Книга - The Maid’s Daughter

The Maid's Daughter
Janice Maynard






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“Say you’ll do it.”


He named a salary that was over twice what she’d been making before. Only a fool would turn down this opportunity, but then again, working with Devlyn Wolff would not be easy. He was charming and outrageously handsome and had a wicked sense of humor … All qualities that were destined to make a woman like Gillian fall into infatuation at the very least.

And she was pretty sure she wasn’t imagining the sexual vibe between them. What was alarming was that if she succumbed, not only did she endanger yet another good job, but she risked getting her heart broken.

“I’m a businessman. And despite your hang-ups, I’m not offering you this job because of something that happened when we were kids.”

He could deny it all he wanted, but she was almost one hundred percent sure that Devlyn was the kind of man who needed to even the scales. This was his way of assuaging his guilt over the past.

Still, who was she to turn down a boon because of his screwed-up motives?

“I’ll do it,” she said. “When do I start?”


Dear Reader,

Before I turned to writing full-time, I taught elementary school for about fifteen years … half of that time in kindergarten. I have wonderful memories of smiling faces and happy giggles. When you teach little children, you experience what it means to have someone hang on your every word and soak up knowledge with enthusiasm and eager interest.

But the job is not easy. Despite the challenges, frustrations and disappointments, most of the teachers I know go to work each day determined to do their best in circumstances that are not always ideal. To me, my friends are heroes … making a difference, changing lives in ways so immense the impact cannot be measured.

I hope you enjoy Gillian’s story … and Devlyn’s. Love really does conquer all. Just ask a teacher …

Happy reading,

Janice Maynard




About the Author


JANICE MAYNARD came to writing early in life. When her short story The Princess and the Robbers won a red ribbon in her third-grade school arts fair, Janice was hooked. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary teacher to pursue writing full-time. Her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance. She has written for Kensington and NAL, and now is so very happy to also be part of the Mills & Boon family—a lifelong dream, by the way!

Janice and her husband live in beautiful east Tennessee in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains. She loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books.

Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website at www.janicemaynard.com or e-mail her at JESM13@aol.com. And of course, don’t forget Facebook (www.facebook.com/JaniceMaynardReaderPage). Find her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/janicemaynard and visit all the men of Wolff Mountain at www.wolffmountain.com.




The Maid’s

Daughter

Janice Maynard







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For all my teacher buddies in the Sevier County School System—you know who you are! It was an honor and a pleasure to work beside you year after year.

Thanks for your dedication in the trenches.:)




One


Wet yellow leaves clung to the rain-slick, winding road. Devlyn Wolff took the curves with confidence, his vintage Aston Martin hugging the pavement despite the windswept October day. Dusk had fallen. He switched on his headlights, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm to the hard-rock oldie blasting from his Bose speakers.

No matter how fast he drove, he couldn’t outrun his restlessness. He’d been on Wolff Mountain for a week, and already his father and his Uncle Vic were driving him batty. They had installed him as CEO of Wolff Enterprises two years ago, supposedly with their full trust at his back, but they loved playing Monday-morning quarterback.

It was easier when Devlyn was in Atlanta, ensconced in his fancy-ass office. Then the two Wolff patriarchs could only harass him via email and the phone. But giving up control of the company had been hard for them, and Devlyn did his best to make them feel connected, hence his frequent trips home.

His tires squealed as they spun slightly, seeking a connection with the rural highway. Devlyn knew these back roads intimately. He’d learned to drive here, had wrapped his first car around a tree not two miles up the road. For that reason alone, he eased off the gas.

At that instant, the glare of oncoming headlights blinded him as a car rounded the upcoming curve uncomfortably close to his lane. Devlyn tensed, gripping the wheel and wrestling his vehicle into submission. The other car wasn’t so lucky.

Devlyn cursed as the little navy Honda spun past him, its white-faced driver momentarily visible, before the small sedan slid off the road and smashed into a telephone pole. Devlyn eased to a halt on the narrow shoulder and bounded out of the car, his heart punching in his chest as he dialed 911. By the time he hung up and reached the car, the driver was already opening her door. Air bags had deployed in the crumpled vehicle. The woman staggered to her feet, wiping ineffectually at a trickle of blood on her cheek. Even in the waning light of day, he could see a reddish mark on her cheekbone.

He grabbed for her as her knees gave out. “Steady,” he said. The ground was the closest surface, unfortunately. She went down gracefully, like butter melting on a hot day. His arm was around her, but the gravel slope beneath their feet was uneven. It was all he could do to keep both of them from sliding down the embankment.

Crouching beside her, he pushed her hair from her face. “You okay?”

Her teeth were chattering. “You nearly killed me.”

“Me?” His brows shot up in sync with his temper. “Lady, you crossed the center line.”

Her chin lifted slightly. “I’m a very safe driver.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he cursed. “Not from where I’m standing.”

She shivered hard, and he realized with chagrin that this wasn’t the place for such a conversation. “Your car is toast,” he said. “The nearest ambulance service is forty-five minutes away at least. It will save time if we meet them in the next valley. I’ll take you.”

“So says the big bad wolf.”

“Excuse me?”

She managed a smile, though her lips were blue. “Devlyn Wolff. What brings you here from Atlanta?”

“Do I know you?” He was acquainted with most of the people in this small section of the Blue Ridge Mountains, but occasionally someone new moved into the area. Then again, something about this woman was familiar.

“Not really,” she said. Her nose wrinkled. “I’m getting wet.”

He’d been so caught up in worrying about her that he hadn’t noticed the rain. They were only half a mile from the driveway to Wolff Mountain, and thus his doctor cousin’s clinic, but Jacob was out of town.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Devlyn glanced at his watch. He had a late dinner meeting with a powerful, important investor in Charlottesville in less than two hours. But he couldn’t possibly walk away from a woman who might be seriously injured. Wolff Mountain was isolated for a reason, but at times like this, the remoteness of his childhood home was a curse.

“Let me carry you to my car. You may be hurt more badly than you realize.” Even as he said the words out loud, he winced inwardly. Saint Devlyn to the rescue. He wasn’t a saint—far from it—but he had an unfortunate penchant for rescuing strays, be they animal or human. A tendency that had bitten him in the ass more than once.

She stood up, wavering only slightly. “That’s very kind of you. But weren’t you headed somewhere?”

Shrugging, he rose to his feet, as well. “I can reschedule.” And potentially lose twenty million dollars. He’d been coaxing this particular venture capitalist into trusting him for almost a year. So the moment was likely lost. But money was just money, and he’d seen enough sports accidents in his college days to realize that head injuries were not to be taken lightly.

If he could meet up with the paramedics quickly enough, he might still be able to make his appointment. The woman clearly knew who he was, so presumably she trusted him not to be an ax murderer. He scooped her into his arms and carried her toward his car. Her token protest was feeble. The tremors that shook her slender body were undoubtedly a delayed reaction to the crash. She might have been killed.

