The Bachelor Boss (O'Rourke Family 3)

by Julianna Morris

  She walked inside her new office and took several deep, calming breaths. It was a calm place—twice as big as her old one, with long windows that framed views of the Puget Sound and modern, expensive furniture. O’Rourke Enterprises always bought quality.

  You’re going up in the world, Libby thought.

  But it wasn’t what she’d always wanted, more like a pale substitute. All her hometown friends were married, even the ones who’d sworn they’d never get “tied down” like that. A dozen kids in Endicott called her Aunt Libby, but it wasn’t the same as being a wife and mother.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she whispered, rubbing her temples.

  She had a good life, except when she was worried about her mother. Pneumonia had weakened Faye Dumont’s heart when Libby was sixteen, and since then Libby had spent her share of sleepless nights whenever Faye had a “spell.” But all people had worries of some kind.

  “Are you okay?”

  The question made Libby jump. She whirled and saw Neil standing in the doorway.

  “Er…yes.”

  “You were rubbing your forehead. Headache?”

  She had a headache all right—Neil O’Rourke. He was the worst kind of headache.

  “I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.” Libby picked up her purse from the desk.

  “Allow me,” he murmured, taking her coat and holding it up.

  Swallowing, Libby slid her arms into the jacket and tried to ignore how warm his hands felt on her shoulders. She turned abruptly, her eyes level with the knot in his tie, scant inches away. Slowly she tipped her head back and stared into Neil’s face. They hadn’t been this close to each other since that long ago night, and the same old butterflies began dancing in her midriff.

  And the same old doubts.

  How many times had she wished they’d met later, when she was more certain of herself? How many times had she told herself it didn’t matter, she didn’t like him anyway? She believed in commitment, while the only thing he was committed to was making a profit.

  Neil O’Rourke was the most sophisticated man she’d ever known. Even if he wasn’t a prince, around him she felt like Cinderella before the fairy godmother showed up. And who ever believed the prince fell in love with Cinderella in the first place? Beneath her magical ball gown Cinderella was still a country bumpkin, and he was a prince.

  His fingers brushed her cheek and Libby shivered in response. The expression in his face was intense, unreadable, and a deep ache went through her body. It was so inappropriate, he was the last man she should respond to like that.

  “Neil?” she whispered.

  “I’m not the big bad wolf,” he murmured. “You don’t have to look at me like I’m going to eat you.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “What, then?”

  Libby’s gaze dropped to the sensual curve of his lips before she could help herself. What would he think if he knew how often she thought about his mouth and the way he’d once…She put a brake on her unruly brain.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?” The husky question made her swallow.

  The last time she’d heard Neil sound like that was eleven years ago, right before he’d started kissing her.

  “Are we going, or aren’t we?” she asked, hoping the way her breasts had tightened wouldn’t be too obvious.

  “We’re going.”

  They made their way down to the underground parking garage, but when they stopped in front of a silver Chevy Blazer, she gazed at it in surprise.

  “This is yours?”

  “Yeah, what did you expect?” Neil asked, inexplicably annoyed. It was just a car and he didn’t know why Libby’s opinion mattered, yet he still found himself tensing as he waited for an answer.

  “I don’t know. A Jaguar, maybe. Or a Volvo,” she offered tentatively.

  Laughter rose in Neil’s chest. “There’s a world of difference between a Jag and a Volvo. What kind of ideas about me do you have running around in your mind?”

  Her eyelids dropped and she lifted her shoulders. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested.”

  That’s what you think, he said silently as Libby climbed inside the Blazer. No matter what he told himself, he was too damned interested in her. She had to pull her skirt up a few inches to negotiate the high step and his temperature hiked several notches at the sight of sleek, silky skin. She had such a nice body it was easy to overlook her killer legs.

  After they pulled onto the freeway he cast a glance at Libby and saw her face was turned, looking out the side window. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, debating what to say. But the miles ticked by in silence until he realized she had fallen asleep.

  A curious warmth unfurled inside his chest.

  She disliked him, but apparently she trusted him that much.

  The clean scent of pine and cedar drew Libby back to awareness—it was the smell of home. She straightened in her seat, groaning at the realization she’d fallen asleep.

  “Uh…” Words failed her.

  “You’ve been very quiet. I hope I haven’t bored you,” Neil said.

  Quiet? Libby tried to figure out if she was relieved or insulted he hadn’t noticed her snoozing, then decided it was a mixture of both. No matter what her feelings were about Neil, a woman liked to think she was…well, noticeable.

  “My cell phone is in my suit pocket. Why don’t you give the real estate office a call and let them know we’ll be there soon?” He reached into the rear seat of the Blazer and handed her the coat.

  For some reason delving into Neil’s pockets seemed an intimate thing to do, but she could imagine how he’d react if she said so. Swallowing, she cautiously fished out the phone and dialed the number.

  “Hello, Ginger? It’s Libby Dumont.”

  “Hey, Libby, I guess you’re on the way. I talked to Mr. O’Rourke earlier. I’m so thrilled about the bed-and-breakfast idea. It could save Endicott,” Ginger said fervently. She was a close friend and they’d talked about the project at church that Sunday.

