and-stone cottage bathed in moonlight. “It’s utterly charming. And bigger than I thought it would be.”

  She heard Nicholas sigh as he started off again, leading her up onto the porch but stopping two steps down as he turned her to face him, which put them at eye level—which was not a good thing, Julia realized when her gaze drifted to his mouth.

  She really had no business wanting to feel those lips on hers again, because she really wouldn’t know how to react. And anyway, town sluts—even if they had suddenly morphed into event planners—had no business kissing men like Nicholas, because . . . well, stuff like that only happened in fairy tales and romance novels.

  “Come fishing with me, and I’ll wrestle the angry fish off the hook,” he said thickly, making Julia l
ift her gaze to find him looking at her mouth.

  So she smiled. “Then I’ll have to sit in a boat with a slimy, smelly man.”

  His eyes lifted to hers. “We won’t use hooks.”

  “That would certainly help the boring par—”

  He palmed her cheeks and touched his lips to hers, and Julia had to clutch his big strong arms when she felt herself melting into a puddle of pleasure. Holy Hades, now what was she supposed to do? Kiss him back? Kick him in the shin?

  Wait for him to realize she wasn’t participating?

  But she was! In fact, Julia felt her lips parting and her body going boneless so that he had to wrap her up in his big strong arms before she really did seep through that crack in the porch. And she’d swear some crazy woman was making an unfamiliar little sound that she was afraid might actually be passion getting ready to explode.

  * * *

  Nicholas felt Julia’s surprise turn to resistance, then briefly to acceptance before becoming fully engaged participation not a heartbeat later—a revelation that surprised him but certainly not enough to throw him off his game.

  He deepened the kiss when she made a sweet little sound, letting his hand drop to her lovely backside to snug her up against him, her trembling body pressing into him as she suddenly . . . erupted. She clasped his neck and lifted herself to wrap her legs around his waist and canted her head and pushed her tongue into his mouth.

  Okay then; it appeared Julia hadn’t been boasting to her sister that night in the church, because she certainly did seem determined to knock his socks off. Nicholas finished walking up the porch stairs and pressed her against the cottage beside the door so he could free up at least one hand for a little exploring. But the lovely lady apparently had the same intention, her writhing body making him so hard, he thought he might erupt when she arched back to yank his collar, pulled her mouth from his, and started a fiery trail of kisses down his jaw to his neck.

  So instead of following through on his intended target, Nicholas reached beside her and twisted the knob, his sigh of relief that the door opened turning to a groan of his own when he felt her teeth rake over the cords in his neck. “Hang on,” he growled, splaying his hand across her lovely backside as he pulled her away from the cottage and stepped inside—the motion not slowing her passionate assault as her tongue soothed the spot she’d just nipped.