Melting the Millionaire's Heart

by Linda Morris

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’d say ten miles to the gatehouse. In the other direction from where you’re heading, though.”

  She stared. “What?”

  “You’re headed away from the house. You’ve got ten miles to the gatehouse alone, and then a long way up the drive from there. Sure you won’t take me up on it?”

  Oh, my God. True, she’d never been good at navigation, but she’d been so careful to Google driving directions before she left her apartment in Indianapolis. And she’d been on the right track, she knew it, until…the accident. The car had spun and slid crazily, and she’d been frazzled from the crash and Carolyn’s announcement. She must have gotten disoriented, so turned around that when she set off, she’d gone in the wrong direction.

  Brilliant. She’d truly screwed up this time.

  Dr. Dunne would just have to suck up without her. Even keeping her job wasn’t worth losing her life and limb to frostbite, which would happen if she didn’t get her butt inside, pronto. “Okay, thanks. I’ll just text my friend first to let her know where I am.”

  “Sure. Get in and get warm while you do it.”

  She accepted gladly and pulled out her phone.

  Caught a ride with a nice guy. Going to wait out the storm with him. Don’t worry! Be there ASAP.

  “Mind if I give her your number just in case?” she asked him. “My cell’s nearly dead.”

  “Sure.” He recited a number. She typed it in and hit Send.

  In mere seconds, Carolyn’s response came through.

  WTH? Is he hot?

  She glanced discreetly at her rescuer, at his wavy brown, just-a-little-too-long hair above the collar of his jacket, and his leather-clad hands firm on the wheel.

  YUP.

  She clicked Send. A second later, with a sad chime, the battery on her phone died.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name,” the woman in Ryan Langston’s passenger seat said. “I’m Kayla Johnston.”

  “RJ.” It wasn’t a lie. His family had been calling him that for years. He just didn’t go by it professionally. He pulled one hand away from the wheel just long enough for a quick shake.

  “RJ what?” she asked.

  His brain spun. She’d been headed to his estate, so that meant she worked for the Horizons school. The same school he was considering donating big bucks to. If she found out who he really was, she’d be all over him, and not in a good way. He’d seen dollar signs in too many eyes to not know the effect his money had on people. If the weather forced him to spend the night with a woman, he’d prefer not to do it fending off eager pleas for funding, when there were so many more enjoyable ways to pass time. Lucky for him, his unexpected passenger was a babe—kind of a “girl next door” type, if you lived next door to a really cute, sexy girl. That was what the folks in business school called a “value-add.”

  BS like that was why he’d never gone to business school. He’d opted to start his own business at eighteen instead.

  “RJ Reynolds,” he said after a pause, giving his mother’s maiden name.

  She laughed. “You’re kidding, right? RJ Reynolds? Like the tobacco company?”

  Oops. Why hadn’t he thought that through? He didn’t lie often enough to be good at it. “Ha, I guess so.”

  A gust of wind buffeted the car and Kayla braced herself with a hand on the car door.

  “Don’t worry. We’re almost at my place.” His parents’ place, actually, but he wouldn’t fill her in on that little detail. Given the weather and the state of emergency, better to spend the night there than try to soldier on all the way to his estate. Lucky for him, his parents and brother were spending the holidays in the Grand Caymans, so their restored nineteenth-century farmhouse stood empty, and he had a spare key. He could see the light shining from the front window. The high-end security system he’d installed in his parents’ home had turned the lights on at twilight, right on schedule.

  He’d thought about joining them in the Caymans, but he’d been on the road for so long, he’d wanted to sleep in his own bed instead. Plus, he’d been emailing and calling Dr. Dunne discussing a possible donation to Horizons for some time, and a holiday at home would give him the opportunity to meet the staffers and do some in-person research. He stole a quick glance at Kayla’s knees, clad only in thin tights above the black leather of her spiky boots.

  Hands-on research. He cleared his throat.

