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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

Copyright © Sun Chara 2017

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Sun Chara asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition ©December 2017

ISBN: 9780008145064

Version 2017-11-29

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Acknowledgements

Also by Sun Chara

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Friday 4:00 a.m.

Stan Rogers had to bring her here, even if he had to resort to ‘unusual’ methods. He had to get the exotic beauty to agree to his terms. He rubbed the sting from his eyes and the crick from his neck.

A gust of air hurled through the half-open window of his office, bringing with it the scent of Douglas fir. He didn’t even flinch at the icy bite on his face. A wake-up call? Rolling up his sleeves, he dismissed the foolish notion and flicked the desk lamp on. The glare sliced across the shadowed room.

He had no choice. It was either her or his son. He’d asked once and she’d refused. Clamping down on the pricking of his conscience, he swiveled in his chair and paced the two burly men’s approach.

“Bring her.” He slapped his hand on the mahogany desk, his words chips of ice. “Today.”

***

Friday 10:00 a.m.

He was behind it. Stella sensed it in her gut, and that made him a dangerous adversary. Perspiration seeped from her pores and made her jogging suit stick to her skin. A moist drop slid between her breasts. The sun’s glare made her squint. Her mind catapulted.

“I asked you to bring her here,” he muttered, his words directed at her two sheepish escorts. “But not floundering in a fish net.” He bounded over the two steps of the mountain lodge and landed with ease, the gravel crunching beneath his boots.

In two strides, he bridged the distance and halted not two feet from her. His heat filtered to her … his aftershave … she wrinkled her nose. Scents of spruce blended with it, and she couldn’t place it. Couldn’t place him. A niggle nudged her brain, and then vaporized.

“You all right?” he murmured, his hawk-like gaze on her.

Stella’s knees almost buckled, and she gripped the trunk of a nearby pine. Her knuckles grazed the bark. A sliver pierced her skin, and she sucked in a breath, gritting her teeth against the sting of the abrasion.

“Take it off her at once.”

While the two bumblers fumbled to extricate her from the twine, Stella staked out her surroundings and zoned in on her captor.

He towered above her, with his legs slightly apart, and shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans; the movement stretched his sweater—of Native Indian design—taut across his chest, hinting at the muscle beneath. His casual stance bespoke of power, ownership, confidence.

Sexual energy.

Her side stitched a warning.

He looked rugged as the Canadian Rockies, and hard. Flint hard.

Autumn sunlight glinted off the gold in his hair. A shade lighter than his close-cropped beard, it brushed his shoulders. His laser-sharp eyes reminded her of an ocean storm…dark, turbulent. The oddest feeling rocked her stomach; the force of his gaze set off signals of another sort in her brain, yet unclear. Through the racket in her head, a spark of a memory flared, but she couldn’t grasp it.

“This is the ogre,” she murmured to herself. Goosebumps skittered on her skin, and not entirely caused by the November air piercing her clothes.

The flick, Shrek, flashed through her mind, and a smile struggled for a place on her mouth. She bit it away. The man looming over her didn’t appear as a benevolent green giant.

And she was no princess; just an ordinary working girl.

So what did he want with her?

“What’s going on?” Stella rubbed her uninjured hand over her arm to ward off the chill. “Explain.”

“Of course.” He stroked his chin and tilted his head. A golden earring glittered, and it was like a sledgehammer hit her brain.

Blood drained from her face and her heart smashed against her ribs.

By sheer force of will, she stood her ground and flexed her fingers. At the slightest provocation, her hands could morph to hammer fists. This man, Stan Rogers, could destroy her. She reeled and the past rushed in…

She had stood at the entrance of the downtown high-rise, every nerve in her body on alert, her mind pounding, this is your last chance. Hoping the spring rain didn’t frizz her hair, she wiggled her foot and the piece of cardboard covering the hole on the bottom of her shoe bumped her big toe. She tapped her toe on the pavement for a better ‘fit’. Dressed in her one and only suit, she’d pinned her hair at the nape of her neck and clipped gold –ninety-nine-cents-worth hoop earrings on her ears. She mustn’t look as ‘hungry’ as she felt.

She’d done every menial job on the face of the planet–from dishwasher, to cook, to janitor, to waitress, to sales—to put herself through the University of British Columbia. Her parents back in Toronto had enough to worry about with her two brothers; she didn’t want to be an added burden.

Penny-pinching, she managed to scrape enough for a down payment to open her own martial arts studio. But without a solid credit rating, reserve funds and income details, she was considered a high-risk commodity. She laughed but it came out as a groan. Every bank had turned her down.

R&R Financial had built its multi-million-dollar global chain by picking up the high riskers nobody wanted. Stella took a deep breath and let it seep out through her lips, the sound almost a snort. There’d be a catch.

She glimpsed her reflection in the dusky glass and clutched her purse, doubts bombarding her brain. Gulping down her uncertainty, she ventured through the revolving doors into the enemy’s lair.

“Give me one good reason why I should spend my hard-earned money on you.” Stan Rogers had curled his lip, studying her beneath his shuttered gaze.

“A good businessman would take a risk,” she countered, her words brave, but her hands clammy.

“A calculated one.” He brushed his fist across his jaw and reclined in his chair, his eyes piercing … cold. “He’d be a fool to rush in blindly.”

He raised his arms and locked his hands behind his neck, flattening the golden hair at his nape. An earring glinted. The muscles of his forearms flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves, and his shirt with a red tie loose at the open collar, stretched tight across his torso.

“Which are you, Miss … or should I say Ms. Ryan? A sure thing or a hidden hazard?”

Stella ignored the knock to the preface of her name and edged forward in her chair. “Neither.” She met his gaze head on and glimpsed the navy flecks in his irises.

A jolt shot through her.

He laughed, a humorless sound.

She scooted back.

“In my experience, a female is the biggest risk tempting mankind.” He unclasped his hands from behind his neck and brought them to rest on the polished surface of the desk. From the blotter, he picked up a pen and twirling it between his fingers, assessed her. “And you’re very much a woman.”

She barely heard the murmur from his lips, her gaze glued on the pen he toyed with … was he imagining it was her? She laughed, hiding her nervousness. Silly. The door was two feet behind her—a quick exit.

She went on the offensive. “And a male is—” she began, about to string a line of choice words after that particular species but he beat her to it.

“Trustworthy, dependable, steadfast.” A grin twitched the corner of his mouth.

“Matter of opinion.”

“Dare one ask yours?” he asked.

