by Sun Chara
Troy knelt on the couch and drew squiggles on the misty pane with his finger. She wondered what it was about this child that beckoned to her motherly instincts. Perhaps it was his lost, forlorn look. Perhaps it was her. Had she made the right decision focusing on her career over marriage? Of course, she had. All she had to do was look at the divorce rate.
Up until now, Stella hadn’t met anyone who’d touched her soul, who’d made her heart race, who’d … then she skidded, shocked, her hand flying to her mouth. She shook her head. Her world revolved around her business; his around his son. Not in a million years. She chuckled, dispelling the dangerous notion…
“Hey there, Troy.” She forced a smile on her mouth. “Ready to show me your books?”
The boy slipped off the sofa and beckoned her to follow him upstairs.
If spending a day with the boy helped pacify the father, then good. Should Stan nix her qualifying for affordable mortgage refinance rates, she could lose her business. She raised her chin a fraction and stiffened her back with resolution. The battle lines had been drawn and subtle as they were, there was no mistaking them. She had no intention of being ambushed again, verbally or otherwise.
“We’ll see who wins, Mr. Arrogant Ogre,” she muttered beneath her breath and trudged after Troy.
Twenty minutes later, Stella still sat on the floor of Troy’s room while he flipped through his scrapbooks. When he pointed to a picture of her, they burst into a fit of giggles, and she had to wonder why he’d called her ‘witch’ in that disturbing way. However, before she could figure it out, she felt the now familiar sensation of fine down on the back of her neck standing on end … and her head snapped up.
“Having fun, you two?” Stan asked, pausing in the doorway on his way to his office downstairs.
Stella swallowed her laughter and remained silent, a sliver of awareness spearing her. The man attracted her like a magnet and that made him a triple threat. To her heart, her mind … her.
“Here’s a funny picture of Sensei Ryan.” Troy held up the scrapbook and giggled anew.
“No.” Stella made a playful grab for it, but Troy waved it at his father anyway.
A jab of pain flared inside Stan. It was the first time his son had laughed in that carefree way, and it was because of the woman next to him. A ripple of unease shot through him. What would happen when she left? Unless, he—another whack to his conscience. Ruthlessly, he crushed the thought into oblivion. Troy should be laughing and playing everyday. Children supposedly laughed one hundred and fifty times a day, and adults one tenth of that. Maybe he needed to take the hint.
Stan smiled. “Nice tumble.”
“What’re you doing here?” she asked, wariness in her voice. “I thought you were working in your study.”
“I came to get an account file from my room.” He indicated the folder in his hand. “Your laughter gave me pause.”
Stan allowed his gaze to travel over her and settled on the modest V opening of her gui top. The thin material outlined her breasts, her nipples straining against the soft silk. She’d fit perfectly in his hands, her skin velvet soft. He clamped down on his erotic thoughts and scrubbed a hand across his bearded jaw. Definitely, he’d take a ride into town as soon as Minni and the men returned. Time he viewed what the city had to offer. He’d shut himself up here far too long. That explained this foolishness regarding the woman under his roof.
“We’re not laughing now,” Stella said, the veiled sharpness of her words ripping into him.
“I see.” He was no fool. Clearly, she was letting him know that although she’d agreed to spend the day with his son, she didn’t welcome his company. A muscle pummeled his jaw. “Stella, come to my office at three. I want to discuss a few things with you.” About to say something to his son, he changed his mind and stalked down the hall.
“Right, Stan.” Stella jumped up and peered at him from around the doorjamb. “There are one or two things I’d like to discuss with you, too.”
He paused in stride, his back rigid. “I’ll look forward to it,” he tossed over his shoulder, a sardonic twist to his mouth. “Don’t wait for me with lunch. Minni left sandwiches and fruit in the fridge.” He took a step down the stairs and brushed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. What could the woman want now, apart from the obvious? To get away from him.
“Oh, wait.”
He turned and hiked a brow.
