Riches to Rags Bride / The Heiress's Baby

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.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said. “I startled you. I should have made more noise or—”

Suddenly, he stopped talking and Genevieve looked up to see what had interrupted his speech. He was looking at the walls, which were …

A mess. A series of loops and sloppy brushstrokes. Obviously, she had taken her erratic thoughts about Lucas and translated them to her work. Embarrassment rushed through her. And Lucas was shaking his head.

“Genevieve, why are you painting?” he asked. “I thought we agreed that you had completed your hands-on tasks.”

They had. “I—” His frown sent her words stumbling. She looked at the walls that appeared to have been painted by a child. All of this would have to be redone. More paint. More work. More time wasted when she knew he was already on a tight deadline. The other day when he’d been there he’d received a phone call regarding the job in France. They needed him there soon, possibly sooner than originally planned. If he’d hired someone more experienced than she was … maybe he would hire someone like that and let her go. She hadn’t made nearly enough progress. “Lucas, I know I haven’t lived up to expectations yet. But I will. I promise.”

To her surprise she wanted to add, Please don’t send me away, but that was too personal. It sounded too much like she wanted to stay here to be with him. Thank goodness her voice was shaking too much and her sense of self-preservation stopped her. Why was she even thinking such a crazy thought, anyway? Most likely because Lucas had voiced concern about her safety. That must be all it was, because certainly he was nothing to her. She didn’t want to feel anything for him.

But she couldn’t stop herself from looking up at him. And what she saw there wasn’t anger, but something that looked a lot more like sadness, a hint of pain. It flickered in his eyes and then it was gone.

Heaven help her, but she wanted to move close to him and touch him, to apologize again for not being what he had expected. She knew this project was important to him. She hated the fact that she was messing things up.

And the fact that she wanted to help him, to touch him?

It totally petrified her. It was like looking over the rim of the Grand Canyon and feeling your feet slipping. She seriously needed to step away from the edge Lucas represented.

Lucas looked at the loopy, layered paint on the wall. When he had come across Genevieve she had been painting away, clearly involved in her thoughts instead of her work and going at the wall with vigor.

He wondered if that Barry guy, that ex-fiancé who had cleaned out her accounts, had tried to contact her again. Was that what had her so distressed?

Lucas felt a growl coming on. Why was he even thinking such thoughts when Genevieve’s personal life was none of his business?

Darn right, but … she was distressed and right now she was on his property, in his employ, living under his roof. That made her … his.

No! It didn’t. It simply made him partly responsible for her, especially since he clearly had her scared to death that he was going to let her go.

Grr. Damn him for being an unfeeling jerk. Lucas shook his head. “I’m not going to fire you, Gen. Stop that. I’m sorry I ever even mentioned that possibility.” While having her here was proving to be more complicated than he had hoped, she was working hard, she was trying, she had met him halfway on moving here when she hadn’t wanted to and she had some good ideas on how to dress up this place. And there was one more reason he didn’t intend to fire her. He just didn’t want to hurt her.

Hadn’t he already done that? Because the fact that she was scared and afraid of losing her job was a kind of hurt, wasn’t it?

When he’d mentioned letting her go, it hadn’t really been because of what she’d done or not done, but because of how she affected him. She awakened hard-to-control desire in him. His problem, not hers. Threatening her with termination had been a purely selfish, defensive move. An ugly move. But then, he’d done ugly, selfish things before. And Angie, at least, was still paying the price.

Lucas tensed again as the memories of all the people he’d hurt and who had hurt him threatened to descend. Control the situation, he told himself.

“Genevieve, don’t worry about the wall. It’s just paint. Not life or death. It’s fixable.” When so many things in life weren’t fixable. Like a woman who had been scarred because the person she most trusted and cared about had failed to protect her.

“Lucas?”

He looked down at Genevieve. Those big green eyes were worried. “You don’t have to be gentle with me just because I’m inexperienced and still learning the basics. I can tell that you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry at you.”

To his surprise she crossed her arms and gave him an incredulous look. “You’re positively glowering. Lucas, I told you I’m not a child. Just look at this mess. It wasn’t incompetence but inattentiveness and I won’t make that mistake again. Here, I’ll show you. I’m going to totally fix it. Right now.” She reached for the paintbrush.

That was when he noticed the cut on her hand. And was it his imagination or was she thinner than before? Were those circles beneath her pretty eyes? Was she losing sleep, trying to get this job done for him, to finish up that long list he’d given her in a too-short time frame while he’d failed to notice because he was trying to keep his distance from her?

A rough word escaped his lips. Reaching out, he gently grasped her hand, resting it on his much larger palm as he examined it closely. There were scrapes, a long, thin cut. “You’re hurt,” he said, his voice harsh.

“No, I—I’m fine. I just … snagged it on the paint-can opener. I was rushing, trying to do things too fast. Not anything major. It’s fine.” But her fingers trembled against his. Her entire body was trembling.

“Gen, you’re not fine. You’re pushing yourself too hard. I caused this, didn’t I? With my talk of how important it was to get in there and do the tough stuff and that stupid comment I made about letting you go … I—damn, you’d think a man like me would have already learned how easy it is to hurt someone, wouldn’t you? I’m sorry for letting it come to this.”

“No, Lucas. Really. Please don’t apologize. Don’t think I’m fragile or that I have to be protected or treated with some sort of deference because I lack experience. I don’t want that.”

She had scrambled closer. He still held her hand and now she placed her other hand on his chest. To stop him. To shut him up. He felt her touch right down to his core.