His arms tightened around her, his breath hitching as for a split second he imagined what could have happened. Thank God she survived the impact. Her wet hair and clothing smelled of roses, an old-fashioned scent that suited her somehow.

Once, he stumbled slightly, and her hand gripped a fistful of his shirt, her fingernails digging into his skin. For a second he flashed on an entirely inappropriate scenario that involved him and her. Naked. In his bed.

He shook his head. Weird. Too weird.

He deposited her gently into the passenger seat and jogged back to retrieve her purse. When he slid behind the wheel and looked at her, she grimaced. “I’m not going to keel over, I promise. The air bags did their job.”

“Maybe so, but you look like hell.”

Her jaw dropped. “Well, it just goes to show …”

“What do you mean?” He eased the car out onto the road.

“All the tabloids call you a billionaire playboy, but if that’s your slick line with women, they’ve got it all wrong.”

“Very funny.” He peered through the windshield and upped the defroster. It was completely dark now. He turned off the music, not sure if his tastes would soothe a woman who had been knocked around in an accident. The car was silent except for the swish of the wipers.

His passenger ignored him, her body nestled into the soft leather seat. Though she seemed relaxed, her arms were wrapped tightly around her waist.

A memory kept nagging at his brain. Something to do with this slight, mousy female. But try as he might, it wouldn’t come into focus.

She sighed deeply. “I hate inconveniencing you. You could drop me at my mother’s house.”

“Is she home?”

“Not at the moment. But she’ll be back in the morning. She drove down to Orlando to visit my Aunt Tina.” She paused and winced when the car hit a bump. “I’m sure I’m fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We Wolffs may have a reputation for being reclusive, but we’re pretty tame when it comes down to it.”

Her muttered retort was lost in the squeal of his brakes when he stopped short to avoid hitting a deer. The animal froze, peering at them through the windshield, before bounding into the woods.

Devlyn covered the remaining distance to the main highway and up over the small gap that led to a more populated area to the east, refusing to admit, even to himself, that he was rattled. “Not long now.”

“I’m surprised you drive your own car. I thought the Wolff entourage relied on limos.”

“I’m a control freak. I like taking the wheel.”

Maybe he was imagining it, but he was picking up on some mixed vibes from his damsel in distress. Hostility, perhaps … as if she really did blame him for the accident. But even more than that, an odd intimacy, as if she knew more about him than he did about her. Devlyn was disconcerted. He was accustomed to women tucking their phone numbers into his pocket, not looking down their noses at him.

With one last call to 911, he flagged down the approaching ambulance and pulled off the road. He set the parking brake with a jerk. Before he could come around to offer assistance, his mystery lady was out of the car and heading toward the man and woman in uniform.

Damn her stubborn hide. He loped after her. If the professionals decided she needed to go to the hospital, Devlyn was off the hook.

In deference to the worsening weather, the responders left the gurney inside and had the woman stretched out by the time Devlyn approached. “Do you think it’s serious?” he asked, speaking to the medic at the back of the vehicle.

She gave him that look reserved for clueless family members. “We’ll know in a little bit.”

The man inside bent over the patient, checking vitals. He began asking a string of questions. But one snagged Devlyn’s attention right off. Name?

The mystery woman’s eyes met Devlyn’s across the space of several feet. She hesitated.

The question came a second time, more forcefully as the man frowned. Name?

Devlyn saw her inner struggle, and her capitulation. “Gillian Carlyle,” she said clearly. Was that a glint of defiance Devlyn saw in her gaze?

Gillian Carlyle. Why did that sound so familiar? He didn’t know this woman, did he?

While the medical exam continued, Devlyn analyzed the puzzle. Gillian’s looks were unexceptional. Medium brown hair, darker brown eyes, pale skin, an angular figure. The cream angora sweater she wore along with a brown corduroy skirt and knee-length boots were not in any way provocative.

She wasn’t his type, not at all. So he knew they hadn’t dated in some far-distant adolescent past. Yet for some reason, he was intrigued.

Finally, she was allowed to sit up. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m feeling much better now.”

The ambulance driver began putting away all the equipment, addressing Devlyn over Gillian’s head. “She told me you were the Good Samaritan who stopped to help her. Can you drive her home? She’s gonna be okay. Lots of bumps and bruises, though. Make sure she’s not alone tonight in case anything crops up that we missed. She should see her doctor for a follow-up visit tomorrow.”

Devlyn groaned inwardly. Even if he dashed back up the mountain and took the chopper, he’d never make it now. “Sure,” he said, with a smile that felt like a grimace. “I’d be glad to.” In the boardroom, he had no trouble acting like a bastard. Not so much in real life.

He watched Gillian deal with the necessary evil of insurance info. Then he shepherded her back to the car, his arm around her narrow waist. Her bone structure was slender, though she was fairly tall. She fit against his shoulder as if she had been created for just that spot. In the flashing lights from the ambulance he could see that she was dangerously near the point of exhaustion.

How in God’s name could he simply drop her off at a deserted house in her condition? “Is there anyone you can call to stay with you tonight? A friend? A neighbor?”

“No. But I’ll be fine.” She turned her head away from him.

He tucked her into the car and kicked the heat on full blast. If his big body was chilled, she must be freezing. Consigning his last hope of making the business meeting to hell, he sighed. “I’m taking you to Wolff Mountain. We have enough guest rooms for a small army. No one will bother you, but you’ll have help close by if you need it. I’ll call a tow truck in the morning and we’ll see about your car.”

She half turned to face him, her body visibly shaking. Moisture glittered in her eyes. “You don’t even remember who I am, do you? Even after you heard me say my name. Take me home, Devlyn. I don’t belong on your mountain.”

And just like that, a memory clicked …

Devlyn recalled the day with painful clarity. It was the first anniversary of the terrible tragedy that had torn the Wolff family apart. On that particular sunny afternoon, Devlyn’s father and uncle had insisted that their six combined children help scatter two urns of ashes over a newly planted rose garden on the side of the mountain.

For Devlyn, the process was gruesome and confusing. As soon as he was able, he fled to the secret cave that had become solace at his new home. A girl appeared from nowhere it seemed, staring at him with pity, pity he loathed.

“I’m sorry your mother died,” she said. Her long, caramel-brown hair had been plaited into two identical braids that hung forward over her narrow shoulders.

Devlyn was embarrassed and humiliated. Boys didn’t cry, especially not in front of girls. He ran a hand across his nose and was further mortified to see a smear of snot. “I hated her,” he said abruptly. “I’m glad she’s gone.”

The girl’s long-lashed eyes widened. “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “You can’t hate your mother. She was beautiful. Like a princess. My mother lets me go into Mr. Wolff’s bedroom sometimes when she’s cleaning … if I’m really good. I love to look at Mrs. Wolff’s picture on the wall.” She held out her hand. “Here … I made you a card.”

Devlyn’s desperate anger swelled, determined to end this encounter. “You’re not allowed,” he shouted, knocking the small folded construction paper out of her hand. “Not anymore. This is my mountain, and you don’t belong here. Go home.”

