Star-Crossed Curves: BBW Erotic Romance Boxed Set

by Carolina Moon

  Kara waved a hand, dismissing his words. "We aren't talking about her money. We assume she's an adult and capable of caring for herself. We are more interested in-"

  "Is she safe?" Bill intoned. "Mentally safe? Is she psychologically sound? That's more important."

  "She had a fairly rough childhood." Tara actually sat on his desk and leaned in close. He backed up an inch. "We were away a lot, and when we were home...well, it was a busy time, and I know I brought my work home with me a little too much. Once, I was injured during a peace demonstration, and it bothered her so much that she locked herself in the bedroom for three days. I can't begin to imagine what the death of a husband has done to her."

  Seriously? That seems a bit extreme, but then he had never been a preteen girl, so what the hell did he know? As for her widowhood, he'd never been through such a thing, but he knew people who had and doubted it would send her over the edge for such a long time, unless she was already unstable. So. If this were true, she had a penchant for histrionics.

  When he'd started digging again, though, he found that they were right to be worried. According to her sister, Cassie Tanger hadn't been out of her home since the burial. She did everything online - everything. Shopping, bills, investing, whatever.

  This didn't sound like a woman of sound mind, and he needed her to be of sound mind. Of course, she might be fine and just had this phobia. It obviously didn't affect her mental capabilities, if her investment success was any indication. OK, her need to hide from him in her own garden had been strange, but she had certainly been vocal when it came to ordering him out of her house. Again, what did he know? He wasn't a psychologist, either.

  He finished up his sandwich and wiped away the crumbs, then went to find the TV and elevate his leg for a little while. It would be another two hours before the doc got here.

  Bailey had been right. The woman interested him. The more he learned about her, the more he wondered. Now that he'd met her, he was even more curious. Who was so fearful that they effectively ended their own life whenever bad things happened? She hadn't left home since her husband's death? Really?

  It was a wonderful home, with everything neatly in its place. Everywhere he looked, every surface almost, was filled with growing, abundant greenery, and it occurred to him that maybe, given her background, these plants were her friends.

  He felt a tug of something, deep in his chest. He fought it while he flipped through the channels, but eventually it found its way out. The woman intrigued him, even beyond her obvious beauty. Her clear, intelligent eyes, her penchant for hiding - in the flowers, the bathroom, wherever - and her seeming inability to deal with life all made him want to protect her. He wanted to shield her from her own pain, which was impossible.

  This is stupid, Boone, he told himself. Really stupid.

  He'd seen pictures on her book jackets and newspaper clippings, but she looked different now. Her face was rounder, and her eyes were shy. She'd put on a few pounds, but that actually made her even more attractive. Before, she had been a bit bony, with sharp features and pale skin. Now she looked healthier, and she had felt wonderfully warm and soft against his chest when he'd carried her inside. Her breath had even been sweet. He hadn't wanted to put her down.

  "It's just instinct," he muttered to himself.

  She was probably upstairs sleeping, he thought. Still warm and soft, still sexy as hell. No one should have eyes that melted a man the way hers had melted him. The terror in them when she'd woken up to find him in her home tore at his heart. He hadn't meant to scare her, but when he'd made eye contact and she fainted, he had been scared, too. His first thought was that she was dead. His second thought was that she was gorgeous, and when he fought through the thicket of flowers, knelt down, and brushed the hair from her face, he had had to bite his lip to keep from kissing her soft cheek.

  Even with her eyes closed, her beautiful face spoke of fragility and sadness. He itched to save her...from what, he didn't know, but still. And when he had carried her inside and she finally opened her eyes, just for a moment his knees had weakened. They were the prettiest velvet brown he'd ever seen, huge and framed with long thick lashes that matched her dark hair.

  He sighed, aware that he was thinking like a fifteen year old boy. Stupid.

  "This is none of your business. She's wrong for the project. Leave it," he said to himself, right before he heard a knock at the door - and a small scream.

