He met her gaze and found himself falling into those blue eyes. He stuttered out the response his PR people had drilled into him, “I made my money fast and I didn’t know who to trust. I surround myself with a few people who have been true to me and I stay away from the rest.”
“You’re right, that is a lame old story.” Maryn smiled to soften her words. “Would you ever tell me the truth?”
Tuck blinked at her. If she kept smiling at him like that, he’d tell her a lot of things that he shouldn’t. “That is the truth… okay, some of the truth.”
“Did a woman break your heart?”
Tuck chuckled and forked a bite of orange chicken. “Never been close enough to a woman to allow that to happen.”
“Interesting. The famous Tucker Shaffer doesn’t like women?”
The orange chicken caught in his throat. He swallowed and shook his head. “I definitely like women.” Especially feisty blondes. “I just haven’t had an opportunity to meet the right one.”
Maryn glanced outside then back at him. Her blue eyes pierced right through him and Tuck wondered what he could do to get her to stay here, with him. No. That was crazy thinking. A gorgeous, city-born woman would never be happy with his lifestyle.
“Kind of hard to find that opportunity with a guard who’s a stiff, a butler who’s stuck in the eighteenth century, and a cook who reminds me of Mrs. Potts from Beauty and the Beast.”
“You can be Beauty and I’ll be the Beast,” the words were out before Tuck could stop them.
Maryn’s eyes widened, but then a small smile curled her lips. “I’ve had worse offers.”
Tuck loved the way she talked, but sometimes wasn’t sure what she meant. She’d had worse offers, but had she had better? He’d checked and there was no wedding ring, but that didn’t mean there was no boyfriend. Oh, he was pathetic. The first woman he truly interacted with in the past six months and he was drooling over her like a teenage boy.
“You were raised in foster care,” Maryn said. “Do you keep in touch with any of your families?”
Tuck’s chest tightened. They’d moved from what he would consider flirtation to his awkward childhood. Fabulous. “Only Brax.”
“Mr. Braxton was one of your foster fathers?”
“Grandfather. I lived with his daughter and her family from ten to twelve years old. Brax and I had a connection and kept in touch for years. He encouraged me and believed in me when no one else did. When I had my success, it was about the same time that he was retiring from being a doctor, and his wife had passed away a few years before that, so I talked him into staying with me. He’s amazing with investments and the business side of things.” That was a long speech, hopefully it would satisfy her reporter curiosity.
“He’s not really your butler.”
“No.” Tuck smiled and shook his head. “When Johnson first met him he teased that Brax was stiff and proper like an English butler. They have a bet going when we have guests. Guess Brax won this time.”
“There’s a story behind all of your staff, isn’t there?”
“All three of them?”
“Three?” Her eyes widened and she glanced around. “Only three? How do you maintain all the property you have with a staff of three?”
He shrugged. “I pay caretakers when I’m not at one of my homes. When we’re living there we have a maid service come in twice a week and keep a gardener on staff, but all of us pitch in to upkeep the house and yard of wherever we live.”
“So the stiff outside isn’t really a guard dog?”
Tuck laughed so hard his side hurt. He never laughed like that. “Maybe Johnson won the bet with Brax after all. He’s a buddy from college. He enrolled in the Army to put himself through school, was deployed to Afghanistan for eighteen months.” He clenched his fist, not sure why he was revealing all of this. He cleared his throat and looked down, lest she see the truth in his eyes. “He saw and was commanded to do some things that scarred him pretty good. He likes to patrol the property and watch the cameras, but only uses his weapons now to hunt and pretend to be a guard when people stop by. He’s brilliant with real estate and takes care of all of those kinds of transactions for us. He’s also more social than the rest of us and gets out and makes friends wherever we live.” No reason to tell her the things he and Johnson had seen together.
“Does sweet Mama Porter cook and clean?”
“I do a lot of the day to day stuff and everyone pitches in, then like I said I have a cleaning service come in twice a week and scour the place.”