“I’d like to work out before lunch,” she said. “I’m used to running in the morning and I missed it today. Is there some place I can jog?”
“Of course.” He nodded. “There’s the gym or the trails behind the house.” For a long moment, he searched her features, trying to read her. “Don’t get lost in the forest.”
“Don’t worry,” she replied, tone dry. “I’m quite self-sufficient.”
“In what areas?”
“All.”
“I wonder.” He scoped the length of her body, a flicker of a pause at her cleavage, and raised his eyes higher, connecting with her wary gaze.Instinctively, her hand flew to the modest neckline of her gui and she blushed. The movement, however, served only to further accentuate the fullness of her breasts.
Stan shuttered his gaze. “See you at three.”
“You are the most infuriating man—”
“Feeling is mutual, ma’am.” He inclined his head and sauntered off, chuckling. Sure, he’d scored another point on this nebulous duel between them. Yet, there was no joy in him for all that.
“Oh!” Stella slapped her hand over her mouth, smothering the sound, before she screamed in frustration. She was not a shrieking, emotional woman, but this man had her temperature rising with his verbal sparring, his midnight-blue eyes, his… She was controlled, she was cool, calm and collected … except when it came to him.
A snicker sounded behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at Troy grinning from ear to ear.
“What’re you smiling at, kid?”
“I’m glad you and my dad like each other,” he said with youthful wisdom.
“You think so, do you?” She leaped for him and he shrieked in delight, dashing around the room away from her. “Come on, let’s see the rest of this artwork of yours.”
An hour later, Stella left the boy busy working on his martial arts project and strolled outside in search of a track. Air chilled her skin and she rubbed her hands over her arms. She would’ve liked a pullover sweater to retain body heat but since she was sparse in the clothing department, decided to grin and bear it.
She hopped from one foot to the other warming up and gazed up at the tall pines. Since this morning, the clouds had infused the sky with various shades of gray. She breathed deeply a few times and fresh, cool air filled her lungs. She started to run.
Stan stood by the window of his study and watched her take off. A free spirit. For the hundredth time, he wondered if he was doing the right thing by her. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. Of course, he wasn’t. But he had the boy to think about. In the end, she’d be okay. Then, another thought stole through … would he? Could he forgive himself? He heaved a sigh and trudged back to his desk, slumping in his swivel chair. He punched a key and booted up the computer.
Tension knotted his muscles, and he rolled his shoulders to ease the tightness. He drummed the desktop with his thumb and stared at the hardcopy file topping the stack. Finally, he picked it up and brushed his hand over the nametag. Stella Ryan.
***
Stella wove her way around the trails, icy air nipping at her nose and making her cheeks tingle. Working out was a lonesome event, but today an odd squirrel scurried by and kept her company. After about forty minutes, she slowed to a brisk walk to cool down and exhilaration surged through her. Humming a tune, she blotted perspiration off her brow with her sleeve and skipped up the front steps to the lodge.
Thirsty, she ambled to the kitchen, filled a glass with water and leaned against the counter, taking several sips. Next, a shower and change of clothes … she wrink
led her brow. She had no clothes to change into.
“Finished already?” Stan pushed through the swinging doors and made her jump.
The water went down the wrong way and she sputtered.
Instantly, he lurched forward and patted her back. “Easy, Stella.” He smiled, and her stomach took a dive. “You enjoyed your jog, I take it?”
“Ye-es, I did.” She brushed a curl off her moist temple and took another sip of water. Cautiously, she swallowed, then coughed.
“You all right?” He reached out to pound her back but she pushed his arm away.
“Fi-i-ine,” she wheezed, eyes watering.
He thought a minute, then grabbed a sandwich and an apple from the refrigerator and sauntered past her.
“Umm, where’s the laundry?” she blurted. “I need to wash.”
“Leave it for Minni,” he tossed back through the wooden panel. “She won’t mind doing it for you.”
“I mind,” she said, her voice rising. “I-I’ve got to wash. I don’t have anything to wear.”
