The Man For The Job

by Marie-Nicole Ryan

  Richard here? What a mess. “Uh, uh...” she stammered.

  "Well, is he or isn't he?"

  "He was my fiancé, but I don't know how he found me."

  "Says he wants to come in and talk to you."

  Gwyneth shook her head. “I don't have anything else to say to him. I broke our engagement two weeks ago."

  "Good. My guards will send him away."

  "On the other hand...” Dammit! She'd take advantage of this opportunity and roast Richard's ears for him—and maybe a few other body parts while she was at it. He had no business chasing her around like someone obsessed. That position was already filled—or were Mike's suspicions correct? Was Richard responsible for the stalker? “...Maybe I should talk to him. I mean, since he's here."

  "It's your choice.” George Carlton pulled his face into a grim approximation of a smile. “This is a farm, not a prison."

  "Could've fooled me."

  "Miss Wells, it pays to have a modicum of security."

  "I'm sure it does. I didn't mean to imply otherwise."

  Mr. Carlton spoke into the microphone. “Let him in, Mac."

  "I'll wait for him out front.” More than eager to remove herself from the grim, old man's presence, Gwyneth turned to leave.

  Michael's mother walked into the room. “Is there anything I can do, Gwyneth? Set another place for dinner?” She frowned and added, “Although it will make us uneven at table."

  Heaven forbid.

  Gwyneth forced her fists to unclench. “No, I assure you he won't be staying for dinner."

  * * * *

  Mike looked down at Marina. Her dark brown eyes twinkled with mischief. He'd seen the same expression on his son's face when he'd been bad or was about to be.

  In spite of the warm, summer night, Marina hugged her arms to her chest, as if chilled. “I think you're in trouble again."

  "Try not to look so pleased,” Mike reproved, but he couldn't completely banish the grin that tugged at his lips.

  "I'm sorry, sort of.” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction Gwyn had taken.

  Mike sighed. “She's a little high maintenance, but—uh, we'll work it out."

  "You'd better go after her."

  "Probably should.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Personally, I favor letting the good counselor cool down."

  "She is a little on the volatile side."

  Remembering just how volatile the counselor could be, granted in very different circumstances, Mike agreed, “A little.” The memory brought a new rush of blood to his groin. “But her heart is good."

  "Glad to know that."

  "Come on in. I'll see what she's up to."

  "And I think I'll see if your mother needs help with anything."

  Mike nodded, glad for Marina's discreet excuse to leave him alone with Gwyneth.

  His mother certainly had enough help, a full-time household staff and catering people running all over the place.

  Once inside, he looked for Gwyn.

  He found her. Storming from his father's study, she blazed right past him without a second glance and strode to the front door.

  Was she leaving? Had his father said something so vile she felt she had to rush off without a word?

  "Gwyn,” he called after her. Dammit. What's she up to now?

  She stopped. Thank heaven.

  She turned. Uh-oh.

  Her lovely lips were set in a firm line, eyes glaring. In a word, the good counselor was about to throw a fit. In spite of the very real terror engendered by the thought of witnessing another of her temper tantrums, he brazened it out. “What's wrong?"

  Her hands clenched at her side, she announced, “Richard's followed me here, and I'm going to kill him."

  Mike disregarded the startled expressions of the guests in earshot of her statement. “Second the motion. But what the hell's he doing here?” He lowered his voice, hoping that Gwyn would take the hint.

  "I don't know. I don't even know how he discovered where I was. But he's going to be sorry,” she hissed.

  "I'll talk to Klein.” Talk to him—hell! With every testosterone-pumped cell in his body, Mike ached for the chance to punch the other man's lights out. It would be so sweet.

  "No, this is my problem. I'll settle it."

  "No, it's our problem, and I'll settle it.” He clenched his fists and squared his shoulders. Time for heroics. A male thing. Gwyn would understand—and appreciate it, of course.

  She giggled. “Relax, Terminator. I can do this, but you're going to have to take a chill pill, or I won't be able to stay mad long enough to get rid of him."

  Plainly, he'd expected too much. She didn't understand or appreciate his red-blooded, American male need to bust his rival's nose and rub his face in the dirt. Women.

