Читать книгу Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride - Sun Chara - Страница 8

“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.”