Her face crumpled. He felt as if he had kicked one of the new puppies that lived down at the stables. The silent misery on her delicate features only made him madder. “Go,” he screamed. “Go away.”

Devlyn felt anew the weight of guilt and remorse. For over two decades, he had carried the burden of knowing he had hurt a young girl with his hateful words. Now here she was. As if fate had given him a second chance.

He could pretend he didn’t know her … could text a late arrival to his much-anticipated appointment and drop Gillian as quickly as possible. But his own cruelty stared him in the face. “Gillian,” he said slowly. “Gillian Carlyle. It’s been a long time.”




Two


A quarter of a century had passed since Gillian had tried, in her own clumsy way, to extend sympathy to a hurting boy. But the passage of time had in no way dulled the memory of how she felt that day when the little rich kid kicked metaphorical sand in her face.

What made it worse was that she knew, even then, that he was right. Gillian’s mother scrubbed toilets for a living. The Wolffs were richer than God. It was the first time Gillian had fully understood a difficult truth about the haves and the have-nots.

“It took you long enough,” she said. The snarky retort was unfair, but she wasn’t in a mood to be conciliatory. Though she no longer carried a chip on her shoulder, it had taken time and maturity to help her see that the Carlyles were every bit as happy as the wealthy Wolff clan in their fortress on the mountain. Maybe more so.

As a child, she had been tormented. She begged her mother not to make Gillian go to work with her. But Doreen Carlyle had few options. Child care was not only expensive, but in a little wide-place-in-the-road like Burton, it was nonexistent.

Gillian was forced to see Devlyn occasionally, though each of them tried to ignore the other. Things were better when school started. Doreen put her young daughter on a bus before sunup for the long ride to the nearest consolidated school. And by the time Gillian returned home, her mother was finished with her shift at Wolff Castle, as the locals called it.

Gillian jerked herself out of the past, glad of the darkness that hid her turbulent emotions. She straightened in her seat. “It’s really okay to take me to my mother’s house. I promise I’ll call someone if I start to feel worse.”

It was the presence of a Wolff in the car, not her accident, that was responsible for the rapid pace of her heartbeat. Devlyn was a big man, broad through the shoulders and tall. The scent of his aftershave made her think of thick fir-tree forests and lumberjacks in flannel shirts, though the comparison was ludicrous.

Devlyn was an astute businessman, a shark in the turbulent world of financial greed. Despite the fact that her wits had been partially addled after the accident, she’d still been aware of his sartorial perfection, though he was perhaps a tad rumpled and sported a five-o’clock shadow.

He was the de facto ruler of the kingdom and, in that moment, Gillian hated him. When had he ever had to work for anything? When had he ever had to worry about money? Other than his mother’s death years ago, admittedly a terrible loss, when had he ever known true hardship?

That wasn’t fair perhaps. The Wolffs generously supported many worthy charities. Perhaps that chip on her shoulder still lingered as a splinter in her heart. And maybe she was manufacturing grievances in order to avoid admitting how much she was attracted to him.

Even as a teenager, on the few occasions she actually saw him, he had been breathtakingly handsome. Blunt, masculine features. Thick black hair with the sheen of a raven’s wing. A white smile that flashed often. And a tough, honed body that exuded strength and confidence.

Little had changed except that now he was a man and not a boy. He had filled out, lost the slightly clumsy awkwardness of puberty. His gait was strong and sure, his movements sleek as the panthers that once roamed these hills.

He shot her a glance as he once again turned onto the road that led up to the entrance to Wolff Mountain. “I’m not arguing about this, Gillian. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right off. But you have to admit that you’ve changed.”

Did his gaze linger on her chest? Or was that her imagination? Surely not. She might be all tingly with perfectly natural feminine longing for a man who exuded an earthy sex appeal, but to think he had any interest in her was ridiculous.

Her instinct was to shoot back with a smart-ass comment about kidnapping, but she bit her tongue. Devlyn’s mother and aunt had been snatched off a busy Charlottesville street, held for ransom and later killed. Kidnapping was not something to be joked about.

She shifted restlessly. Already her battered body bloomed with myriad aches and throbs. The paramedics had recommended an anti-inflammatory, but though she had some ibuprofen in her purse, she had nothing with which to wash them down. Suddenly, the idea of staying alone overnight held little appeal.

At the guardhouse Devlyn sketched a wave and waited for the huge mechanized metal gate to retract. Soon they were heading up the winding drive that served to isolate the Wolff clan from intruders.

She sighed deeply. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. I don’t want to intrude on your family.”

“They won’t even know you’re around … unless you want company.”

“Why don’t you have your own place here?”

He must have picked up on the faint, unintended criticism in her tone. “As you’ve already mentioned, I live in Atlanta,” he said stiffly. “When I visit, I usually stay up in the big house with my dad and uncle.” He paused. “If it would make you more comfortable, we can stay at Jacob’s place. He and his wife won’t care.”

“He’s the one married to the movie star, right? Ariel Dane?”

“Yep. She’s a sweetheart.”

Gillian’s spirits plunged to a new low. The gorgeous, sexy Wolff men had their pick of models, heiresses and celebrities. It wasn’t simply a matter of money. It was a lifestyle.

“I don’t think it would be appropriate for the two of us to spend the night alone,” she said, regretting the prim stuffiness in her words as soon as they left her mouth.

Devlyn snorted, and tried to pretend it was a cough. “I promise to be on my best behavior,” he said, irony in every syllable. “But if it makes you feel more comfortable, we’ll stay at the big house.”

“Thank you.”

By the time they pulled up in front of the massive structure that looked like Cinderella’s castle on steroids, Gillian had trouble getting out of the car. Devlyn took her arms and gently pulled her to her feet. “Poor Gillian,” he said.

The soft croon in his deep voice made her tremble. She was unable to protest when he scooped her up and carried her into the house. Striding through darkened hallways, he set a course for a back staircase that led to the second floor. Thankfully, they met no one on the way.

Devlyn paused before a half-open doorway. “This is my room. There’s an adjoining suite with a door you can lock. But if you need assistance during the night, you can text me or call me and I’ll get you anything you need.”

How about you, Devlyn Wolff? In the buff. Sliding on top of me and …

Her breath caught in her throat. She was suffering the effects of a long dry spell in the sex department. That’s why she wanted to nibble his throat despite the fact that she felt as if she’d been run over by the proverbial truck. Proximity and deprivation. Simple explanations for the electric connection she felt to a man who was in no way an appropriate object of her fantasies.

Well, yes … for fantasy … in the abstract. But not at all healthy or practical to imagine him … and her … together … Oh, Lord. Her thighs clenched and her nipples tightened. She prayed he didn’t notice.

His bed was neatly made. But a pair of jeans hung haphazardly over the back of an armchair, and a paperback crime novel lay upside down on the mahogany nightstand.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she croaked.

Without acknowledging her comment, he took her, still in his arms, through the doorway into a room that was almost as large as his but was decorated in more feminine tones. Ever so gently, he set her on her feet. “Bathroom’s through there. I’ll see if I can round you up some clean clothes, and I’ll call Jacob to see what medicine you can take.”

