by Sun Chara
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
“Yes.”
He searched her face, then nodded in acquiescence.
Unusual. Him being so accommodating.
Stella rubbed her nape, settling fine hair on end. Until she was safely tucked in her own bed, she wouldn’t put anything past him.
“The library’s down the hall … you can wait there.” He strode to the door, tossing over his shoulder, “When it’s time, Minni will come for you.”
“Thank you,” Stella murmured, surprised she’d uttered the civil words. But by then, she stood alone in the middle of the dining room, so he must’ve missed them. For some inexplicable reason, she felt deserted.
Foolish, girl.
She strolled to the library and her shoulders sagged. No computer, no cell phone. Just shelves of books, comfy furniture and flames blazing in the grate. Cozy. Warm. Unlike the owner. Either he enjoyed his solitude or turned into a recluse for some reason. His son?
Browsing, she pulled out a volume, by-passed the sofa and sat cross-legged on the carpet. Logs crackled and hissed, shooting off sparks. Absent-mindedly, she flipped the pages, her mind wandering to her captor. It was obvious he loved his son, but a harshness underlined it, sharp and cutting in intensity. Who or what had caused the bitterness in his life? And how much did it have to do with him taking such drastic measures to bring her here, then quickly releasing her? Hmm, she set her mind on rewind…
Stella had been jogging along the English Bay beach walk near her studio home as dawn colored the sky when the two men accosted her.
“We’re not here to hurt you, Miss,” the man said, dressed in a dark suit and smoothing his reddish mustache.
“That’s right.” The other one flipped his dark hair off his brow with the back of his hand, revealing a mole at his temple.
The simple action triggered her memory.
“You two came to my studio last week,” Stella said, gauging them.
“That’s right,” the red-haired one admitted. “Since you turned his offer down, we … er … are inviting you to come see the boss himself.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the dark one agreed. “We’re to drive you there.”
“You tell boss-man,” Stella bit out, “if he wants to talk to me, he can telephone and make an appointment at a decent hour at the studio.”
“It isn’t that simple, Miss,” the man in front of her answered. “He—”
“Listen, I have a business to run,” she cut him off, starting to backtrack away from them. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it.”
The two men glanced at one another. “We hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” One sighed, the other shrugged, and both made a grab for her.
She’d fought them, but when they threw the fishing net over her, she was caught …
Stella shifted on the carpet and eased the cramps from her knees. She may be caught, but not for long. Warmth from the fire soothed, and she turned on her side, cushioning her head on her folded arms.
“Mmm, this feels nice,” she murmured.
The altercation with his two goons, followed so soon with the confrontation with the ogre, had left her physically and emotionally exhausted.
She lowered her lashes, just for a second.
After what seemed mere moments, Stella fluttered her eyes open, prickles on the back of her neck. Except for the flickering flames in the grate, the room had grown dark, the sun having set lon
g ago. She blinked to orientate herself to her surroundings and collided with his electrifying gaze.
“What’re you doing here?” She leaped up and swayed at the sudden movement. Calm as you please, he lounged on the sofa, watching her beneath his bushy brows. Feeling at a distinct disadvantage, she swept up the pillow and blanket from the floor, and hugged them to her bosom.
Stan had the urge to snake his arm out and haul her into his arms, burying his face in her hair, sliding his hands beneath her disheveled jogging suit … sweat and all. He didn’t care. Her warmth and her scent, with a hint of the Ivory soap she’d used during her shower, lassoed him.
His gut jerked, or was that his heart?
Her eyes a deep sapphire from slumber, mesmerized. He wanted to nuzzle her nape, taste … abruptly, he checked the motion.
Utter foolishness.
Hadn’t he learned his lesson in college when he got hitched on a dare? She’d taken him for a ride … every penny he had … and still after his scalp … and his son. Then, he’d been young, proud, reckless. Now, older and he hoped wiser— What the heck are you doing with this woman here? He shrugged the irksome thought aside.
