Riches to Rags Bride

by Myrna Mackenzie

  Genevieve, he thought for one insane moment. But only for one moment. Then he went inside to a room in the attic where he kept a few things. What he needed couldn’t be Genevieve. What he needed was to reclaim his sanity, his control, his life, to get things back on an even keel. Rebuild the walls, practice discipline.

  One hundred push-ups later, he was ready to talk to Genevieve.

  Genevieve stood staring up into Lucas’s dark eyes, eyes that had looked anguished only a short time ago. How had she not anticipated what would happen? How could she have let him bare his soul that way? She was supposed to be the project manager, in charge of the whole deal. “Lucas, I’m so sorry about what happened earlier. I should have been prepared with an answer, some light response, something to deflect the questions. I take total responsibility.”

  He took a step closer, the expression in his eyes more dangerous than she’d ever seen before. “Are you…implying that you should have protected me, Genevieve?”

  She lifted her chin. “I should have reviewed all the possibilities.” It was one of her parents’ biggest complaints, that her views were not large enough. Her world wasn’t large enough. They worked on big canvasses. She did not.

  “Even the possibility that there would be questions I had given you no answers to?”

  “Even that.”

  “Don’t do that,” he ordered.

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Don’t take the blame for things you can’t be blamed for. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I left you there hanging in the breeze. I let them sucker punch you with their questions about Angie.”

  She shook her head slowly. “That wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was. I’m the one who picked the darn name and I know all too well how harsh people can be when it comes to anyone who is different or poor or in need.”

  And there it was. That look. The one that told her everything and nothing. The one she had no business wondering about.

  “What happened to you? And who is Angie, really?” she asked suddenly.

  The minute she said the words she clapped her hand over her mouth. Lucas was her boss. If he had wanted her to know these things… “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I told you once that if you wanted to know anything that you should ask.”

  “You were talking about my work.”

  “Yes, but now it seems that my life has overflowed into your work. And what happened to me was…a lot of things a long time ago. A mother who wanted to be a dancer, but who got pregnant and always felt that my birth destroyed her career. I broke her heart over and over and she struggled to love me…until she gave up and left. Then my father died and I moved from one foster family to the next. Some of them just wanted to rack up accolades for taking in a troubled kid. They never kept me long. I was wild, angry, virtually uncontrollable and I kicked out at them as much as I could. Finally, I ended up on the streets. Then, when I was eighteen, I met Louisa.”

  He said the name as if it had significance. Genevieve waited.

  “Louisa Ensen was Angie’s real name. Angie was just a code name we used because her father was a violent man and he hated me. Whenever I called, if he answered, I’d disguise my voice and ask for Angie or get someone else to ask for her. His grumbling about the constant wrong numbers was Louisa’s cue that I was waiting for her to meet me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Genevieve said. “You said that she was dead.”

  Lucas looked to the side. It was one of the few times when he’d ever avoided making eye contact with her. “Once things take off with this place, if anyone knew there really was a real, living Angie…I don’t want anyone trying to find her. I named the shelter for her because of what happened, as a kind of…apology. But she deserves some peace, some privacy.”

  He looked up then, staring directly into Genevieve’s eyes. His expression was…terrible, cold. “She came to me one night. Her father was in a rage and she just needed a few minutes away. But even though I knew what he was like, I asked her to stay with me. So she stayed. Because she trusted me and because I made her feel safe. Because of me, she got home incredibly late.

  “Two days later she called and told me that she didn’t want to see me anymore. She said she’d met someone else, someone better, with money and class, someone who wasn’t always in trouble.

  “I was so angry and hurt that I couldn’t see straight and I left town right away. Louisa became just one more woman who had betrayed me. That was when I gave up on people and concentrated on work, on learning how to discipline myself and control my situations, how to make money. I never looked back. In a way, Louisa freed me to make a better life for myself. Then just under a year ago I ran into her in Albany. She was cleaning rooms at a hotel where I was staying, and the minute she recognized me, she tried to walk away. When she turned, I saw that she had a long scar running down her cheek, an old one. And I knew right away what had happened.”

  “Her father beat her, didn’t he?” Genevieve couldn’t keep the horror from her voice.

  Lucas’s entire body radiated tension, anger. “He didn’t just beat her. He nearly killed her. That long-ago night when she went home, her father knew she’d been with me and he hit her until he she couldn’t even stand up, until she couldn’t recognize herself in the mirror. He told her that he’d kill me if I ever came near her again. So, she sent me away, and I made it so…easy. Too easy. I was the one who had asked her to stay with me, the one who was responsible for the torture he put her through, and because of my crime, I left town and became a millionaire while she stayed and took all the punishment alone.

  “She walks with a limp now. She never got married, never found any happiness. When she saw how I had prospered when she had suffered…I don’t know how she could forgive me, but for some reason she has.”

  Genevieve’s heart lurched. She wanted to tell him that Louisa forgave him because he’d done nothing wrong, but…he had done something wrong. He’d asked Louisa to stay, knowing that her father flew into rages. No platitudes she could offer would change that in his mind.