Maryn took a slow breath. “You’re not what I expected, Tucker Shaffer.”
“Is anyone ever what you expect?” Tuck wondered if she liked what she learned about him or liked her original perception of him more.
“Good point. So, tell me more.”
He laughed and shook his head. No way was she getting much more out of him than she’d already gotten. Unless she was willing to go on a date with him sometime soon. “I’ve already told you more than any reporter I’ve ever met.”
“That wasn’t tough, you’ve never talked to any reporters.”
“Good thing I liked you the first time I saw you or I would’ve thrown you out.”
“Would you really?”
Tuck had to look down. He folded his napkin and placed it on his near-empty plate. “Probably.”
“Why do you want people to be afraid of you?”
Tuck hunched over, feeling like she’d punched him in the gut. “It’s just easier that way.”
“So the mysterious, ultra-wealthy loner who frightens everyone away is really a softy who cleans toilets and only allows those he’s trusted for years close to him.” She leaned toward him and he smelled a fresh, clean scent. It reminded him of sunshine and lilacs.
Tuck lifted his hands. “I don’t clean toilets.”
She smiled. “Why keep the world at arm’s length?”
“How much of this are you going to print? You aren’t writing anything down.”
She tapped her head. “Near perfect memory. At least when I care about what I’m learning. I promise I’ll send you the article before it goes to print for your approval.”
“I really don’t want all my secrets out to the world.” His voice dropped and he should’ve been embarrassed as he said, “If you were asking for Maryn Howe instead of for The Rising Star, I might be persuaded to reveal a secret or two.”
She tilted her head to the side. That silky blonde hair trailed over her shoulder and Tuck wanted more than anything to entwine his fingers in it.
“Are we that friendly?” she asked.
Tuck suddenly realized what a fool he was, coming onto the reporter who only wanted any dirt he was willing to reveal. He needed to get a social life. Maybe he could find a nice girl at the local church they attended on Sundays or let Johnson set him up. Tuck hadn’t dated much the past few years, but obviously it was time if he could feel an immediate connection and attraction to someone who needed to be kept farther than arm’s length.
“Why didn’t you show me the third floor?” Maryn asked.
Tuck drew in a slow breath. “That’s my private suite. I don’t show it to anyone, most of all to reporters.”
“What if I was asking as Maryn Howe not as The Rising Star? I promise not to take any pictures or print anything you tell me on that floor.”
Tuck knew he was a lonely, depraved idiot, but it wasn’t like she was going to open drawers, look through his desk, or find everything he wanted to hide. He stood, offered her his hand, and said, “Okay.”
Maryn tried not to stare at Tucker as they ascended the grand staircase then kept winding up and up. Glancing out the windows, she could see snow swirling in the air. She sucked in a breath. “Look at that! It’s so pretty. I’ve never seen snow before.”
“Really?”
“California girl.”
He grinned at her. Maryn smiled back, but then suddenly realized she’d have to drive in this snow. How terrif
ying, but she couldn’t leave now, she was just getting to the good stuff with Tucker. No way was a little white fluff going to interrupt that. She’d just have to be extra careful and pray the snow stopped.
Tucker rested his hand on her back, but when she glanced up, he quickly dropped it. He was… prickly and handsome and he just had presence. Definitely more interesting than any man she’d ever encountered. His eyes were so full of secrets she felt like she was wading through half-truths every time he told her something. What was he hiding? He’d been in the Army with Johnson; she knew that from her research. Why lie and say that only Johnson had scars from service? What had he done in Afghanistan that had affected him so deeply? If only she could snoop a little more. Instant guilt arose. Tucker had been very kind and accommodating to her. He didn’t deserve his dirt displayed for the world to mock. Whatever she discovered by the time she left here today, she vowed to paint him in a good light.
Tucker opened the double doors and Maryn’s jaw dropped open. They entered a sitting area first with floor to ceiling windows. Fat snowflakes floated from the sky. She should say her goodbyes and find her hotel before the roads got too dangerous, but she couldn’t force herself to leave yet. There was still much more to learn about Tucker and she wanted to be the one to learn it. Oddly enough, the article was no longer the number one reason for spending more time with him.