“Arrogant, self-centered, controlling …”

He held up a hand. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I see.” He replaced the ballpoint pen on its stand. “Are you an exception to the superficiality of most women?”

“One way to find out.”

“And that is?”

“Approve my loan.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes but it quickly diminished beneath his frown. He remained silent for so long, she thought she had lost the gamble. Sighing, she stood up to go, but his next words stopped her.

“Done.” He hauled himself from the chair. “With a three point higher interest rate. If you default on payment”, he paused and delivered his final shot, “I’ll clean you out, lock, stock and caboose.”

“You bast—”

He arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve been baiting me.”

“Those are the terms.” He stepped around, hitched up his pant leg and propped his hip on the edge of the desk. “Take it or leave it.”

Stella warred with common sense, with bravado, and with something more … her determination to build a business for herself. If she accepted his offer, she’d be shackled to him until she paid off the mortgage. It could take years. If she didn’t, she’d be ‘clocking in’ at a low wage for someone else to reap the profits. Either way, it would be a grueling cycle.

“Agreed.” If she had to slave away at work, she preferred to do it on her own turf.

She extended her hand and he clasped her fingers in a firm grip, the calluses on the ridge of his palm grazing her flesh.

High voltage charged into her. Her heart leapt, her breathing bumpy.

“Sealed,” he said, his gaze unwavering.

She snatched her hand away, but it was too late. The scent of his cologne wrapped around her like a forbidden caress, and made her pulse climb. She gulped, feeling like she’d sold herself to him…

That had been four years ago, and she’d never seen the American financier again. He passed her account to one of his associates at the Canadian branch and flown to his New York headquarters. She smirked. On his private jet no doubt. Being a small fry in a pond of sharks, she couldn’t turn him a fast profit, and he’d ditched her.

That had left her wondering why he approved her unsecured loan in the first place. Was she about to find out?

Stella shivered.

“Come in, Miss Ryan,” Stan invited, studying her. “We’ll talk over lunch.”

The Budweiser Lite curls brushing her face but not hiding the smudges on her cheeks were inherited from her Nordic father. Her almond-shaped eyes from her Japanese mother. He knew. He’d Googled her profile. At his blatant scrutiny, her violet-blue pupils glittered with anger.

She was east and west … light and dark … fire and ice.

The contrast was striking. Rare.

An exotic beauty—a dangerous beauty.

She made him feel again. Something he didn’t want.

A slight tilt of her chin, and she set her mouth in a straight line.

He caught the hint of a quiver on her bottom lip, and his conscience pummeled the vicinity of his heart. His gut turned to lead, his jaw to steel. She had left him no alternative; he had to bring her here.

“What if I don’t?” She challenged, taking several steps backward.

“We’ll park beneath that pine and rap.” Stan stood his ground.

Slender, she moved with the agility and light step of her profession—just as he remembered from their one meeting long ago. At that time, he’d locked her into a contract with a severe penalty clause, for business.

Now, he had to do the same, this time for personal gain.

At twenty-seven, she gave the impression of a delicate blonde. He curved his mouth but didn’t quite make it to a grin. He knew better. The lady had a quiet strength and a determination that couldn’t be beaten. Wasn’t that what had turned his hand to approve her loan? It had been foolish, of course. But her courage had stirred something inside him—hadn’t he fought the same financial battle twenty years ago when he was first stepping out—

Savagely, he hurled the reminder from his mind and trekked to the house. That was then, this was now. He couldn’t afford going soft on her.

Not with what was at stake. He had to crack through her defenses and he’d use any means at his disposal.

“Take her to Minni.” He tossed the command at the two men bungling to fold the net. A pause on the veranda, and he turned to her. “She’ll remove the splinter from your hand.”

“I don’t need—” she mouthed back, but he disappeared indoors.

Stella dismissed the tick to her pride and raised her arms, stretching.

“Ahh, freedom.”

She could ensue another battle, but weary from the first ordeal at the beach and the long bumpy ride, decided to bide her time. An opportunity would present itself. When it did, she’d be ready. In the meantime, sweaty and disheveled, she’d welcome a chance to freshen up before facing him again. Without a doubt, they were headed for another clash.

Joe, the dark-haired body guard escorted her inside the lodge, then left to go find Minni. Fred-the-red stuck to her like glue.

She caught his reflection in the wall mirror; he was shifting on his feet. She grinned. One on one … better odds. Her hands itched for action, but she wouldn’t get far if she made a move now. She scanned the hallway. A Tiffany lamp—a possible weapon—was set on a shelf beneath the mirror.

The coat rack in the corner—another possibility. Beyond the arch in front of her, a stairway curved to the second floor, fueling her curiosity.

“Over there is the living room and library.” A petite woman with a motherly smile and warm brown eyes walked through the portal, and Fred backtracked out of sight.

“Opposite on the left is the kitchen,” she said in her bubbly voice. “My favorite place.” She hugged a first-aid kit to her bosom and motioned for Stella to follow. “By the way, I’m Minni, Joe’s wife. I’ll be lookin’ after ye while ye ’re here.”

“I won’t be staying.”

“Joe and I’ve been with Mr. Rogers eight years now,” Minni rambled on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Shoulda heard the goings on ’round here a few months ago. The place turned upside down and all because of that poor child …” She paused for breath and picked her way up the stairs.

Halfway down the corridor, Minni opened a door and ushered her inside. “Mr. Rogers had this room specially prepared for you.”

“He did, did he?” Stella muttered, an uncanny sensation pricking the back of her neck.

“I did.”

She spun around. “Too bad you wasted your time.”

“Time is money, Ms. Ryan.” Stan winked at Minni. “I never waste either one.” He walked right past her, ruffling air between them. A hint of his scent floated to her. Fresh as the outdoors, it should have soothed, but instead, it made her ire rise.

“Nor do I,” she fired back, but he’d already bounded down the stairs.

“Come on then,” Minni called from inside the room.

Stella debated, thinking the ogre took a lot for granted, but the best she could do now was get as much information as she could. Smiling, she stepped through the door…and Minnie was her source.

“So, this a busy place?”

“It can be.” Minnie plonked the first-aid kit on a stack of magazines on the bureau by the bed, bumping the long-stemmed red rose in the crystal vase. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

Stella extended her hand. “You like living up here?” She scoped the room. Sunlight filtered through the curtains of a window—a possible escape route—she filed that away in her mind. “Ouch!” She winced as Minnie yanked out the splinter with a pair of tweezers.

“There, that should do it.” She smiled and blotted the scratches with antiseptic.