  "This isn't a joking matter. He might be dangerous."

  She smiled as if she were talking to a dim bulb. “Then I'll scream, and you can rescue me. Take it or leave it. That's the only deal on the table."

  Grudgingly, he nodded. “I'll be right here—on the other side of the door.” God, he loved it when she talked business.

  "Fine."

  A second later, she'd slipped through the door and out into the night. Mike took a deep breath and prayed Klein would try something.

  "I certainly wouldn't mind having a go at her,” a voice said behind him.

  Mike whirled. Maybe he could punch someone after all.

  The owner of the voice was nearly a head shorter and fifty pounds lighter than Mike and barely out of his teens. In other words, a pasty-faced runt.

  "Pardon?” Mike asked in his deadliest tone.

  "Closest thing I've seen to one of those Viking women on horses."

  "Valkyries?"

  "Yeah, that's it. She's one long, luscious drink of water. And I'm a little on the thirsty side—"

  "That's enough! Mike advanced on the punk. “The lady is a respected attorney, and she's my guest.” Deciding introductions were in order, he added, “I'm Mike Carlton. This is my parents’ home."

  "Edmund Everley, financial and computer genius.” Everley looked around, an arrogant smirk marring his expression. “Nice digs."

  "Thank you,” Mike acknowledged with a frown, distracted from his mission by Everley's remarks. “If you'll excuse me, I need to check on matters outside."

  * * * *

  Gwyneth put on her sternest, no-nonsense expression. “You have five minutes.” She made her tone as terse as Judge Judy's, then made a point of checking her watch. “Starting now."

  Richard's face turned beet-red. “Don't be ridiculous,” he sputtered. “I didn't come all this way to have you brush me off."

  "We're through. It's over. How many ways do I have to say it?” Amazed, she watched as Richard reacted. His entire body shook with anger. Even his usually immaculate shirt and tie were in disarray.

  "It can't be over. We've made plans for our future. You can't give it all up for that ne'er-do-well..."

  She smiled. “He does well enough. Better than you."

  Richard's face passed beet-red and deepened to purple. Fists clenched, he stepped toward her.

  Refusing to back down, Gwyneth shook her fist in his face. “Take another step, and so help me, I'll kill you with my bare hands."

  "I don't think so,” Richard rasped. He took that other step and grabbed her by the shoulders before she could take a swing at him.

  Instead, she pounded on his chest and raked the side of his face with her nuclear-indestructible, acrylic nails, leaving four rows of red, raw skin.

  "Bitch!” Richard screamed, releasing her and grabbing his face. “You almost blinded me."

  "I should've gone for your heart, you bastard.” So intent was her focus on his next move—

  Mike stepped between her and Richard and flattened him with a powerful punch to his solar plexus, followed by a sharp uppercut to the chin.

  Mike stood over Richard, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. “Big mistake, pal."
>
  Gwyn's mouth dropped open. Richard lay unmoving on the pea-gravel drive.

  "Glass-jawed weasel.” Mike laughed.

  "Did you kill him?"

  "Nah,” he replied, continuing to favor his right hand.

  She reached for him. “Are you hurt? Let me see."

  "I'm fine.” He gestured, dismissed her concern.

  Gwyn glared down at Richard. “What about him?"

  Mike shrugged. “Get one of the guards. We'll put him in his car. When he comes to, Security will see that he leaves the estate."

  "But he's unconscious. Shouldn't he see a doctor?"

  Mike stiffened, shooting her a fierce glance. “All of a sudden, you're concerned about this jerk? He was ready to manhandle you. If I—"

  "I could have taken care of it myself."

  "Couldn't take the chance. Surely you didn't expect me to stand by and—"

  "I was handling him.” She raised her chin a notch. “Honestly, I'm sick of all the macho shenanigans. Yours and his. I'm considering giving up men entirely."

  Mike threw his head back and laughed ... and laughed entirely too long.

  "Seriously,” she insisted.

  Mike shook his head. Obviously he didn't believe a word of it.

  "Listen, counselor, are you going to get someone to help me, or are you ready to risk your manicure?"

