RICHES TO RAGS BRIDE

MYRNA MACKENZIE

THE HEIRESS’S BABY

LILIAN DARCY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

I’ve always been fascinated by Cinderella stories—tales of strong women who finally catch a break and fight through to their happily-ever-afters—but what about the opposite? The woman who appears to have everything and then loses it all? It’s not a question I, as a writer, ask myself all that often.

But then Genevieve Patchett slipped into my thoughts. Born to wealth, she’s:

• Always had plenty of pretty, totally impractical clothes and a closet full of shoes.

• Been able to buy pretty much anything she wants throughout her life.

• The daughter of very famous parents, to top it off.

In short, she seems to have it all. Until she doesn’t. Because one day, when she puts her trust in the wrong person, it all vanishes. Just like that. No money, no home, no place to go, no one to turn to, nothing left but utter terror.

And that was when she caught my attention and refused to let go. Because who, after all, can help but worry about someone so ill prepared to face a dark and dangerous world?

I couldn’t, but I wasn’t so sure about the hero, Lucas McDowell. Lucas:

• Has been deserted and been forced to fight to make his way alone. Always.

• Swears he doesn’t have a heart and doesn’t want one.

• Has learned not to trust. Anyone. Especially not pampered rich girls.

Oh, yeah, Lucas’s attitude was a concern. And Genevieve, it appeared, wasn’t gong to make it easy on him. I didn’t really know what would happen if they spent too much time together. Disaster was a real possibility.

But I had to find out. I hope you enjoy their rocky backwards Cinderella story.

Best wishes

Myrna Mackenzie

RICHES TO RAGS BRIDE

MYRNA MACKENZIE

About the Author

MYRNA MACKENZIE grew up not having a clue what she wanted to be (she hadn’t been born a princess, the one job she thought she might like because of the steady flow of pretty dresses and crowns), but she knew that she loved stories and happy endings, so falling into life as a romance writer was pretty much inevitable. An award-winning author with over 35 novels written, Myrna was born in a small town in Dunklin County, Missouri, grew up just outside Chicago, and now divides her time between two lakes in Chicago and Wisconsin—both very different and both very beautiful. She adores the internet (which still seems magical after all these years), loves coffee, hiking, attempting gardening (without much success), cooking and knitting. Readers (and other potential gardeners, cooks, knitters, writers, etc.) can visit Myrna online at www.myrnamackenzie.com, or write to her at PO Box 225, La Grange, IL 60525, USA.

CHAPTER ONE

GENEVIEVE PATCHETT stared at the solid mahogany door of the office where she was scheduled to have the first job interview of her life. Despite being twenty-six, she had an empty resume, a lot of explaining to do and a stack of bills so high that her throat closed up every time she looked at it. And Lucas McDowell, the man who held her future and her very survival in his hands, was reputed to be a cold, hard businessman who only hired the best. She was not the best.

Reaching for the doorknob, her hand trembled and she gripped the knob tightly, turning her attention to getting in and trying to at least appear competent. She had to have this job. Her friend Teresa had gone out on a limb to get her this interview.

Genevieve opened the door just a touch … and immediately stopped. Muffled, angry sounds came from the other side of the door. Female sounds.

Getting louder.

Suddenly the door flew open, and she found herself staring at a tall, frowning brunette beauty.

Gen took a step back, and the woman barked out a harsh, ugly laugh. “Oh, don’t run away, sweetheart. He’s all yours now. Just be careful and don’t fall for him. He doesn’t have a soul.” Tossing her head, the woman glanced back over her shoulder. “Lucas, your next victim is here.”

With that, the woman moved down the hall, and Genevieve could finally get a good look at the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man standing behind a desk. For half a second she wondered if running was an option. Lucas McDowell might be wearing a suit most men couldn’t afford to even dream of owning, but he had the strong-boned face of a street fighter, gunmetal-gray eyes that seemed to see right through to all her insecurities and … he was frowning. At her. Not at the disappearing back of the woman, but at her.