If he wanted a woman, he could get one at the snap of his fingers. They were easy to come by when one was endowed with wealth. He wondered if they wanted him or his loot—if they’d even glance his way if he pumped gas at the local garage. He curled his lip in a silent snarl, and, thinking it was directed at her, Stella took a step away from him.
Fever.
Blood pulsed through his veins and pooled in his groin. He bit down an expletive. He didn’t want a woman, not now. And certainly, not this one. Too stubborn, too shrewd, too outspoken, too beautiful … he sucked in a breath and let it blast out between his teeth.
“Is it time to go?” she asked.
Let her go? Never again.
“A change of plans,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.
“Oh?” Stella moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
Sexual awareness flared. Stan tightened his jaw.
“You won’t be leaving today, after all.” At her outraged expression, he was quick to add, “A problem with the truck.” Under the circumstances, he had trouble believing the lame excuse himself. Just happened to be true s’all. Whether she believed him or not was her problem. Yeah, right.
“How convenient.”
“Actually, it’s not,” he muttered. “The group wanted to get to town and stock supplies before first snow.”
“Snow?”
He ignored her query. “Fred was going to check on the limo and halfway there, the Hummer broke down. He had to hike back.”
“Poor him.”
He didn’t even blink at her sarcastic rejoinder. “The outing will be postponed until tomorrow, together with your return.” A pause and, “Poor you?”
“Go to he—”
“I’ve already been,” he ground out. “Don’t recommend it.”
About to shoot back, she thought better of it. Stoking the already volatile situation wouldn’t get her out of there. And that’s what she wanted.
Definitely.
“Doesn’t look like snow to me, not by a long shot,” she said again.
“At least not for another couple of months.”
“We like to be prepared in case it’s early this year.” He hauled himself off the sofa and reached out for the blanket and pillow.
She clutched them tighter, like a protective device. “What about trekking to the limo and driving from there?”
“Not in this darkness, unless it’s an absolute emergency,” he said, tone flat. “Dangerous, especially if you’re not familiar with the trail.”
“To me, this is an emergency.”
“Not enough to risk a broken leg in a pot hole. Be serious, Ms. Ryan.” He raised a brow. “What’s one more day going to matter? You could leave early tomorrow without risk.”
What he said made sense, but she didn’t have to like it. She certainly didn’t want to stay shacked up with him, miles from anywhere. It was time to be proactive, and get her own ticket outa this sticky mess.
“You’re invited for dinner. Minni’ll—”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Fine.”
His indifference infuriated … then she glanced down at the bedding in her hands. Odd, she hadn’t had them when she first lay down by the fireside.
She frowned, and an image pushed its way to the forefront of her mind. Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, she’d felt a gentle hand lift her head and slip the pillow beneath…cover her with the blanket. She thought she’d been dreaming but—
“Did … uh … you bring the blanket?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t want you catching cold.”
“Thank—”
“A sick Karate coach wouldn’t do me any good,” he said, cutting off her polite remark with his callous words.
Jerk. She threw the blanket at him.
He caught it. “Your hand must be okay.”
The pillow followed. He ducked and it sailed over his head, landing on the sofa behind him.
“Mad about something, Ryan?” He rubbed his earring with his thumb, his face the picture of innocence. “I was only thinking of your well-being.”
“Don’t do me any favors, Rogers,” she snapped. “And to think that I’d begun—” She skidded to a halt.
“You were saying,” he prompted, amusement twitching the corner of his mouth.
“None of your business.” She turned her back to him and stared at the fire in the grate.
A few flickers struggled to survive. Overly confined, flames couldn’t breathe, fizzled out. She was starting to feel like that and she resented it.
Controlled wildfire could sweep across … clear … a new beginning. He’d done that for her four years ago, when he financed her dojo; she would not let him take that away from her.
Pressure seemed to be building around him, and she pitied the person who got caught in its explosive wake. A showing was sure to be in the cards … and she’d bet, soon. She’d skip out long before then and not get trapped in the crossfire.
