Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

by Sun Chara

  The sound of a door slamming echoed through the walls and startled her from her semi-doze. She pushed hair off her face, rubbed her eyes and yawned. A pause, and she slid off the bed. It creaked. She froze. When she didn’t hear anything, she tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack.

  The tray was gone and tranquility filled the lodge. She closed the door, leaned her head on the jamb and counted to ten. Twisting around, she hurried to the window and raised the already half open shutter. Pungent forest scents sailed to her. The night was dark as a witch’s cauldron and still as a cat about to pounce. A nervous giggle bounced its way up her throat, and she slammed her hand over her mouth. A moonbeam flitted from behind a cloud, and trees swayed in the breeze, creating ghostly images.

  Stella took a deep breath, exhaled, and climbed over the ledge onto the roof. Crouching like a cat burglar, she was ready to jump but changed her mind and crawled forward, peeking over the edge. A drainage pipe swiveled down the side of the building. She grabbed onto it, the metal felt cold and hard beneath her fingers as she inched her way to the ground. Almost there, she missed her footing, swallowed her scream and careened off, landing with a thud. She scrambled to her feet, dusted herself off, thankful that no bones were broken. Bruised, she rubbed her tush.

  Night breeze smacked her hot face and pierced through her one layer of clothing, chilling her sweaty skin. She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself. Staring at the trail disappearing into the eerie forest, Stella wondered if she’d made a smart decision.

  The tense moment passed, and she chuckled, shaking off the foreboding. Tiptoeing to the garage, she stepped through the half open door and rummaged the shelves for a flashlight. She would return it by mail; she eased her conscience.

  Suddenly, lights blazed.

  Her heart vaulted into her throat. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness and someone grabbed her. She screamed.

  Chapter 4

  “I should’ve known you’d try something foolhardy.”

  Stella struggled to pull out of his arms. “Leave me alone, Rogers.” She stomped hard on his foot and he loosened his hold a fraction. In that instant she wrenched free, served him a front kick to the abdomen and dashed from the garage.

  “Spitfire.” He tackled her and she tumbled to the ground, breath knocked out of her. Flipping her on her back, he straddled her and pulled her arms over her head, imprisoning them in his grip. “What now, my Karate gal?”

  “You infuriating, no good—”

  “Didn’t think you’d run from a challenge, Ryan.”

  Wriggling beneath him, she kicked her legs in the air and twisted her arms to escape him.

  “Thought you were tougher.” Stan leaned closer and looked deep into her eyes, the bristle of his chin a stimulant on her skin. “Hmm, could I have made a mistake … rarely known to happen, but with you—”

  “You pompous a—”

  He yanked her up so fast, she slammed into his chest, breath bursting out of her. Moonlight cast shadows across his features—his eyes, his cheekbones … his mouth … him.

  Dark. Mysterious. Sensual.

  He lowered his head, his lips a feather breadth from her own, his breath a warm caress upon her skin. A puff of air caught in her throat. Beneath her hands, his heart pounded to the wild beat of her own.

  “Come on.” With his hand firmly on her elbow, he walked her to the house, an impatient rhythm to his stride. “I told you Fred would drive you home tomorrow. Now, go to bed.”

  “All right, all right.” She skirted around him into the hallway, the sting of her words scouring her tongue. Anger was directed more at herself than at him, because what he said made sense.

  ***

  Stella fluttered her eyelashes open and squinted at the clock on the wall. Six-thirty a.m. In limbo for a second, she yawned and everything rushed back in her mind. She groaned. Throwing off the covers, she slid out of bed and headed to the window. She peered up at the sky. Sunshine filtered through fluffy clouds.

  Relief. No snow.

  Forest creatures heralded the beginning of a new day, and nature’s serenity washed over her. She turned away, lifting the flannel nightgown Minni had left for her the night before, over her head.

  A scream pierced the air.

  She froze in mid-motion, and the nightie fell back in place over her body. The shrill sound penetrated the walls again. She yanked the door open and flew into the hallway, pausing a second to determine its direction.

