Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

by Sun Chara

  “Don’t.”

  “Sure thing, Mrs.”

  She turned with a ready retort, but he’d already moved to the bed and stripped off his shirt. A jolt charged through her. She averted her eyes and sorted through her clothes, her hands trembling. If she didn’t guard against the potency of his sexuality, the fire flaring between them could annihilate her.

  “You may have the bathroom first,” he let fly over his shoulder.

  “Thank you, you go.” Yes, go, leave the room so I can breathe.

  When she heard the shower running, her imagination ran rampant … water sluicing down his bronzed body, plastering hair on his chest and lower to— She collapsed on the settee, picked up a brush from the dresser and yanked it through her hair over and over. The shiny waves flowed about her shoulders. By the time he came out, she felt like her scalp had been injected with a thousand pins and needles.

  “All yours, Mrs. Rogers.” He ambled by and the scent of fresh soap wafted to her. Barefoot and dressed only in pajama bottoms, he tossed back the covers and got into bed.

  Her stomach fluttered and her breath pocketed in her chest.

  Stella collected her night things and shut herself in the bathroom. She took her sweet time showering, brushing her teeth and dressing. By the time she opened the door a crack and peered out, he’d turned out the lights. A moonbeam streamed through the window and illuminated her way.

  She tiptoed to the bed and stared at her sleeping husband, her white nightie swirling around her feet. Chill in the air turned her skin to gooseflesh and she rubbed her hands over her arms. She bit her lip, debating between the floor and the bed.

  “Come to bed, Stella,” he mumbled, startling her. Without turning her way, he threw back the blankets on her side. “It’s much warmer.”

  Stella glared at his rigid back, then at the bed and finally at the floor, hard and cool beneath her feet. She curled her toes, thinking it’d be silly to stand there and catch a cold. Gingerly, she slipped into bed and pulled the blankets over her, lying as far away from him as possible.

  “Relax, I won’t bite.” Stan shifted to a more comfortable position and the bed squeaked. “At least not tonight.”

  She drew in a sharp breath and remained immobile, afraid to move lest she touch him.

  “Goodnight,” he muttered.

  “Goodnight,” she murmured.

  A tremulous sigh escaped her lips, and unclenching her hands, she turned her face to the wall. Tears, silent as her pain slipped beneath her lashes and down her cheeks.

  Next morning, sunlight filtering through the crack in the curtains, teased Stella awake. She squinted at the brightness, then stiffened, remembering whose bed she shared. Slowly, she turned her head, saw the dent in the pillow and relaxed. She twitched her nose, and every cell in her body buzzed. His scent emanated from the rumpled sheets, a strong reminder of the man who’d slept beside her.

  She drew the covers up to her chin and surveyed the room. It was sparsely furnished, the walnut chest of drawers matched the bed’s headboard in design and the carpet in color. Simple, direct and to the point, like the owner. The dresser and mirror, the only feminine touch in a very masculine room must’ve been brought for her. His consideration for her comforts touched a soft spot in her heart, then she nearly snorted. More like a bribe, she thought, recalling what had recently transpired between them. She steeled her nerves and got out of bed. No matter the reasons, there would be repercussions regarding her marriage to Stan.

  Thirty minutes later, Stella descended the stairs to a deserted kitchen smelling of burnt toast and coffee. Troy was still asleep, but a mug and dish on the drainboard cued that Stan had been and gone. She dropped a bread slice in the toaster, took the carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured a glass.

  Stella sipped the drink and contemplated the outdoors through the window above the sink. A second later, the toast popped up and picking it up, she nibbled the crust. Thoughts clamored in her brain … in less than two weeks her world had turned topsy-turvy … and she didn’t know how to right it. She downed the drink and set the glass in the sink with force.

  The hours crawled by. Stella went through her exercise routine, and after giving Troy his lesson, fixed a quick meal for them. Stan had a sandwich in his study. Dinner was not much different.

  When it was time to tackle the bedroom demarcation, she made sure she was in bed and ‘sleeping’ before he came in. He must’ve had similar thoughts for he didn’t venture up until after midnight … and that suited her fine, right?

