The Billionaire’s Handler

by Jennifer Greene

  A red-tailed hawk, four trees over, surveyed the vista below.

  “If he goes swooping down on some prey, I’m not going to be happy,” Carolina said darkly.

  “Let me see.”

  “No. You’ve been hogging the binoculars since we got here. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. A mama deer, Maguire. With two half-grown fawns. Just lollygagging.”

  He grabbed the binocs, since she was being so stingy-and then she had to laugh. At him.

  “I hate to tell you this,” she teased, “but I’m not sure whether we’re living my fantasy or yours.”

  “All right. I admit it. I just never thought of a tree house before, much less considered building one or spending time in one. It’s terrific.”

  “Well, yeah. But you’re the one who grew up in the lap of luxury. How come you never did this, if it was something fun for you? You made me make out that list. But have you ever done it? Made a list of things you really want to do?”

  There now. She broke the spell. He forgot how annoying she could be-poking into corners he never poked into. He’d been content with his life before he met her. And she kept diverting him from the crisis problem-which was teaching her to be tough.

  “We have more serious things we should talk over,” he said abruptly. “We’ve talked about some general ideas, general plans and strategies you can try. But we’ve only skirted the really touchy stuff. For instance, you have a sister.”

  For one long instant, she looked at him. There was something in her eyes-besides sunbeams-but she seemed to decide to go along with the conversational tack he’d started. “Actually, I have a brother and a sister,” she said.

  “But it’s the sister who leaned really hard on you, wasn’t it? She started by asking you for a college education for her kids-”

  “I wanted to do that!”

  “Okay. I get that. But I’m not interested in what she asked you for. I want to hear, from you, what else you might want to do for your sister and your sister’s family.”

  She started scooping up the debris from their lunch, stashing paper and napkins in a makeshift box. “I’d like her to have a nest egg. Just in case something traumatic happens. She’s never said anything, but I know she doesn’t have a great marriage. I think my brother-in-law’s a cheater. Anyway. I was thinking about setting up a trust for her and her two kids. Not to just give them money outright. But so she’d know that she always had a door open, a way out, a kitty in the closet. I’d tell her about it. Tell her how I’m doing it, so she knows she’s got this nest egg…but that it’s not going to the Home Shopping Channel or to pay for something that would just disappear.”

  “She’s not going to like that.”

  “I figure she won’t either. She’ll think I’m patronizing her. Or something like that.” Carolina sighed. “But you asked what I wanted to do for her. And that’s the deal.”

  “Hey.”

  “Hey what?”

  “You’re getting damn smart, Carolina.”

  “Of course I am. I’ve had a fabulous teacher. Holy kamoly. Maguire! There’s another hawk! Wait, wait. I think it’s an eagle…”

  Out of nowhere came a sudden civilized sound. His cell phone.

  He froze, worried that he’d forgotten to tell Carolina that he’d needed to keep his cell on…worried that the sound of it would produce a panic response in her the way it had before.

  Not this time. She heard it, looked at him, and he could almost see her shoulder muscles ease. It was just a phone. Not a threat. Phone calls weren’t likely to threaten her ever again.

  “I need to take this-” he started to say, but she just shook her head.

  “Of course you do. No problem.” And she whipped away the binoculars and turned back to the window, while he dug in his pocket for the cell.

  It was his brother Jay, and he’d known Jay would call quickly after the last visit with Shannon. Maguire had fixed her problem-not just money, but removing her from the role of go-between. Once Jay discovered he would have to deal with someone who wasn’t a vulnerable woman-namely himself-his brother was guaranteed to pursue communication. Jay had his penitent voice on, his excuses ready to spill.

  “I was just in a little spot of trouble,” Jay started in. “It was just cash flow.”

  “You know how many times you tried to sell me this story?” Maguire moved as far away from Carolina as he could, kept his voice low.

  “This time is different,” his brother insisted.

  “How?”

  “I found a rehab place.”

  “And you’ve played that card before, too, Jay. You never meant it.”

  “This time I do. I’m going to end up with nothing and no one if I don’t find a way to straighten up my act. This time I realize that.”

