by Sun Chara
“Honey, come here.” She lay flat on her stomach so he could see her. “You know I love you.”
“No, you don’t. That’s wha-a-at she said and … and…” He hid his face in the crook of his arm. “You’ll leave too.”
“I will not leave you, Troy.” She bit her lip in frustration. Now, why had she said that? “Come here, I have something for you.”
He turned and gazed up at her with his big blue eyes. “Wha-at?”
Stella stretched and touched his hand. When he didn’t pull away, she helped him crawl out and onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around him and he burrowed his tear-streaked face on her shoulder, his small arms encircling her neck, his body shaking.
“It’s all right, Troy. No one will hurt you again.”
“What we-ere you going to show me,” he asked in a sleepy voice.
“This.” She hugged him close. “I love you.” The confession startled her, and her heart hitched, realizing she meant it.
“Love you, too,” he mumbled and lowered his damp lashes.
Stella balanced him in her arms and was about to stand, when the sound of a footstep made her glance up. Her eyes locked with Stan’s and a million unspoken messages passed between them. In two strides, he reached her, lifted his son from her arms and carried him out.
A sigh of relief slipped from her lips, and Stella pushed off the floor and followed him into the bedroom. She turned back the covers and Stan settled his son in bed, smoothing a dark curl off his brow. She arranged the blankets around the child and brushed her lips to his forehead.
An emotional moment pulsed, and Stan took her hand, leading her to the hallway. “I could use a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll put the kettle on.” Stella slipped her hand from his grasp and hurried ahead, he a step behind her.
After Stan set mugs on the table, he straddled a chair and steepled his hands in front of him. When chicory aroma permeated the kitchen, Stella picked up the pot and filled the cups with steaming liquid. She placed the pot on its stand and sat on the chair opposite him, her insides squelching.
“What’re you thinking?” he asked, his voice a ripple in the quiet.
“It’s nothing.”
“Unusual.”
Not biting his verbal bait, she leapt up and reached for the pot. “Would you like another cup?” Absurd, she’d just given him a cup full. What was the matter with her? The man sitting in front of her … that’s what was the matter.
“This is fine.” He lifted the cup to his lips, studied her over the rim and took a sip. Carefully, he set the cup back on the saucer. “Time you knew something about Troy’s background since you’ll be staying awhile.”
“What’re you saying?” Stella sat back down on the chair, gripped her coffee cup with both hands and cast him a wary glance.
“Until the snow ploughs work their way up here, the road is blocked.” He took another gulp of the now lukewarm coffee and gauged her reaction. “Doesn’t look like they’re going to make it for some time.”
“How long might that be?”
“Hard to say. They’re swamped cleaning city streets and freeways.”
“Oh, great going!” She jumped up and turned on him. “At the first sign of clear roads, I’m off this blasted mountain.”
“Got it.” Stan saluted her with his cup. “You made that quite clear from the moment you got here.” He took a drink and set the cup down.
“That’s right.” She twisted away, then back again. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d behaved like other men and come to the studio, instead of … instead of…” she said, voice faltering.
“I’m not other men,” he bit out, savageness in his words. Hauling himself off the chair, he snared her shoulders between his hands and slammed her hard against his chest. “I do things my way. You’d better understand that right now.”
“You made that crystal clear.” She pushed at him. “Four years ago.”
He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t budge.
“You threaten, manipulate, insult, blackmail, maneuver…” Stella paused for breath, her chest fueling with pent-up emotion, her nipples grazing his chest.
Sexual combustion sizzled.
“Wrong.” He let her go and pressed his hands behind him on the table. “You imagined the worst of me.”
“Don’t try to side step the issue,” she snapped, breathing easier now that space separated them. “It wasn’t my imagination working overtime when you mentioned my mortgage renewal terms.”
“An empty threat.” He shrugged. “It worked.”
“You’re one choice bast—”
“Tsk, Tsk,” he cut her off. “Seems you coined me in those colorful terms several times over.”