Before she could catch her breath, he was gone.

She hobbled into the luxurious bathroom and stared in the mirror. If she’d had any illusions about her comparison to the female companionship usually enjoyed by Wolff men, they were shattered decisively by her reflection. Even on a good day, she didn’t stand out in a crowd. Right now, she looked ghastly.

Stripping out of her rain-damp clothes, she adjusted the water and stepped into the shower. The hot pelting spray hurt in a good way, the steamy warmth penetrating her bones. Already, bruises were showing up on her too-pale skin. She’d taught a summer-school session instead of going to the beach with her girlfriends, and look where that had gotten her.

Knowing she didn’t have the strength or the will to blow-dry her hair, and since she’d shampooed it the night before, she was careful to keep it from getting wet. As she stepped out of the shower and was drying off, a knock on the door startled her so much that she dropped her towel. “Don’t come in,” she cried, scrambling to cover her indecent bits.

A chuckle was her only answer. The door eased open a scant foot. One long-fingered, tanned hand reached in holding soft, clean clothes. The items landed on the counter with a muted plop, and the hand withdrew.

Gillian scurried forward and locked the knob with what sounded like a gunshot-loud click. She was pretty sure she heard Devlyn laugh again. The bounty he had provided included a set of lounging pj’s … the kind you see in the Neiman Marcus catalog, the kind only rich women owned and wore.

The fabric was incredibly soft and warm, though not thick … some sort of cashmere blend. The cinnamon shade flattered her hair and added a snippet of color to her washed-out complexion.

She put on naughty silk panties that most likely belonged to Devlyn’s sister, Annalise, then slipped into the top and pants. Devlyn hadn’t added a bra. Gillian’s own underwear tended toward cotton practicality. The new undies made her aware of the place between her thighs that throbbed as insistently as her injuries. And her breasts rubbed sensuously against the velvetlike fabric.

When she exited the bathroom, barefooted, she stopped short. Devlyn stood by the fireplace where a fire crackled with blissful heat. He had dragged a small table near the hearth, and it was set with an array of dishes. Her stomach growled audibly.

He held out a hand. “Come eat. And Jacob said you can double the usual dose of over-the-counter pain meds. If he were here, he could give you something stronger.”

Shyness engulfed her. She had to force herself to approach him. “That will be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He held out her chair, his arm brushing her shoulder as she sat down. “I can’t seem to help it,” he said wryly.

The carpet beneath her feet was soft as a cloud. She curled her toes into it and took a deep breath. “I know you didn’t cause my accident,” she said, looking up at him through downcast lashes. “I was just in a bad mood. I’m sorry.”

He sat down as well, and poured each of them a cup of tea. The juxtaposition of his big, manly hands against the wafer-thin china teapot was incongruous and alarming. How could she keep him at arm’s length if he didn’t remain in the box she had labeled “spoiled rich philanderer.”

She didn’t want to like Devlyn Wolff. Not at all.

He took her lack of enthusiasm the wrong way. “It’s herbal tea,” he said. “No caffeine. But I can get you coffee if you’d rather have it.”

Picking up the lovely ivory cup scattered with blue forget-me-nots, she shook her head. “I prefer the tea. Thank you.”

He had fixed a tray of sandwiches as well—tiny, slightly ragged squares of white bread with the crusts removed. Peanut butter and honey.

Her whole body tensed. “Why did you make these?” she asked, her insides in a knot.

Devlyn shrugged, his expression moody. “As a penance, I guess. I remember watching you eat them in the kitchen when your mother was on her lunch break. I was jealous, you know. My mother never cooked anything.”

Gillian didn’t know what to say to that. No one cooked peanut butter. But she understood what he was telling her.

He waved a hand. “You need to eat something so the medicine won’t upset your stomach.”

Too late. The accident, this intimate tête-à-tête, Devlyn’s unexpected domesticity … all of it had her in turmoil.

Mute and uncomfortable, she picked up a piece of sandwich, chewed and swallowed. The familiar tastes from her childhood opened a floodgate of memories. His hostility. Her feelings of inferiority. The emotions were as sharp and crisp as yesterday.

Yet he spoke of penance.

“You have nothing for which to apologize,” she said slowly, eyeing him over the rim of her teacup. “You were hurting. We were both children.” She didn’t insult him by pretending not to understand what he was talking about. Their youthful confrontation in the cave all those years ago had clearly bothered him as well as her.

Devlyn wolfed down five mini-sandwiches to her two, and drained three cups of tea. For some reason, she was infinitely fascinated by the play of muscles in his throat as he swallowed. Everything about him was intensely virile, dangerously sexual.

When a woman became aroused by watching a man eat peanut butter and honey, she was in trouble. Big trouble.

He sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the arms. “I was hateful and cruel,” he said quietly. His voice dropped an octave. “You were trying to express sympathy in the only way you knew how. I acted like a jerk.”

She could almost see his frustration. “You were a kid. It was a long time ago. Forget about it.”

“Have you?”

The sharp question caught her off guard. “I … uh … no,” she muttered. “I never forgot.”

After an awkward pause, he handed her some tablets. “These are nonprescription, but Jacob says they’ll be the best thing for muscles aches. Take them now so you’ll be comfortable in bed.”

Their fingers brushed as the medicine changed hands. The word bed hovered in the air between them. She clenched her fist. “Thank you.”

Without taking his eyes off hers, he covered her hand. “Now,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t wait. And quit being so damned polite.”

She jerked away and swallowed the pills, almost choking because of the knowledge that he had touched her. It meant nothing … She was the one freaking out, not Devlyn. He was merely being a gentleman.

Avoiding his cobralike gaze, she scooped up a shortbread cookie. It melted on her tongue like ambrosia of the gods. “I’d forgotten how good these are,” she moaned.

Devlyn reacted visibly to the involuntary sound she made. Feeling her cheeks heat in embarrassment, she bent her head and took another sip of tea. Was it just her, or was Devlyn reacting as strongly as she was to the odd sense of intimacy that shrouded the room in hushed layers?




Three


Devlyn couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent this much time in a woman’s bedroom without both of them getting naked. When Gillian made a surprisingly sexual response to cookies … goddamned sugar cookies, his sex hardened from zero to sixty in five seconds.

And she wasn’t even pretty in the traditional sense.

He adjusted himself unobtrusively and ate another sandwich. Maybe if he kept his mouth full he could quit thinking about licking his way down that swanlike white-skinned neck. Good lord …

“So tell me, Gillian. What do you do for a living … when you’re not smashing cars into trees?”

She stared at him with affront.

“Too soon?” He grinned at her, surprisingly entertained by the unexpected turn his evening had taken. The quick phone call to his investor had not been pleasant, but Devlyn was determined. The outlook might be grim, but he’d fought his way out of worse situations.