  “You’ve used those same words before. What I don’t get is why you’d steal from your own brother. You don’t even see Tommy. Don’t give a damn how he’s doing. Yet you’ll do an end run with Shannon when you have more money than you could possibly want-”

  “It was just a cash-flow thing. It won’t ever happen again, I swear.”

  Maguire quit talking. He closed his eyes. Tried to listen. The call lasted several more minutes, and then Maguire clicked it off, then shut down the phone altogether. He faced the north glass wall without seeing anything, just standing there.

  Behind him, he heard the door to the bathroom open. Then running water for a moment. Then silence again. His voice had been quiet; he knew it had been, and Carolina had obviously picked up that it was a private matter, steered out of the way. Maybe she hadn’t heard. If she had, maybe his side of the conversation wouldn’t make sense to her. No matter, if she just gave him a few more moments to get his head back on straight, he’d handle it fine.

  But less than a millimoment passed before he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  He didn’t want her sympathy or empathy. Not when he felt lower than dirt.

  When he couldn’t shake off her hand, she scooched around in front of him, leaning against the glass wall, taking the place of his view.

  “Is that what you’ve been feeling bad about for the last couple days?” she asked gently.

  “When the subject is my older brother, I’ve tended to feel bad from the day I was born. He has my father’s fine, sterling character. No amount of money is ever enough. He always has a way of justifying whatever he does.” He tried to make his tone sound light, as if the subject of his brother were at least halfway funny. Instead, he heard his voice come out terse and snappy. “Forget it, Carolina. The call’s over with. It’s not your problem. Just wasn’t a pleasant thing to handle.”

  She nodded, as if she had the grace and courtesy and kindness to back away from something he obviously didn’t want to talk about. Only, then she pounced again. Cocked her head, kept looking at his face, kept crowding him. With all that damn softness. “You know, Maguire, you were the one who taught me about drawing lines in the sand. About how you have to draw clear lines to deal with some people. Lines, about what you’re willing to do, what you’re willing to give, how much you’re willing to bleed for someone else. So…”

  “So what?”

  “So I have to believe you drew some extra-clear lines with your brother.”

  Damn, but she was annoying. “I sure as hell did. The line I drew in the sand with Jay is that I would never, ever sucker into him again. I’m through enabling him. He may be my brother, but he needs to accept real consequences for his behavior, and my helping him doesn’t get that done.”

  She nodded again, still looking at him with all that empathy, even though he’d practically snapped her head off. Every word came out a snarl. Hell, his whole mind was a snarl.

  “It sounds like you drew really good lines. Lines that put up clear boundaries that kept your brother from yanking your chain. Just like you’ve been trying to teach me to do with people who want to use me. Only…it sounds as if something happened when you talked to your brother and you caved.”

/>   “Exactly.” Maguire didn’t slug a fist into the glass wall for obvious reasons. But he wanted to. “I know better than to cave. Jay always plays the same card. He knows the exact card that always works on me. Damn it. I want him to change. I want him to want a real life. I want him to have a relationship with Tommy. I want him to give a damn about something besides himself, for his own sake.”

  “So he promises you that…”

  “And whenever he promises me that, I sucker in, like the stupidest fool ever born.”

  She cocked her head again. She had this way of looking like an innocent waif when she did that, not like a woman who was about to deliver a stinging zinger. “You know what?” she said softly. “Maybe it’s okay if sometimes we can’t hold tight to those lines. Maybe it’s okay if sometimes the lines get blurry.”

  “No, it’s not okay.”

  “Maybe this time will be the charm and your brother will actually mean what he promises.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’ll be true when hell freezes over.”

  You’d think his tone of voice would have warned her off pursuing this topic. Instead, she seemed determined to wave a red flag in front of a bull. “Maguire…you feel responsible for so many people. You really work up a sweat about doing the right thing. I just think life is always touchier when it’s about family. Next time, maybe you’ll be able to say no. But even if you don’t…I don’t think it’d be all that awful if you cut yourself a little slack.”