  Chapter 4

  Cassie got to the bottom of the stairs in time to see a face in the glass panel and then a man on her sofa. She screamed, panic ripping at her throat, and turned to run back up the stairs.

  "Hey!" She heard the voice, recognized him as the stranger from earlier, and kept going. The other, more muffled voice, she presumed was from the man outside on her veranda.

  "Boone! Boone, what the hell is going on in there? Let me in!"

  OK, his name was Boone, which was more than she knew a few hours ago. What the hell was he still doing here? Just as she turned the corner to the second floor landing, she heard him curse, then, "Cassie! Cassie, come back!"

  "Hell, no!" she called over her shoulder. "I told you to get out!"

  Finally, she reached the landing that led to her bedroom, ran inside and slammed the door. Leaning against it, she slid to the floor. Tears threatened. Why wouldn't they just leave her alone? She had been minding her own business for years, so why the sudden chaos?

  This was ridiculous. She should just call the cops. Except that, first of all, her phone wasn't in her bedroom. In truth, she wasn't sure where it was, exactly. Second, he really didn't seem dangerous. He seemed very concerned and more than a little stubborn, but dangerous? Not by any means. She didn't want to get him in trouble - she just wanted him to leave her alone.

  What was it he had said? He had a business proposition for her? That was weird. What if it had just been a trick to get her inside and-. Do what? Steal her jewels? She snorted, glancing at the tiny wooden jewelry box on her dresser. It only held two pieces of costume jewelry and her wedding band. OK, then. What if he wanted to have his way with her? She snorted again, looking down at her plump frame. He probably would have found someone more...alluring. She was many things, but she was definitely not alluring. More like cute, in a rom-com sidekick sort of way. Not a target for a rapist.

  So it probably wasn't a trick. She doubted that he was selling anything, either. A salesman would have left by now.

  The object of her thoughts was pounding up the stairs. When he stopped at her door and thumped on it twice, yelling, "Cassie! Open the door! I'm sorry?" She cringed and slid lower, pressing her back even more firmly against the wood. Why the hell hadn't she installed one of those safe room thingies?

  "Cassie? I'm only here because I called the doctor to come and check your head. I didn't want to leave you alone. Please open the door."

  He sounded so distraught, so genuinely sorry, that she sighed. "Please go away. I promise I'm fine, and I don't need a doctor. Please? I won't sue you or anything."

  It was his turn to sigh, and she heard him lean against the other side of the door. If it hadn't been there, they would be touching...whoa! Now where had THAT thought come from? Sheesh.

  "I'm not worried about being sued, Cassie. I'm worried about you. That was a nasty cut on your head. I want to know that you're OK. And then I need your help."

  "With what?" Why would he possibly need her? She wasn't important or special...for heaven's sake, she wasn't even capable of leaving her house.

  "Just trust me a little, and come out. This poor doctor came a long way, and he's doing me a favor. Let him check you out - just five minutes - and then he'll leave, OK?"

  Cassie hated uncertainty, and this whole situation was spilling over with it. She didn't want to leave her room to talk to these strangers, but it didn't look like they were leaving until she did.

  What if they killed her? Nah, if he had wanted to do that, he would have done it while she was knocked out. Who was
this guy?

  Suddenly she remembered the card in the back pocket of her jeans. She had slipped it there when he gave it to her, intending to throw it away as soon as he was gone. She leaned to the left and dug it out.

  Boone Colter, it read. Owner / CEO. The company name listed was one she was positive she'd never heard of - The Butterfly Organization. The name of the company contrasted sharply with her impression of the owner, and offered no clue about its purpose or products.

  It was stupid reasoning, but any man who would name his company after such a delicate creature couldn't be all bad, right? Maybe if she heard him out before telling him no, he'd finally leave. Besides, even if he was a murderer or something, she would have to get out of this room to find the phone. Briefly, she imagined herself climbing down the rear trellis. Nope. She really, really didn't want to fall three stories from the window.