Gillian wiped her mouth daintily with a snowy cloth napkin, leaving a faint trace of pink color on the fabric. Seeing the stain from her lips, he imagined other oral scenarios. Perhaps because her lips were the only truly curvy thing about her. They belonged more to a porn star than to a quiet, wary-eyed, little mouse.

She curled her legs beneath her, drawing attention to slim thighs and a narrow waist. He wondered if he could span that waist with his two hands.

Gillian seemed blissfully oblivious to his baser instincts. “Do you joke about everything?” she asked, disapproval evident in her wide-set eyes.

He shrugged. “I’d rather laugh than cry.”

And there it was again. That pesky, awful memory. Hell. He hadn’t meant to bring it up again … or had he?

She cocked her head. “Why did I make you so angry that day?” she asked. “I’ve always wondered. Was it only because I saw you in tears?”

Any humor he’d tried to generate evaporated. He leaped to his feet and stoked the fire, throwing on another couple of logs for good measure. Leaning an arm on the mantel, he poked at the embers, wishing he didn’t feel the same prodding at a place that would never heal.

“Sure,” he said curtly. “That was it.”

“You’re lying.”

He jerked around so quickly that he knocked over one of the andirons. Replacing it clumsily, he sat down hard in his chair, staring at her with bemused eyes. “I don’t know what to make of you, Gillian Carlyle. So let’s go back to my first question. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a teacher. Third grade.” Pride glowed on her face and in her voice until something stole it away, some weary acceptance of an unpalatable truth. “Or I was,” she said, her tone subdued. “The county I worked for outside of Charlottesville cut forty positions last week. I was four years into a five-year tenure track.”

“That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

Their eyes met, and they both burst into laughter. Devlyn realized in that instant that he had been wrong earlier. Gillian Carlyle wasn’t plain. She was a beauty. But it was the hidden loveliness of the sea on a cloudy, windswept day. Only when the sun came out were the emeralds and sapphires and aquamarines revealed.

His brain whirred with sudden possibilities. “Is that why you’re back home in Burton?”

“Partially. I begged my mother to move to Charlottesville with me when I got the job, but she never would. She loves the house where I grew up, and oddly enough, she loves Wolff Castle. She’s very proud to be part of the staff here, and she doesn’t want to leave.”

“So why did you try to persuade her?”

“My dad was a carpenter. He died a few years ago when scaffolding at a worksite collapsed. Mama was distraught, and I wanted her where I could keep an eye on her. In case you hadn’t noticed, there are no teaching jobs around here. Not many jobs of any kind for someone with my training.”

“But she wouldn’t move.”

“No. And now she’s glad she didn’t. But that still leaves me in a tough spot, because I want to look after her, but I can’t even take care of myself at the moment.”

“Something will come up.” He had an idea or two, but now was not the time. “Would you like another cookie?”

Her lips quirked. “I’m not stupid, Devlyn. I answered your questions. Don’t you owe me the same courtesy?”

That amazing, adorably boyish smile flashed briefly. “I’m a stubborn SOB. Don’t try to analyze me. What you see is what you get.”

Her eyes widened as she caught the deliberately flirtatious innuendo. As he watched, her cheeks turned pink. And about the same time, a little frown line appeared between her brows. “I don’t think you’re a very nice man,” she said slowly.

“Nice guys finish last. Don’t you know?” He stood and messed with the fire again, irritated as hell that she put him on edge. She was a nobody. An unemployed elementary schoolteacher. A starchy, prissy, sexually repressed female.

Perhaps if he told himself often enough, he would believe it.

Gillian yawned suddenly, and he felt a lick of remorse. She’d been through a hell of a lot. It was long past time for her to be in bed. But not in his.

He stood up and held out his hand. “C’mon, little lady. You’re drooping.”

She stood and began stacking their dirty dishes.

“Leave them,” he said, a hand on her arm. “The staff will get it in the morning.”

Gillian froze, and immediately, he heard how his words must have sounded to her. Heat stained his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “That was insensitive.”

Gillian shrugged, causing the fabric of her top to mold to her bare, small, perfect breasts. He swallowed hard, caught unawares by a sudden driving urge to unbutton that top and look his fill.

She smiled wryly. “Don’t be stupid. Your family provides a lot of great jobs for working-class people. That’s not a bad thing.”

But she didn’t say it was good, either. He sensed her ambivalence and her fatigue. “Go to bed, Gillian. You’re beat. We can talk in the morning, but if you need me during the night, don’t play the martyr. I’m right next door.”

Gillian tossed and turned for an hour, unable to sleep in a strange house. The medicine had taken the edge off her various pains, but her body still ached. At last, she climbed out of bed and went to the French doors, drawing the thick draperies aside and peering out into the dark.

A tiny crescent moon cast a dim light that filtered down like fairy dust among the trees that surrounded the house. When Wolff Castle was built, Devlyn’s father and his uncle had been insistent that as little of the woods as possible be cut down. Consequently, the forest cloaked the enormous house like a security blanket, maintaining the privacy for which the Wolffs were famed.

The late-night scene was serene. Gillian’s emotions were anything but. She felt trapped, claustrophobic. Even if she had the energy and the will to do so, she couldn’t leave. Her car was crumpled at the bottom of the mountain.

Her mother’s voice had been hard to read when Gillian called her to explain what had happened. Doreen Carlyle was well acquainted with all the members of the Wolff family, including Devlyn. And Devlyn’s reputation with the opposite sex was no secret.

Women loved him. And he loved women. But never for more than a season, at best. Though he seemed like an open book, dark currents ran beneath his easy charm and his outrageous sex appeal.

Gillian curled her fist in a fold of cloth and shivered as her bare toes chilled on the flagstones that edged the doorway. Dare she go outside? Would anyone know?

Without another thought, she pulled her thick sweater over the fancy pajamas and shoved her feet into her boots. Even without a mirror, she knew she looked ludicrous. But she had to escape, had to prove to herself that she wasn’t a prisoner. A small, spiral, wrought-iron staircase at the end of her balcony offered easy access to the level below.

The air was colder than she had anticipated. Rain had finally moved on, and indigo skies overhead were clear, allowing the temperature to plummet. Fall would soon give way to winter, especially at this elevation. She followed a pathway at random, not at all worried about being alone in the dark.

She was a country girl, born and raised in these mountains. Travelers came from across the globe to see the mystical and beautiful Blue Ridge, but for Gillian they were more like an old, comfortable friend.

As she meandered, she thought about the last time she had visited Wolff Mountain. She’d been a sophomore in high school, and in her economics class, they’d been doing projects about starting a business. Doreen Carlyle had asked Victor Wolff, Devlyn’s uncle, if her daughter could interview him.

Gillian remembered how nervous she had been that day, but Victor Wolff, despite his gruff demeanor, had put her at ease. By the end of the conversation, they had been old buddies. He had a keen intellect and a knack for making money.

As she was leaving the house, preparing to negotiate the long, winding driveway in her fifteen-year-old Volkswagen Beetle, Gillian had come face-to-face with Devlyn Wolff. She remembered how her throat closed up, how hot color flooded her face. Neither of them spoke a word.

