Riches to Rags Bride / The Heiress's Baby: Riches to Rags Bride / The Heiress's Baby

It was a terrible idea, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He took her hand, her incredibly soft hand with its long, slender fingers, and her palm with its sweet center just meant for a man’s lips. As if that involuntary thought was controlling his actions, he raised her hand, his mouth only inches away from all that soft skin.

Stop, he warned himself.

She looked taken aback. He hadn’t spoken that stop out loud, had he? Or maybe it was the near kiss that had upset her. Either way …

“It’s a great idea,” he said again, releasing her. “Keep up the good work.” And then he made some stupid excuse and rushed away. He intended to give her several days free and clear of his company. At least as much as possible. He incorporated their daily reports into their drive time. He kept things businesslike, dry. Things should have been totally impersonal as they always were with his employees.

And yet they never were. As they drove down the mean streets, she seemed to notice everything and everyone and her heart bled for all of them. “Look at that poor man,” she said one day, pointing out a man who appeared to be begging for money not for himself but for the sick boy beside him, a boy who was playing kick ball when Lucas drove by the next day. She exclaimed about the woman with a baby carriage struggling over the bumpy parts of the street. Or a stray puppy. Or a man trying to sell newspapers that no one seemed to want to buy.

Genuine tragedy or scam, Genevieve ached for all of them. He had a bad feeling that sooner or later someone would take advantage of her soft heart.

Stop thinking about her, he ordered himself. She wouldn’t want his advice or want to hear of his concern. I have six locks, she had said, clearly disgusted by him even asking. He needed to just forget about her situation.

She wasn’t his concern, was she? Except … she was—damn her—another woman in peril. Another Angie. It almost seemed as if fate were mocking him by sending him someone like Genevieve just when he was trying to effect a change that would enable him to forever be free of her kind of woman. A woman in trouble, one whose situation was beyond his control when control was what he had always needed most, what he couldn’t survive without.

So, he cursed fate. He tried to ignore Genevieve’s situation and just get on with the project as quickly as possible.

Until the night when there was another robbery in her neighborhood.

And there it was. Again. His past breathing down his neck. Hot. Frightening. Careening out of control. No way to control the situation at all. He remembered Angie, who had lived in fear her whole life. Angie, whose life had been changed forever because of two men who should have protected her but who hurt and failed her and, ultimately, destroyed her.

Damn it, he had been one of those men and he could not survive hurting another woman like that or standing by and letting one get hurt when he had the means to stop it. Because he knew—all too well—that it was only a matter of time before someone noticed that a delicate flower like Genevieve was living smack in the middle of a “no holds barred, no crime left uncommitted” zone.

She would end up being hurt because he had left her there.

Because you have absolutely no right to interfere. She told you earlier in every way possible that she wants to fight clear of that place herself. And when that happened, she would no doubt return to the glassed-off world of the privileged, where rough men like him didn’t belong. That was a good thing.

Still, Lucas didn’t do a single push-up that night. His control that he had always relied on failed him.

Because damn it, he knew the streets like he knew his own thoughts. Six locks or eight locks or even ten locks wouldn’t matter if the bad guys wanted in.

One good look at Genevieve and they would want in.

Lucas swore. He waited for the morning. And then he went to Angie’s House.

Surely, if he did this right, he could get Genevieve out of his mind. Then he could go back to moving on with his life. And Genevieve could return to being … someone who didn’t matter to him at all beyond this project.

Thank goodness.

“So get on with it, McDowell. Make a deal with the woman. Get her out of your thoughts. Now. Today.”

Genevieve looked around the small den, which was substantially cleaner than when she had entered it at the beginning of the day. Then she looked down at herself. Okay, the delicate piping around the edge of the neckline of her top was slightly damp, there were a few dust smudges here and there, but unlike some of the other outfits she’d been wearing, this one might live to see another day.

An inordinate sense of accomplishment brought a smile to her face. “I did it,” she said to no one in particular.