The walls of the room were knotty pine and all the furnishings were a deep reddish-brown leather, except for a mahogany desk and a cherry wood mantle over the granite-surround of the fireplace. There was an archway to her right into a bedroom with a massive bed and she could see an arched bathroom entrance and a walk-in closet beyond that.
“This is amazing,” Maryn breathed.
Tucker’s face relaxed into a smile. “Thank you. My private sanctuary.”
“Thank you for sharing it with me. I won’t… take any pictures or write about it.” Their eyes met and held and she whispered, “I promise.” Many wealthy people had private rooms they didn’t want on display, but there was something more here, she felt it. She would keep her promise, even from James and Alyssa. Thinking of James made her feel guilty. He wouldn’t appreciate the way she was so intrigued by this man. She needed to keep this attraction under control, but when Tucker nodded his thanks and gave her a brief smile, darn if that scar next to his lip didn’t appear. Thoughts of James were pushed far away.
Tucker gestured toward the overstuffed leather seats by the gas fireplace. A quick click of a button on the remote and the fire sprang to life. Maryn sank down and studied the churning snowstorm outside. It was truly beautiful. “This is perfect. If only I didn’t have to drive in the snow and could sit here with a cup of cocoa and a Baldacci novel.”
“I think you’re going to get your wish. These snowstorms can be vicious. You’ll have to stay until it passes.”
The muscles in Maryn’s neck tightened. She’d wanted that invite and she definitely didn’t want to drive in the snow, but what if things became awkward? “Oh, I couldn’t possibly… stay.”
She felt his gaze on her and almost gasped at the amused and honestly wicked glint in his brown eyes.
“I’ve had enough bad press.” Tucker spread his hands, the picture of innocence, except for the searing look in those eyes. “I’m not going to add, ‘threw a reporter out of his house in a blizzard where she slid off the road and received gaping wounds then caught hypothermia and died,’ to the stack.”
Maryn took a long breath. Her gaze returned to the lodge pole pines being loaded with snow. Whereas the view used to include the river, it was now impossible to see past the first row of trees. She’d never experienced snow, but would assume this was what the newscasters meant when they said a whiteout. The storm had come on quick.
“I don’t want to impose,” she murmured.
“Mama Porter would be thrilled,” he said.
“What about you?” she asked before she could stop herself, curse her errant tongue.
“I would be… grateful for the opportunity.”
“Opportunity to do what?”
“Get to know my beautiful reporter better.”
“And here everyone claims you have no social skills.”
Tucker’s eyes darkened but his smile remained in place. “If you stay, you’ll be able to tell them a different story.”
Goosebumps rose on Maryn’s arms. She wasn’t sure what story she was going to tell when this adventure was over, but the idea of spending more time with him had every nerve singing. She licked her lips and then forced herself to focus on the beautiful scenery outside, lest he notice her drooling over him.
Tucker’s phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, standing and walking into his bedroom.
Maryn also stood and walked around, looking at the artwork he’d chosen to display. She was shocked to see one of her friend, Alyssa’s, photographs on the wall. This man liked Baldacci novels and A.A.’s photography. Of course, Alyssa was now married to Beckham Taylor, but she still did her artwork under A.A. Maryn was beginning to think that Tucker was too good to be true. Why had everyone made him out to be a social cipher and a jerk?
Tucker was still talking in the other room, something about a grizzly bear on the property which had entered through the river. It sounded like the guard dog, Johnson, was monitoring the situation. She shivered. She’d never seen a bear except for at the zoo, but they still gave her nightmares. Taking Tucker up on his offer to stay inside this safe, beautiful house sounded better and better.
She paused at an antique roll top desk nestled against one wall. She wanted to open it in the worst way. Curse reporter instincts. She’d promised Tucker she wouldn’t reveal anything she learned in his rooms, so what would it hurt to look?