  "Alright," she called. "I'm coming out. Please go back downstairs."

  She needed the moment to herself, needed to get her head on straight. If he was here for business, he was going far and away beyond the call of duty. She would let him talk, decline whatever offer he wanted to make, and go back to her quiet life. Depending on the offer...she thought wickedly, and let a small smile curl along her lips. He was a sexy devil.

  She didn't open the door until she heard his footsteps creak across the first floor landing. It was one of the perks of living in an old house. Then, smoothing her blouse and running her fingers through her shoulder length hair, she started downstairs, making a quick stop to check the cut on her head. In the excitement, she had forgotten to clean it out, and a bit of blood was still there. She cleaned it as carefully as she could, then went to show them that she was fine.

  They were in her kitchen. Boone was leaning against the sink, arms across his broad chest and watching the doorway suspiciously, as if he didn't think she would actually come through it. When she did, his face lit up, and a relieved smile played across his full lips. He had removed his jacket and tie, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal nicely tanned forearms. Lord, he was a good-looking man.

  Dr. Forster was an older man with kind eyes. Cassie liked him immediately, even though she really wished he wasn't in her house.

  "Let me take a look at that bump," he offered, moving very slowly across the room to where she stood, and it struck her that he was treating her like a trapped animal. Boone had probably told him that she was nuts. He gestured toward her kitchen table. "Have a seat, please?"

  She nodded and did as she was told. Boone was immediately beside her, reaching for her hair. She jerked away, but he only sighed and said, "Let me help. I'm only trying to help, OK?"

  His fingers brushed across her forehead as he pushed her bangs back and held them, giving the doctor a clear view of the damage. "Ouch," he mumbled. "But not as bad as I thought."

  Cassie barely heard him. His touch on her skin was electrifying. She was surprised at the roughness of his hands, as if he were an outdoorsman instead of the businessman. More than that, though, his hands were warm and gentle. He was being careful with her, and it felt wonderful.

  She watched a sweet, almost indulgent expression pass across his very sexy face, and she suddenly wondered if he had kids. He wasn't wearing a ring, but that didn't really mean anything. He could be divorced. She let her train of thought wander in that direction. His wife would have to be as stubborn as he was or she would get run over. She would also have to be gorgeous, with long legs and a ridiculously tiny waist, one that he could circle with his hands. A supermodel type. Cassie bet that they had been crazy in bed together, that they were-.

  She bit her lip. Why in heaven's name was she thinking like this? His love life was none of her business, and it would never be, so why was she thinking like this? The image of his hard, strong body, naked in a dark bedroom, made her lick her lips. No, no, no. Stop it. She shook her head.

  "Careful." Dr. Forster poked and prodded a bit, then reached into a briefcase for a couple of small bottles. "No stitches necessary," he announced, "but clean it out twice a day and put this ointment on it. It will be good as new in about a week. Now look at me instead of him."

  Cassie jerked her gaze away from Boone's dark face and felt a blush crawl up her neck.

  The doctor only chuckled and pulled a penlight from his pocket, flashing it into her eyes. Boone still held her hair, but from the corner of her eye, she could see the amusement in his eyes. Oh, jeez.

  "I think you might have a mild concussion. Nothing to worry about, but you need watching over for a day or two. Is there someone you can call?"

  Oh, crap. Cassie's mind began to work frantically. If she didn't come up with an answer, they would never leave. Or worse, they would decide that she needed to be in the hospital. Just the thought made her chest tighten.

  "Umm, my sister. I can call my sister." That should make them happy. They had no idea that her sister was out of town, so her answer should satisfy them.

  "Do that. Now, I've got a long drive home, so I'll let myself out. Call me if you need anything, young lady." He handed her a card, studied her face for a moment, then left.

  Boone let go of her hair and dropped to one knee in front of her, wincing a little as he did. "You lied," he accused.

  "I did not! I just...." How in the hell did he know so much about her? She looked down at her lap.