“Did what?” Lucas’s unmistakable deep voice came from the doorway, and Gen whirled to find him studying her intently.

Automatically some major fluttering began in her stomach. She frowned at her own foolish reaction and squelched it until only a few tiny flutters remained.

“I …” She held out her hand. “It’s dumb.”

He waited.

“I cleaned an entire room by myself. I mean, it’s not perfect.” Because now that he was here, she was noticing that she had missed some dust on the windowsill and there were still a few cobwebs here and there and …

“It’s good,” he said.

Which might have seemed like faint praise to most people, but to a woman used to no praise? His words were truthful. Not overblown. He hadn’t said “great,” which she would have known was a lie. He had said “good” … which was the precise word to describe what she’d done.

“I …”

“Say thank you, Genevieve,” he suggested.

“Yes. Thank you. Did you need something? Is there something I need to do?”

He came into the room then. “Actually, there is. Have Thomas and Jorge gone home?”

She nodded. “Ten minutes ago.”

“Good. We need to talk.”

Uh-oh, the fact that he wanted her out of earshot of anyone else …

“Is there something I’ve done wrong?”

“No. It’s simply that I’ve decided that it would be a good idea if you stayed here instead of your apartment.”

“Here?” Away from that rat hole where she’d been living? Away from Mrs. Dohenny’s shrieks and accusations about the remaining few dollars she still owed? A sudden whoosh of relief rushed in. And then … it rushed out again. There was something calculating in Lucas’s expression and tone. Something wasn’t quite right.

Perhaps what wasn’t right was the fact that she had been so excited she hadn’t yet asked the obvious question. “Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s more convenient here, for one thing. Having you here will save time, speed up the process. Are you telling me that you’d rather stay where you are than live here?”

No. No. No. She just suddenly felt that there was something she was missing. Just as she had with Barry. And she felt as if a man was once again making personal decisions for her when the last time that had happened she had ended up with her self-esteem wrecked and her world in tatters.

“Mr. McDowell,” she began, trying to create some distance. It didn’t work. He raised that lofty, dark eyebrow. “Lucas,” she amended. “I know my apartment might be a bit … distasteful. And it’s probably a nuisance having to pick me up and bring me home, but I can work around that. You don’t have to drive me. Even with the construction, there’s another bus stop only a mile and a half away. I can walk from there.”

“I’m not worried about driving into your neighborhood, Genevieve. I lived in places like that long-term and I know what it’s like. It’s no place for a princess.”

She raised her chin. “I told you, I’m not a princess. Or even a debutante anymore. What I am is a grown woman, Lucas.” She wanted to add that she was a strong woman, but that would be a lie. She wasn’t there yet. Not nearly. Right now she was awkward, with no street sense, and she was making a lot of mistakes. But she wanted to be strong. And much as she wanted out of her apartment, letting a man make that choice for her, even a man she needed to please to keep her job … well, she had to try to have some say in this.

“You’re a woman, an adult,” Lucas admitted, his voice dark and deep, sending shivers through her. “But if someone bigger, stronger tried to take everything you own, you couldn’t prevent that from happening.”

Her courage and confidence were failing her. She wasn’t used to arguing. She’d never been good at it; her parents had always won every disagreement. Furthermore, Lucas was her boss. Arguing with him felt really wrong, but she just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how Barry had bullied her and betrayed her. She couldn’t seem to stop trying to assert herself. “You don’t know that I couldn’t defend myself. I could have had kickboxing lessons.”

He tilted his head. “Have you?”

Darn her need for honesty! “No.”

At least he didn’t look triumphant the way Barry would have when he had won a point.

“Genevieve,” he said, looking suddenly tired and exasperated. He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. “Why does this mean so much to you?”

She looked down. “I can’t afford to move here. I still owe a little money to Mrs. Dohenny, my landlady.”

“I’ll pay it.”

“No! No! I haven’t earned that much yet. And—”

“And …?”