She swallowed her wrath but her tone told a different story. “Then, you couldn’t have eclipsed my mortgage terms?”
“Not couldn’t, wouldn’t.” He straightened and folded his arms across his chest. “When I found Troy virtually dropped on my doorstep, I sold the Los Angeles firm, liquidated those assets and relocated.”
“Here.” Stella waved her arm about. “The mountain top.”
He inclined his head.
“Catch?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I wanted a schedule that allowed me more time with my son, and a lifestyle that kept the media sharks off my tail.”
“You’re protecting him—”
“Of course.”
“What else,” she asked, her words more a statement than a question. Whether it was a concrete high-rise or a pine-studded mountain, he was still head honcho. And where did that leave her? Floundering, that’s where.
He chuckled at her astuteness. “I retained control of the New York branch—”
“The pulse of the network,” she blurted, filling in the blank.
“And … er … certain choice contracts.”
“Mine.”
“Plus a few others, and several overseas.”
“That’s premeditated, underhanded …” She stopped at a loss of words.
He snaked an arm out and caught her shoulders, his eyes warring with hers. “Although influential I am, heartless, I’m not.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Stella muttered, twisting from his grasp.
He chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I should have called your bluff.”
“A more experienced businessperson would have.”
“I’m fast gaining in that department,” she stated flatly.
Stan tossed back his head and laughed all the harder.
“Tell me something, Rogers,” Stella asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “If I hadn’t stayed after meeting Troy and it hadn’t snowed, what would you have done?”
“There’re other ways to play a winning game.” His tone smooth, cunning, his gaze assessing. “Especially with a woman.”
“You … you’re—”
“You leave me no doubt as to your estimation of my character,” he bit out, his words clipped. “However, it’s inevitable we’ll be spending some time together and therefore, civility’s in order.” He sat down and glanced at her mutinous face. “Now, how about another cup of coffee.”
Get it yourself, you pompous a-- She compressed her lips, fracturing that thought. What she wanted was to clobber the man, not be nice to him.
However, it’d be pointless to continue arguing over something neither of them had any control of at this time.
“All right,” she muttered, reaching for the coffeepot.
“About my son.” He stretched his hand across the table and covered hers.
She gripped the pot’s handle tighter, her fingers quivering beneath his, her heart tumbling in her chest. “I’ve wondered about his behavior, moods, especially today.” She withdrew her fingers from beneath his and placed both hands in her lap, the heat of his touch pulsing into her.
“That was Troy’s mother.” A dark shadow stormed across his eyes.
“I know,” she whisper
ed. “He heard me on the phone.”
Stan rubbed a hand over his eyes. “What you don’t know is that she wants him back.”
“Can she?”
“She can,” he said with resignation. “If I don’t agree to her demands, she’ll contest.”
Stella wrinkled her brow.
“And being the mother, gives her an advantage.”
“Not always,” Stella said. “Sometimes full guardianship is awarded to the father.” Enough of her friends had gone through this circuit, giving her the freeze on marriage.
“Sometimes?” Stan queried, his words heavy with cynicism. “After the hell he’s been through, I want a sure thing … I want custody of my son.”
“He’s here now—”
“A temporary arrangement until the court hearing … papers signed.” Stan smashed his fist on the table and made her jump. “In the meantime, she’s stacking the deck in her favor and playing me for all I’m worth.” He pushed the chair behind him, every muscle in his body taut. “It’s a case of a married mother against a single father.”
“Married,” Stella echoed, relief washing through her.
“Six months ago she hooked an attorney.” A humorless sound slipped from his lips but didn’t hide the vulnerability in his eyes. “She unloaded the child on me and now the honeymoon’s over, she’s back to unsettle him.”
“You have good counsel?” Stella asked, but it was more a statement than a question, knowing that a man like him would be good and prepped.
“Top solicitor firm in the country.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “However, being married can work for her. The court will favor her over a single father.” A heavy pause. “The kicker is that she doesn’t really want the child.”
