Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

by Sun Chara

  She was caught in the eye of the hurricane. Emotion flooded her being; an angry tear trickled down her cheek and splashed on his hand.

  “I know this isn’t the ideal proposal.” He let go of her chin and wiped the wet streak on her face with his thumb.

  His words sounded contrite, his touch tender, arousing—making her feel what she didn’t want to … for him. She had to remember he was a cunning businessman who would use, control and blackmail her … to get what he wanted above all. His son.

  The puzzle pieces fit.

  Hadn’t he seduced her mere hours ago? To set her up? And like a fool, she’d fallen like a ripe peach in his hand. She’d never slipped up before with any man … keeping them at a distance. Yet with him she’d broken all her rules. She writhed with mortification. Every muscle in her body tensed, every nerve on alert … she was about ready to strike back.

  “It’s a cold, calculating business proposition,” she spat, erecting her shield. “Made by someone who has no heart.”

  She heard his sharp intake of breath and looked up. His face paled, the skin stretched taut across his cheekbones.

  “You’re very good at your trade, bag of tricks ’n all.” She saw her advantage and took it, skewering him with a look of contempt. “Dangling a hefty contract before my eyes, thinking I’d snap it up.”

  A muscle battered his jaw. “When it’s over, I’ll release you, should you want to end it.”

  Stella wanted to scream. No. She loved him. No, she hated him. She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. She bit her lip, holding back the tears. She didn’t know what she was feeling.

  “I always think over my business ventures,” she said, her voice stilted.

  “Savvy move, Ryan.”

  Stella cast him a killing glance and marched to the door. With each step she took, she thought her legs would give out and she’d collapse in a heap on the floor. Her pulse bounced in her chest. Somehow, she had to outsmart him. Outmaneuver him. So when this was all over, Stan Rogers and his money couldn’t touch her. But there’d be a price to pay for her freedom … her heart.

  “Stella.”

  At the sound of her name, her step faltered … a split second of hesitation, and then she walked out, banging the door behind her. She crossed the hallway and slumped against the banister.

  Her eyes welled up with tears. She heaved a wobbly breath and trudged up the stairs to her room, feeling no satisfaction that this time she’d left him standing with unanswered questions plaguing his mind.

  Stella fell on the bed, raw pain ripping her insides and sobs racking her body. Sniffing, she swiped the tears with the sheet, her eyes so puffy, she could hardly open them. Shivers shook her body. As much as she hated him, denied him, a little voice deep in her soul whispered she still loved him.

  Eventually, the bout of weeping cut through tension coiled in her muscles, leaving her spent; yet oddly revived. She pushed her hair off her face, took several deep breaths and dragged herself from the bed. After undressing, she shuffled to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. Her skin tingled, but the gaping hole inside her chomped at her emotions. She blotted her cheeks dry with a towel and plodded back to bed, curling beneath the blankets.

  Thoughts bombarded her brain.

  Stella tossed and turned, the bed creaking beneath her. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth. What would her life be like without them? Her Martial Arts dojo … provided she managed to hold onto it … would keep her busy, but deep in her heart she knew it would never be the same.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  The man had rocked her world … and she’d crashed. The boy, that little tike had gotten under her skin. She twisted her lips in a watery smile. Could she pick up the pieces … take a chance on it? Could she do it for the boy alone? After all, Stan had been honest … gave her his reasons for the marriage.

  She shuddered, remembering his ways of persuasion. She deserved better. She punched the pillow, caught in an agony of indecision. The boy deserved better … a business arrangement … a bargain … divorce … it gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes and her lids felt like lead. It was cold, calculating like Stan Rogers. She’d be a fool to even consider it.

  ***

  After what seemed like moments, Stella awoke in a cold sweat, her head fuzzy and the hollow feeling gutting her insides. She whimpered.

  Each word of his proposal cut into her memory like shards of ice. She huddled under the covers and peeked at the clock on the wall. Five a.m. She stole another moment in the warmth, then lugged herself from her cocoon, shivering.