Stella turned to thank her and a splash of solid color on the bed caught her eye. She stretched across the laced bedspread and shoving the cushions aside, snatched up the uniform—a Karate gui.

“Hope it fits.” Minni fussed around her with a Band-Aid in her hand.

“Why?”

Minni turned quiet. After she bandaged her knuckles, she patted her hand. “There.” She swept up the first-aid kit and murmuring about lunch, made her exit.

Stella made a beeline for the window, turned the latch and raised it. She leaned out and gauged the distance to the ground. Too high to jump but she could climb down. Just then, Fred-the-red appeared from behind the corner of the house and gave her a brief nod. She waved a half-hearted greeting, realizing she’d have to be extra quiet and time it just right.

On her way to the bathroom, she paused to smell the rose and sucked in a breath, the force of it burning her throat. Her face was splashed on the cover of the magazine topping the stack on the dresser. Headlining the current issue of Sports Unlimited, Stella Ryan: the woman, the sensei, and the competitor at the International Karate Tournament in Tokyo. Air pressure fizzed between her teeth. She bolted into the bathroom and locked the door.

Twisting on the shower, she stepped beneath, the warm spray soothing her body, but not her mind. Two minutes tops, and she swabbed herself dry. Throwing on her clothes, she wondered what other surprises … er … shocks were in store for her.

Preferring to face-off her demons, Stella marched downstairs and halted outside the dining room. She wiped her damp palms on her thighs, took a deep breath to steady her nerves and pushed the double panels open. She paused on the threshold.

Eight chairs fringed a table in the centre of the floor, the lace table cloth and sparkling crystal were a marked contrast to the somber tones of the room. Minnie’s feminine touch, she thought, not missing that this was to be a lunch á deux…

“Come in, Ms. Ryan.”

The ogre’s gruff voice made her jump, and she hesitated for a fraction of a second. She’d always confronted that which she feared and thereby conquered it. This … this man would be no exception. She took a bold step inside and another until she stood in the middle of the room.

He stood behind the bar, choking a bottleneck between his fingers, his intense gaze shooting into her. She cringed at her choice of words and her bandaged hand flew to her throat. Chills chased up her spine. She stood her ground and glared back at him.

Silence fueled the room. Thickened. Smothered.

He feigned a cough and splashed Scotch into a glass. The sound of liquid over ice shattered the tension between them. Stella dropped her hand to her side. She was trained to protect herself, her body her weapon … yeah, but here you are anyway.

“What’s your pleasure?” He seized the tumbler and motioned to an army of liqueurs on the counter. In a lazy sweep, his eyes toured her head to toe, then his lashes flickered, concealing a glint of something indefinable in his pupils.

A blush warmed her skin.

“My pleasure is to get out of here,” she snapped on an intake of breath. Boldly, she allowed her eyes to do some appraising of their own.

Fortyish. Over six-feet. He exuded strength and power.

Raw sexuality.

Her stomach flipped. Her heart raced.

The walls seemed to close in.

She shook her head, blinked. This man could crush her. She inhaled a mouthful of oxygen. Exhaled. Okay. She twitched her lips, but didn’t smile. She knew from experience that size and strength were not the key. The right move combined with speed and accuracy could bring anyone down. Including Stan Rogers.

Tempting.

But, timing played into it and this was not quite the moment for it. Patience was not her greatest virtue.

“I figured you’d prefer clean clothes after your shower.” Stan took a swig of the amber liquid and studied her over the rim, amusement tugging the corner of his mouth.

“You figured wrong.” She ventured forward a few paces, not wanting him to think she was afraid. “I’ll wear what I please, when I please and how I please. And, I’m not in the habit of wearing borrowed threads and certainly” –she paused for effect— “I don’t dine in a Karate gui.”

“Of course.” He brushed a thumb across his fuzzy chin. “A sweaty jogging suit is so” –his gaze dropped several notches, zeroing in on the rise and fall of her breasts— “much more appealing.”

Stella was about to blast him with a string of verbal bullets, when he held up a hand, warding off her attack.

“How remiss of me not to consider your lack of attire,” he said, a tone of formality in his voice.

Stella twisted her lips. Attire? Get with the times, mister.

“I’ll speak to Minni about it.”

“Don’t bother.” She narrowed her eyes, sizing him up like an opponent in a ring. “I intend to leave here within the hour, and if you try to stop me, I’ll have you charged with kidnapping.”

“You’re not a prisoner here, Ms. Ryan,” he said, tone cool. “You’re an invited guest with whom I wish to discuss business.”

“Why didn’t you call or e-mail or drop by my studio to discuss your … er … business?”

“In a sense, I did.”

“Stop talking in riddles.”

He shrugged.

And that had her hackles rising.

“This charade is utter nonsense.” She moved another few steps closer, the table a barrier between them. “I don’t like being manhandled.”

The deep sound of his laughter ricocheted off the walls. “Heard it was the other way around.” He saluted her with his drink.

Stella shook her head, pointing her finger at him. “Look here, I have a business to run. Right now, my students are at the dojo waiting for me.”

Stan set the empty glass on the gleaming countertop and rubbed his palms together. “Took care of it.”

“I demand to be relea—” She gaped at him. “What does that mean?” she demanded. “You know you could be arrested.”

“My men—”

“Thugs.”

“—left a memo at your studio explaining your absence.”

“Disappearance.”

He shuttered his eyes to blue slits, considering her veiled warning. “Ms. Ryan, I’m offering you my hospitality as my guest.”

“I’m not your guest.” She tossed her head. “And don’t need or want anything from you.”

He hiked a brow, and she swallowed a lump in her throat. Of course, he had control of her core asset and—

“You’re on a publicity tour … Tokyo, Toronto … family demands,” he explained, his words saturated with meaning. “You’d be returning soon.”

“You dared to—” A tremor vibrated from her head to her toes, shivers prancing on her spine.

He shrugged. “A risk worth taking.”

Stella paled, their one and only meeting zooming to the forefront of her mind.

“Something wrong, Ms. Ryan?” Casually, he slid his hands in his pockets, confident he’d cornered her.

Stella groped for the back of a chair, the wood smooth and hard beneath her fingertips.

Like the man—unbreakable.

“Do you often take such risks?” she tested, her voice brittle.

“Occasion—”

“Why?”

“High stakes.”

“How lofty are they this time?” She tightened her grip on the chair, her heart pounding a warning.

“Riskiest bet of my life,” he admitted.

She wouldn’t be bridled. “Must be, to ditch your life of the rich and famous for that of a recluse.”