  On Monday morning, Stella bundled Troy in warm clothes, boosted him up into the Hummer and climbed in beside him. A few minutes later, Stan leaped into the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt.

  “Ready?” he said, inserting the key in the ignition.

  She nodded.

  “Oh, boy!” Troy watched his father back the truck out and drive along the trail to the main road.

  Stan smiled at his son’s jubilation, but said very little during the drive.

  Stella watched snow-drenched pines whizzing by, trying to ignore his silence and the rigid set of his jaw.

  “I’m really going to see your Karate studio, Mom … uh … Sensei,” Troy asked, his excited chatter easing tension in the confines of the vehicle.

  “Of course.” Stella patted his arm with affection. “You’ll be working out there from now on.”

  “That’ll depend how often we come into Van.” Stan glanced her way and the groove on his forehead deepened.

  “I hope it’s lots.” Troy bounced on the seat between them.

  Stella grinned, pleased.

  Stan grunted, a non-committal reply.

  Two hours later, he pulled up in front of the studio and just as soon as Stella climbed out, Troy jumped into her arms.

  “See you at one for lunch.” Stan didn’t miss his son holding her hand, and the grim set of his mouth intensified. His eyes locked on hers, and about to say something more, he changed his mind and drove off.

  Stella watched until the truck’s taillights disappeared around the corner and a deep sigh blew from her lips.

  “Come on, kid.” She pulled the starry-eyed Troy with her up the two steps to the dojo. “We’re on major clean-up duty.” She flung the windows open to get rid of the musty smell, picked up two dusters and tossed one to him. “You gotta work for your keep, m’ boy. Now, get to it.”

  When they were done, Stella took a packet from the cabinet, and smiling, she handed it to him. “An early Christmas present.”

  Troy tore off the wrapping. “Oh, wow!” He touched the Karate gui with reverence and tied the white belt around his waist.

  “Come on.” Stella smiled and motioned for him to go through the curtained partition to the training floor for his first lesson in the dojo.

  He gaped at the Championship trophies lined up against one wall, then made a beeline for the heavy bag hanging from the wooden beam on the ceiling. He punched and kicked, but the bag refused to budge. “Ouch!” He rubbed his fist and flexed his leg.

  “Easy, there.” Stella got in position and landed a roundhouse kick onto the bag, the impact swinging it back and forth. “Using the punch bag will strengthen your arm and leg muscles and perfect your technique.” She caught the bag to steady it. “Now, you try.”

  While he practiced, Stella attacked the stacks of mail and fielded calls from her friends and students.

  “Keia,” Troy yelled, smacking the bag with a front kick.

  She smiled. “There you go, you’re doing it.”

  “How’s the lesson going, young karateka?” Stan called from the doorway, his sudden reappearance, causing prickles to shimmy up her spine.

  “Oh, Dad, you shoulda seen me smash that bag!” Troy ran to his father and showed off his new gui.

  “Nice.” Stan chuckled “It was so much fun!” Troy said, bopping up and down.

  “Sensei’s doing a good job, eh?” Stan patted his son’s shoulder, his eyes seeking a
nd holding Stella’s own. “Hungry?”

  Troy nodded. Stella didn’t.

  As soon as Troy dashed out to change, the air grew thick. Stella’s nerves stretched to breaking point, a defense against the emotional undertow between them.

  “Impressive,” Stan said, catching sight of the trophies.

  His tone was so casual, it had her stiffening with indignation. She was so wound up, nearly palpitating at his close proximity, and him seeming to be on neutral.

  “Thank you,” she said, voice stilted, polite. “Not all mine. Some belong to my students.”

  “Come now, you’re too modest.” He stood with legs apart and arms folded across his broad chest, gazing down at her. “And if I remember correctly” –-he paused for effect— “you don’t like to dine in a gui.”

  “I’m … uh … not very hungry.”

  His eyes slitted. “After that dry toast this morning, I figured you might be.”

  “How’d …” she began. “You were nowhere about.”