  Muffled weeping.

  Stella hurried to a half-open door several yards away and tiptoed inside. Except for a faint nightlight, the drawn drapes shrouded the room.

  She blinked to adjust her eyes to the dimness and saw him. The child lay curled beneath the blankets on the bed, his head half buried under the pillow, his sobs echoing around her. She stepped nearer and brushed his shoulder with a gentle hand.

  “Mommy.” He hiccupped on a sob and peeked at her from beneath his woolen fortress, his damp lashes fringing his blue eyes.

  A hit in the gut. They were the exact replica of the ogre’s.

  She swiped her moist palms on her nightgown and sat on the edge of the bed; he fell into her arms. Rocking him into a semi-doze, she was about to tuck him beneath the covers, when the door burst open.

  “What’s wrong?” Stan demanded, strain carving his features. “Is he all right?” He fastened the belt around his robe, but the material sagged across his chest, revealing the scatter of gold curls.

  “Shh.” Stella placed a forefinger on her lips and tried to ignore her pulse bruising her ribs.

  He shook his hair off his brow, his drowsy gaze catching and holding her own. She held his greatest treasure in her arms. Swallowing, she bit her lip and tried to analyze her reaction to him. She couldn’t. At that moment, the child stirred in her arms and put a stop to her troubling thoughts.

  “What’s up, sport?” Stan asked.

  The boy snuggled closer to Stella.

  “I see you’re okay.” He stepped nearer to help put him to bed, and his foot caught on the frayed mat. Toppling off balance, he grabbed for the bedside table, the lamp crashed to the floor and he followed.

  Jarred awake, the child gaped at Stella, then at his father sprawled on the carpet. “Let go, witch.” He pummeled her chest with his fists. “Witch!”

  Stella let him go. He scrambled from the bed and knelt beside his father, crying.

  “I’m all right, Troy.” Stan shuffled to a sitting position and hugged him close. “Poppa’s okay.”

  The scene tugged at her heart, and feeling like an intruder, Stella walked for the door.

  “Hold it, Ms. Ryan,” Stan said.

  Stella paused, every nerve in her body tensing.

  “Time you met my son, Troy.” He pushed himself to his feet and whispered to the boy.

  “Ho-ow do you do, Ms. Ryan.” Troy drew closer to his father and clutched onto his pyjamas. Slowly, he stretched out his thin hand.

  Stella reached out and the moment her fingertips brushed his, he snatched his hand back, hiding it behind his back.

  “What’s cracklin’, Troy?” Stella smiled, and squatted to match the child’s height. “Your room’s cool, dude.”

  Intrigued, Troy stared at her but remained glued to his father’s side.

  Stella patted her hands on her thighs and stood. Her gaze skittered from the son to the father, and settled on him for a heartbeat.

  An erratic beat.

  A troubled beat.

  She glanced down at her bare feet, then wished she hadn’t. A blush warmed her cheeks. That, and the flimsy nightgown she wore made her feel vulnerable.

  A distinct disadvantage.

  Abruptly, she turned and walked away, the carpet cushioning her footsteps.

  “We’ll see you at breakfast, Ms. Ryan,” Stan called after her as she slipped out the door.

  An hour later, Stella bounced down the stairs to the dining room. She had to go without makeup, even lipgloss. S
he’d swept her hair up and fastened it in a ponytail with an elastic she found on the dresser. Unable to bring herself to wear her sweat-stained jogging suit again, she succumbed and slipped on the Karate gui she found on the bed that first day; the whisper of silk, a seductive caress over body. The scarlet shade complimented her fair complexion. She tied the sash around her waist and chuckled. It’d be flashy in a tournament, but so inappropriate for working out. She preferred her well-worn guis and her hard-earned black belt strapped around her waist.

  The instant she entered the room, Stella felt like a specimen under a magnifying glass. Both father and son gaped at her. She wiggled her shoulders and stood her ground.

  “Perfect timing, Ms. Ryan.” Stan rose from his chair, his gaze strobing over her silk-clad curves. “The uniform fits.”