He laughed, a dark, ominous sound. “It is.” A shadow swept across his eyes, and a nerve pinched his jaw. He shrugged and didn’t elaborate.

Tenderness pierced through her frustration. She must be mistaken, or nuts. Nuts to feel anything but contempt for the ogre. She shoved the pinch of feeling away. She didn’t care, couldn’t care, refused to care.

“I don’t play cat and mouse games, Mr. R.”

“You do remember.”

The gray at his temples and his beard had thrown her at first. His electrifying blue eyes and commanding tone, capped off with his baiting remarks, cued her a second time in as many hours, how well he knew the game of finance and how well he wielded the rules for his benefit. Yes, she remembered him. He was not a man she could easily forget, nor could she forget how ruthless he could be.

“How do I fit into your scheme of things this time?” Stella asked, her voice crackling with ice.

“Predominantly.”

Chapter 2

Stella’s gaze clashed with his, taut emotion vibrating between them.

Seconds ticked by, seeming endless.

Minni walked in with their lunch and the tension in the air snapped.

“Come, you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.” Stan stepped to the table and pulled out a chair for her.

Stella didn’t move.

“Hope you’re hungry, dear,” Minni said, her mouth tilting at the corners. “I’ve cooked my favorite Italian recipe with a Scottish zing.” She giggled and her hand fluttered to her mouth.

“It smells delicious.” Stella eyed the hot rolls, the salad, the sticky chocolate cake that was for dessert.

Stan draped an arm around his housekeeper’s shoulders and winked. “Minni is the best cook in town and I’ve got her.”

Stella’s pulse faltered. He wanted, he got. Well, he hadn’t gotten her.

She should feel more joy … maybe it was because she was hungry.

Minni blushed. “Oh, get on with you.” She smoothed an imaginary crease on her apron and pushed the trolley from the room.

Another uncomfortable silence ensued … delectable aroma of lasagna, crowned with bubbly cheese wafted to her and her stomach growled. Stella plunked down on the chair across from the enemy, hoping he hadn’t heard.

He took his own seat and began serving.

“You should try some,” he said between mouthfuls. “It’s good.”

She hesitated, her mouth mutinous, her taste buds watering. Finally … “I’ll have a little.”

A smart man, he said nothing, simply grunted his approval.

Not that she needed his approval about anything, but she was ravenous … no use letting good food go to waste.

At last, she placed the remaining piece of cake in her mouth and stole a glance at him from beneath her eyelashes. Why was he grinning? She licked her lips. His grin disappeared, his gaze darkening. Thinking, chocolate smudged her chin, she swiped at it with her finger and licked the tip. A sound from deep in his throat … a low growl?

“Someting amusing?” she snapped, a flush warming her cheeks.

“You look like a sixteen-year old stuffing that cake in your mouth.” His lips twitched in wry amusement.

“Good thing I’m not, or you’d be compounding the charge of kidnapping with that of a minor.”

He squashed the grin between his lips, his cheekbones prominent, a storm brewing in his eyes. “I won’t dignify that with a response.”

Her emotions were bopping, and she wanted to let fly at him, but thought better of it. Control. She could match him in that couldn’t she?

“More coffee?” He picked up the coffee pot and waited.

At her nod, his mouth cracked a fraction, and he filled her cup to the brim. Rich flavor steamed the air. She cradled the cup between her palms and watched him pour another cup for himself.

His lips curved over straight white teeth, and his lower lip a bit fuller gave his mouth an added sensuality. She could just imagine him nibbling… She lowered her eyes to his hands. The man seized whatever he wanted. A shiver shot through her … whomever he desired. Yet, she couldn’t turn away. His sleeves were pushed up almost to his elbows, golden hair feathered his forearms, his muscles defined even by the simple task of pouring coffee.

Slamming the brakes on her thoughts, she tipped the cup to her lips.

“Easy, it’s hot,” Stan warned.

Too late, Stella felt the unwelcome singe on her tongue. “I know now, it’s hot,” she sputtered, dropping the cup back, liquid splashing into the saucer. Grabbing the glass of water beside her plate, she gulped a mouthful and soothed her stinging tongue.

“Good thing that.” A hint of a smile lingered on his lips, and his gaze strayed to the curve of her breast, barely visible by the tear in her sweatshirt.

His eyes darkened, shuttered, his smile vanished.

Her eyes grew wide, lashes fluttering, shielding.

Signals … danger … combustion.

Stella took another gulp of water. “I-it’s not funny.”

“Never said it was.”

“The burn stung.”

“I know.”

Heat infused her body. Was there a double-entendre in that? She set the glass on the table with more force than necessary; the liquid swirled against the clear walls, but didn’t spill. Too bad. She felt like doing injury to something or, she glanced at the man beside her, someone. He certainly didn’t think she could be contained against her will without retaliating?

Tossing a crumpled napkin on the table, he pushed his chair back and motioned her to the sofa by the window. For a second, she debated whether to sit or stand, but not wanting him to think she was on the defensive, plopped on the settee. He lounged on the armchair across from her, trapping her in the lens of his vision like a high-powered combatant’s target.

Breath pocketed in her chest, and she pushed up her sleeves, on guard.

“Stella, I, or rather we” –he crossed one leg over his knee— “have followed your career as a martial artist for some time. Rare to see a woman master the art of self-defense to the professionalism you’ve achieved.”

“Thank you,” she said, wondering where this was leading. If he thought he could lull her into a false security with compliments to get what he wanted from her, he was wrong.

Dead wrong.

“This woman was worth the risk, after all.” She couldn’t help the jab.

“Financially, yes,” he hit back, his tone all business. “You’ve proved a worthwhile asset.”

A silent growl built in Stella’s throat. How dared he talk like she was some inanimate object. Asset, indeed. “So, why bring me here?”

“I wanted the very best for Troy. No one else would do,” he murmured more to himself than to her.

“You wanted the very best of what?” she asked, her curiosity pushing anger aside. “Who’s Troy? And what does he have to do with me?”

A silent moment passed, and he leaned forward, his midnight blue eyes boring into her. “I want to hire you as my son’s martial arts coach.”

“Troy.”

“That’s right.”

“This is ludicrous. Absolutely wild.” She nearly burst out laughing but some innate sense checked it in her throat. “There are plenty of martial arts schools you could enroll him in. There was no need for you and your … er … friends to go through this farce to bring me here. Even if you wanted me as his Sensei—”

“Instructor.”

She nodded. “I’d have been happy to coach him at my studio.”