Unable to resist, she made sure Tucker wasn’t looking, and slowly lifted the cover. Photos were scattered over the desk, all of them snapshots of beautiful children near a cave entrance. The scenery was brown, possibly desert. They appeared to be of Arab descent. Maryn wondered what the connection was to Tucker. She picked up a picture of a darling boy, who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. Turning the print over, she read, “Murdered by Lieutenant Tucker Shaffer.”
She gasped and dropped the picture like it was a hot ember from the fire. Her heart thumped louder and louder. Had she really seen that? It couldn’t be true. Tucker seemed like such a nice guy.
Leaning back, she spied Tucker inclining against the four-poster bed with the phone to his ear. Maryn picked up a snapshot of a teenage girl with flowing black hair and a beautiful smile. She slowly turned it over and the same words were written in bold marker, “Murdered by Lieutenant Tucker Shaffer.” Her eyes darted over the pictures, ice rubbing along her spine. There were at least half a dozen of the pictures. He couldn’t possibly have… killed all these children?
Cold fear pricked at her neck. She needed to get out of this house. “Okay, girl,” she muttered to herself, “play it cool and then make a quick exit. He’ll never know.”
Setting the picture down, she grabbed the top and started rolling it down. It squeaked. She gasped and moved it slower, saying a quick prayer for help. She noticed the silence a split second before she could feel his breath on her cheek.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, his voice a low growl.
Maryn released the desktop, whipped around to face him, and tried to back up, but she was pressed into the desk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to see. I was just looking around. They were sitting right on your desk.” She hated that her voice squeaked but her throat was closing off.
He leaned into her space, his dark eyes snapping. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he repeated.
“I-I think I need to go.”
“Screw the bad publicity,” he snarled. “You think I’m going to let you leave now? Tell the whole world about what a monster Tucker Shaffer really is?” His lips curled into a feral grin. His brown eyes had turned black and cold.
Mar
yn’s breath was coming in short bursts. He wasn’t touching her, but she felt like she was standing in the shadow of a calculating animal and he was going to lash out at any second. Being mugged last summer was less terrifying than the look in Tucker Shaffer’s eyes. How had the warm, friendly man morphed into this beast?
Without thinking, she stomped on his foot with the heel of her red boots. He cried out, probably more in surprise than pain. She ducked under his arm and sprinted out the door. She ran down the three flights of steps without looking back to see if he pursued. Mr. Braxton was in the office and glanced up in surprise when she yanked the front door open.
“Ms. Howe?” He hurried into the foyer. “Where are you going? There’s a bear and—”
“I’ll take my chances,” she muttered, flying down the front steps and ignoring whatever else Mr. Braxton was trying to say. Her little red rental car was still sitting there in the circle. At least they hadn’t moved her car and kept her prisoner. There was something very wrong with this house and the people inside.
Maryn slipped on the snow and went down hard. Her elbow and knee slammed onto the wet pavement. She hauled herself up, limping and sliding the remaining steps to her car, these cute boots were not made for snow. She peered through the thick snow, waiting for a grizzly bear to rip her apart. Not sure if she was more scared of a real grizzly bear out in this forest, or the beast of a man inside the house. She chanced a glance up, up to the third story. Tucker Shaffer stood at the window. Thank heavens she couldn’t distinguish his expression through the snowstorm, and double thank heavens he wasn’t chasing after her.
Yanking her door open, she stumbled into her car and hit the lock button. The trees and falling snow all gave the illusion of peace, looking like a stinking Christmas card. Maryn shuddered. There was no peace in this place and the sooner she got out of here the better. Her hand shook as she pulled the keys from her pocket and started the car. She put the car in gear, pressed the gas pedal too far to the floor, and squealed down the driveway.
She could barely see through the thick flakes covering the windshield and her wipers had no hope of doing their job. Something flashed through the trees to her right. It couldn’t be the bear, could it? She shuddered, the sooner she got out of Satan’s lair the better.
The Feisty One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 3