  Libby cast a quick glance at Neil. “Yes, I know. We just wanted to let you know we’ll be there soon.”

  “You sound uptight. Mr. Steamroller must be listening.”

  “Er…yes.”

  Ginger chuckled. She was a bubbly redhead with three kids and a husband who thought the sun rose and set in her. Libby had told her something about Neil, so she knew about his tendency to mow down everything in his path on his way to success.

  “Do your folks know you’ll be in town? Somebody’s bound to mention you were here.”

  Libby winced.

  She’d meant to phone her parents, if only to explain why she couldn’t see them, but there hadn’t been time. “No. We’re going to be tied up viewing the properties.”

  “I’ll give them a call. I don’t suppose the boss-man wants to drop around for a family visit.”

  “That’s definitely not on the agenda.”

  Ginger made a disgusted sound. “That guy must be a real piece of work.”

  “You have no idea.” The words came out more fervently than Libby had intended, and she was glad Neil couldn’t hear both sides of the conversation.

  “I’m glad I’m not in your shoes. We’ll see you in a bit.”

  She disconnected the call and slid the cell phone back into his coat pocket. “Mrs. Ellender is expecting us.”

  “Good.”

  Libby figured Ginger would make a good impression on Neil—she was stacked like a Miss America and knew her stuff as a real estate agent. Two things he was bound to appreciate. But when they walked into the office, her friend rushed out of the back room, looking harried.

  “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to go,” she said. “The school just called to say my oldest hurt his arm.”

  “Harry?” Libby asked. Harry was her godson and even if he was a fearless daredevil who never seemed to get seriously injured, she couldn’t help worrying.

 
“I’m sure another agent can show us the properties we’re interested in,” Neil interrupted smoothly. “If we make an offer we’ll work out something with the commission so you get a percentage.”

  Neil saw Libby and the buxom redhead exchange glances.

  “Uh…Endicott only has one real estate agent,” Mrs. Ellender said. “And that’s me.”

  He groaned silently, wondering how they would ever get the project going if they had to deal with towns so small they didn’t have adequate services.

  “But I’ll just give you the keys and Libby can take you around,” the redhead added. “I’ll be back in the office later, and we can talk then.”

  He stared, nonplussed. “I’m sure your clients wouldn’t like that.”

  Mrs. Ellender waved her hand in a pooh poohing motion. “Don’t worry about it. The properties were deeded to Endicott years ago, so the town is my client, so to speak.”

  “But surely the community would prefer an authorized representative to go with us.”

  “It’s okay. Libby is our pastor’s daughter. If we can’t trust her, we can’t trust anyone.” She handed Libby three sets of keys. “It’s probably just a sprain, but they’re going to X-ray the arm to make sure,” she said in an undertone. “I’ll see you later.”

  After she’d rushed away, driving a sturdy truck with an extended cab, Neil looked at Libby in astonishment.

  “This can’t be okay with the authorities.”

  Libby shrugged, not looking particularly surprised. “Ginger’s husband is the mayor and sheriff and fire chief, so nobody’s going to object.”

  “But in the city—”

  “This isn’t the city,” she said. “Don’t you know anything about small towns? Little places where everyone volunteers because there isn’t a budget for the extras like a paid fire chief. Or firemen.”

  “You don’t have a fire department?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She pointed down the street and he saw the Endicott Volunteer Fire Department, sitting on the corner. It was a quaint vintage building that looked barely big enough for an old horse and ladder truck.

  Holy cow.

  It was like landing on a different planet where all the rules were different.

  “Shall we go see one of the houses, or get something to eat first?” Libby asked. “We only have a café and pizza parlor in Endicott, but they’re both good. Ginger runs the pizza parlor, too.”

  Bemusedly, Neil noticed the real estate agency and pizza joint all seemed to be part of the same business. “Uh…we can eat later. Let’s see some of the property you thought would work for the project.”

  Maybe that way he could shake his feeling of being a fish out of water.

  Though Libby was concerned about her godson, she couldn’t help marveling at the sight of a baffled Neil O’Rourke. He was always so suave and sophisticated, so sure of himself in any situation. It was almost endearing to see him gawking at Endicott’s only traffic light and the old fashioned gas street lamps the city had converted to electric, rather than replace them.

  “How did these places get deeded to the town?” he asked as they pulled up to the first house.

  “Partly out of civic pride, and partly because they became too much trouble,” Libby admitted.

  Huckleberry House stood a little way outside of town, a frosted cake sort of home built during the heyday of Edwardian architecture. She’d never been inside because it was owned by a New Yorker who’d inherited the property from a distant cousin. A year before he’d decided to donate it to Endicott rather than keep paying taxes on a house he couldn’t find a buyer for, and didn’t want to live in.

  “Looks pretty run-down,” Neil said.

  “Ginger says the underlying structure is sound.”

  “What do you expect her to say?” he asked impatiently. “She’s a real estate agent and wants a commission.”

  Libby glared. “You’re impossible. She would never lie to me—I’m her son’s godmother, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Libby, you can’t believe—”

  “Get back in the car if you feel that way,” she snapped. “I’ve wanted to see this house my entire life and you aren’t going to spoil it.”