“I didn’t want Troy in a public class, stared at, ridiculed by other children.” He brushed a hand across his chin. “My son needs a private coach.” His voice deepened, hinting at a deeper, conflicting emotion. “You, Ms. Ryan, will teach him until he feels confident … strong again.”

Children could be cruel, but for him to take these extreme measures to get her here was beyond her comprehension. “I don’t understand.”

He paused for a moment, the silence deafening. “He must become healthy again. Feel like a valued human being.”

Was he playing on her emotions? Could he have an ulterior motive?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers,” she said, recalling how callous he could be. “I have a full schedule.” Ignoring her erratic pulse, she cleared her throat and scooted forward. “I’ve spent years building my business and Karate is my life.” She’d practically starved to do it, but he didn’t have to know that. “I can’t abandon it for the whim of a father and his son.” Her words sounded abrasive even to her own ears, but she had to be tough.

Tough with him.

And tougher with herself, because the man was dangerous to her heart, her emotions, her mind … to her whole self.

In one fluid motion, Stan hauled himself from the armchair, eyes blazing and nostrils flaring. Startled, Stella squared her shoulders and shuttered her gaze, ready to dodge if necessary.

“What do you know of pain? Of a child tossed about like chattel who’s—” He shoved a hand through his hair and paced the room, his outburst surprising him more than it did her. “I apologize. You’re not to blame.” His jaw clenched. “Trauma, especially recurring, can scar for life.”

Stella uttered not a word.

Dangerous didn’t describe him. Lethal was more accurate.

The man was lethal.

“When a child is involved, one can become ballistic.”

“And are you?”

“What?” He glanced at her, a blank look across his features.

“Ballistic?”

An unwilling smile flittered across his mouth but he neither confirmed nor denied.

Her pulse leaped. His demeanor oozed sexual energy. Moisture glazed her upper lid. She swabbed it with her thumb, and his eyes zoomed in on her mouth.

A silent moment, a tense moment, a telling moment.

She didn’t want to know … acknowledge the shift in the atmosphere between them. She had to be smart, strong, deliver her blow and get out of there. Fast.

So, she said the only thing that came to her mind, “What’s the matter with him? Your son?”

“That’s not your concern.” His words were like ice chaffing her skin.

“All right,” she said. “Why don’t you teach him how to fight.” She scrutinized the length and breadth of his body to the detriment of another leaping heartbeat. “You … uh … look capable.”

“I could teach him to use his fists, but street fighting isn’t the best for him.” He caught and held her in his sights, a wry twist on his mouth.

Stella struggled, yet didn’t move an inch. But her vitals were going haywire. She had to get out of here, get out … get some air.

“Martial arts, the ancient art of self-defense, exercising the spirit, mind and body would suit him better,” he insisted.

A time bomb was ticking.

“Take the job.”

“No!” She leaped to her feet.

“No?”

She mocked a cough to hide her discomfort, and reverted to her business persona. “I’d like to help, but it’s out of the question.”

“Think again,” he said, voice smooth, silky. “Do it for three months.”

“I couldn’t teach your son Karate in that time,” she said, voice soft. Was she weakening? Where was her tough stance? “It’s a lifetime thing.”

“I understand.” In two strides, he bridged the gap between them, crowding her. “But it would give him a start. Some basics.”

“True.”

He was so close, his body heat warmed, his breath fanned her cheek, the faint scent of Scotch making her want to taste … him. She folded her hands into fists, determined to chase away this overwhelming rush that had her heart battering her chest.

“A philosophy, a discipline underscores the Martial Arts.” She forced the words out. “More important is when and how to use defense technique.”

“I know,” Stan said. “That’s why I didn’t want to hire just anyone.”

“You’re flattering me, Mr. Rogers,” Stella said, lowering her lashes a fraction. “However, three months is impossible.” Good, when she didn’t look at him, she sounded herself, the savvy businesswoman. “I’ve scheduled events I can’t get out—”

“Can’t or won’t.”

“You’ll find someone else to help your boy.” She dared lift her lashes … a mistake. Her breath swept out of her, leaving her deflated. “Someone willing to be on call…” She was fighting herself more than him.

His gaze turned steely. “As you could find another to refinance your mortgage next term.”

He’d beat her to it, delivering his blow first. A hit to the gut.

“You’re playing dirty.”

“I have no choice.”

“I’d have no problem renewing my mortgage from another investment firm,” she tested, every muscle in her body contracting. “Financially, I’m a worthy asset, remember.”

He laughed, the harsh sound grating in the tense atmosphere between them. “A solid investment would be considered.” He curled his mouth into a cruel smile. “With so many foreclosures in this business, very few would bite anything else. Too risky.”

“I have good credit,” she blurted, a slight waver in her voice.

“Sure now?”

Stella shoved him back, another blunder; touching him rocked her to her toes. He didn’t move, so she did. Back two steps, three … a raging flame ignited her words. “You wouldn’t dare mess with my credentials.”

His jaw jutted, and the flecks of navy in his eyes turned granite. “We’ll have you, Ryan, or no one.” His veiled threat hung in the air.

She glared at him long and hard. Oxygen fueled her lungs and shot out of her. She’d never run from anyone in her life and she didn’t intend to start now. “What you want,” she advanced two steps closer to reclaim her space, “you get, by fair means or foul,” another step brought her within an inch of him, “is that it?”

“You have a problem with that?” He bent his head within an inch of her mouth, his breath a caress.

She would not start hyperventilating. She would not. Steeling her nerves, she gave him stare for stare. Dear God, she was falling into the ocean of his eyes.

He shifted.

Relief. Breathing room.

Or was that an illusion. Was he preparing for another hit?

Doubts zigzagged through her mind; her temples throbbed. She had learned never to allow an opponent to sense her uncertainty and here she was, letting him shake her confidence. Quickly regrouping, she stiffened her spine and raised her chin. She wouldn’t wait to see what he would do. She’d go on the offensive, deliver her strike and get out of the ring.

“I’m sorry you went to all the trouble to get me here, but I must decline your offer of employment.” She prayed her refusal sounded intractable this time. Without the renewal of her mortgage on terms she could afford, she could lose her business, her livelihood, her future. A quiver tore through her, but she stood resolute.

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Haven’t learned to cut your losses yet, have you, Ryan?”

“I don’t intend to have any.”

“Don’t push my hand,” he growled, stalking to the window and contemplating the outdoors.

Stella stared daggers at his rigid back.

Finally he turned, his gaze frosty. “Fred will drive you back to town.”

She started in surprise. “You’re letting me go?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he queried.

Chapter 3

“Yes.”

He searched her face, then nodded in acquiescence.