  “The driveway is narrow and hasn’t been plowed. If I drive any further, I’ll get stuck. I’ll park on the road and we’ll walk from here. You think you can make it dressed like that?”

  “Sure.”

  The little plaid skirt she wore reminded him of an old-style Catholic school girl uniform, but Kayla was no schoolgirl. She was a gorgeous woman, with a sweet face, dark eye makeup running a bit from the wet weather, and softly curling strawberry blond hair peeping out from under a colorful knit cap. And her legs—God, her legs. He swallowed as he imagined flipping up the hem of the skirt and smoothing his fingers up her thighs.

  He gripped the steering wheel. Enough with the ogling. In conditions like this, the road demanded his full attention. He had more important things to do than spin cheap fantasies about a girl he’d just met. At least, he thought he did. He couldn’t remember what those things were right now because he couldn’t get past a vision of her leather-clad legs wrapped around his hips, but surely there was something.

  He parked on the shoulder and opened his door, shoving hard to clear it over the drifting snow. Kayla couldn’t open her door, so he went to help her.

  “Your feet warm in those boots?” He didn’t let his gaze travel to them again. They were bad for his concentration. He didn’t think he’d be able to put one foot in front of the other in this storm if he let himself look again.

  “I wouldn’t say warm, no. They’re soaking wet. I picked these boots more for looks than for warmth.”

  “They look great.” He gave in despite himself and snuck another peek. The leather molded beautifully to her strong calves. He pulled his gaze away before his casual glance could turn into a full-fledged leer.

  “Thanks. I have to say, though, I’m wishing I’d chosen something a little more practical. Something two inches thick, waterproof, and lined,” she said with a rueful expression.

  “I understand the sentiment, but there’s nothing hot about waterproofing.”

  The flirt escaped him without much thought. He wondered if she’d freeze up on him again, give him the “I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever seen you on America’s Most Wanted” look she’d shot him once or twice, but she only laughed.

  “Nothing hot about frostbite either.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  He waited a beat, trying to gauge her mood. What the hell, why not go for it?

  “In a cheesy movie on the Lifetime network, this is when I’d pick you up and carry you over the snow.”

  Her brows lifted. “You watch a lot of Lifetime?”

  “My mom did, when I was growing up. She’d cry her eyes out over those stalker-of-the-week movies, or sigh over the love stories. Dad and I liked to give her a hard time.”

  Her cold-reddened lips curved. “I have a confession to make. I love those movies.”

  “In that case, let me.” He put one hand behind her thighs and another under her back and lifted.

  The action surprised a squeak out of her. “I was just kidding. I didn’t mean…you don’t have to—you don’t—” When he ignored her and set off for the house, she sighed. “Thank you.” She peered over his shoulder. “You left the car door open, though.”

  “It’s all right. I have to come back to get my luggage anyway.”

  “Luggage?”

  “I’m coming from the airport. Just got back from California.”

  “Oh.” She looked like she wanted to ask him more, but she didn’t, and he didn’t volunteer any information. Being someone else for a while had its
appeal. When he talked to an attractive woman his age, he usually got the feeling she was tallying up his net worth all the while. Kayla Johnston saw him as a regular guy, something he hadn’t been in a long, long time. Besides, spending the night with a pretty girl beat going back to his house to hang out with people who all wanted his money. Sure, he’d invited them, but not because it sounded like his idea of a great time. He had to investigate the people he gave money to, but that didn’t mean he liked all the sucking up and schmoozing that went with it. And if he could pick her brain a bit, find out what really went on at Horizons, so much the better.

  .

  Obviously, karma had decided it owed her one. After it made her late for an important event, wrecked her car, and left her stranded in a blizzard, Fate, or the Universe, or God if you were so inclined, had decided to reward her with a dashing rescue from Prince Charming. As close to Prince Charming as she would get in southern Indiana, at any rate.

  After carrying her against his broad chest through the snow to save her poor feet from freezing—and hadn’t that been delightful—he’d put her down on the porch, let her in, and turned up the thermostat to warm up the house. He told her to make herself at home and returned to the car for his luggage. She glanced around, curious.