  Gwyneth glanced down at her hands. Luckily her Chicago Champagne Toast nail polish was undamaged. “All right, I'll get someone.” She turned and walked gingerly through the pea-gravel. Why didn't his parents have a paved drive? she wondered. Her Sergio Rossi pumps would certainly be worse for the wear.

  * * * *

  Once inside, Gwyneth glanced around the foyer. Where was security anyway? Who should she approach? Marina was closest. Would she know who or where the security guards were? “Marina?"

  A vision in a burgundy Vera Wang, Marina turned. A frown flitted across her face, which she quickly replaced with a smile. “Yes. We need to talk ... privately?"

  Sizing up her competition, Gwyneth took a deep breath, then nodded. After all, she'd stood up to Richard, surely she could handle Marina. “But first I need—I mean, Mike wants one of the security guards to help him—uh, outside."

  Marina's dark eyebrows went up in alarm. “Is he—"

  "No, Mike's fine. He just needs some help with something."

  Peering around the room, Marina nodded to the left. “That big guy is Rocky. He's head of security."

  "Thanks.” Gwyneth rushed over to him. Big guy? He was a mountain. The man was at least six-feet, five or six with shoulders that strained at the seams of his navy blazer.

  "Rocky?"

  Rocky turned to her with a friendly smile across his broad face. Blue eyes twinkling, he nodded. “Yes, Miss Wells, how may I assist you?"

  "Outside—Mike needs you."

  His body tensed as he patted the side of his jacket. He's armed, she realized with a shock. Well, of course, he's armed. He's security.

  "I'm on it."

  Watching the guard's wide back retreat, she turned again to Marina. “You wanted to talk to me?"

  Marina nodded. “Shall we go out on the terrace?"

  * * * *

  Rocky picked up Klein by the shoulders, while Mike bent over and grabbed the attorney's feet. Together they carried Klein to his car and shoved his carcass behind the wheel. Mike slammed the car door. “Thanks, Rocky."

  "Sure thing, Mike.” Rocky turned up his nose at Klein. “So this dude's your squeeze's ex, huh?"

  "Yeah. Emphasis on ex."

  Rocky threw an amused glance at the ex. “Didja notice? He pissed his pants. Don't know what she saw in ‘im."

  "Yeah. I don't think he's used to dealing with real men.” Mike flexed his bicep and grinned. “Klein's such a chicken-shit, he'd better think twice before messing with my girl again."

  "Well, she's a looker. You done good, kid."

  "Thanks.” Mike grinned at the man who lived up to his name. “Speaking of Gwyn, where is she?"

  Rocky cocked his head to one side and raised his eyebrows. “When I came outside, she and Marina had their heads together."

  "Uh-oh.” Mike ran his hands through his hair. “Guess I'd better get back inside before someone really gets hurt."

  Twenty-four

  A full moon had risen in the summer night sky, bathing the terrace in pale silver. A night tailor-made for love, but instead of being in her lover's arms, Gwyneth was about to get up-close and personal with the mother of Mike's child.

  Was she the only one who saw disaster looming? She didn't need ESP to know she should've never let Mike sweet-talk her into coming to the country for a quiet weekend.

  Quiet weekend? If being surprised by a hitherto unknown son and his mother, harassed by her ex-fiancé and snubbed by Mike's father constituted a quiet weekend, she sure as hell hated to see any other kind.

  Marina led Gwyneth to a teak bench and sat down. She smoothed the sleek lines of her Vera Wang. “I love your gown. Stella McCartney?"

  "No.” Gwyneth glanced down at her own dress. “It's by a young designer in Soho. Kiki Renaldo. She's up-and-coming. You should be hearing of her soon."

  Marina flashed a wide smile. “It's lovely.” She glanced down at her hands as if uncertain how to continue.

  After watching the dark-haired woman chew on her bottom lip and take deep breaths for what seemed like an hour, Gwyneth decided she'd had enough. “Let's cut to the chase. You wanted to talk privately. We're private. Let's talk."

  "I'm sorry. It's just that this is difficult for me. I-I imagine you have questions. I'll answer them."