Unusual. Him being so accommodating.

Stella rubbed her nape, settling fine hair on end. Until she was safely tucked in her own bed, she wouldn’t put anything past him.

“The library’s down the hall … you can wait there.” He strode to the door, tossing over his shoulder, “When it’s time, Minni will come for you.”

“Thank you,” Stella murmured, surprised she’d uttered the civil words. But by then, she stood alone in the middle of the dining room, so he must’ve missed them. For some inexplicable reason, she felt deserted.

Foolish, girl.

She strolled to the library and her shoulders sagged. No computer, no cell phone. Just shelves of books, comfy furniture and flames blazing in the grate. Cozy. Warm. Unlike the owner. Either he enjoyed his solitude or turned into a recluse for some reason. His son?

Browsing, she pulled out a volume, by-passed the sofa and sat cross-legged on the carpet. Logs crackled and hissed, shooting off sparks. Absent-mindedly, she flipped the pages, her mind wandering to her captor. It was obvious he loved his son, but a harshness underlined it, sharp and cutting in intensity. Who or what had caused the bitterness in his life? And how much did it have to do with him taking such drastic measures to bring her here, then quickly releasing her? Hmm, she set her mind on rewind…

Stella had been jogging along the English Bay beach walk near her studio home as dawn colored the sky when the two men accosted her.

“We’re not here to hurt you, Miss,” the man said, dressed in a dark suit and smoothing his reddish mustache.

“That’s right.” The other one flipped his dark hair off his brow with the back of his hand, revealing a mole at his temple.

The simple action triggered her memory.

“You two came to my studio last week,” Stella said, gauging them.

“That’s right,” the red-haired one admitted. “Since you turned his offer down, we … er … are inviting you to come see the boss himself.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” the dark one agreed. “We’re to drive you there.”

“You tell boss-man,” Stella bit out, “if he wants to talk to me, he can telephone and make an appointment at a decent hour at the studio.”

“It isn’t that simple, Miss,” the man in front of her answered. “He—”

“Listen, I have a business to run,” she cut him off, starting to backtrack away from them. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it.”

The two men glanced at one another. “We hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” One sighed, the other shrugged, and both made a grab for her.

She’d fought them, but when they threw the fishing net over her, she was caught …

Stella shifted on the carpet and eased the cramps from her knees. She may be caught, but not for long. Warmth from the fire soothed, and she turned on her side, cushioning her head on her folded arms.

“Mmm, this feels nice,” she murmured.

The altercation with his two goons, followed so soon with the confrontation with the ogre, had left her physically and emotionally exhausted.

She lowered her lashes, just for a second.

After what seemed mere moments, Stella fluttered her eyes open, prickles on the back of her neck. Except for the flickering flames in the grate, the room had grown dark, the sun having set long ago. She blinked to orientate herself to her surroundings and collided with his electrifying gaze.

“What’re you doing here?” She leaped up and swayed at the sudden movement. Calm as you please, he lounged on the sofa, watching her beneath his bushy brows. Feeling at a distinct disadvantage, she swept up the pillow and blanket from the floor, and hugged them to her bosom.

Stan had the urge to snake his arm out and haul her into his arms, burying his face in her hair, sliding his hands beneath her disheveled jogging suit … sweat and all. He didn’t care. Her warmth and her scent, with a hint of the Ivory soap she’d used during her shower, lassoed him.

His gut jerked, or was that his heart?

Her eyes a deep sapphire from slumber, mesmerized. He wanted to nuzzle her nape, taste … abruptly, he checked the motion.

Utter foolishness.

Hadn’t he learned his lesson in college when he got hitched on a dare? She’d taken him for a ride … every penny he had … and still after his scalp … and his son. Then, he’d been young, proud, reckless. Now, older and he hoped wiser— What the heck are you doing with this woman here? He shrugged the irksome thought aside.

If he wanted a woman, he could get one at the snap of his fingers. They were easy to come by when one was endowed with wealth. He wondered if they wanted him or his loot—if they’d even glance his way if he pumped gas at the local garage. He curled his lip in a silent snarl, and, thinking it was directed at her, Stella took a step away from him.

Fever.

Blood pulsed through his veins and pooled in his groin. He bit down an expletive. He didn’t want a woman, not now. And certainly, not this one. Too stubborn, too shrewd, too outspoken, too beautiful … he sucked in a breath and let it blast out between his teeth.

“Is it time to go?” she asked.

Let her go? Never again.

“A change of plans,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Oh?” Stella moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

Sexual awareness flared. Stan tightened his jaw.

“You won’t be leaving today, after all.” At her outraged expression, he was quick to add, “A problem with the truck.” Under the circumstances, he had trouble believing the lame excuse himself. Just happened to be true s’all. Whether she believed him or not was her problem. Yeah, right.

“How convenient.”

“Actually, it’s not,” he muttered. “The group wanted to get to town and stock supplies before first snow.”

“Snow?”

He ignored her query. “Fred was going to check on the limo and halfway there, the Hummer broke down. He had to hike back.”

“Poor him.”

He didn’t even blink at her sarcastic rejoinder. “The outing will be postponed until tomorrow, together with your return.” A pause and, “Poor you?”

“Go to he—”

“I’ve already been,” he ground out. “Don’t recommend it.”

About to shoot back, she thought better of it. Stoking the already volatile situation wouldn’t get her out of there. And that’s what she wanted.

Definitely.

“Doesn’t look like snow to me, not by a long shot,” she said again.

“At least not for another couple of months.”

“We like to be prepared in case it’s early this year.” He hauled himself off the sofa and reached out for the blanket and pillow.

She clutched them tighter, like a protective device. “What about trekking to the limo and driving from there?”

“Not in this darkness, unless it’s an absolute emergency,” he said, tone flat. “Dangerous, especially if you’re not familiar with the trail.”

“To me, this is an emergency.”

“Not enough to risk a broken leg in a pot hole. Be serious, Ms. Ryan.” He raised a brow. “What’s one more day going to matter? You could leave early tomorrow without risk.”

What he said made sense, but she didn’t have to like it. She certainly didn’t want to stay shacked up with him, miles from anywhere. It was time to be proactive, and get her own ticket outa this sticky mess.

“You’re invited for dinner. Minni’ll—”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Fine.”

His indifference infuriated … then she glanced down at the bedding in her hands. Odd, she hadn’t had them when she first lay down by the fireside.

She frowned, and an image pushed its way to the forefront of her mind. Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, she’d felt a gentle hand lift her head and slip the pillow beneath…cover her with the blanket. She thought she’d been dreaming but—

“Did … uh … you bring the blanket?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want you catching cold.”