  Half an hour later, dressed in her jogging suit, an old sweater and mittens, Stella ventured out into early morning darkness. Snow glistened in the moonlight. She walked the trail around the lodge and snow crystals crackled beneath her sneakers.

  An icy blast smacked her face, stinging her cheeks. She breathed the fresh crispness of dawn and exhaled, her breath frosting in the air. She slapped her mittened hands together for warmth and glanced up. The trees stood like silent protectors around her, and far above them, a star twinkled despite the approaching daylight. She felt ephemeral somehow, like being a part of another time, another place, another planet.

  The serenity of the forest was a contrast to her turbulent feelings, and helped her bring things into perspective. She still had a choice. Final decision was hers. She whispered a quick prayer up to heaven, and in that moment in time, she knew what she had to do. With a determined step in her stride, she made her way to the gym.

  Stella flung off the heavy sweater and mittens, and ran the track like her life depended on it. It did. Perspiration oozed from her every pore, her heart rate racing. At last, she slowed to a trot, then a walk, cooling down.

  “Got it out of your system?” Stan’s edgy words made her jump.

  “Must you sneak up on me?” She whirled around, clashing with the steel of his eyes.

  “Was not.”

  “Were too.”

  An uncertain smile happened between them, then, uncomfortable silence bumped by for several seconds.

  Dressed in jeans and a white sweater, he leaned against a pillar, feet bare, arms folded across his chest. His hair was still damp from his recent swim. The sight of him took her breath away. She had no right to feel like that; not after what he’d done to her.

  Seduced her. Used her.

  Taken her virginity.

  Naa, the voice niggled her brain. You gave, my girl … you were a willing participant.

  She swallowed and then bristled. How dare he stand there as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “What’re you doing here?” she asked, curtly.

  “Same as you.” His eyes never left her face. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Oh.”

  “Watch yourself in the water, Ryan.”

  “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

  His gaze probed, deepened. “I wonder.” He sauntered to the door and tossed over his shoulder, “See you at breakfast.”

  Stella dove into the pool, weaving through the water, each lap cooling her fury.

  Purposely, she delayed her appearance for breakfast and breathed a sigh of relief at the vacant table. It was a short reprieve. Soon after, they snow-shoed through the forest to the Hummer, Minni and the guys had abandoned for the limo ride into town.

  While Stan tinkered under the hood, Stella ducked Troy’s snow missiles but still got the worst of it. She swerved away from his next shot, and the snowball smacked his dad on the back of the head.

  “Oops,” Troy giggled.

  Stella chuckled.

  Stan growled. Scooping up handfuls of snow, he bombarded them both; Troy’s squeals of delight echoed through the forest glen.

  “Enough.” Stan wiped his hands dry on his jacket and turned his attention back to the engine. “I’ve almost got this baby working.” Another snowball hit him between the shoulder blades and he whipped around, targeti
ng Stella with his cool gaze. “You’re playing dirty, ma’am.”

  She elevated both eyebrows.

  He dismissed the nick to his conscience. “I wasn’t looking.”

  “It wasn’t me.” She backed away from him, lost her footing and tumbled onto a snowbank, the white fluff like cotton candy around her.

  He stomped for her.

  She held her arms up to ward him off.

  He pounced, held her down with his body and washed her face with a handful of snow. Spluttering, she tried to explain, but he took no notice.

  “Get off me, Rogers.” She shoved him back, a smile plastered to her face for the boy’s sake; inside she felt frost-bitten.

  His eyes glinted hard. “Sure thing.” He pushed himself off her, turned a stiff back and resumed fiddling with the engine.

  Stella scrambled up and shook snow off her hair and body. Troy laughed when it sprayed on him.

  “Come here, you little minx.” She scooped a handful of snow and chased after him.

  “Na, nana, nana.” Troy took cover behind his father, shaped another missile and fired at her.

  The battle raged on.