She looked up then, daring to stare directly into those mesmerizing see-all gray eyes. “I know this sounds foolish.” And she was so tired of being thought foolish or inconsequential. Everyone she’d ever loved had thought of her that way. “The thing is … I’m penniless because my fiancé, who happened to be my financial advisor, tricked me out of my money. When that happened, I was humiliated, angry and clueless about how to go on, because all my life I’d let other people make my decisions.

“That was when I realized just how precious and important and empowering independence really is. So, I really need to make my own way in the world. No charity involved. No letting other people make my decisions. Of course, I understand that you have the right to control anything regarding my work, but please. This is where I live. It’s not work.”

He studied her for a minute, frowning.

“I apologize if I’ve made you angry,” she began, which seemed to make him really angry. He cut her off with a sudden slashing of his hand.

“If you want to be truly independent, you should speak your mind. No apologies. No letting me push you around when I’ve overstepped the boundaries of our work relationship.”

She bit her lip.

“Just as you did a moment ago,” he emphasized.

“All right. Then we can stop talking about my apartment? And I’ll take the bus from now on.”

Lucas opened his mouth to speak but the doorbell rang at that moment. He tilted his head and started to move toward the door at the same time as she did.

Genevieve stopped. So did Lucas. Then he waved her through. “My apologies. You’re the project manager, and

Angie’s House and any visitors here are in your hands. We’ll continue this discussion later.”

Which meant that she hadn’t won. Yet.

Stubborn, overbearing, infuriating man. No wonder women fell all over themselves trying to attract his attention. It must be the prospect of attaining the unattainable.

Thank goodness she wasn’t that susceptible.

Lucas watched Genevieve walk away, knowing he was handling this situation all wrong.

The truth was that Genevieve tied him up in frustrated knots. He admired her for sticking to her guns, but he needed to have her settled, clear of his conscience and out of his private thoughts. If she was here, safe, he wouldn’t have to think about her at all beyond the job. He would have compartmentalized her situation, controlled the danger zones, the loose ends, the tough, emotional stuff that had once made his life a nightmare. Plus, if she truly wanted to be empowered …

His thoughts were interrupted by Genevieve appearing in the doorway.

“That was a delivery of paint primer,” she told him with a frown.

“Something wrong with the order?”

She shook her head. “No, but up until now you and I have only spoken about what’s happening at Angie’s House. Here I was all set to show my stuff and prove that I could handle any situation, and all I had to do was tell him where to put everything. Nothing even remotely challenging about that.”

Lucas couldn’t help smiling just a little. “Don’t worry. You’ll face plenty of challenges before we’re through.

There are always setbacks and glitches. I suppose you’re looking forward to those.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Is this a trick question?”

He chuckled. “No, no tricks, but if it’s empowerment you’re after …”

“It is.”

“Then come stay here.” Like a dog that couldn’t ignore the bone, he came back to the topic that was keeping thoughts of Genevieve simmering in his conscience.

“That’s not empowerment. It’s giving in.”

A trickle of admiration at her tenacity slid through Lucas. He knew Gen didn’t like conflict, but she was making a stand. Too bad her stand conflicted with his. And with a cold, hard truth.

“It’s not giving in,” he said. “Think about this. A lot of the women who’ll come to live at Angie’s House know all about neighborhoods like yours because they’ve been there, they’re trapped there. If they see you as someone who’s lived in that world, kicked free and survived to grow stronger … that’s inspirational and empowering. It makes you a role model.”

She stood there, staring at him, her eyes wary. “It feels exactly like quitting.”

“It’s not. Gen, a good portion of the residents where I used to live stayed there because they were powerless to get away or change their circumstances. I was like that. Getting out empowered me and changed my life. It meant that I was taking control of the situation.”

Lucas didn’t miss the war taking place in Genevieve’s eyes. She wanted to take up his offer, but taking what she saw as the easy way out didn’t fit with her new life’s plan to be a strong woman. He was losing her.

As he’d lost others.