“Thank—”

“A sick Karate coach wouldn’t do me any good,” he said, cutting off her polite remark with his callous words.

Jerk. She threw the blanket at him.

He caught it. “Your hand must be okay.”

The pillow followed. He ducked and it sailed over his head, landing on the sofa behind him.

“Mad about something, Ryan?” He rubbed his earring with his thumb, his face the picture of innocence. “I was only thinking of your well-being.”

“Don’t do me any favors, Rogers,” she snapped. “And to think that I’d begun—” She skidded to a halt.

“You were saying,” he prompted, amusement twitching the corner of his mouth.

“None of your business.” She turned her back to him and stared at the fire in the grate.

A few flickers struggled to survive. Overly confined, flames couldn’t breathe, fizzled out. She was starting to feel like that and she resented it.

Controlled wildfire could sweep across … clear … a new beginning. He’d done that for her four years ago, when he financed her dojo; she would not let him take that away from her.

Pressure seemed to be building around him, and she pitied the person who got caught in its explosive wake. A showing was sure to be in the cards … and she’d bet, soon. She’d skip out long before then and not get trapped in the crossfire.

Her temples throbbed. She’d almost believed the story about his son. Wha-a-at? She hadn’t seen a child around. And the burning question—where was the wife?

“If you change your mind, dinner is at eight. Be prompt.” The deep timbre of his voice skewered her thoughts aside, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the door closing behind him. Immediately, his arm shot around the jamb. He flicked on the light switch, withdrew and was gone.

Stella blinked from the sudden glare and sank on the couch. Hugging the pillow, she laid her head upon it—too bad she’d missed her target … him. He rattled her, stirring feelings inside her that were yet unclear. She wanted to dismiss the emotion together with the man who lit the fuse. She laughed, a humorless sound. That would be impossible. One couldn’t disregard a man like Stan Rogers, not with his magnetism, his potent sexuality. Hate him, yes, ignore him, never.

***

Stella declined dinner and paced the floor of her room, plotting her course of action. In a few hours, everyone would be asleep. Except her.

In the meantime, she had to contend with hunger pangs pummeling her stomach. Eight hours had passed since lunch, and the mouth-watering aromas drifting upstairs from the kitchen didn’t help matters. She leafed through a magazine, realized it was upside down and slapped it back on the stack. She sighed, and flicked on the TV, changed her mind and flicked it off. She had to concentrate … focus. Her mind veered to the bearded man and a million questions flittered through her mind.

A sudden knock on the door made her jump and she turned, alert.

Minni opened the door and stepped inside, balancing a tray in her hands.

“Oh, Minni, you’re a lifesaver.” Stella seized the tray laden with food before it toppled to the floor.

“’Twas Mr. Rogers’ idea.” She winked and smoothed her hands over her apron. “He thought ye might be hungry by now. Said ye could pout all ye want, but eat something ye must.”

Stella snatched a cheese sandwich and bit into it with gusto, barely hearing her gentle reprimand. Almost choking on the piece, she forced it down and grabbed the glass of milk.

“Mmm, this is absolutely delicious,” she mumbled between mouthfuls, rolling her eyes. “Thanks, Min.”

“Not at all, Miss,” Minni replied. “’Tis a pleasure to have a fresh young face around here for a change. We don’t get many visitors up here.”

“I’m not surprised.” What with the ogre ordering everyone around. “It’s so far away,” she added, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

“Not at all,” Minni said. “This being one of the lower peaks of the Coast Range” –she paused and calculated— “wedged between Grouse and Whistler, it’s about an hour from the main road to Vancouver.”

Bingo.

Stella drained the glass and set it back on the tray. The hike to the road would take about half an hour. If she managed to make it that far and was lucky to catch a bus on its last run, she’d be snoozing in her own bed by midnight. It was risky, but she was determined to try.

“Minni, do you mind if I ask you something?” Stella reached for an apple and buffed it to a shine across her sleeve. “Where’s the boy and his mom?”

“Mrs. Rogers doesn’t live here.” Minni straightened her apron and fidgeted with the ruffled edges. “As for the boy, he’s—”

At that moment, Stan bellowed from below and the woman started, breaking off mid-sentence. Stella could have screamed.

“Goodnight, lass.” Minni hurried out, mumbling about grocery lists to discuss before retiring for the night.

Drat the man! Stella bit into the apple, imagining it was a part of his anatomy she dug her teeth into. Juice dribbled down her chin. She flicked it off with her fingers, licked them clean and tasted sweet tartness.

Moments later, Stella set the tray in the hallway and listened.

Whispers of voices filtered up the stairs, and she closed the door. Stepping across to the bed, she bounced on the edge a couple of times and lay down.

Her eyelids felt heavy. She stretched her arms above her head, contemplated the wooden beams of the ceiling and counted backwards from one hundred. By the time she got to one, she closed her eyes. Bliss. The bed was so comfortable and she was so very tired … she mustn’t fall asleep, mustn’t …

The sound of a door slamming echoed through the walls and startled her from her semi-doze. She pushed hair off her face, rubbed her eyes and yawned. A pause, and she slid off the bed. It creaked. She froze. When she didn’t hear anything, she tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack.

The tray was gone and tranquility filled the lodge. She closed the door, leaned her head on the jamb and counted to ten. Twisting around, she hurried to the window and raised the already half open shutter. Pungent forest scents sailed to her. The night was dark as a witch’s cauldron and still as a cat about to pounce. A nervous giggle bounced its way up her throat, and she slammed her hand over her mouth. A moonbeam flitted from behind a cloud, and trees swayed in the breeze, creating ghostly images.

Stella took a deep breath, exhaled, and climbed over the ledge onto the roof. Crouching like a cat burglar, she was ready to jump but changed her mind and crawled forward, peeking over the edge. A drainage pipe swiveled down the side of the building. She grabbed onto it, the metal felt cold and hard beneath her fingers as she inched her way to the ground. Almost there, she missed her footing, swallowed her scream and careened off, landing with a thud. She scrambled to her feet, dusted herself off, thankful that no bones were broken. Bruised, she rubbed her tush.

Night breeze smacked her hot face and pierced through her one layer of clothing, chilling her sweaty skin. She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself. Staring at the trail disappearing into the eerie forest, Stella wondered if she’d made a smart decision.

The tense moment passed, and she chuckled, shaking off the foreboding. Tiptoeing to the garage, she stepped through the half open door and rummaged the shelves for a flashlight. She would return it by mail; she eased her conscience.