  “You were very young,” she said anyway.

  He swore. “And I’d lived the life of a much older person. I knew all about people who liked to attack the weak. I asked her to stay with me and she took the risk, but she also paid the price. I didn’t.”

  Oh, that was so wrong. He was paying the price even now.

  “So, this house,” Genevieve said, “is to make amends.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “Nothing makes amends for something like that. She was robbed of her beauty and youth and her life. She’ll never get any of that back, but…she has a daughter now. Not mine, but a daughter by a man as evil as her father. She ran from him to protect her child. She was barely making ends meet when our paths crossed.

  “So I forced money on her, but money can’t cure the things that scare her. Her daughter will be ten the day that Angie’s House opens. When we were young, she often talked about a safe place, a dream place. I want this to be a gift for her. If she or her child ever need an Angie’s House, I want there to be one for them. All she wanted was someplace she could live a normal life, free to dream the kinds of dreams that other girls dreamed. And that’s what this is about. But to the world? Angie is dead. Can you handle that?”

  Genevieve’s throat was closing up. He had planned the opening of Angie’s House as a gift to a child he’d never even met and most likely never would. He was protecting the woman he felt he’d harmed.

  Oh, she knew what he was asking. “You want me to lie,” she said.

  “I know. I’m sorry to even ask this favor of you, but…yes. Can you make that lie stick, please? For Angie?”

  Genevieve didn’t know Angie even though she felt for her. But she knew one thing. “I can lie,” she promised. She would do it for Lucas.

  Suddenly he smiled and it felt as if the sun had exploded into the room. As if a part of her heart she hadn’t known she owned began to beat. �
�You should smile more often,” she said, then blushed at her own audacity. “I’ll learn to lie, Lucas,” she promised again. “I’ll practice until I get it right.”

  His smile dimmed a bit. “Don’t let me corrupt you, Gen,” he said, his voice low and fierce.

  “I won’t,” she whispered. “I won’t.” But he was close, so close. She took a step. So did he. Then she was in his arms, and she didn’t know whether he was corrupting her or she was corrupting him, but there was kissing going on. Her lips against his, his arms pulling her closer, an ache so sweet she thought she might die from it.

  Then he was pulling away. “I don’t want to hurt you, Genevieve.”

  She knew what he was telling her. He never stayed; he never loved. He’d hurt other women and he would always live with that guilt. He didn’t want to have her on his conscience, too.

  “You can’t hurt me,” she told him, even though she suspected that he could hurt her very badly. Already it seemed, she was learning how to lie. “I’m an independent woman. No man can have me or hold me, remember?”

  And that was the truth. That was what she wanted. It was going to become her mantra. If control was what gave Lucas’s life meaning, then independence would be her saving grace.

  Now, more than ever, she wanted to do this job right. For so many reasons.

  Then, just to prove to Lucas that she was unaffected by his kisses and to show herself that she could survive those kisses, she rose on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his again.

  “I’m not going to fail you ever, Lucas,” she said. “I’ll give this party and Angie’s House everything I have.” Then she returned to her office to begin on the plans she’d put off for too long.

  She only hoped that when this was all over and Lucas had gone, she would be able to leave him with a smile. This time when Lucas moved on, she wanted things to be different. She wanted him to have a happy farewell with no regrets and no guilt.

  It sounded so simple, so doable. And yet…already she wanted to be back in his arms.

  “Get over it, Gen,” she ordered herself. But she didn’t get over it. Maybe later.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LUCAS COULD HARDLY BELIEVE that he’d bared his soul to Genevieve. He’d never told that story to anyone. Ever. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having shared so much. Like a jerk who had dumped too much emotional baggage on Genevieve? Exposed too much of himself? Yes to both of those.

  Still, she’d needed to know the whole story, he reasoned. For her job. And maybe because hearing about his fouled-up past might give her a shot of confidence. If someone who’d been as messed up as he had could go on to experience success, think what she could do. She could harness the moon and make it her own. All she needed was that one key to unlock the fire that burned within her.

  And he knew it was there. The flame that she carried inside glowed. He’d seen it when she was charming the neighbors. It burned him every time he touched her, every single time her lips met his.

  Still, ever since he’d shared that story and she had sworn to give the “introduce potential sponsors” party her all, she’d been running full tilt, planning, ripping up the plans, starting over again, nervously trying to get the wording on the invitations just right. Berating herself. And she had continued to decorate and do the messier jobs, too.

  “It soothes me,” she said. Today she was trying to apply wallpaper to a small sitting room. Jorge had given her basic instructions, but from the sounds that were coming from the room, Lucas was pretty sure things weren’t going according to plan.

  He peered around the corner. And immediately frowned. As time had passed and Genevieve had messed up her more useful clothes—if one could call anything she owned useful—her wardrobe had devolved…or evolved, depending on a man’s attitude. Her remaining “work” outfits were becoming less and less appropriate for all the bending, stretching, and crawling around on the floor she was doing as she measured, reached and generally went into full-immersion designer mode.