“Come in. Shut the door. Sit down,” he said, motioning to a plush blue chair that faced the desk.

She did as he said, quickly and without a sound. She was used to anger and to being treated like a mouse. Her parents had been volatile people. Of course, she’d never before had so much riding on her behavior….

The man gave her a long once-over. His gaze passed over her face to the pulse in her throat and down to where her hands were clamped on the arms of the chair. With some effort, she slowed her breathing and loosened her grip.

“You’re Genevieve Patchett, I take it,” he said. “All right, let’s begin.” But it was clear as the wall of windows behind him that he had no interest in beginning anything with her. He was still frowning.

Genevieve wanted to whimper. For the thousandth time since her world, her security, and all that was familiar to her had been stolen six months ago, she felt as if she was hanging over the edge of a cliff by her fingertips. And slipping. The fear inside her was like a living being. Her reputation was destroyed, and soon the last of her money, all that was left of her fortune after her ex-fiancé financial advisor had emptied most of her accounts, would be gone. Then she’d be reduced to sleeping on the streets. So running from the only job interview she’d been able to secure didn’t appear to be an option. Lucas McDowell was either going to save her or eat her for lunch.

Stop it, she told herself. The man might have eyes with steel gates, he might be an industry giant, his recreational equipment company in the Fortune 500, but she had grown up in a family that was feted by the elite of the world. The fact that she was now reduced to scrambling for her next meal didn’t change that. And her parents had always told her that attitude, or at least the pretense of it, could get a person anything.

“Mr. McDowell.” She sat up very straight and tall and forced herself to ignore the unpleasant scenario with the woman she’d just witnessed. She did her best to stare straight into those intimidating silver-gray eyes. “I would like …”

“No,” he said, his voice like a silken knife as he cut her off. “Ms. Patchett, we both know that what you would like isn’t what’s going to decide your fate today.”

“My … fate?” The way he said it, as if he already had some sort of power over her when she’d walked in here of her own volition, made Genevieve feel ill. More alone than she already felt. Still, she’d been lucky that he’d granted her this audience, because the result of this interview would affect her a lot more than it would him. “Okay,” she agreed, waiting for him to go on. The urge to squirm under his insolent inspection was intense.

“Let’s make one thing clear. The only reason you’re here is that one of my employees just eloped to Australia and you’ve been recommended to me by Teresa March,” he said, although Genevieve already knew that. It was a sheer stroke of luck that Teresa had been in town visiting relatives and mentioned that Lucas, a man Teresa had once worked for, was in Chicago looking for an assistant just when Genevieve was starting to count her last pennies. Teresa hadn’t even hesitated. She’d insisted on trying to get Gen a job.

What should I say? Genevieve wondered. Should I say anything? Should I tell him how grateful I am to Teresa? Will that make me look too desperate? She didn’t know. Despite being twenty-six, this was all virgin territory for her. Debutantes didn’t have to worry about such things.

Go with your gut feelings, she thought, but doing that had made her trust Barry and enabled him to steal all her money and betray her, to hurt her. Still, Teresa might well have saved her life by getting her this interview. She deserved praise.

“Teresa is a saint,” she said, then blushed when Lucas lifted one eyebrow. Teresa had a well-known reputation as a fun-loving party girl even if she was a very intelligent party girl who never let her fun get in the way of work.

“Well, she’s not exactly a saint, but she’s really a very nice person, once you get to know her,” Genevieve corrected. “I … Of course you do know her and …”

Lucas’s expression told her nothing. He simply waited as she grew more flustered.

Genevieve wanted to clap her hand over her mouth. Why was she babbling? Lucas McDowell clearly didn’t consider her his dream candidate. Now, he was going to think that she had air for brains and send her away without a job!

“I’m incredibly grateful to her for getting this interview for me,” she concluded somewhat lamely, then immediately wondered if that comment made her sound too pathetically eager.

Giving her a quick but very thorough glance, one that made her feel as if he could read her thoughts and see right down to the pale pink stripe on her underwear, he casually scribbled something on a notepad. Genevieve’s heart started to pound more furiously than it already had been. She had a vision of herself spending her last dime and not knowing which way to turn or where to go.