He swerved back around the door. “I’ll send Joe for your things.”
“That won’t be necessary for one extra day,” she insisted. “I just want to wash my jogging suit, have something clean to wear the rest of the day.”
“Of course, one extra day.” He shrugged and pointed to the laundry facilities. “Please yourself.” Throwing the apple in the air, he caught it and sidestepping the door, bit into a sandwich.
“Please yourself,” she mimicked, pouring a few drops of water from the glass into her hand and rubbing her nape. Her rising temperature had nothing to do with the two miles she’d jogged. He made her blood boil, her heart race, her nerves bop. She sucked in a mouthful of air and it slipped out of her in a near whimper.
Not long afterward, she showered and dressed in her freshly laundered suit, her moist hair brushing her shoulders. She checked on Troy who was napping, and tiptoed back downstairs to the kitchen. She took a sandwich from the refrigerator and plopped down on a chair at the table, replaying the last couple of days in her mind. The moment the clock struck three, she put the last piece of cheese in her mouth and reluctantly pushed back her chair. Stalling for time, she washed the plate, placed it on the draining board and dried her hands on the towel hooked to the wall. She smoothed her damp hair over her temples and marched out to meet the lion in his den.
After a deep breath, she knocked on his office door.
“It’s open,” Stan called, his gruff voice filtering through the portal.
She turned the knob, stepped inside and paused, scoping the room. He was so absorbed in the open files on his desk that he hadn’t even glanced up. His hair was ruffled, his shirt cuffs rolled to his elbows. Daylight filtering from the window behind him, made evident the deep grooves on his cheeks and snowy threads at his temples. Tenderness nabbed at her heart but she gritted her teeth, dismissing the invasive feeling. She reminded herself he was a ruthless businessman who held her future in the palm of his hand. If he decided to close his fist and squeeze, she’d be hard pressed to stay alive financially.
“Sit down, Stella,” he invited, rubbing his neck with a strong hand.
“Relax, I’m not going to bite.” Finally, he raised his head and the corner of his mouth tilted in a grin. “This time.”
“Is there another?” she shot back.
He chuckled. “Might be.”
“Not if I can help it,” she muttered to herself, plonking down on the chair facing him. Ignoring her tripping pulse, she folded her hands in her lap and tapped her foot on the plush, chocolate-colored carpet.
Stan caught the wariness in her eyes and the angle of her chin, and his chuckle softened to a smile. Straight, damp curls framed her face devoid of makeup and gave her a little girl look. A direct contrast to the tough, street-wise image she tried so hard to portray. She really was charming, he thought. However, that could be deceptive in the female species as he’d found to his detriment. He’d not fall for it again.
“I see you found the laundry,” he said, indicating her jogging suit.
“Yes.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“No.”
“Sounds like this is going to be a one-sided conversation.” He pushed his chair back, stepped across to the counter by the window and poured himself a cup of steaming brew from the percolator.
“Not at all,” Stella replied, all business. “I prefer to delete any nonsense and get down to brass tacks.”
“Right you are, Stella.” He placed the mug on a coaster on the desk, reclined in the chair and toyed with a pen between his fingers. “Thanks again for staying to spend the day with my son.”
It was not what she expected to hear but if he was willing to withhold tossing down the gauntlet, then so would she, with caution. She’d not be lulled into a false sense of security by his words of gratitude.
“The weekend doesn’t interfere too much with my job.” She paused for effect. “And you have … er … persuasive ways.”
“But not convincing enough for you to take the job.”
“Out of the question.”
“Salary would double what you make at the studio in three months.”
“How would you know?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Of course, how foolish of me.”
“I’m your lender. It’s my business to review income and—”
“I won’t forget again.”
“I’m sure you won’t.”
“What is it you want, Rogers?” she asked, her words cool. “I’m not interested in playing this ‘gotcha’ game with you.”
“Nor I with you.”