  He brushed his bearded chin with the back of his hand. “Wasn’t I?”

  She grilled him with her gaze, and when he didn’t turn away, she blinked, rifling through the papers on her desk.

  “You were staring out the kitchen window, miles away.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you, Stella?”

  “Is that supposed to mean something?” she asked.

  A steady look, then he shrugged. “Sure about lunch?”

  “I’ve got to catch up on work.” A silent moment passed … a loaded moment, her pulse kicked her rib, and she had to ask. “How was your meeting this morning?”

  “As expected.”

  “That doesn’t tell me much,” she said, the air pocket in her throat breaking free with her words.

  “Not much to say.” He set his mouth.

  “Stan …”

  “They’re deliberating over testimony, Stella.” He shoved a tuft of hair off his brow, the motion a reflection of the stress he was under. “Next week, you and I have a session with them.”

  About to fire more questions at him, she curbed her tongue when Troy bounded back. She’d expected to be called in as witness, but not so soon.

  “You wanna a hotdog, Mom?” Troy asked, cooling the friction between them. “We could bring one back for you.”

  Stella smiled. “Thanks, but I’m not very hungry.” She winked. “Since you had an extra long work out, you can have mine.”

  “Bonzai!” Troy raised his fist in a victory signal.

  “We’ll pick you up around four.” Stan ushered Troy out the door.

  “That should give you plenty of time to pull yourself together.” He allowed his gaze to travel over her slender figure wrapped loosely in her Karate gui, black belt hanging from her hips. He glanced down at her bare feet, then up to the moist sheen on her face; damp tendrils loose from her ponytail clung to her nape and temples. If it wasn’t for the child nearby, he’d—the woman had him clenching his gut, searing his lower extremities, his vitals skyrocketing.

  “But first” –he reached out and pulled her closer— “a good-bye kiss.”

  He’d barely brushed her mouth, when he let her go and hobbled back a step in utter consternation. She’d just landed her heel crisply on his foot.

  “When will you stop fighting me, spitfire?” He snagged her arm and hauled her up so close he could see the violet flecks in her eyes.

  “S’ long, darling.” She smiled sweetly and twisted away.

  A challenge. Definitely.

  “Later,” he growled.

  ***

  The sun had sunk behind the mountains, turning the sky crimson gold by the time Stan swerved to a stop in front of the lodge. Stella hopped from the truck and stumbled through the front door, wanting nothing more than to soak in a warm bath. Troy and Stan followed close behind. But since she’d missed lunch, the smell wafting from the kitchen lured her in that direction.

  Minni bustled out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Welcome aboard, dear,” she said, a twinkle in her eye.

  Joe and Fred smiled at her and shook hands with Stan.

  “Thank you,” Stella and Stan replied simultaneously.

  Minni cooked a delicious meal of baked salmon, rice pilaf with herbs and vegetables almondine. The bottle of Chardonnay gracing the table, complimented the fare with just the right touch of magic. Although Minni and the two men usually dined in their own quarters, tonight, since it was their first day back, they joined the family, making it a party. Stella enjoyed their jovial teasing and good-natured fun, wondering how she could’ve thought these two, sweet men were hoods wanting to harm her.

  “Mmm … thanks loads, Minni,” Troy mumbled, wiping chocolate crumbs from his lips. “That was real good.”

  “Thank ye, lad.”

  After the staff left, Stan shut himself in his study and Stella and Troy stretched out on the library rug in front of the blazing fire. Several games of checkers later, Troy yawned.

  “Time for bed, young karateka.”

  “I’m not sleepy,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping.

  “Of course.”

  After she helped him pack the game away, he shuffled out the door and up the stairs to his bedroom. “I’ll be up to read you a story.”

  By the time Stella went upstairs, he’d fallen asleep and after dropping a kiss on his cheek, she headed back downstairs. Barely nine-thirty, she strolled into the kitchen and feeling at a loss, made a cup of cocoa. She cradled the mug between her palms and raised it to her lips. Steam tickled her nose and she smelled chocolate flavor before tasting sweetness.