  Neil whistled beneath his breath. He didn’t have any intention of just sitting in the Blazer while Libby risked life and limb in a dump that should have been condemned decades ago. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in seeing it.”

  “Fine.” Libby fumbled with the keys she’d been given until she found the one that fit the lock.

  His eyes widened slightly when he realized it was an old skeleton key. They walked inside and Neil held his breath. Yet as decrepit as the porch had seemed, the interior hardwood floor seemed sturdy.

  “It’s incredible,” Libby whispered, gazing raptly around.

  He looked as well, but all he saw were grimy sheets thrown over furniture and windows that barely admitted light because they were so dirty. A thick layer of dust covered everything and cobwebs shrouded the corners with a macabre lacy art.

  “Once upon a time they threw elegant parties in Huckleberry House,” Libby murmured. “The chandelier would have sparkled in the gas light, and men in high pointed collars escorted ladies in dresses that swept the floor. Everything would have gleamed from being polished and waxed. It should look that way again.”

  A peculiar sensation swept through Neil. Libby wasn’t seeing the dirt and grime, she saw the possibilities beneath it, the old glories of a house that must have been a showplace in its day.

  She saw potential.

  And she would have fit right into the gracious Edwardian society that had built Huckleberry House, from her strawberry and cream complexion, to the long, luxuriant hair that hung down her back. It was easy to imagine her in a long, graceful dress, her hair piled softly on her head and set with jeweled combs.

  All at once Libby blinked and looked at him.

  “I suppose you hate it,” she said.

  Hate it?

  How could he hate a place described like that? Neil tried to tell himself he was being influenced by his visceral reaction to a beautiful woman, rather than sound business sense, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  “I think it’s great,” he said slowly.

  A radiant smile lit her face. “Really?”

  “Really. Huckleberry House is going to be our first historic bed-and-breakfast inn. The flagship of the line. Even the name is perfect.”

  “I knew it.” She threw her arms around him for a second, then gasped and stepped backward. “S-sorry.”

  Neil, who prided himself on his control, felt it slipping away. “Don’t apologize,” he said, pulling her back.

  Libby gulped as she stared into Neil’s gray eyes, her body pressed full length to his. He didn’t look cool at the moment, far from it, yet after a long minute he shuddered and dropped his arms.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered.

  “I’m not so sure,” Libby whispered. Life was full of shouldn’ts and uncertainty, something she’d learned when her mother got sick. “I’ve been thinking about things,” she breathed, daring to touch a crisp lock of hair on Neil’s forehead.

  “Yeah?” He sounded hoarse. “About what things?”

  “About what you said…that we should clear the air.”

  His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “You want to talk?” It didn’t sound as if he was interested in a discussion, which seemed like a good sign since she didn’t really want to talk, either.

  “No. There might be another way.”

  “How?”

  “We could try kissing again.”

  She would never have had the nerve to suggest it if he hadn’t hugged her back, but he had, and she really wanted be kissed by the only man who’d ever made all the nerves in her body stand at attention.

  “That’s going to clear the air?”

  “It seems to me we could get this attraction thing sorted out that way. I mean, we don’t r
eally like each other, so it ought to go away easily enough.”

  Neil would have laughed, but he knew Libby wouldn’t understand. God, she was so innocent. Did she really think attraction would dissipate through a kiss, like electricity through a lightning rod? And did she realize she’d just admitted she was attracted to him? Probably not, and he certainly wasn’t going to point it out to her—his mama and daddy hadn’t raised a fool.

  “I’m willing to try if you are,” he said, ignoring every single instinct for good sense that he possessed.

  “I’m the one who suggested it.”

  He inhaled the scent of vanilla and his gut twisted. Kissing her was a really dumb idea, but he was still going to do it—eleven years of declaring he shouldn’t get involved with someone from work wasn’t enough to stop him. But he’d barely had a chance to brush his lips across hers when he heard a car drive up.

  “No,” he groaned.

  Libby jerked away and put a hand to her throat. What had she nearly done? And to make things worse, she still wanted to do it.

  “Sweetheart?” called her father.

  She winced.

  They’d left the door wide-open, so he could have easily seen them, along with anyone else who’d come along. The story would have flown around Endicott at light speed. She’d grown up here and the people expected her to behave a certain way as the preacher’s daughter. She didn’t mind, but sometimes she wanted to feel free as anyone else to make mistakes and get on with her life.

  “Dad?” She hurried out to the rickety porch. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine, dear. Ginger mentioned you were visiting properties with your boss, so your mother thought you might be able to come for lunch.”

  “I’m Neil O’Rourke.” Neil said from behind her. “Good to meet you.”

  “Timothy Dumont. You will come to lunch, won’t you?”

  “We’d love to. Reverend Dumont, isn’t it?”

  Her father gave Neil a genial smile. “That’s right, but call me Timothy, like everyone else.”

  He turned, obviously expecting them to follow, and Libby wanted to drop out of sight. She adored her dad, but Neil wasn’t a down-home sort of guy.

  “We don’t have to go,” she said when they got into the Blazer. “I’ll call my mother and make an excuse.”