It Started at Christmas...

by Jo McNally

  His right brow arched sharply, but instead of leaving, he leaned back against the door frame and folded his arms on his chest, a wide smile on his face.

  “Is that right? Blake Randall? Well, that’s interesting. Because my appointment is with a gentleman, not a nosy, trespassing woman.”

  Amanda’s mouth fell open. This was Blake Randall. And she was an idiot. She’d just blown any possibility of getting the job that was her last hope. The thought of crawling back to Kansas in defeat made her skin tight and clammy. She stepped back and bumped against the door, stumbling when it swung further open behind her. She hated this feeling of her feet being encased in cement every time she panicked, leaving her clumsy and slow.

  “Jesus, relax.” His voice lost some of its growl. “I’m just sick of people trying to sneak into this place like it’s some shrine instead of being private property. What do you want?”

  Amanda’s lungs were rapidly constricting. In with the good air, out with the bad. She was having a hard time envisioning anything good in this situation. He ran long fingers through his hair, clearly running out of patience. She blew out another breath and her vision cleared. Her voice only trembled a little.

  “You’re Blake Randall?” She did her best not to grimace when he nodded once in reply. “The door was open, Mr. Randall. I assumed you were inside. I’m your ten o’clock appointment.” She knew she should hold her hand out, but her aversion to touch made her avoid handshakes at all costs. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. “I’m Amanda Lowery.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Do you think I don’t know who my appointment is with? It’s with—”

  “David Franklin of Franklin Interiors. Yes, I know. I used to work with David. I was an associate at the firm. I’m the one who responded to your email.” Someone at the office had taken a little too long closing her email account after she’d left. Randall’s email had seemed like a gift—an answer to her prayers—when it showed up in her inbox a month ago.

  “You responded as David Franklin.”

  “I responded as a representative of the firm.” What she’d done was beyond unprofessional. Probably illegal. But she’d been desperate. She hadn’t actually signed David’s name to the emails, but she hadn’t signed hers, either. She’d deceived this man. But what choice did she have after David smeared her reputation and left her unemployable?

  “So you’re here representing Franklin Interiors and their proposal?”

  “Well...um...no. It was my proposal.”

  “So you work for another firm now, and you’re trying to poach me from Franklin?”

  “Not exactly. I’m...um...self-employed.”

  Panic started whispering more loudly in her head. This was a mistake. What if he called David? What if he called the police?

  Instead, he just laughed. “Wow—you lost your job at Franklin Interiors.” His gaze sharpened. “Fired or quit?”

  “A little of both, I guess.” When she’d confronted David for taking credit for her work, he’d slandered her with their clients. He and she had basically raced to get the words out after a client told her what he’d said. She was pretty sure her “I quit” beat his “you’re fired” by a few seconds.

  “And now you’re bluffing your way into an interview for the renovation of a million-dollar mansion? You look like you’re barely out of college.” He stared at her for a long moment, and she just stared back, unsure if she should flee in embarrassment or stand and fight for the seemingly hopeless chance of getting this job. She pictured herself back in rural Kansas and straightened. She had to fight.

  “I’m twenty-eight. I worked at Franklin for four years. I created the proposal that got your attention and led to this appointment. This house is magnificent, and I really ne—want this job.”

  He snorted. “Magnificent? This pile of rocks is a pain right in my ass.”

  Her panic was briefly forgotten. He had to be joking. This house was... She looked around and wondered once again at the connection she felt to the dusty, neglected structure. This house...was where she needed to be. She had to get this job. He hadn’t thrown her out yet or called the cops, so that was something. He looked around the room as if trying to see what she saw.

  “Everyone in town forced me to keep this place standing, but...”

  Something clicked in her brain.

  “Wait—is this the historic landmark they were talking about saving?”

  “Who was talking?”

  “The lady who owns the coffee shop was telling my cousin and me about it. She said some idiot wants to destroy the resort and a bunch of houses so he can build some awful casino. Everyone in town hates the idea, and hates the guy trying to...” Her voice faded off as she watched a variety of emotions cross his face, from amusement to anger to...regret? Her cheeks flamed. “And that guy would be you, right? You own the resort, too?”

  He gave her a mock bow. “Blake Randall, the villain of Gallant Lake, at your service. But don’t believe Cathy when she says everyone hates the idea. The casino will provide a lot of jobs for people around here if I can ever get approval from Albany.” He frowned. “Cathy and her friends in the Gallant Lake Preservation Society managed to have Halcyon declared a landmark, so I have to put it to use, which is why I asked you...well, not you, apparently...to give me a proposal. Another firm suggested converting this into an office building, and leasing out whatever space we don’t use.”

  “Using this house for offices would be criminal.” She might have been having the worst summer ever, but she knew her stuff when it came to vintage homes like this. It was her specialty, and her knowledge gave her a spark of courage. “This was a family home once, full of love and laughter. It could be that kind of home again.”

  He looked at her as if she’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language. There was a spark of interest in his expression, but then he drew back and shook his head.