Suddenly, lights blazed.

Her heart vaulted into her throat. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness and someone grabbed her. She screamed.

Chapter 4

“I should’ve known you’d try something foolhardy.”

Stella struggled to pull out of his arms. “Leave me alone, Rogers.” She stomped hard on his foot and he loosened his hold a fraction. In that instant she wrenched free, served him a front kick to the abdomen and dashed from the garage.

“Spitfire.” He tackled her and she tumbled to the ground, breath knocked out of her. Flipping her on her back, he straddled her and pulled her arms over her head, imprisoning them in his grip. “What now, my Karate gal?”

“You infuriating, no good—”

“Didn’t think you’d run from a challenge, Ryan.”

Wriggling beneath him, she kicked her legs in the air and twisted her arms to escape him.

“Thought you were tougher.” Stan leaned closer and looked deep into her eyes, the bristle of his chin a stimulant on her skin. “Hmm, could I have made a mistake … rarely known to happen, but with you—”

“You pompous a—”

He yanked her up so fast, she slammed into his chest, breath bursting out of her. Moonlight cast shadows across his features—his eyes, his cheekbones … his mouth … him.

Dark. Mysterious. Sensual.

He lowered his head, his lips a feather breadth from her own, his breath a warm caress upon her skin. A puff of air caught in her throat. Beneath her hands, his heart pounded to the wild beat of her own.

“Come on.” With his hand firmly on her elbow, he walked her to the house, an impatient rhythm to his stride. “I told you Fred would drive you home tomorrow. Now, go to bed.”

“All right, all right.” She skirted around him into the hallway, the sting of her words scouring her tongue. Anger was directed more at herself than at him, because what he said made sense.

***

Stella fluttered her eyelashes open and squinted at the clock on the wall. Six-thirty a.m. In limbo for a second, she yawned and everything rushed back in her mind. She groaned. Throwing off the covers, she slid out of bed and headed to the window. She peered up at the sky. Sunshine filtered through fluffy clouds.

Relief. No snow.

Forest creatures heralded the beginning of a new day, and nature’s serenity washed over her. She turned away, lifting the flannel nightgown Minni had left for her the night before, over her head.

A scream pierced the air.

She froze in mid-motion, and the nightie fell back in place over her body. The shrill sound penetrated the walls again. She yanked the door open and flew into the hallway, pausing a second to determine its direction.

Muffled weeping.

Stella hurried to a half-open door several yards away and tiptoed inside. Except for a faint nightlight, the drawn drapes shrouded the room.

She blinked to adjust her eyes to the dimness and saw him. The child lay curled beneath the blankets on the bed, his head half buried under the pillow, his sobs echoing around her. She stepped nearer and brushed his shoulder with a gentle hand.

“Mommy.” He hiccupped on a sob and peeked at her from beneath his woolen fortress, his damp lashes fringing his blue eyes.

A hit in the gut. They were the exact replica of the ogre’s.

She swiped her moist palms on her nightgown and sat on the edge of the bed; he fell into her arms. Rocking him into a semi-doze, she was about to tuck him beneath the covers, when the door burst open.

“What’s wrong?” Stan demanded, strain carving his features. “Is he all right?” He fastened the belt around his robe, but the material sagged across his chest, revealing the scatter of gold curls.

“Shh.” Stella placed a forefinger on her lips and tried to ignore her pulse bruising her ribs.

He shook his hair off his brow, his drowsy gaze catching and holding her own. She held his greatest treasure in her arms. Swallowing, she bit her lip and tried to analyze her reaction to him. She couldn’t. At that moment, the child stirred in her arms and put a stop to her troubling thoughts.

“What’s up, sport?” Stan asked.

The boy snuggled closer to Stella.

“I see you’re okay.” He stepped nearer to help put him to bed, and his foot caught on the frayed mat. Toppling off balance, he grabbed for the bedside table, the lamp crashed to the floor and he followed.

Jarred awake, the child gaped at Stella, then at his father sprawled on the carpet. “Let go, witch.” He pummeled her chest with his fists. “Witch!”

Stella let him go. He scrambled from the bed and knelt beside his father, crying.

“I’m all right, Troy.” Stan shuffled to a sitting position and hugged him close. “Poppa’s okay.”

The scene tugged at her heart, and feeling like an intruder, Stella walked for the door.

“Hold it, Ms. Ryan,” Stan said.

Stella paused, every nerve in her body tensing.

“Time you met my son, Troy.” He pushed himself to his feet and whispered to the boy.

“Ho-ow do you do, Ms. Ryan.” Troy drew closer to his father and clutched onto his pyjamas. Slowly, he stretched out his thin hand.

Stella reached out and the moment her fingertips brushed his, he snatched his hand back, hiding it behind his back.

“What’s cracklin’, Troy?” Stella smiled, and squatted to match the child’s height. “Your room’s cool, dude.”

Intrigued, Troy stared at her but remained glued to his father’s side.

Stella patted her hands on her thighs and stood. Her gaze skittered from the son to the father, and settled on him for a heartbeat.

An erratic beat.

A troubled beat.

She glanced down at her bare feet, then wished she hadn’t. A blush warmed her cheeks. That, and the flimsy nightgown she wore made her feel vulnerable.

A distinct disadvantage.

Abruptly, she turned and walked away, the carpet cushioning her footsteps.

“We’ll see you at breakfast, Ms. Ryan,” Stan called after her as she slipped out the door.

An hour later, Stella bounced down the stairs to the dining room. She had to go without makeup, even lipgloss. She’d swept her hair up and fastened it in a ponytail with an elastic she found on the dresser. Unable to bring herself to wear her sweat-stained jogging suit again, she succumbed and slipped on the Karate gui she found on the bed that first day; the whisper of silk, a seductive caress over body. The scarlet shade complimented her fair complexion. She tied the sash around her waist and chuckled. It’d be flashy in a tournament, but so inappropriate for working out. She preferred her well-worn guis and her hard-earned black belt strapped around her waist.

The instant she entered the room, Stella felt like a specimen under a magnifying glass. Both father and son gaped at her. She wiggled her shoulders and stood her ground.

“Perfect timing, Ms. Ryan.” Stan rose from his chair, his gaze strobing over her silk-clad curves. “The uniform fits.”

“Gui,” she corrected, plunking down in the nearest chair.

“Independent to the hilt—” He resumed his seat, his muttered words for her ears alone.

“Have to be,” she fired back, smiling to take the sting from her words with the child still staring at her. “Especially these days” –she paused— “and in these circumstances.”

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