  "Yes, you did! But you know what? I don't care. It's your life. If you want to risk it, go ahead. This is sort of my fault, because I scared you, but I've done all I can do here." He stood up and reached for his jacket. "Keep my card and call me, so that I can give my board of directors a definite answer."

  "Good! I'm glad you finally figured that out! I really don't care about your board of directors, either. Now, leave me alone!" His words stung and disappointment shot through her heart, although she didn't know why. Wasn't that what she wanted? To be left alone? Especially by him?

  He slammed the door on his way out.

  Chapter 5

  Boone started toward the street and then realized that he didn't have a car. Damn. He wasn't going back inside, though. No way. As it was, he wanted to throttle the woman. How could anyone be so hateful and...and...obstinate toward the one person who was trying to help her? He felt through his pockets to find his cell phone and called a highly amused Bailey to come get him, then sat on her front steps, rubbing out the pain in his leg muscle. That was that. There was no way he would be able to work with this woman. No way at all. She was nuts. His project needed compassion and brains, not a crazy woman.

  No, Operation Grow was too important, and even though he really needed her expertise, he would just have to find someone else. Someone less volatile. He only hoped his board of directors would see it that way.

  He was mentally crafting his argument to convince them of that when he heard a low rumbling growl, a deep bark, and two seconds later he was knocked backward against the steps by a huge raving wall of an animal. Throwing his arms up to ward it off, he felt the hard wood cut into his back, but he was more concerned with not getting his face ripped off. He'd forgotten about the dog, and anyway, Bailey had fed the thing, never mentioning that it was a hundred pounds of muscle and teeth.

  After a moment, he realized that he wasn't getting eaten - he was getting wet. The creature was slobbering all over him. "Cassie!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "Cassie! Get this thing away from me!" He shoved back on the German Shepard, and his hands sank deep into the thick fur on its chest. Unable to reach his face now, the dog moved its attention to his hands and arms.

  A movement at the window caught his eye, and he realized that she had been watching the whole time. After a moment, the door opened, and Cassie said, "Lela! Here, girl!"

  Lela immediately lost interest and disappeared, moving around him and disappearing into the house, where treats probably waited.

  Before the door slammed shut behind him, he heard Cassie say, "Now get off my property!"

  "I'm trying!" he retaliate
d, but it sounded weak, even to him. All he had to do was step out onto the sidewalk, and he would be off her property and out of her life, regardless of what his board - and his libido - had to say about it.

  The problem was, he really didn't want that to happen. He just couldn't figure out why.

  She meant nothing to him, other than the fact that she was the perfect person to bail out this project and keep it from going under. That...and he liked her. A lot. In spite of her insanity. He liked the way her eyes snapped when she was angry and the way her hands settled on her soft hips when she was ordering him out of her house.

  When Bailey finally rolled up, he jumped into the car and grumbled, "Get me out of here!"

  Bailey grinned, "So...how'd it go?"

  "Shut up!"

  "Worse than earlier?"

  "Much. I don't want to talk about it."

  "OK. But how are you going to explain this to the board?"

  "I don't know yet. I just got soaked by her dog, and I want a shower and a beer - in that order."

  His tone cut off any further conversation, but Bailey grinned the rest of the way home.

  Bailey lived on Boone's estate, in a small house near the rear entrance. This gave a bit of added protection, as well as helping Bailey financially. Besides, it was easier to always have him close at hand.

  Boone missed driving, and still did it when he found himself with a free afternoon, but those were few and far between. Most of the time Bailey drove, leaving Boone free to take phone calls and do any paperwork that needed his attention. With seventeen small non-profits under his care, and each of them with different funding sources, there was plenty of paperwork, even though he had a staff of eight just for this purpose.

  He had built his businesses - all three of them - from scratch. With the internet becoming more useful every day, he was eventually able to automate or cut out a lot of the human work required, but he didn't want to downsize his staff. They had been with him through the harder, leaner years and he felt they deserved better than to blithely be replaced, so he cast around for a new business.