  “Look, it took some guts to worm your way into an appointment under false pretenses, and I admire your ambition. But—”

  “You liked my proposal just fine when you thought it came from Franklin Interiors. Have you suddenly stopped liking it?”

  He shook his head. “Your proposal was the best one I received for residential use, but I’m not convinced a twelve-bedroom castle can ever really be a home.” He looked around the dusty living room. “Even if I was, don’t you think this project is a little over your head?”

  “Why? Because I’m a woman?”

  “No. Because you’re young, you’re alone and you can’t possibly have the experience or the resources for a job like this.”

  His arms went wide, gesturing around the room, and she stepped back, rattled by the sudden movement. He wasn’t going to hire her. There was no sense in begging. This had been her last hope, and she wasn’t going to get the job. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She’d have to go home to Kansas, where all her nightmares began.

  She should get out of here now, while she still had some shred of dignity. She raised her chin, determined not to show him what a blow he was dealing her.

  “It’s clear your mind is made up. Excuse me.” She moved toward the door, praying he’d just let her pass without coming any closer.

  His brow arched high.

  “That’s it? You’re not going to fight for the job after going through that elaborate ruse to get yourself here?”

  This was nothing more than a game to him. He thought she was some nice young girl pretending to be a real designer. Wasn’t that what David had called her? As much as she wanted to prove them both wrong, she had to leave. Now. There was a panic attack barreling down on her like a freight train, and she didn’t want any witnesses. Especially one who already thought she was a poser.

  She started to walk past him and out the door, but her feet refused to cooperate with her bravado, and she stumbled. Damn it! Out of the corner of her eye
she saw him reaching for her. No!

  Her arms flew out. He grabbed at her. Shit! She tried to push him away and break her fall at the same time, but she ended up on the stone floor, looking up at him as he gripped her shoulders.

  “Careful! Are you o—” Their eyes met. “Miss Lowery? Amanda? Can you hear me?”

  His hands were on her. His hands were on her! She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her body trembled, making her head rattle against the marble floor. Her vision faded. The pain in her chest was so overwhelming she wondered if she was dying. She must have said as much, because a deep voice answered from much too close.

  “You’re not dying. You just need to breathe. Hold my hand and squeeze. Try to breathe.”

  “Can’t...hurts... Panic attack...” Strong arms gathered her up.

  No! But she didn’t have the strength to struggle. Every ounce of energy was spent trying to pull oxygen into her lungs.

  “Tell me how to help you.” She could hear fear in his voice, and it raised her panic level even higher. She heard a keening wail of pain and realized it was her. Her lungs were on fire, and she could barely form words.

  “Don’t...touch me...”

  A gruff burst of air blew across her cheek. “That’s not an option.”

  She was moving, flying. Being carried. He was shifting her around and fishing for something in his pocket. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps. She wasn’t getting enough oxygen to hold on to consciousness.

  From far away, she heard a disembodied voice and snippets of conversation.

  “Julie?...yes, Amanda Lowery...staying at the resort...panic attack...at the house...” Amanda rested her head on a solid shoulder. It was almost a relief to give up her fight against the inevitable darkness. The last thing she heard were soft words against her cheek.

  “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  * * *

  There was a fairy-tale princess sleeping in his bed, right down to the flowing locks of golden hair. She had the face of an angel. An angel princess. Blake scrubbed his hand down his face, leaning back in the tall chair.

  “You keep doing that and you won’t have any skin left on your face.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Amanda Lowery’s cousin standing behind him. He gave a soft, humorless laugh.

  “It’s been one hell of a morning, Mel.”

  The tall brunette leaned her hip against the back of his chair. “For all of us. The doctor said she’s okay, though. He gave her a pill. She’s just sleeping.”

  Sure, she was sleeping now. But an hour ago, she’d taken ten years off his life. The panic had consumed her like wildfire, and there hadn’t been a damned thing he could do to stop it.

  He’d carried her up to his room in Halcyon while calling Julie, the assistant manager of the resort. Within minutes, a pissed-off brunette charged into his upstairs suite, ready to rescue Amanda and accusing him of all kinds of things. Fortunately, Julie had been just a few minutes behind Mel, along with a doctor staying at the resort. Julie convinced Mel that Blake wasn’t an ax murderer, and was actually the guy Amanda had an appointment with. Once Mel calmed down, she confirmed what Amanda had tried to tell him—that it had been a panic attack.

  “Why were you so insistent on keeping her here?” Mel asked. “After you knew she’d tricked you into interviewing her?”

  Mel sat carefully on the edge of the bed, looking first at Amanda and then at him. It had been no surprise when she’d reluctantly confirmed to Julie that she was the famous fashion model known as Mellie Low. Every move this dark-haired woman made was intentionally graceful, as if there was always a camera on her. If he was in the market for a relationship, she was far more his usual type than Amanda—tall, elegant and coolly confident. But he wasn’t in the market. That wall he’d constructed around his heart after losing Tiffany was high and solid. Completely impenetrable. He relaxed back into the chair and met her questioning eyes calmly.