“Are you sure?” Stella asked, unable to believe how anyone could not want that beautiful boy.
“It’d cramp her style.” A harsh sound rumbled from deep in his throat. “Since he’s been here, she’s made no effort to contact him.” About to sit again, he changed his mind. “I will not have that woman do another number on him.” He paced the kitchen like a caged lion.
Stella gulped, pitying the other woman.
“I gave her a hefty enough settlement, but she squandered it. Paris fashion, Monte Carlo gambling—” He broke off, pain slashing his features.
In between playing musical chairs with her gigolos, she had my son,” he snarled. “My son tossed from babysitters to boarding school to strangers like nobody wanted him. She though, didn’t miss a beat jetting the globe for a good time.” A nerve jerked his cheek. “I could wring her scrawny neck.”
Stella gaped at him, and he glared, reading her mind.
“He’s mine. DNA.” His mouth softened, then hardened. His son would have a father, he’d make sure of it. It’d be far removed from what he, Stan had endured in his own childhood. He’d turn the world upside down to prevent her from getting to Troy, even if he—
“Why didn’t you fight for custody before?”
“Because I …” In a helpless gesture, he dropped his arms by his sides and sagged in the chair. “A raincheck on that.” He took a deep breath and exhaled a heavy puff of air. “But I’ll take that other cup of coffee.”
Stella nodded and refilled his cup with the hot brew.
“Thanks,” he murmured, noting the slight quiver to her hand. Her scented warmth wafted to him, then got lost in the overpowering flavor of the steaming coffee.
Could he go through with it? Go through with what he’d planned for her? Plotted. A jolt shook him. Guilt? He zeroed in on her mouth. His gut clenched. Her lips parted slightly as she drank her coffee. He ached to cover them with his own, tasting her … stroking her skin, running his fingers through her hair. A rumble rose inside him—it wasn’t guilt, it was another emotion, one he had to snuff out.
He couldn’t afford going soft on her. By the time this was over, no matter how he played it, she’d end up hating him.
She glanced up, her eyes clouded with concern … for him? You are one choice bast— He savagely locked down that accusation.
His close scrutiny made her blush. The cup rattled on the saucer, and she stood, stepping to the sink.
“No, you don’t.” He leaped from his chair and checked her. “Look at me, Stella.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. Stella lifted her lashes sure he could see right into her soul. “If you’ve quite finished,” she murmured, breath pocketing in her throat.
“Not quite.” He swooped down and caught her lips with his own.
Stella met his ardor, kissing him back full force. He deepened the kiss for a heartbeat. Abruptly he pulled away, brushing her tremulous mouth with his thumb, his eyes shadowed. Wobbly, she reached behind her and gripped the counter for support.
“Thanks for lending an ear, honey girl.” He stroked her cheek with his forefinger, paused like he was undecided about something, then turning, marched out.
Stella stood in the middle of the kitchen with an empty coffee cup in her hand and the bittersweet taste of him on her lips. It seemed every time she had a conversation with him, she was left hanging, her head whirling with questions.
Inhaling, she filled her lungs with oxygen. Good. She didn’t feel so lightheaded. Setting the cup and saucer in the sink with a resounding clatter, she exhaled in force and stomped through the kitchen door. Sure she’d clash with the lion again before the night was over.
Chapter 8
Stella plodded up the stairs feeling like weights were strapped to her shoulders, but still managed to peek in on Troy snoozing.
“Poor kid,” she murmured, tiptoeing away to her room. “He must be emotionally exhausted.” Taking a cue from him, she crashed down on her bed, her body buzzing with tension, her mind fuzzy, her heart thumping.
Although she’d caught a glimmer of Stan’s reasons behind his actions, a puzzle piece still dangled. She had to know where it fit … how she fit into all this. Sure as heck, her being Sensei to his son wasn’t the whole picture.