  “Gui,” she corrected, plunking down in the nearest chair.

  “Independent to the hilt—” He resumed his seat, his muttered words for her ears alone.

  “Have to be,” she fired back, smiling to take the sting from her words with the child still staring at her. “Especially these days” –she paused— “and in these circumstances.”

  He didn’t miss her meaning, and she didn’t miss the imperceptible narrowing of his eyes.

  A warning?

  Dismissing the thought, she turned to the boy dressed in corduroy pants and a sweater, sitting so proper in the huge chair, his slippered feet dangling over the edge. “You’re looking pretty nifty in that outfit, Troy.”

  A timid smile flittered across his mouth. “My … my poppa says” –he glanced at his father, then back at her— “you’re here to teach me Ka-arate.”

  Stella shot a veiled glance at Stan. He shrugged, but his jaw tightened, his mouth set.

  “I’d love to,” she said, softly. “But I have to go back to work.”

  Troy’s lashes fell over his eyes and he withdrew into his shell.

  She could’ve clobbered Stan for maneuvering her into this. Perhaps one day she would, and how.

  “Sensei Ryan has to return to teach her other students.” Stan buttered a piece of toast and took a bite. “She doesn’t have time for a lesson today.”

  He might as well have taken a chunk out of her instead of the slice of bread. The boy’s crestfallen face jabbed at her heart. Guilt stabbed … but she had nothing to feel guilty about.

  “Your father can bring you to the studio.” Stella twisted the napkin in her lap, imagining it to be said father’s neck. “I’ll show you some fast moves.”

  Stan cocked a brow.

  Stella ignored him.

  Troy nodded, but his lip trembled and his eyes shimmered with tears.

  “That’s very good of Ms. Ryan, son,” Stan said. “I’m sure she’d like to know you root for her in tournaments to floor her opponent.” Just try it, his eyes said.

  Wicked man.

  Wicked.

  But his words brought a hint of a smile to Troy’s mouth. The ogre had a saving grace after all. That irritated her more, because she couldn’t use that excuse to dislike him outright.

  “And how you gobble up Sports Unlimited.” He raised his cup and took a sip of coffee.

  Troy’s shy smile broadened, dimpling his cheek.

  Top that, he seemed to challenge.

  She did.

  “I’d be honored to teach such a fan.” Stella gripped the glass of orange juice between her palms. “You’d make a fine karateka.”

  A spark lit Troy’s eyes, then quickly diminished together with his smile. He poked the scrambled eggs on his plate with his fork.

  “You could show her your scrapbook.” Stan set the coffee cup on its saucer with a definite clatter. “I’m sure Ms. Ryan would want to see it.”

  Stella bit her lip, not missing the subtle sarcasm underlying his words. Stan Rogers was playing an unfriendly game and she was determined not to fall prey to it.

  “I’d be delighted to see it, Troy,” she said, voice gentle. “I hope you’ll bring it with you when you visit my dojo.”

  Stan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes drilling into her.

  Moments pulsed with tension, building to breaking point. An invisible cord seemed to wind itself around her heart, imprisoning her to him … and a warning sounded in her head.

  “Could I … uh … show you my picture book before you go, Ms. Ryan?” Troy asked, glancing at her from beneath his sooty lashes.

  “I don’t think Ms. Ryan has time for that, Troy,” Stan said. “Even her weekends are booked. If she could, she’d spend this weekend with you.”

  Except it wouldn’t be just with the boy. It’d be with you too, you big bad wolf.

  Bad, bad wolf.

  “Go ask Minni what time they’re leaving.” He pushed back his chair and stood, his glacial glare making her shiver. “Ms. Ryan’s ready to go.”

  The child shuffled off the chair and trudged to the door, his head downbent.

  Stella set the glass down and jumped up, almost knocking over her chair.

  “How dare you,” she murmured, her words tumbling from her mouth.