Devlyn seemed on the cusp of saying something urgent, but before he could tell her again that she didn’t belong, she fled. And until tonight, that was the last time she had ever seen him in the flesh.

The press, however, was another story. Devlyn’s exploits both in and out of the boardroom were legendary. He’d bought baseball teams, had at one time even dabbled with driving his own race car. The two Wolff patriarchs had put a quick stop to that, but even so, Devlyn deserved his reputation as a billionaire playboy … an out-of-date term, perhaps, but one that fit.

His wilder party days had tempered as he approached thirty, perhaps because he was being groomed to take over the reins of the family business.

Victor and Vincent Wolff started their families late in life, both of them at least fifteen years older than the beautiful wives they eventually lost.

Now, they were at a point where they wanted to enjoy retirement. So Devlyn was in control of everything. Nothing short of brilliant, he worked as hard as he partied.

Gillian was not immune to his appeal. But he was way out of her league. She preferred bookish, intellectual men, guys who were more like house-trained pets than wild, night-roaming creatures.

Devlyn was incredibly dangerous and yet so very attractive.

She hugged her arms around her body and decided she had had enough. Her limbs trembled with fatigue, and it was time for another dose of painkiller. Things always seemed so much worse at this hour … her bleak employment future, the lack of male companionship in her nunlike life … the hole in her emotions left by her father’s passing.

Blinking back tears of self-pity that she refused to let fall, she turned and immediately tripped over a root, stumbling to her knees on the cold and muddy ground.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Devlyn’s outraged voice startled her as much as the fall. In an instant, his hands were under her arms, lifting her effortlessly to her feet. Seeing the state she was in, he cursed beneath his breath and shrugged out of the thick, fleece-lined jacket he wore. He wrapped it around her and scooped her into his arms.

“You can’t spend all your time carrying me around,” she muttered. But it was a token protest at best. His warmth surrounded her even as his strength filled her with an odd contentment.

It was a false sense of security. She knew that. But for this one moment, this single, unlikely and unsettling reunion, she decided to pretend that she had a right to be here in Devlyn Wolff’s embrace.

She had left the double, glass-paned doors to her room unlatched. After negotiating the narrow stairs, Devlyn deposited her on her feet long enough to remove her muddy boots and his shoes, before urging her inside, locking the doors and drawing the drapes.

Gillian had left a single lamp burning. The confusion in Devlyn’s eyes mirrored her own. “I’m sorry I disturbed you,” she said, the words stiff. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Same here.” Still he stared at her. “Sit down on the bed, Gillian.”

He stepped past her, and moments later she heard water running in the bathroom. When he returned, he had a damp washcloth in his hands. “I said sit down.”

She sat.

Why was she enabling his bossiness? She was a mature woman with a life that clicked along quite well. She didn’t need a man to take care of her.

He took her fingers in his and gently wiped away the mud where she had landed, hands down. His touch was gentle but firm, removing the bits of leaves and grass that clung to her skin.

Next he removed his coat, the one he had wrapped around her. His eyes went to the muddy knees of her pajamas, and her stomach clenched. Surely he wouldn’t—

“Lift your hips.”

Like an automaton, she obeyed, watching the tableau unfold as he bared her legs and dragged the pants down to her ankles and away. “Get under the covers,” he said.

Her face flaming with color, she obeyed, painfully conscious that he didn’t even bother to avert his gaze. When she was covered from the waist down, she removed the sweater, managing to tangle her hair in the process. Devlyn disappeared into the bathroom a second time and came back holding a brush still wrapped in cellophane.

He sat down beside her, opening the package. “Turn away from me,” he commanded.

She felt one hand settle on her shoulder. With the other, he dragged the brush through her hair. Her eyes closed and a whimper of delight escaped her lips. Her head lolled on her shoulders as the simple pleasure unfolded. Occasionally, as he encountered a knot, she felt his fingers sift through her straight, thick tresses.

Gooseflesh erupted all over her body, and her breasts grew heavy with arousal. Did he try this on all his women? God, the man was a genius. He never seemed to tire. The gentle pull of the bristles against her scalp went on and on. Sleepiness gradually replaced sexual excitement.

Dimly, she heard him speak soft words as he eased her onto her back. She felt hard, warm arms encircle her.

After that … nothing.




Four


Devlyn awoke abruptly, his internal alarm clock set for 6:00 a.m. For a moment, he was completely disoriented. And then everything came flooding back. Gillian Carlyle.

Though it was an anomaly to begin the day fully dressed in a woman’s bed, the details were clear. He’d been driven by a combination of guilt and lust, determined to take care of the prickly woman who was a thorn in the side of his past.

He rubbed his gritty eyes, wishing he had the option of going back to sleep. But Wolff Enterprises expected him at the helm this morning, and he had already made one costly mistake because of this woman.

Gillian sighed in her sleep and nestled more closely into his embrace. He was on top of the comforter, hard and ready to take her. All she was wearing was a pajama top, and below the covers a next-to-nothing pair of panties. Unable to help himself, he slid a hand beneath the sheet and caressed her bottom.

Gillian sighed and turned to curl an arm around his neck. Now her breasts were pressed snugly against his arm. He slid his fingers beneath the silk at her hip and felt her warm skin. His body throbbed with arousal. A few more inches and he would be touching her most intimate secrets.

Somewhere in the house he heard muffled laughter. The sound snatched him back to sanity. God in heaven. What was he doing? Had he learned nothing from the past?

He slid from the bed with all the care of a cat burglar hoping to elude detection. It took everything he had to turn his back on Gillian and return to his room. As he showered and dressed, he reminded himself of all the reasons he couldn’t start something with his overnight visitor.

First and foremost was Gillian’s clear discomfort about the fact that her mother worked for Devlyn’s father. Devlyn could not care less, but even so, he acknowledged the difficulty of coaxing Gillian into his bed with little or no privacy for their fledgling relationship, especially when either or both of their parents might not approve.

Secondly, he owed Gillian more than a verbal apology for his shameful actions in the past. Acknowledging that he had been merely a boy when it happened was not enough. He was determined to clean the slate, and he knew just how to do it. He told himself that in this instance he was doing the right thing and not merely perpetuating his tendency to play hero to every woman who crossed his path needing help.

In college, he had supported his roommate’s pregnant girlfriend, both emotionally and financially, when the father of her baby dumped her. That altruistic action on Devlyn’s part had severed his relationship with a young man he had considered his best friend.

Not only that, the girl had latched on to the idea that lovers were interchangeable … and she set her sights on Devlyn. Only by graduating and moving hundreds of miles away had he been able to extract himself from the messy situation.

Unfortunately, it was a pattern that repeated itself in subsequent years. Every time he rushed in on his white horse to save the day, he got screwed. The secretary at work whose brother needed a job ended up hating Devlyn when he finally had to fire her worthless sibling.

Even worse was the fifty-something caterer who had accused Devlyn, over two decades her junior, of sexual harassment. He had offered to help her load her van after a staff Christmas party, and the woman had seen a chance to make a quick buck.