  “What is this, the mentor suddenly turning into the mentee?”

  “No, you big lummox,” she said patiently. “It’s about trying to crack open that hard, hard head of yours and letting someone else in.”

  “Like you, I suppose.”

  “Yup. Just like me. C’mere, Maguire. You’re hurting. What’s so terrible about letting someone else comfort you?”

  She’d called him a lummox.

  No one called him a lummox.

  No one in the universe would think he was the kind of man who needed “comforting.” The idea was idiotic. Absurd to the nth degree. So ridiculous, he couldn’t believe it.

  Touching her wasn’t on his mind. Kissing her wasn’t remotely on his agenda. He was just…aggravated…that was all. That she’d think he needed someone. That anyone as jaded and tough as himself would ever, ever lean on the Softie of the Universe. A man would never do that. Not a good man. A good man never preyed on the vulnerable.

  And my God. She was softer than silver. Than pearls. Than a kitten’s cry.

  He didn’t slam her up against the glass wall because he would never use aggression with a woman.

  He didn’t slam his mouth over hers, either. Same reason. You didn’t bruise roses. You never got rough with a lady.

  He was just a tiny bit out of control. For that one small second.

  And then she messed with his head. The way she’d been messing with his head from the second he met her.

  She kissed him back, all hot and rough. She spread her hands up on that glass wall, inviting him to pin her harder, sharper. Inviting his chest to iron those soft, small breasts. For his pelvis to grind against her hips like some kind of dominant jungle idiot.

  Maguire valued finesse.

  He just couldn’t find it for another minute. And while he was looking, searching, trying to figure out what had happened to him, how to apologize, how to backtrack…

  Carolina flicked a wet tongue on his lips. Shivered her hips to nestle tight against him. Made sounds. Not soft sounds. Hissy sounds. Dares. Taunts.

  Invitations.

  Somehow she wriggled around, threw him off balance, and suddenly she had him against the glass wall, with the hundred-foot drop below…and a thousand-foot potential drop, from the expression in her eyes. She leaned him against that glass pane, risking life and limb. Sneaked her hands between their bodies to find the buttonhole of his jeans, the zipper.

  Talk about a way to put combustible fuel in his engine.

  “Wait,” he said.

  But she didn’t. And he didn’t, either. The truth was…hell, he didn’t know what the truth was. Her taste, her scent, pushed every trigger he had. Her top peeled up; her jeans peeled down.

  Where was the foreplay? Darned woman never did anything he could expect. You didn’t start out with the zipper. You started out with tenderness. Any man knew that. But now there were all these windows, all that sunlight, all that nakedness.

  He couldn’t remember feeling this naked, this raw. Physically, yeah, of course. But not soul naked. Not with anyone.

  She was just there. For him. The way no one had ever been there for him.

  So maybe he couldn’t put the cork back in the champagne. But she couldn’t have everything her own way.

  He lifted her, kissing her at the same time. Her legs swung tight around his waist and her eyes closed. He bumped a shin against something, cracked a toe on something else. Eventually he located the double beanbag chair, which was completely useless as a mattress.

  It had potential, though.

  He curled her on top of him, started on a long, lazy tongue bath. He found a cookie crumb on her right breast, went searching for more. She convulsed in giggles when his tongue did the Mission Impossible thing-possibly not the response he was seeking-but damned if that laughter of hers didn’t challenge him to make her laugh again.

  He tried toe kisses. Behind-the-knee kisses. Upside-down kisses. Sideways kisses.

  He tried strokes and rubs. He tried soft caresses, whispered touches…and then demanding pressure, bold kneading. He tried loving her with his eyes. He tried test after test, to discover what she liked, what moved her, what surprised her, what pleased her.

  He loved her skin. Her lips. Her hair, the fine-lined scar on her shoulder, her bony knees, her sleek, slim body, the smell of her. And for a while, he was concentrating so hard, so fiercely, that he almost didn’t realize that he was going out of his mind.