  "Damn right, I have questions. Just how do you fit into Mike's life?"

  "I'm the mother of his son. That's all I am to Michael."

  "I'm just guessing, but we're not talking about an immaculate conception, are we?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Mike and I haven't known each other very long, but from what he's told me, he was in love with his wife. But Adam's age would indicate...” Gwyneth waited, hoping Marina would just get on with it.

  "He was born after Michael and Tamiko were married.” She paused, then added, “Nine months after."

  "What?” Had Mike had one last fling as a free man or had he been unfaithful on his honeymoon? Good Lord. When it came right down to it, Gwyneth wasn't sure she could handle the truth.

  Her eyes pleading, Marina spoke haltingly, “Let me start at the beginning. I-I don't think I can manage this if I don't."

  "Fine.” Gwyneth sank down on the bench beside Marina and tried to keep from planning Mike's murder.

  "I've known Michael since I was a little girl. His father and mine are old friends. They always planned that Michael and I would marry. I know it sounds old-fashioned, but it was okay with me. I was crazy about him. I'm a couple years younger, so Michael basically thought I was a major nuisance. Tamiko was always around, but she was his age and they went everywhere together when he was here at the farm."

  "But then they fell in love."

  Marina nodded. “Well, that's how it is, you know. Michael has a mind of his own. His father threatened to disinherit him, but Michael told him, ‘Go ahead.’ He and Tamiko would just run away and live their own lives."

  "I still don't see how you—"

  "Please,” Marina begged, tears shining in her dark eyes. “Just let me finish. One night, Michael and Tamiko had a big fight. She broke their engagement, and he took off. Over the years, Tamiko and I had become friends, so she asked me to find him and make sure he got home all right. He was in an after-hours dive called The Red Eye, drunk as a lord, but I managed to get him into my car and drove him home."

  "So one thing led to another, and you just slipped right into Tamiko's place. Convenient."

  "It wasn't like that. I—uh, yes, I guess it was, but please ... Please, let me finish. It's sordid enough without having to repeat it."

  Growing more infuriated with every syllable Marina uttered
, Gwyneth bit back her anger, then nodded. “Go on."

  "One of the guards helped me get him upstairs. I tried to loosen some of his clothes, and he was so out of it, he thought I was Tamiko, come to make up with him. He—"

  "He raped you?” Gwyneth gasped.

  "No, no, it wasn't like that. I wanted him. I loved him. B-but he didn't know what he was doing. He didn't remember being with me the next day.” Marina held up a hand to stop Gwyneth's saying anything else. “So I decided, no harm done. I was more in love with him than ever, but I knew he loved Tamiko. Then he found out that his father had threatened to fire Tamiko's father if she didn't break up with him.

  "Michael went ballistic. He tracked Tamiko down, and they ended up eloping. He brought her back to the house as his wife not forty-eight hours after I'd been with him. There was another big row. He told his father to go to hell, and he and Tamiko left.

  "When I turned up pregnant, my father was furious. He locked me in my room for two weeks before I finally admitted the baby was Michael's. My father went to Mr. Carlton, and together they made sure Tamiko knew everything. She never spoke to me again. Michael never came back to Virginia until after Tamiko died, but he's always been a good father to Adam."

  "Why are you telling me all this?"

  "I don't want you to blame Michael. It was my doing. And I don't regret it. But I've finally accepted the truth. He'll never love me—not the way I want him to. He's in love with you. And if it isn't you, it'll be someone else. So he's yours, even if he's not mine to give."

  "Gracious of you.” Gwyneth had more to say, but something in Marina's expression made her stop. Maybe it was the dark beauty's trembling lower lip, or perhaps it was the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. “I'm sorry. That was a stupid and hateful thing to say. I don't blame you."

  "But I don't want you to blame Michael either. He's been so sad since Tamiko died. And now he's happy again."

  Gwyneth shook her head. “I don't know if I'm the right person for Mike—"

  "You are, if you love him,” Marina insisted, her mouth set in a firm line.

  "It's too soon."

  Someone walked up behind Gwyneth and placed his strong hands on her shoulders.

  Mike. She recognized his familiar, woodsy scent.