  The foyer opened onto a sitting room on one side and a formal parlor on the other. Both rooms were decorated with comfy-looking furniture in dark, subdued floral patterns. Ornate rugs warmed the gleaming wooden floors, and each room boasted a huge fireplace, one of red brick, and one of wood and plaster. At the far end of the foyer, a staircase rose to the second floor. A stately grandfather clock sat like a sentinel near the newel post.

  After she’d taken off her winter things and hung them on an antique wooden coat rack next to the door, she bent to the torturous task of peeling off her damp leather boots. She’d only worn the stupid things to catch Steve’s eye.

  Instead, she’d caught RJ’s eye. She thought so, anyway. She’d never been good at reading social signals, especially from men, but unless she was very mistaken, he had something of a thing for her legs. He’d even been flirting with her a bit, she suspected. Fine by her.

  Carolyn had been telling her for weeks to start dating again, to “get back on that horse,” but she had shrugged off her friend’s advice, uninterested. Now, she’d finally found a worthy horse. She didn’t do flings, but they’d probably be stuck here together for a while. Maybe she could get to know him a little bit tonight, find out whether he had a girlfriend, and see where things went from there.

  Her left boot came off suddenly and she nearly toppled over. She took more care with the other one and eased it off.

  She sighed her relief as she stretched and wiggled her sore toes. Trouble was, her tights were still damp and miserably uncomfortable. She looked at the door. No sign of RJ yet. She flipped up her skirt, reached up to her waistband, and was wriggling the tights down past her hips when the door flew open. She whipped her head up to see RJ standing motionless in the doorway, a gust of snowy wind whirling in behind him as he stared at her.

  “RJ!” She yanked her hands out of her tights and smoothed her skirt, but forgot she’d already pushed her tights down. At her first step, they clamped around her knees like a vise. With a squeal, she flailed to avoid toppling over like a felled tree.

  He dropped his suitcase and reached out to steady her. “You okay?”

  His blue eyes were kind. “Nothing hurt except for my pride. Sorry, I’ve always been a klutz.”

  He pulled off his gloves and removed his jacket, the motion revealing a very nice set of pecs outlined under his thin gray thermal shirt.

  “Don’t worry about it. I think we need to get you warmed up. You get out of those tights and I’ll build a fire in the parlor. I might have some coffee or hot tea around. You want some?”

  Yes, she thought, transfixed by the beautifully sculpted swell of his chest. She wanted some. She wanted some so badly her mouth watered. Wait, what had he asked her? Something about coffee? “Yes, that sounds good,” she said automatically. “Coffee.” God, she had to quit acting like such an idiot.

  “Fine.” He hung his coat on the coat rack, and the sight of her little wool coat hanging beneath his rough work jacket curled her toes. Now that he’d taken his gloves off, she couldn’t help notice the lack of a wedding ring. Hmmm.

  He headed down the hall to the kitchen, presumably. “The bathroom’s down the hall if you want to take off your tights. I can throw ‘em in the dryer for you if you want. Or, you can hang them on the shower curtain rod.” He turned. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman’s tights draped over my rod.” A quick wink and he was gone before she could do anything more than gape.

  Her eyebrows shot straight up right along with her body temperature. Yeah, he’d definitely been flirting with her. She yanked off the tights and headed for the bathroom, anticipating the prospect of a cozy night alone with RJ. Who knew? Maybe she’d discover she had what it took to be the one-night stand type after all.

  …

  Wanting to find out everything she could about RJ, she got a bit nosy in the bathroom. Her conscience wouldn’t let her rummage in the medicine cabinet, so she contented herself with peering in the shower. Not much to note there except shampoo and conditioner, plus a bottle of plumeria-scented shower gel. That last one made her frown. He struck her more as a bar of Irish Spring guy. She couldn’t picture him as a fan of floral-scented bath products.