  She was doing the same thing. Exploring him. Every which way. Her gaze intent, absorbed, her touch wild, then measured and tender. She shivered from thrill, then from…something else. And when she met his eyes, he thought maybe time had stopped forever.

  He swished her beneath him, whispered, “Hold on, Cee.”

  She whispered, “You’d better hold on too, Maguire, because I’m not gonna be gentle.”

  How could there be laughter again, in the midst of so much tense tight need? Desire made his heart slam, his pulse skid, his body heat beyond boiling. Yet he flowed inside her, butter on butter, a smooth, tight, hot joining that made her cry out.

  And urge him on.

  A tumultuous ride of pure sensation, wild and free, sunlight flooding on her slim white body, her face, as if she were just that. Sunlight. Pure sunlight. The light in her seemed to reach him like nothing else ever had.

  Her body suddenly arched, pleasure bursting from her in a cascade of shudders, and that light of hers, that heart-light, pushed him over the edge.

  Later, she slept on his chest. He grabbed a jacket to cover her, but he didn’t nap. He couldn’t. Heaven knew what had just happened, but positively, it had never happened to him before. She had never happened to him before.

  He was in love with her.

  Forbidden or not, that’s what it was. Right or wrong, there was no other name for it.

  It was the craziest thing-at his advanced age of thirty-five, with all the complicated crazy life he’d already been through-to discover that he’d never been in love before.

  He’d dealt with crisis his entire life. But never one this momentous or petrifying.

  Chapter Ten

  “Oh, my…oh, my…oh, my.” Maybe she’d daydreamed about spending the night in a tree house, but the reality was infinitely more wonderful. Right outside the window, on a nearby branch, perched an owl. A big owl. A big, beautiful whiteish owl. Just sitting there, where she and Maguire could look at him. “Isn’t he magnificent?”

  “Compared to you, no. Compared to other creatures-yeah, he
’s pretty damn amazing.”

  She twisted in his arms. The cushions on the floor made a mattress. Moonlight pouring in was brighter than any artificial light. She was scooped in his arms, using one of his arms as a pillow, his other arm tucked around her, both of them naked beneath a mound of sleeping bags. “Did you just call me magnificent, Maguire?”

  “Couldn’t have.”

  “Because it sounded like it.”

  “You misheard. Or it was a slip of the tongue, because it’s so late and we’re both tired.”

  “We’re both tired because you were so magnificent.”

  Oops. Wrong thing to say. He tensed up like a shutter slamming out sunlight. For a while, he’d been lazy and relaxed, the Maguire she knew could be coaxed out of hiding. He was a man who laughed, teased her, took teasing back, inhaled the silver-and-black-velvet night out there with the same relish she did.

  Apparently he forgot he was the relentless alphamale Maguire for a few hours…but now he went quiet on her again. It occurred to her-it kept occurring to her-that she’d used silence as a way to protect herself in a very similar way. Maguire might not have a case of hysterical deafness, but just like her, he’d found a way to shut himself off from things that were threatening to him.

  “Hey, lover,” she murmured, trying to capture his attention, and of course, she did. She got “the eyebrow” at the use of the endearment. “The tree house is impossibly wonderful. I’m really glad you found it.”

  “Me, too. I can’t believe I never even thought about one before.”

  “It’s such a perfect hideaway. Nothing big to take care of. Just a place to hide out. Forget civilization for a while.” Without skipping a beat, she segued into the topic on her mind and heart. “Maguire, if you’re feeling guilty because of something to do with me-don’t.”

  His head swiveled toward hers immediately. His eyes looked huge and dark in the moonlight. “Want some wine?”

  “Nope. Just want to say…I’m hugely glad we did this.”

  “Good,” he snapped.

  She’d survived putting her finger in an electric socket before. And was willing to risk it again. For him. “You know,” she murmured, “I have every right to love you if I want to. Every right to admit that you turn me way, way on. To admit that I care for you. To admit that I’ve never felt…this kind of desire before. And that I’m old enough to throw caution to the winds and do something just for myself.” When he didn’t respond-how easy for Maguire to shut up and dodge her that way-she said bluntly, “You care a lot for me too.”