  Stella toppled onto another snowdrift, the dampness seeping through her clothes and chilling her flesh. “Time out.” She leapt up, grabbed the backpack beneath a Douglas fir and took out the thermos … her bargaining chip. “You want hot chocolate, put your ammo down.” She winked.

  Troy gulped his drink and munching on a chocolate chip cookie, rolled snow into a giant ball. Stan declined the snack with a grunt and a shake of his head, his hair ruffling in the breeze. A twinge of emotion poked her heart, but she squashed it. Quickly, she replaced the thermos in the backpack and helped Troy build his snowman. Keeping busy helped.

  About mid afternoon, Stan dusted his hands off, slipped his gloves on and signaled the return to the lodge. Troy traipsed after him and Stella brought up the rear, feeling Stan’s overpowering presence even in the great outdoors. Sexual awareness teased her nerves like an electrical current, and she kept her distance.

  When the lodge came in sight, Stan called a halt by the garage and removed his snowshoes. After he helped Troy with his, he glanced at her. “Need help with yours?”

  “No.”

  “Fine.”

  Of course with him watching, she became all thumbs, and gritting her teeth, determined not to ask for his help. At last, she slipped the snowshoes off and held them out to him. He grabbed the pair from her hands and marched into the garage, without a word, without a backward glance.

  Troy skipped ahead of her into the house and made a beeline for the kitchen. Stella went upstairs. A change of clothes would chase the chill from her bones, but wouldn’t do much for the frost encircling her heart. A cup of hot tea might help though.

  By the time she walked back downstairs to the kitchen, Stan had cloistered himself in his office and Troy was swallowing the last of the chocolate from the thermos. She hid a smile. A chocolaty mustache outlined his upper lip, a sprinkle of cookie crumbs on his chin.

  “Video game or lesson?” She motioned to a napkin on the table.

  “Bonzai!” Troy leaped from his chair, his hands in a Karate chop and swooped up the napkin to wipe his mouth.

  Stella chuckled all the way to the gym, and the tightening around her heart loosened … just a tad.

  Later that evening, after Troy had gone to bed, she stacked the dishwasher, and feeling restless, strolled to the library. The warmth of the room soothed. She plopped down on the sofa, deep in thought and stared at the flames in the hearth.

  “Good, you’re still here.” Stan marched inside, his words breaking into her reverie.

  Stella leaped up and skirted past him to the door.

  “Just a minute.” He caught her elbow and halted her exit. “An answer.”

  Stella twisted from his grasp, her eyes warring with this. “Yes.” The word snapped off her tongue like an icicle. “For the child.”

  “Of course, Troy.” Stan seemed to pale, but the hard edge in his voice belied that. “We’ll be married in three days.”

  “So-o soon?” she whispered. “What if the roads don’t clear?”

  “They should.” He nodded. “If not, I’ll radio for the chopper.”

  “Chopper?” Something clicked in her brain and she stared at him, aghast. “We were never stuck up here? There was always a way out?”

  “Of course,” he replied reasonably. “The helicopter was a call away in case of an emergency.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You decided to stay.” He squinted at her. “The subject didn’t arise afterward.”

  “I could’ve been home days ago.” She fisted her hands and paced the floor. If she had, she wouldn’t be in this predicament … wouldn’t be feeling… “Minni and the guys could’ve been back by now?”

  “Yes and yes.” He cast her a candid look. “But since the choppers were in short supply the first week of the blizzard, the group decided to visit family in the city. A much deserved break.”

  “You manipulating—” Stella bit off the epithet, shaking her head. “You’re going to pay—”

  “How much,” he goaded, taking out his checkbook. “The title deed worth five-hundred grand not enough for you?”

  “Not about money,” she flared at him. “No amount of coin is going to change what you did.”

  “You’re going back on your word then?” he challenged.

  She stood like an ice maiden, and even her close proximity to the fire didn’t thaw her.

  “You’re misunderstanding me,” he said, a hint of impatience in his voice.