His eyes collided with hers. A quiver ripped through her. Unbidden, her hand moved to her stomach, but the action inside her was at full speed. Fight or flight was the decision she needed to make. Although tempted to leap up and get out, she steeled her nerves and stood her ground. But at the back of her mind another thought challenged. Was this more a personal than professional risk confronting her?
“What’s your plan for Troy?” he asked, his tone a muted growl.
She refused to be baited and following his lead, played the soft touch.
“I’d like to take him through some preliminary lessons.”
“The gymnasium’s for your use.” He nodded, acknowledging her silent nod to a temporary truce between them. “Karate will keep him busy, help him forget—”
“What?”
“Generate pleasant memories for him,” he murmured, dodging her question.
“He’s very keen.” She pushed frustration aside, realizing that for the time being, her questions would go unanswered.
“Sure is.” He scribbled on a pad, tore the check out and handed it to her. “This should do for one day’s work.”
“Not necessary,” she said. “This is my gift to Troy.”
“Take it.” He slid it across the desktop to her.
“I don’t want it.” She attempted to stare him down but he didn’t even blink. “I’ll accept payment for lessons at the studio, but not this one.”
He hauled himself from the chair and skirting the desk, placed the check in her hands. “My gift to you.”
“Hardly.” She crumpled the check in her hand and hurled it at him. “Don’t insult me.” She leaped up and turned away.
A heated moment, he grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her around to face him. “I wasn’t insulting you. I wanted to express my gratitude for what you’re doing for my son.”
“I don’t want your gratitude,” she said, her words distinct. “I’m doing this for Troy, not you.”
“Maybe you want me to show my thanks another way.” He pulled her hard against his chest, his gaze blue flame and swooped down, taking her lips in a fierce kiss.
Just as quickly, he let her go, surprised, as she was shocked.
An explosive heartbeat, and he covered her mouth again, plundering with his tongue, his hands weaving through her ha
ir. Stella met his passion, sliding her tongue over his, touching, tasting … a waltz of the senses.
He groaned deep in his throat and kissed his way from her tremulous mouth along her cheek to her earlobe. He nipped, he breathed and fueled her nerves with sensation. Moving his lips a notch lower, he feasted on the pulse point at her throat. Then, he raised his head and ignited her lips once again with the erotic fervor of his own. Stella purred deep in her throat and curled closer to him, her fingers sliding through his hair in a frenzied tempo.
Gliding his hands around her midriff, he brushed her buttocks, and scooped her up in his arms; his breathing heavy. He stepped to the sofa and nestling her amidst the cushions, stretched out beside her. Cupping her breast in the palm of his hand, he flicked her nipple with his thumb. His mouth pressed to the curve of her cheek, her chin, her throat, and with each kiss, he inched the zipper of her sweatshirt lower. Finally, he lifted the abrasive material off her shoulder and lay claim to the spot with his lips, licking, nipping with his teeth.
She sucked in a breath, her body thrumming with acute sensation.
Kissing his way down, Stan paused at her cleavage and breathed in her sweet scent … woman and fresh air. He explored and conquered. He licked her nipple, she writhed against him, and he took it full into his mouth, suckling. Dear God! Sweet torture. He swirled his tongue around the dusky tip, grazed the bud with his teeth and stroked it with his tongue. Heat fueled his blood. His heart pummeled his chest. His sex hard. His groan mingled with her moan of pleasure. She pressed her fingers into his shoulders, holding him to the spot … passion binding him to her.
His hand replaced his mouth on her breast, and Stella squirmed, then sighed when he nipped her other nipple with his teeth, laving with his tongue. Heat spiraled inside her, melting her limbs, sensation coiled at the apex of her thighs.
“Stan,” she gasped.
“Shh,” he murmured, his breath heating her skin. “I-I-I want—”
Fever surged, and he pressed closer, his chest melding with her breasts. He raised his head, framed hers between his hands and ravaged her mouth with his.
“Dad!” The echo shot down the stairs and jolted them back to reality.