The Wolff lawyers settled out of court, costing the family an indecent amount of money. Now that Devlyn thought about it, it was a miracle that his dad and uncle had trusted him enough to make him CEO.

But despite his sometimes unfortunate judgment in dealing with the female sex, he was a whiz kid when it came to money matters. He’d earned his own first million, aside from the family business, by investments he’d made in his late teens.

The intensity and daily challenge of running the far-flung Wolff empire suited him perfectly. He was due back at his headquarters in Atlanta soon. Barely enough time to present his proposition to Gillian and ensure that he had finally made amends for the past.

So why was he obsessing over the image of long, slender legs and a sweetly curved bottom? The answer was simple. Logical or not, he wanted her, though she certainly deserved better than the flawed man he was.

Picking up his smartphone from the bureau, he took a deep breath and strode out into the hall. He had a dozen balls to juggle today, and he was already running behind. His personal life could wait.

Gillian rolled over and glanced at the clock, her muddled brain trying to understand why both hands pointed straight up toward the twelve. Then everything came rushing back. Her accident, the multiple disturbing and faintly erotic encounters with Devlyn Wolff. Her lack of a job.

Not the best memories with which to begin a day in which her body felt like an old woman’s. She turned her head carefully, hoping to stave off the jackhammers that threatened to crush her skull. Though she was alone in the bed, the pillow beside her bore the unmistakable imprint of someone’s head. When she tugged it closer for a sniff, the soft, expensive fabric emanated the unmistakable scent of Devlyn Wolff.

Holy cow. What had she done? Squeezing her eyes shut, she reached for images that hid in random corners of her brain. She remembered going outside. She even remembered Devlyn bringing her in and watching her take off her pants. At that point, things became hazy.

He had touched her hair … had lulled her to sleep. Then what? Surely the memory of his big, warm hand on her butt was a dream.

Stumbling into the bathroom, she splashed water on her face and noted in surprise the neatly folded pile of clean clothes that turned out to be a khaki skirt and a black scooped-neck T-shirt with a matching thin cardigan.

The clothes fit perfectly, which in itself was alarming. A man who could choose women’s apparel with such an eye was a man with far too much experience in pleasing women.

Her boots were still muddy, perhaps beyond repair, but her stealthy benefactor had included a pair of black canvas espadrilles. The shoes were a little too large, but she stuffed tissues in the toes until she was certain they were snug enough to stay on her feet.

Feeling a bit too much like Little Orphan Annie, she finally opened the envelope that lay like a coiled serpent on the bedside table.

Please join me for lunch in the library at one. Devlyn.

The house was still and quiet, almost somnolent, as if everyone in the Sleeping Beauty castle snoozed for a thousand years. Thank God her mother was not scheduled to work today. Gillian’s face would have given her away, her mother seeing at once that her daughter had fallen under the spell of a Wolff prince.

Gillian remembered the way to the library with ease. It was another place where Doreen Carlyle had kept her daughter entertained while she worked. Gillian had always been a compliant child, not one to make messes or break things. She had been more than content to curl up on the velvet-covered bench seat in the window alcove and read her favorite books for hours at a time.

In many ways, the Wolff Castle library had been her magic carpet, taking her to lands beyond the horizon, introducing her to characters whose lives were far more exotic than her own. The library had been her haven, her cozy nest. When she was there, she felt safe.

But nothing about today’s visit inspired such warm, fuzzy feelings. When she opened the door, Devlyn was already in residence, his stance at the fireplace much like the night before in her bedroom. His lips curved in a welcoming smile, but his eyes were watchful.

“Good afternoon, Gillian. I hope you were finally able to get some sleep.”

He was playing with her, trying to make her nervous. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had been the one to enter her room and drop off the clothes and the note.

“Yes,” she said stiffly. “I did. I need to check on my car.”

He shrugged. “Already taken care of…. The garage will drop it off at your mother’s house by the end of the week.”

She bit her bottom lip. “I’d like an estimate. So I can contact my insurance.”

“Let me handle this. It’s the least I can do. You know they’ll jack up your rates if you submit it.”

He had her there. And she couldn’t afford the current payments, much less a rate hike. “I’ll pay you back.”

His brows narrowed in displeasure. “I said to forget it.”

“You like ruling the world, don’t you? Is there anyone who says no to you?”

Her sass seemed to amuse him. “Sit down, Gillian. Chef has prepared an autumn vegetable chowder that I’m told is to die for.”

She joined him at the table, wondering what his family thought of his absence from the communal dining room. Of course, with Jacob out of town and the others perhaps tucked away in their own houses, maybe Victor and Vincent dined alone.

Devlyn picked up his spoon and dug in, polishing off his bowl of soup and three rolls before Gillian had barely started. It was hard to swallow anything past the constriction in her throat, even though Devlyn was correct about the delicious, hearty broth. Finally, the silence weighed too heavily for her to finish. She pushed back from the table and folded her hands in her lap.

The fire was warm—warm enough for her to discard her sweater. But she fancied she needed the extra layer of protection. “You left me a note,” she said bluntly. “Why am I here?”

“I could have guessed you were a teacher, even if you hadn’t told me.”

The odd segue baffled her. “What does that mean?”

“You’re uptight, bossy, no-nonsense …”

“And you’ve deduced all that in a mere twenty-four hours?”

“Less than that. I expect any moment to get my knuckles rapped with a ruler.”

His air of masculine superiority set her teeth on edge. “That’s an archaic reference.”

“You don’t know the tutors my father and uncle hired.”

“Poor little rich boy.” She regretted the words immediately. In many ways, the appellation was true … or at least had been in the past. Devlyn Wolff as a child and a teen had always seemed angry. And with good reason. He’d lost his mother violently. Been snatched away from the only home he had ever known and brought to this isolated mountain. Had not been allowed to attend school where he would have made friends. It was no wonder the six cousins were so close.

She didn’t know how to characterize him now … that would require spending time together, a notion that alarmed and intrigued her at the same time. “We’re getting off topic,” she said, her voice firm … the one she used for recalcitrant boys on the playground. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

“I want to hire you.”

Her hackles went up. “You apologized. I accepted. I don’t need your charity simply because I’m unemployed.”

“Before you ride that high horse off into the sunset, why don’t you listen for a minute? I need to employ a teacher. It might as well be you.”

Her stomach cramped. Did Devlyn have a child she hadn’t heard about? “There are no schools anywhere near Wolff Mountain.”

He grinned as if he had scored a hit. “My point exactly. Evidently you haven’t heard, but the Wolffs are establishing a school in Burton.”

“Thumbing your nose at the locals? No one around here can afford private tuition.”

“Gillian, Gillian …” He shook his head. “I’m talking about a public school. And that’s why I need you. It’s a sticky proposition to make sure all of the accreditation requirements are fulfilled. And we’ve had a hell of a time convincing the administration that we’ll stay out of the day-to-day running. But this is going to happen. The children of Burton have every right to attend school in their own community.”