  “No, I’m not,” she fired back. “You’re the one who doesn’t get it.” A sigh sounded from deep inside her, a mixture of frustration and sadness.

  “I’m not backing on my word,” she murmured so quietly, he strained to hear. “But I am making an amendment to the agreement.”

  He tilted his head, his eyes slitted, every muscle in his body seeming to coil. The lion was prepping for battle … with her.

  She tried to speak, but her voice cracked. She filled her lungs with oxygen, exhaled in force and straightened to her full five foot six inches. She placed her hands on her hips, her gaze level with his. “This mockery of a marriage will be a business deal,” she said, voice devoid of emotion. “You’ll be husband in name only and you’ll keep your hands off me.”

  “Catch?” The muscles in his neck grew rigid, his eyes hard.

  She curved her lips, not quite a smile. He was astute enough to know she had him cornered.

  “You’ll pay off the balance of the note, as you…uh…so generously offered, and hand over the title deed to my dojo with me named sole owner.” Stella cringed, her stomach churning, her palms moist. She felt like a mercenary.

  She had to be tough … hard … smart.

  “And another five hundred thousand cash.” A gold digger couldn’t be much worse. But she had to be sure he didn’t come after her assets, and if he did, she wanted to bank enough capital to bail herself out. “Delivered on the wedding date.”

  He laughed, a hollow sound, lifeless. “Dangling a price tag, Stella?”

  “I changed my mind.” She threw back his words of moments ago.

  “After you have custody of the child, I’ll sue for divorce, in a timely fashion to least affect Troy.”

  He paled, the skin taut across his cheekbones, his eyes narrowed.

  “I’d suggest you consider my offer,” she said, her words brittle. “With your net worth, Mr. R, you’re getting a bargain.”

  Stan tightened his jaw, his nostrils flaring. “Since I’ll be getting a bride for a bargain” –he swept his gaze over her, pausing at her cleavage, then lower to skim the apex of her thighs, and finally shooting back to the ice storm in her eyes— “I’ll be sure to make the most of my … uh … good fortune.”

  “And I mine.” She gave him the once over, matching his insolent look, but a tremor shook her.

 
Dare she believe he’d keep his end of the bargain? He wielded deals in his best interests or those he cared for. She didn’t fall into that category. He’d use every tactic at his disposal, including her, to win the prize. His son.

  Could she match him at his ruthless game?

  A dangerous silence crackled between them.

  Shivers shimmied up her spine, and she rubbed her arms with her hands, wondering if he could read her thoughts.

  “If you’ve quite finished your analysis,” he said, his voice vibrating with controlled menace. “I suggest you go get ready for your wedding day.”

  His words shot into her like pellets. She raised a hand to slap his face, he intercepted it in mid-air and yanked her hard against his chest. A blue blizzard raged in his eyes. His mouth inches from hers, his breath grazing her lips.

  She shivered and licked her lips.

  His hands steeled on her shoulders, a growl low in his throat.

  An explosive moment hung between them.

  “Go.” He released her so suddenly, she stumbled back a step. “Before I change my mind and sample my bargain bride.” His brazen gaze hot on her body, his savage words hitting too hard and fast for her to deflect.

  Stella twisted away, her head held high and bit the quiver from her bottom lip.

  The woman got to him, big time. Stan fueled his lungs with oxygen, took a step to make amends, then halted. Not a good idea right now, buster.

  She marched to the door, grabbed the knob for support and shot him a blistering glance over her shoulder. “I’ve learned to make the most of my bargains, too, Rogers.” She shoved the door open, stepped out and slammed it shut it behind her.

  “From me, no doubt,” Stan muttered, striding to the bar. He poured himself a stiff drink and in one gulp downed it, welcoming the burning heat in his throat. The smell of liquor tantalized, he reached for the open brandy bottle. A tense pause, and he hurled his empty glass into the fireplace, smashing it into a million pieces. Drowning his sorrows in a bottle of booze was not the answer…