No. No. Strike that thought. Focus on the now, on taking charge, making things right. So, he fought his instincts, fought the urge to put his fist through something. In the past he would have done just that. But not now. Now he was all about control. Control was survival.

So he couldn’t stop. Not until he had made sure Genevieve was safe and until he’d restored the “no personal interest” parameters of their relationship and kicked free of his fascination with her. It was the only way he could continue to function with her, given his past. Given what he’d learned about Angie.

He ached to turn back time and save Angie, but he couldn’t. The only one he could save today was Genevieve. But he didn’t want to break her spirit. He couldn’t let the cost be too high.

Lucas cleared his throat, cleared his mind, focused on the key elements, on the truth. He knew how much she valued the truth.

“Genevieve, I won’t deny that I’m worried about you living in such a dangerous place, mostly because I know all about predators and the damage they do.” He glanced away. That was enough of that. She didn’t need to know more.

“But as I said, think about the good you could do if you became the first resident of Angie’s House. Your experiences these past few months would help you understand what these women, the future residents, have dealt with for years. The simple act of standing in their shoes could be very useful in your job.” His voice trailed off. There was nothing more that he could say. If she didn’t want to move here, if his arguments hadn’t convinced her, he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—try to force her.

For several seconds Genevieve said nothing. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was frowning. “You’re used to controlling your empire, aren’t you?”

Her voice sounded wistful, but she quickly rushed on. “I didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded.”

She stood there looking beaten. For a moment, Lucas wanted to take back everything he’d said even though all of it was true.

But he didn’t. He waited, hoping for a positive outcome. Eventually, she took a deep, visible breath and pushed her shoulders back in that way he’d seen her do when she was facing adversity. She plastered on a resigned smile. A small smile. “So, you think moving here will help me do my job better. Are you sure you’re not just giving me an easy way out?”

He couldn’t help himself then. He dropped his head and groaned. Then he laughed. “Gen, do you call the conversation we just had taking the easy way out?”

When he looked up, she was smiling. “I guess it was pretty uncomfortable. But let me ask you this. Why do you care where I live?”

“Why does it matter where you live?” Man, there was the tough question. Lucas wondered if he even understood all the reasons why. And he had no intention of examining his motives too closely. There certainly wasn’t a chance in hell that he would tell Genevieve about waking up in the night. Or about Angie or any of the rest.

Letting her know that he’d lived in poverty? That was common knowledge. The fact that he had pulled himself out of the gutter and become a success was part of what engendered respect among his peers and the public. But sharing more? No. He never let anyone in on the more intimate details of his life, especially those from his past.

“Beyond the reasons I’ve already given you,” he said. “Let’s just say that I can’t have my employees getting hurt. And think how bad it would look for Angie’s House if anyone thought that I paid my project manager so poorly that she had to live in a place where she needed six locks on her door.” He finished with a smile, trying to somehow turn this into something light and teasing. Because now he knew how much she longed for independence and pride, a need he understood all too well.

Genevieve tilted her head. “You’re very good at getting your way, aren’t you?”

Her voice was wistful. He felt as if he’d just manhandled a defenseless kitten. “I don’t like unpredictable situations, especially when they pertain to work,” he admitted.

“And this is work.” Her tone was questioning.

“Yes.” He wouldn’t let it be anything else.

“You’ll let me pay rent.”

“No.” Not when he was practically forcing her into this transition. Not when he needed her to make this change as much as she needed it.

But he could see she was going to object. “It’s work, remember?” he said. “Part of your job.”

She still didn’t look totally convinced, but finally she nodded. “Well, then. All right, Lucas. I’ll live in Angie’s House and I’ll try to make use of the extra hours I’ll be there to get more done.”

Lucas scowled at that. He controlled things but he didn’t overwork his employees. “Overtime isn’t necessary.”