  The other day it had been a gauzy blouse with a form-fitting chemise beneath that had cupped her breasts in such a way that he had barely been able to tear his eyes away. Today, this silky thing was making him imagine the material sliding beneath his fingertips as he removed it and—

  A frustrated growl escaped him.

  “Lucas? What’s wrong?” Genevieve looked up from the strip of wallpaper she was wrestling into place. He took one look at it and knew that it wasn’t going to stick. At least not straight. The paper was already half-mangled. There was no way he was going to be the one to give her the disappointing news, not when she was so good at blaming herself. She needed a distraction. He needed a distraction, some way to keep from thinking about kissing her, touching her, inviting her to his bed. Any of those would be a tremendous mistake for a man who measured his success by how well he maintained self-control. And he wouldn’t be doing Gen any favors, either, when she had already told him she was on the run from overbearing, overcontrolling men. Men like him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Too much.

  “Nothing at all,” he said. “I just thought that I’d take you shopping.” Her silky blouse clung to her body in ways that made his temperature rise, and Lucas forced himself to keep his distance. “Let’s do that today. Now.”

  Genevieve blinked. “You want to take me shopping? I assume you must mean…for food for the party? Don’t worry. I’ve got that part under control. I’m having it catered.” But he noticed that she frowned when she said that. She was still uncertain if anyone would show up for a Patchett daughter.

  “Don’t you think you need some clothes? Practical clothes for this…painting, cleaning, wallpapering, since you seem determined to keep doing all those things. You can’t keep wearing things that—”

  Drive me crazy. Make me think about kissing you, touching you.

  He frowned and noticed that once again, she had torn something. There was a small hole in the thigh of her slacks.

  She sighed and stepped away from the wallpaper. “I know. This looks silly, doesn’t it?” She looked down at herself.

  “It looks fantastic. You look fantastic, but once this job is over…you’ll want your clothes to last. You need jeans. We need to buy you some. You might need all your dressier stuff for your next job and you won’t want everything to be paint splattered or torn.”

  And for the life of him, he couldn’t look away from that tiny rip in her slacks. Her creamy skin was barely visible, the hole was so small, but his imagination was very fertile.

  “That’s a problem,” he muttered and he wasn’t referring to the rip but to his own obsession with it. “Let’s fix that.”

  Gen’s heart was banging like a pair of cymbals. Lucas was staring at the tiniest, hardly noticeable hole in her pants, the one she’d been sure no one would ever even key in on, and it felt as if he was seeing a lot more of her skin than he was. Automatically, she started to cover the rip with her hand, then stopped when she decided that the move was unnecessary. Come on, Gen. The hole’s barely the size of a diamond chip. You’re probably just imagining that he’s staring at it.

  But the minute she forced her mind away from thoughts of having Lucas stare at her naked skin, the reality of what he was asking her to do kicked in. Shopping. Walking into stores. Facing the people who had been key players in witnessing her total humiliation. The humiliation she’d been hyperventilating about all this week while she’d been trying to plan this party. Only…shopping would take her directly to the source of where the most awful thing had happened.

  Her heart started beating hard all over again. Too fast. “I—I’d really rather not go shopping.”

  Lucas frowned.

  “I mean, there’s so much to do here,” she insisted, her words practically falling over themselves. “Besides, I still have lots of clothes, so buying more is really not necessary and—”

  “Genevieve. Stop.”

  She stopp
ed.

  He stepped closer. “What’s wrong? Why are you suddenly so flustered? What did I say? Tell me.”

  Oh, no, he thought he was the one at fault. “It isn’t you, Lucas. I just…I just can’t go shopping. I can’t. Please.”

  If a man could have looked more confused, Genevieve wasn’t sure what he would look like.

  “You’re going to need to explain why you’re making a simple shopping excursion sound like a prison sentence.”

  She sighed. “That first day when you said you’d checked my background, I thought you knew all about me, but apparently you only knew about my work history or lack of it. There’s more.”

  “Gen, I wouldn’t have gone digging into your personal secrets. Some things are off-limits.” His voice was low and deep and soothing, and she couldn’t help looking up into his eyes.

  She nodded, tightly. “Thank you,” she said, her voice too small. “But given the situation, you probably need to know this next part. When my parents died, I had no clue how to go on about things, but I thought I didn’t have to worry because Barry, who was my fiancé as well as my parents’ financial advisor, was taking care of all the details. What I didn’t know was that he had been slowly stealing my parents’ money and now that they were gone, he didn’t need to marry me for the rest of it. All he had to do was to take advantage of my ignorance.

  “While I was trying to sort out my life and not paying attention, he was making it appear that I was going on totally irresponsible and extravagant shopping sprees. I apparently bought lots of things, tons of frivolous items, on the internet and over the phone and he even sent my employees, my housekeeper and a maid, to the stores to buy things in my name. He dropped in little hints about my splurges to my friends and acquaintances. He took me shopping and managed to make it look as if, without my parents’ guidance, I was out of control and buying things that eventually ended up in his possession.”