Gillian was stunned. What he said made perfect sense, but although the Wolffs were active in a number of charities, this project took benevolence to another whole level. “Whose idea was this?”

“It was a family decision. Too many of our staff worry that if one of their children gets sick, or falls on the playground, it would be a good forty-five minutes before they could get to the school. That’s not acceptable. The economy is in the toilet. Money for new schools is scarce. We have the means to supply a need.”

Gillian cocked her head, studying his face. He seemed genuinely excited and proud. “And you’re spearheading the effort?”

“Mostly. Because I’m the one in charge. But all of us will step in at various points. Kieran’s wife is a children’s illustrator. She’s planning to paint murals on all the walls. Jacob will design and outfit a small in-school clinic and hire a nurse. Gareth wants to build custom shelving for the library. I could go on …”

She held up a hand, feeling ashamed of her suspicions. On occasion, that chip on her shoulder about the rich gained weight again. “It’s a lovely idea. I’m impressed. But I still don’t see where I come in. It will be a long time until you’re ready to hire teachers.”

“I need a liaison … someone who will work side by side with me, but who knows how to communicate with state and local officials.”

“But you work out of Atlanta.”

“I’m here at least one weekend a month, sometimes two. Dad and Uncle Vic like to feel as if they are still part of the decision-making process. And I value their experience. But in regard to this school project, you’ll be my point person. We’ll work very closely together.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll do it.”

He named a salary that was over twice what she was making before the layoffs. Only a fool would turn down this opportunity, but then again, working with Devlyn Wolff would not be easy. He was charming and outrageously handsome and had a wicked sense of humor … all qualities that were destined to make a woman like Gillian fall into infatuation at the very least.

And she was pretty sure she wasn’t imagining the sexual vibe between them. What was alarming was that if she succumbed, not only did she endanger yet another good job, but she risked getting her heart broken. “Who would you have hired if I hadn’t come along?” It was hard to put her suspicions to rest.

“I hadn’t gotten that far yet, but I called your principal this morning, and she speaks very highly of you … told me you were named ‘Teacher of the Year’ in your school last year. She’s really upset about losing you.”

“You investigated me?” The words ended on a screech of outrage.

“Your ID badge was sticking out of the side pocket of your purse. I’m a businessman. And despite your weird hang-ups, I’m not offering you this job because of something that happened when we were kids.”

He could deny it all he wanted, but she was almost a hundred percent sure that Devlyn was the kind of man who needed to even the scales. This was his way of assuaging his guilt over the past.

Still, who was she to turn down a boon because of his screwed-up motives? She needed a job. And this would be a good one.

“I’ll do it,” she said. “When do I start?”




Five


Devlyn high-fived his inner self, but managed to maintain a neutral expression. This was exactly the same feeling he got when he outwitted a difficult opponent in a business deal. He didn’t probe too deeply at why it was so important to win over Gillian, but it was.

“You’ll need to move in here,” he said abruptly, thinking on his feet. The idea of having Gillian just down the hall made his pulse thud with anticipation.

She scowled, standing up and pacing with her arms wrapped around her waist. “That won’t be necessary. The commute is not inconvenient.”

“It’s not your convenience we’re talking about … it’s mine. I’m a very busy man. When I can snatch a few minutes to discuss the school project, I’d like for you to be available.”

Gillian’s spine straightened and her chin lifted. “So in essence, you’re hiring me to be at your beck and call.”

He wanted to chuckle aloud. She was pissed. And it was so much damned fun aggravating her. “Think of it more as a lawyer on retainer.”

Her eyes shot daggers at him. Fuming, frustrated, she seemed about to burst with aggravation. “I’m not sure I trust you.”

“You wound me.” He put his hand over his heart. “What exactly do you think I have up my sleeve?”

“I don’t know you well enough to tell.”

“I’d like to get to know you, Gillian.” He hadn’t meant to say that. The words tumbled out uncensored, but they were true. Something about her seemed so real, so honest. In his experience, those were qualities rarely found in female companionship. Gillian knew as much or more about him, warts and all, than most people did. And he had an inexplicable urge to win her approval.

But the devil in him couldn’t leave it alone. “I’ll have a driver out front in fifteen minutes to take you to your mother’s house so you can pack your things. I’d like you to be back on the mountain by five. I want to take you to see the property we’ve purchased … get your impressions.”

She sat back down abruptly and started eating soup. “I’m not finished with my lunch. Better make it forty-five.” She gave him a bland gaze that did little to disguise her intent. It was clear that she wouldn’t be pushed around.

The businessman in him applauded her chutzpah. The hungry male took it as a challenge. This give-and-take was foreplay whether she realized it or not. The circumstances weren’t ideal. He’d already made a list of “cons.” But if Gillian felt the same sexual pull he did, he’d figure a way around the difficulties. He wasn’t accustomed to denying himself when it came to women. Nothing permanent could come of this. He was not the pure, uncomplicated man Gillian needed for the long haul.

Devlyn Wolff, however, did temporary damned well. Gillian might try to hide her sexuality beneath generic clothing, but he could see the possibilities. And they excited him.

“Remember,” he said, “You’re agreeing to be here 24/7 anytime I’m in town. I want to get my money’s worth.”

Those big, beautiful eyes reflected shock and denial. “But you’re not home all that often.”

“At the moment, that’s true. So we’ll have to rely on emails and late night phone calls, won’t we?”

“Late night?” Her voice squeaked.

“Some days that’s the only time I can break free. Do you have a problem with that?”

She shredded a roll between her long, graceful fingers. “I don’t suppose so. But I’m not sure what my mother will think about all of this.”

“You’ve been on your own a long time, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

She pursed her lips as if she had bitten into a sour spice. “You have quite a reputation in regard to the opposite sex.”

“But ours is a business relationship. I’m sure your mother understands the difference.”

“I guess …” Her hesitance aroused him as he imagined what it would take to coax her into his bed. In the past six months his schedule had been brutal. Workaholic was an understatement.

Life was too short not to play when the occasion presented itself. And Gillian Carlyle, as reserved and wary as she was, promised to be endlessly entertaining.

He glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid I can’t drag this out any longer. I’m overdue for several phone calls. But I’ll expect you back here at five … right?”

She nodded her head slowly. “I’ll be here. You can count on it.”

Devlyn forced himself to leave the room. If he pushed too hard, she might decide to walk out, unemployed or not. And he couldn’t have that.

He found his father, Vincent, and his Uncle Vic in Victor’s study. Pipe smoke hung heavy in the air, and a chessboard sat between their armchairs, resting on a marble-topped table.

His father looked up when he entered. “Don’t distract us. This is a hell of a game.”

Devlyn took up residence on a sofa adjacent to the fireplace and pulled out his phone to begin working through emails. Soon he was immersed in the day-to-day operation of a global, multibillion dollar company. Some days it baffled him to realize the enormous enterprise he steered on behalf of the family. The responsibility was huge. But damned if he didn’t love it.





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