Her temples throbbed. She’d almost believed the story about his son. Wha-a-at? She hadn’t seen a child around. And the burning question—where was the wife?
“If you change your mind, dinner is at eight. Be prompt.” The deep timbre of his voice skewered her thoughts aside, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the door closing behind him. Immediately, his arm shot around the jamb. He flicked on the light switch, withdrew and was gone.
Stella blinked from the sudden glare and sank on the couch. Hugging the pillow, she laid her head upon it—too bad she’d missed her target … him. He rattled her, stirring feelings inside her that were yet unclear. She wanted to dismiss the emotion together with the man who lit the fuse. She laughed, a humorless sound. That would be impossible. One couldn’t disregard a man like Stan Rogers, not with his magnetism, his potent sexuality. Hate him, yes, ignore him, never.
***
Stella declined dinner and paced the floor of her room, plotting her course of action. In a few hours, everyone would be asleep. Except her.
In the meantime, she had to contend with hunger pangs pummeling her stomach. Eight hours had passed since lunch, and the mouth-watering aromas drifting upstairs from the kitchen didn’t help matters. She leafed through a magazine, realized it was upside down and slapped it back on the stack. She sighed, and flicked on the TV, changed her mind and flicked it off. She had to concentrate … focus. Her mind veered to the bearded man and a million questions flittered through her mind.
A sudden knock on the door made her jump and she turned, alert.
Minni opened the door and stepped inside, balancing a tray in her hands.
“Oh, Minni, you’re a lifesaver.” Stella seized the tray laden with food before it toppled to the floor.
“’Twas Mr. Rogers’ idea.” She winked and smoothed her hands over her apron. “He thought y
e might be hungry by now. Said ye could pout all ye want, but eat something ye must.”
Stella snatched a cheese sandwich and bit into it with gusto, barely hearing her gentle reprimand. Almost choking on the piece, she forced it down and grabbed the glass of milk.
“Mmm, this is absolutely delicious,” she mumbled between mouthfuls, rolling her eyes. “Thanks, Min.”
“Not at all, Miss,” Minni replied. “’Tis a pleasure to have a fresh young face around here for a change. We don’t get many visitors up here.”
“I’m not surprised.” What with the ogre ordering everyone around. “It’s so far away,” she added, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.
“Not at all,” Minni said. “This being one of the lower peaks of the Coast Range” –she paused and calculated— “wedged between Grouse and Whistler, it’s about an hour from the main road to Vancouver.”
Bingo.
Stella drained the glass and set it back on the tray. The hike to the road would take about half an hour. If she managed to make it that far and was lucky to catch a bus on its last run, she’d be snoozing in her own bed by midnight. It was risky, but she was determined to try.
“Minni, do you mind if I ask you something?” Stella reached for an apple and buffed it to a shine across her sleeve. “Where’s the boy and his mom?”
“Mrs. Rogers doesn’t live here.” Minni straightened her apron and fidgeted with the ruffled edges. “As for the boy, he’s—”
At that moment, Stan bellowed from below and the woman started, breaking off mid-sentence. Stella could have screamed.
“Goodnight, lass.” Minni hurried out, mumbling about grocery lists to discuss before retiring for the night.
Drat the man! Stella bit into the apple, imagining it was a part of his anatomy she dug her teeth into. Juice dribbled down her chin. She flicked it off with her fingers, licked them clean and tasted sweet tartness.
Moments later, Stella set the tray in the hallway and listened.
Whispers of voices filtered up the stairs, and she closed the door. Stepping across to the bed, she bounced on the edge a couple of times and lay down.
Her eyelids felt heavy. She stretched her arms above her head, contemplated the wooden beams of the ceiling and counted backwards from one hundred. By the time she got to one, she closed her eyes. Bliss. The bed was so comfortable and she was so very tired … she mustn’t fall asleep, mustn’t …