  A thought made her stomach drop. Maybe the gel belonged to his girlfriend? She was getting a lot of good vibes from RJ, but before things went too far, she’d have to ask him about it. She couldn’t put another woman through the humiliation Steve and Eve had put her through—she strongly suspected they’d begun seeing each other before Steve officially dumped her.

  She emerged from the bathroom to find RJ building a fire in the parlor. Two giant mugs of steaming coffee rested on an old trunk in front of the overstuffed sofa. On the end table sat a photo: RJ with a younger man who resembled him enough to probably be a brother, along with a kind-faced older couple that must be his parents. The photo had been shot on a boat on the ocean. The younger man held up a fish he’d just caught, his face alight with pride. RJ’s arm draped casually around his shoulders. No girlfriend in the picture, she noticed with some satisfaction.

  “I didn’t know how you took your coffee. I can get you some sugar, but I don’t have any milk since I’ve been out of town.” He tossed a few small pieces of wood on top of the logs and fetched a twist of old newspaper from the kindling box.

  “Black’s fine.” She took a sip of the hot brew and sighed, savoring the warmth as she wrapped her icy hands around the hot mug. In the foyer, the grandfather clock played the Westminster chimes and then struck the ten o’clock hour. She watched as he lit the newspaper and fed it into the fire until the kindling caught. “This is wonderful.”

  “You still cold? The heat’s been off all week, so it will take a while to warm up. There’s a blanket in that trunk if you want.”

  “That would be great.” She fetched the blanket and wrapped herself in it. “My bare legs are freezing.”

  He looked back at her and grinned. “Can’t have that. It would be a crime for such a lovely pair of legs to freeze.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a blush, unable to stop a ridiculous grin. She’d better find a way to change the subject, or she’d have her tights thrown over his rod before she could say walk of shame. “So you said you were in California. Business trip?”

  “Yes.”

  She waited for an explanation, but none came. “What kind of business are you in?” she prodded.

  “Communications.”

  “What does that mean? Is it some kind of business thing I won’t get?” As a teacher, she knew nothing about the corporate world.

  He laughed. “My company is about to acquire a California-based communications software company, so I had to go check it out. Before that, it was six weeks in Du
bai and a month in Singapore. This is the first time I’ve been home in ages.”

  “You in mergers and acquisitions or something?” she asked, hoping the question didn’t sound idiotic.

  “Yeah, something like that. What about you?”

  “I teach special needs kids.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He rose now that the fire had caught. “Sounds hard.” He braced one hand on the mantel, the flickering firelight casting gold highlights in his hair and burnishing his skin the color of India pale ale.

  “It is, sometimes.”

  “What kind of special needs kids?”

  “Oh, all kinds of behavioral disorders. Kids on the autism spectrum, with ADHD, dyslexia, dysgraphia, executive function disorders, kids with psychiatric disorders. Fetal alcohol syndrome. All the kids who’ve failed in the public school system. I teach at a place called Horizons. We have a low student-to-teacher ratio that lets these kids get the individual attention they can’t get in a public or traditional private school.”

  “Does working with special-needs kids ever get you down?”

  “The kids? No, never. The parents get me down sometimes, and the administrators…well, don’t get me started.”

  His expression went from polite to avid. “You have bad administrators at your school?”

  “No, not bad exactly,” she admitted. “Just too PR-conscious for my taste, and obsessed with fundraising. Too eager to kowtow to anybody with deep pockets.”

  His face relaxed. Odd. Why should he care? “You can’t be surprised that a private school is obsessed with fundraising,” he said. “It’s their lifeblood.”

  “That’s true. I just hate that part of it all. These kids already have a hard enough time in life because of their challenges. Having to fight tooth and nail for resources for them just makes me angry, especially when guys like this Langford have money to burn.”

  “I would imagine that Langford and people like him have a lot of people competing for their money. There are a lot of good causes out there.”

  “Also true,” she admitted. “But I suspect he cares about one cause most of all—his own bottom line. That’s how a lot of our big donors are.”