“I know,” he said with the smallest of smiles. “You’re one tough lady. You’re independent,” he managed to say. “But, Gen, you’re trembling. Is it because you thought that I might fire you? I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“No. I’m okay. If you said I could stay, then I trust that you meant it.”

“You trust me.” Don’t trust me, he wanted to say. How many women had trusted him and regretted it when he’d failed them?

“Yes. And I’m past that weakness I had a moment ago. I’m embarrassed about it and I’m better now. I’m strong.”

And as she looked up at him with those big green eyes, trying so hard to show him how strong she was … she was so very close, so soft, so determined, so earnest …

“You’re strong. I’m glad,” he said, covering her hand on his chest with his palm. The movement brought her closer and sent her fingers sliding against his skin. The sensation … he thought his heart might just pound its way out of his body. He looked at Genevieve, at those eyes, those soft pouting lips he coveted and …

“I’m strong, too, Genevieve, but I’m afraid I’m just not strong enough to resist this,” he said, and with one tug he pulled her into his arms. His mouth covered hers and finally, finally he got to taste her. She tasted of fresh peaches and intriguing woman and something else, something he couldn’t describe. But he liked it. He wanted it. He kissed her again, nearly devoured her as he began to lose control.

Her arm came around his waist. Her head tilted back. She returned his kiss, pleasing him. Very much. A tiny moan escaped her.

As if the sound had awakened her and brought her back to reality, Genevieve tore her lips away from his. She brought her hand up to her mouth. Her eyes grew even bigger. Scared. “No,” she whispered. “I absolutely can’t do this.”

Lucas recognized guilt the moment he saw it. He lived with it every day, and this moment, this day, would no doubt heap more guilt upon all that he already carried.

“You didn’t do anything,” he said. “I did. Please don’t worry about this. Don’t even think about it. It’s all on me. I stepped well over the line. I apologize for touching you.”

And because he was afraid that he might touch her again, scare her more, worry her more, he turned and walked away.

The truth was that he had done everything wrong with Genevieve from the start. He had hired her when he shouldn’t have, given her too much work, not understood her situation, forced his will on her by making her move here, and now he had kissed her. His self-control had been compromised from day one.

That was going to have to stop. From now on he needed to realize that the two of them had to work in concert. Only by succeeding at this job and standing alone would she claim that independence she craved. Only by completing this task and moving on to the next and the next could he begin to make amends for his past transgressions. When this was over, she needed to move on. He needed that, too.

No more touching, he told himself. But he still craved another taste.

Genevieve stared in the mirror. She touched her aching lips. Something had happened back there with Lucas.

“A lot of somethings,” she whispered. First of all, she had seriously messed up, allowing her daydreaming ways to get in the way of doing her job well. The room was a mess and she intended to fix it.

But more important than that was the other. Not the kiss. She wouldn’t think about the kiss. It had been too overwhelming, too wonderful, too insane, too … everything. Thinking about kissing Lucas—or worse, kissing him again—would make her crazy. As it was, her nerves were tingling. If she hadn’t somehow recalled herself, she would have been totally lost in his arms and then …

“Then, nothing, you idiot.” Because that was what happened with Lucas. She’d been warned. Women tripped over each other trying to get to that incredible mouth of his and then he got tired of them. He moved on. Always. Always. And anyway, she did not want a man, did she?

“No, I can’t want a man.” Certainly not Lucas.

Yet here she was, doing what she had forbidden herself to do. Thinking about the kiss.

So Gen forced herself to remember the other, the way Lucas, a man who exuded power and control had been so angry at the thought that he might have harmed her that he let that famous control slip. She’d seen the pain behind the mask.

Lucas wasn’t a man without feelings, as some thought. He was a man who didn’t want to feel. He kept it bottled up. What had he said? That line about how a man like him should have learned how easy it was to hurt a woman? Apparently, he had regrets, bad memories of past relationships. He wasn’t as cold as people said he was.

And there it was. Another brick in the wall that separated her from Lucas. Because if she fell in love with him and got hurt when he left her …

“I’ll be a part of his pain,” she said. Like Rita. Like … Angie? Was there a real Angie?

Don’t think about it. Don’t go there. And don’t get too close to him. It was immensely clear that any personal involvement between her and Lucas could only end up badly for both of them. Best to keep her distance.

A full hour after he had pulled Genevieve into his arms, Lucas was still agitated. He’d removed himself from the house to the yard, had taken off his jacket and was concentrating on splitting wood for the fireplaces for the winter. But the physical activity wasn’t chasing away his irritation.

What had he been thinking? Lucas thought, slamming the ax into the wood so hard that the two halves flew across the yard. He never got involved with his employees; he certainly never had anything to do with potentially vulnerable women. Yet he had kissed Gen, a move that was surely only going to complicate things in major ways.

What was a man to do in such circumstances?

“Man up,” he muttered, setting up another log and cleaving it cleanly in two. “Apologize.”

But he’d already done that. It didn’t feel like enough. The only thing to do now was move on. Never touch her again. Stop looking at her as a woman. At all.

Just do whatever you can to make this project move forward, make this project successful and get everything done and out of the way.

Then he would finally feel as if he deserved some small degree of absolution. By helping a few women forge a path back to happiness, he could find some solace.

But to do that he had to stop sidestepping time spent with Genevieve and just … get down to business. Surely if he kept his head down, his nose to the grindstone, and never touched her again, they could both walk away from this situation reasonably satisfied in just a few weeks.

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