She shuffled from the bed, kicked off her damp sneakers and slogged to the bathroom. She ran a bath, minus the bubbles, pinned her hair up and tossed her clothes on the floor. Steam swirled about her, and she dipped her toe in the water. Ah, perfect. She sank into the water, the warmth soothing her chilled body and dissolving the lead from her shoulders. A sound, half agony, half bliss flitted from her lips. She closed her eyes.
Moments later, she got out of the tub and snatched a towel from the chrome bar. After drying herself, she dropped it on the heap of clothes on the floor. She’d wash them later.
Stella stretched, touching her toes and on the way up, glanced out the window. Snow blanketed the ground and icicles dripped from the snow-laden pine branches.
“Brr.” She shook her shoulders and slipped on Minni’s over-sized white blouse and a gaudy-colored skirt. A pair of old socks Troy had given her warmed her feet.
She twisted her arms behind her, trying to fasten the buttons of the blouse when a knock sounded. By the time she stepped to answer it, Stan had walked in.
“Do you usually barge into a person’s bedroom?” Stella snapped.
He grinned. “I did knock.”
“You could’ve waited until I answered.”
“I could’ve.” He stepped closer, took her shoulders and propelled her around. “Here let me.”
“No.” She turned away and stepped back, bumping against the window ledge.
“Yes.” He bridged the gap in one stride, and began to button her blouse. His fingers brushed her skin, and heat spiraled inside her.
Her back went rigid. Her breath expanded in her chest.
At last he lifted his hands … she exhaled … he pressed his palms over her shoulders … and she sucked in air.
“Relax,” he breathed the word in her ear, tickling her nerve endings.
She pushed him away.
“All right.” He raised his hands, skimming her head to toe with his eyes, amusement lurking in their
depths. “Where did you get those socks?”
“Not funny,” she told him, indignant. “I don’t like looking frumpy.”
“Charming.” He chuckled. “You’re wearing my old red socks.”
Stella stomped to the bed, snatched a pillow, took aim and landed him a wallop on the side of the head. “Get out.”
“Not yet, lady.”
Stan tossed the pillow back and the impact knocked her off balance.
She tumbled on the bed. He followed. Arching backward, she grabbed the other pillow and hurled it at him. He caught it, threw it back and pounced. Stella giggled, rolled over to the other side and shuffled away from him.
“Sly and wily, too.” Stan chuckled, but a pillow whacked his face, muffling the sound.
He retaliated … Stella warded off his attack … he tackled her onto the bed. Trapped under him, she tried to wiggle from beneath him and froze. His eyes challenged … her stomach flipped and she swallowed her laughter.
A magical mood vibrated between them. He lowered his mouth and took her parted lips in a kiss that shook her to her toes. He followed with mini kisses to her ear, nuzzling the tender spot, his hand stroking the nape of her neck. A brush of his fingers, and the blouse slipped off her shoulder, his heat charging into her. His mouth settled on the curve of her shoulder, then he nibbled his way to her breasts.
He flicked one nipple with his thumb, courted the other with his tongue, then took the dusky tip full into his mouth. A purr of pleasure sounded in Stella’s throat. She slid her hands beneath his shirt, his muscles hot and hard beneath her fingertips.
A husky sound from him, and he retraced the path to her lips, pillaging with his tongue, his breath mingling with hers, her tongue frolicking with his. Heaven. The kiss lengthened … deepened. She arched against him, giving him kiss for kiss, her fingers slicing through his hair. He devoured every sweet inch of her and pulled her closer, his arousal pressing the apex of her thighs. A sigh of pure bliss feathered from her lips onto his, and he cupped her buttocks slamming her against him.
A grunt of desire, and he pulled her down on top of him, his mouth fused with hers, his hands fondling her curves. He slid his hands to the waistband of her skirt; a flick of his fingers and the fabric shimmied down her hips, pooling at her ankles. She kicked it off, her slender legs a vision to his hungry gaze. His fingers fluttered on her thighs.