  “Mmm, this is good,” she murmured, wandering into the living room.

  Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, she flicked on the television and curled up on the sofa, hoping for a frivolous comedy to distract her from her tangled thoughts … her life—Stan, the boy, the marriage, the future.

  Finally, savoring the last chocolate drop, she flicked off the television and turned to go. She froze in her tracks.

  “Don’t go.” Stan blocked the doorway, his hushed words like a caress upon her skin.

  Chapter 11

  Stella gripped the mug in her clammy hands. Not a good idea, girl.

  “Stay.” His one word, a whispered demand.

  She knew she’d be playing with fire if she did, yet, something in his eyes beckoned. A weary look perhaps, or the tired way he ran his hand through his silver-streaked hair.

  Still she hesitated. “I’d better no—”

  In two strides he reached her, swept the cup from her fingers, set it on the table, took her hand and pulled her down with him on the sofa.

  Breathless seconds ticked by.

  He seemed fascinated by her slender fingers in his palm.

  “Wha-at do you want?” Stella asked on a gasp of air.

  “This.” Stan raised her fingertips to his lips and tenderly kissed each one. “And this.” Pulling her against him, he lifted the golden curls off her nape and laid claim to the spot with his lips. Then, he angled his mouth back up along her cheek to her mouth. “And this.” His feather-light breath tickled her lips before his mouth came down upon hers.

  Stella knew she’d come to regret this interlude … he was the enemy, even if she was married to him. Hadn’t he brought her up here for his own mercenary reasons?

  His mouth on hers was like magic … soft, pliant, sensual.

  Just for a few minutes she wanted to forget, wanted to feel him close—the touching, the caressing, the loving. Pretend everything was all right. She melted into him, giving him kiss for kiss.

  Stan lifted her into his arms and with his mouth still fastened on hers, crossed the room and climbed the stairs. He kicked the bedroom door open and shut, laid her on the bed and stretched out beside her. While his lips inched across her cheek and down her chin to feast at the pulse point at her throat, his hands undressed her, his fingers sliding beneath the lacy bra cupping her breasts.

  A groan
burst from his mouth, and he nibbled the sensitive area around her ear. Stella arched closer, breathing her delight. In a fever, she pulled his shirt apart and pressed her hands across his muscled torso.

  Hard. Strong. Heady … sexy.

  “I’ve wanted—” He slid his hand along her thigh, stroking the silky softness. “You are so beautiful,” he breathed into her mouth, exploring deeper with his tongue.

  A combustible moment ignited.

  Stella whimpered … she didn’t want to, but she had to. Wrenching her lips away from his, she sucked in a mouthful of air, her insides breaking. She wriggled from beneath him, fighting against every strained nerve prodding her to curve back into his embrace, his warmth, his sexuality. To touch him, to love him.

  “What?” A muscle battered his jaw, his breathing jerky. He rolled away from her, his body tense, controlled.

  She averted her eyes, unable to meet his probing query. “Let me go.”

  But his fueled gaze pinned her down, a silent command to answer.

  “I won’t be used a second time.” She shoved bunches of her hair off her brow. “To satisfy your male lust.”

  “What the—”

  “Go away, Rogers.” Through a blur, she tried to stare him down, but when he wouldn’t be, she snatched up her sweatshirt. “I-I don’t want—”

  “You could’ve fooled me, lady.” Stan slid off the bed and grabbed his shirt, a twist to his mouth.

  “Not this way,” she murmured more to herself than to him. “Just to--”

  The rest of her words got lodged in her throat, and she blinked rapidly, damming the tears threatening to spill.

  “What?” He shoved his arms into his shirt, drew in a sharp breath, his facial muscles taut.

  “To scoop the coup on the custody issue.” She slammed him with her words, anger having pushed them from her throat, the same time she slipped her arms into her sweatshirt.

  “You knew that,” he admitted. “But I—”

  “Get out.” Stella scrambled off the bed, her breasts rising and falling, her hands fisted.

  Stan muttered an expletive, the navy flecks in his eyes hardening. Without another word, he swept up a blanket and stomped from the room.