Genevieve had a trapped look in her eyes. Her slender body trembled and she licked her lips nervously. Finally, she closed her eyes, then looked to the side, lifting her chin a bit imperiously. “I would like to ask you to reconsider that point at least. If I’m your project manager and my staying here is to set the reputation of Angie’s House and bring attention to it, then I should have some say in how things proceed, shouldn’t I? The goal of Angie’s House is to reenergize the spirit of the women who live here, you told me. So, as the first inhabitant … I would very much like to either pay rent or work overtime in order to feel that I am truly contributing and so that my spirit will be reenergized.”

She never raised her voice, but it was clear that if he said no, she would feel as if he didn’t value her service. And after the heavy-handed method he had used to get her to agree to this change …

Lucas swore beneath his breath. Okay, she had him over a barrel. He could push the issue, but … she was clearly a woman who had been misused, whose ego had been trampled. And he had sworn he’d never damage a fragile female again. It was another reason why he only dated women like Rita, women who were just as cold and calculating as he was.

Genevieve was nothing like Rita. She wasn’t cold enough, hard enough or experienced enough. In fact, he should never have hired her, but … letting her go would certainly damage her. She’d be out on the streets with nowhere to go. Now that he fully understood that …

“A little overtime would be all right,” he conceded. Because in the end he had gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? She would be safe. That meant he wouldn’t have to think about her anymore. From that moment on, the two of them would only be about the job.

But hours later he realized that moving her hadn’t totally solved the Genevieve problem. Vulnerable green eyes crept into his thoughts. He knew why, too. He owned Angie’s House. And even though he was staying in a high-rent hotel all the way across town, the truth was that Genevieve was now living, breathing and sleeping beneath his roof.

Right now she was probably lying in bed.

Lucas groaned. He tried not to think about Genevieve’s beautiful copper-colored hair spread out across a pillow or those long bare legs….

“Stop it. Don’t go there. Just … speed this up. Let’s get this done—finished—so you can walk away as you always do,” he whispered. It was a good plan. Two months from now, Genevieve Patchett would no doubt be back making the debutante rounds, and he would be far away. She would barely be a blip in his memory base.

Which was … excellent, because if this heat and temptation kept building, he would be kissing Genevieve’s pretty pink lips any day now.

And that would be the worst kind of mistake.

But it wasn’t going to happen. Order had been restored to his life. His solitary journey could continue.

He could finally get Genevieve out of his thoughts, couldn’t he?

CHAPTER FIVE

THE DAY AFTER GENEVIEVE moved in, she tried to throw herself into work, opting to paint one of the bedrooms herself, even though Thomas and Jorge were better painters. She needed activity. Not just planning. She needed to immerse herself in something purely physical, so that she wouldn’t have time to think. Because the truth was that already she was having trouble adapting to living in Angie’s House.

She knew why, too. This place was very nice. It was quiet and safe and even a bit lovely now that the decorating was beginning to take shape. But she just couldn’t seem to forget that Lucas owned this house. Living here, eating and sleeping and dreaming here … it all felt too physical, and she’d already discovered that she was very susceptible to Lucas’s touch. She couldn’t be thinking about him all the time or risk getting close to him.

Which was a ridiculous thing to worry about. He wasn’t about to let an employee get close. In truth, she knew very little about the man. She knew that he was rich, she’d searched around online and discovered that he had other philanthropic projects he was involved in besides this one. He provided free sporting goods to inner-city schools, he sponsored summer camps for poor children. What she didn’t know about him was anything … personal.

Except that for some reason he had decided to do more than give money to charity this time. He was personally involved in this charitable venture. Sometimes when he spoke about women who had terrible, frightening lives, a fleeting look of something, maybe anguish, came into his eyes. She’d seen it but she didn’t understand it at all.

Then, too, this place was called Angie’s House. Had there been an Angie or was it just a convenient moniker? And if there had been an Angie, had he been in love with her? Had he—

“Genevieve?” Lucas’s deep voice sounded behind her.

Genevieve jumped. She dropped the paintbrush onto the drop cloth, splattering blue paint, then rushed to pick it up, trying to hide her blush and her embarrassment.