  “You had no right to disregard my wishes in that imperious way.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “That and a whole lot besides,” she said, her ire reflected in her stance. The man was aggravating. The child adorable, currently rubbing his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. Her heart jerked. As much as she tried to dismiss it, compassion for the boy overrode her fury with the father.

  “Just a minute, Troy.” She walked up to the child and placed an arm across his shoulders. He stiffened. Gently, she turned him round to face her and he relaxed a fraction. “I’d like to spend some time with you today.” She dared a covert glance at Stan who stood with his arms akimbo and a mocking line slashed across his mouth. “I’ll leave tomorrow evening instead and be back in time for my Monday classes. How’s that?”

  Troy’s face lit up and he ran to his father, tugging at his trouser leg. “Can she stay, Poppa, can she?”

  “Of course.” Stan ruffled his son’s dark curls with his hand, his eyes sparring with hers. “That was the idea … to score.”

  Troy dashed from the room calling for Minni.

  “I don’t like being blackmailed, Rogers.” Stella marched fast forward and halted, keeping the wide girth of table between them. So, he’d scored a hit at her expense. This tug-of-war between them was by no means over.

  “Blackmailed?” He slapped his hands on the surface and leaned closer. “I don’t blackmail anyone, Ms. Ryan. You chose to stay.”

  Stella gripped the edge so hard the weave of lace imprinted itself on her fingertips. “You staged that very well.” Indignant, she met his gaze head on. “I’d call that emotional blackmail.”

  In a swift movement, he lurched around the table and pulled her hard against him. “Call it what you will.”

  “A spade’s a spade, Rogers.”

  An amused line feathered his lips. “So it is.”

  Stella spread her hands across his chest to push him away.

  Major blunder.

  His sexual heat zapped into her fingers … her bloodstream … her heart. A gasp caught in her throat, and she let him go, staying frozen to the spot.

  “Thanks for what you did for my son just now.” He traced her lips with his thumb. “I like closing the deal my way.”

  Stella found her voice. “Two can play that game.” She took a step back.

  Breathing room.

  “But there’s only one winner.”

  “Depends on what game you play.”

  “And how.” He considered her a moment, his mouth twitching at the corners. “A frontrunner—”

  “You think it’s you?”

  A broad grin broke across his lips.

  “Early leads set themselves up for a takeover.”

  A glint of surprise, then he squinted at her. “Time will tell.”

  “In the event of a tie?”

  �
��Sudden death, of course.” He wiggled his brows and his grin turned into a wolfish smile. “You should know that, Ryan.”

  “Rules?”

  “Mine.”

  She laughed, the sound crackling with cynicism. “You controlling bast—”

  “I wouldn’t, Ryan,” he advised. “There’s a child in the house.”

  She would floor him one day.

  She would.

  But for now, she bridged the gap and risked shoving him back again.

  He didn’t budge. “If it wasn’t for him, I …”

  “I know.” He stalked past her and out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter 5

  A couple of hours later, Stella stood watching Minni and the guys board the Hummer, her resentment directed at Stan who was giving them last minute instructions. She should’ve been on it. A heavy sigh escaped her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Troy had his face pressed against the living room window, his breath fogging the pane. She’d given her word to the child. She couldn’t go back on it now, but within twenty-four hours she’d be out of here, conscience free.

  When the Hummer began bumping along the track on its way to Vancouver, she glanced up at the sky. There were more blue patches than clouds. At least the weather was in her favor.

  “Praying for a way out, already?” Stan walked towards her, the gravel crunching beneath his sturdy boots.

  “Glad to see the Indian summer’s holding,” she said. “No snow for another month or so.”

  “Seems that way. However,” he added with a wicked grin, “looks can be deceptive.”

  “Well, they can remain that way until I get home.”

  He laughed and the sound ricocheted through the wooded glen.

  “I’m sure I can find more pleasant company inside.” She stomped through the entrance and shut the door to muffle the sound. It didn’t work. His deep laughter sailed through, grazing her skin and settling somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. She groaned, and sought out Troy, thinking he’d distract her from his father’s provocative presence.