  “I’m not a monster, Mel. She just about had a heart attack in my house, and nearly gave me one in the process.” He dropped his voice. “I keep a few furnished rooms here for when I’m in town, so it made sense to bring her up here.” He looked up and noted her skepticism. “At least it made sense at the time.”

  Mel studied him hard for a minute, and he felt sorry for anyone who got on the wrong side of this woman. Her eyes were sharp as razors. If she ever decided to be a cop, that violet glare would have suspects confessing their guts all over the place. She was trying to protect her cousin, and he respected that. It wasn’t the kind of family he’d grown up in, but it was the way families were supposed to be.

  “She’s safe here, I promise.”

  Mel’s shoulders relaxed a bit at his comment, raising a red flag in his mind.

  “That hasn’t always been the case, has it? She hasn’t always been safe?”

  “No.” She hesitated a moment and glanced at Amanda before answering in a hushed voice. “She’s had a tough summer. Lost her job. About to lose her share of a shared apartment. And she was...” Mel straightened as if she realized she was speaking out of turn.

  “Someone hurt her,” he said softly.

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head, but Blake could see the truth in her eyes. Someone had put their hands on the pretty princess sleeping in his bed. That’s why she told him not to touch her. Was it a boyfriend? A stranger? His fingers curled into fists against his legs.

  “And the panic attacks?” Blake was trying hard not to care, but he couldn’t stop asking questions.

  “You’ve seen firsthand how bad they can be.”

  He nodded. When she’d first landed on the living room floor, he’d thought she was having a seizure. Then their eyes had met and he’d known she was trapped in some nightmare he had no part of. The glassy terror in her eyes would haunt him for a long time to come.

  She’d been skittish before that, but he’d figured she was just feeling guilty about the little game she was playing. When she’d stumbled and he’d reached for her, there was nothing funny about the way she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. She’d scared the hell out of him, that’s for damned sure. He was still afraid. He couldn’t shake it for some reason.

  “How often does that happen?”

  Mel shrugged. “It’s a fairly new development, so I’m not sure.”

  “Is she getting help for it?”

  She started to nod, then caught herself. “That’s none of your business.”

  Amanda was getting help. That was good. But Mel was right. It wasn’t his concern.

  Amanda moved, and he and Mel froze, waiting until she settled on her side with a soft sigh, curled up like a child. Her hand lay on top of the blankets. He had the strangest urge to reach over and take her fingers in his, but he suspected Mel would disapprove. Besides, he’d never been much of a hand holder, except with his young nephew.

  “The two of you are close.”

  Mel smiled. “There are actually four cousins all together, and we Lowery women are more like sisters. I just happened to be the closest to Gallant Lake this week, visiting a designer in New York. I thought her plan was so crazy it might just work, but if it didn’t, I wanted to be here for her.” She looked at him. “Did it work?”

  Good question. “Well, she pulled off getting the appointment, but...”

  “She’s good, Blake. You’d be damned lucky to have her.” He glanced at the woman in his bed, and Mel frowned. “As your interior designer, I mean. Did she show you her portfolio? It should be in her bag...” Mel got up and searched through Amanda’s leather bag, pulling out a spiral-bound notebook. “I think her photos of other projects are on her tablet, but here’s her sketchbook.” She handed it to him.

  He opened the notebook absently. Hiring Lowery would be a colossally bad idea. He prided himself on making shrewd business decisions
, and she couldn’t possibly handle this... He blinked. He was looking at a drawing of Halcyon. But not the Halcyon he knew. Not even the Halcyon he saw in her original proposal. This Halcyon had life to it. And color. The living room had a sectional sofa facing the fireplace, with a flat screen on the wall. And a gaming console in the far corner. In a castle. Could he really do that? He flipped the page. This was the room that had intrigued him the most about her original proposal—the one he thought came from David Franklin. She wanted to turn the dining room into a huge home office. He’d need that if he ever decided to live here.

  He’d never been one for settling down in one spot, but now that his nephew was going to be a part of his life, maybe it was time. And maybe this was the place. Amanda’s drawings made the old castle look like a home.

  Chapter Three

  Amanda was having the weirdest medieval dream. She was in a massive, heavily carved mahogany bed. The room was large and round, with a marble fireplace. Ribbed cathedral ceilings arched so high that she couldn’t see the top of them in the shadows. Tall windows were set into the walls, framed with heavy damask curtains.

  A wingback chair was pulled up close to the bed, and a man was sitting there with his feet propped up on the mattress, watching silently. But this was no knight of the round table. Unless knights wore jeans and a T-shirt. Black hair curled down over his forehead.

  Blake Randall.

  This was no dream.

  She sat up with a gasp, pulling the blanket with her. Peeking under it, she was relieved to see she was still fully clothed, sans shoes. Blake didn’t react, watching as if he thought she might bolt. And she was seriously considering it. Her memory came back in fragments—collapsing in the living room, being carried up a winding staircase. She couldn’t quite make sense of it all, but she didn’t feel in danger.

  “Where am I?”

  Blake sat up and dropped his feet to the floor. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. His voice was soft and deep.