“I’m sorry. I … Mr. McDowell, could we please start over?” she asked.

He put the pad down and came around the desk, leaning back against it and crossing his arms. Now he was close and so tall that Genevieve was forced to look up into those too perceptive eyes.

“Start over?”

“Yes. Like this. I’m Genevieve Patchett, I understand that you have a job to fill and I would very much like to be the person to do that job. I have references.” She pulled out the list Teresa had helped her compose and held it out. The fact that those references were mostly from people who might not yet have heard all the evil rumors Barry had spread about her made her feel guilty. She wanted to ask Lucas not to believe any gossip he heard about her, but Teresa had warned her not to. Still, it was difficult to keep her mouth shut. Dishonesty, even by omission, didn’t come naturally to her.

Lucas took the paper, his big hand just inches from hers. Her breath felt as if it was trapped in her chest as Lucas put the paper behind him on his desk without looking at it.

“You don’t want them?” Her voice came out too breathless.

“I don’t need them. I’ve already checked your background. I know all I need to know. If I hadn’t checked you out beforehand, you wouldn’t be here.”

“I see,” she said softly. But her mind was a whirl. What did he know? What had he heard? What hadn’t he heard?

For the first time, Lucas smiled slightly. He was a rough-hewn man, but even that hint of a smile transformed his face into something … mesmerizingly male and virile. And dangerous. Genevieve realized she was trying to push back farther in her chair before she stopped herself and years of lessons in posture kicked in. She sat up even straighter, raised her chin higher. Try to at least look confident and competent, she ordered herself.

“You don’t see,” he said. “But that’s not your fault. This job won’t be exactly like anything you’ve done before.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that she hadn’t ever had a job, then closed it. He’d said that he knew her background. If that was true, then he undoubtedly knew that. But maybe he wanted to test her honesty. She opened her mouth again, then shut it once more. Honesty could lose this for her. And then she’d starve and then …

“I—” She closed her eyes, prepared to do the right thing or at least hope that the words that came out of her mouth would be the right ones. It was still a matter of choosing truth over famine. A woman couldn’t eat truth for breakfast.

“You’ve never had a real job before, have you?” he asked, ending her dilemma.

A wave of nausea swept over her. She swallowed hard. “Does it matter?” Please say no. Please say no.

“I don’t know yet. It depends.”

Her heart started pounding. This must have been what walking a tightrope over a roiling river felt like. There were so many mistakes a person could make, and any one of them would land her in the water.

Genevieve took a deep, shaky breath, hoping that the man didn’t notice how nervous she was. “What—what does it depend on?”

“For starters, you don’t have a clue what this job even entails yet, do you?”

“Not really.” She hoped that it didn’t entail anything too revolting or something that was beyond her abilities. “What do you want me to do?”

“What I want if you suit, if I give you the job … well, let’s begin with a few questions about you.”

Exasperating man. He hadn’t answered her question and … oh, no, here came the tough part. Don’t ask me about the lies Barry spread about me, because I’ve already had too many people turn their backs on me because of that.

“What do you consider to be your talents?”

Uh-oh, this felt like one of those questions that could get her thrown out the door before the interview had even begun. “I …” Under less nerve-racking circumstances, I can make small talk, I know how to dress, how to choose a good wine, how to oversee servants. Somehow she doubted that any of those were going to be of any assistance here. “I’m not sure exactly what kind of talent you’re looking for,” she said, stalling and hoping he would give her a hint that she could build on.

“Not really an answer, is it?” he said, catching her in the act. “All right. I need someone who knows how to make things happen.”

Bad news, since the only things she’d made happen lately were bad things. She was not going to say that, she thought, feeling suddenly faint. Don’t keel over, she ordered herself. Just don’t.

“I’ve …” Her voice cracked. Somehow she managed to swallow, take a deep breath and start over. If she didn’t come up with a suitable answer now, if she didn’t sound convincing, she was going to lose this chance. Genevieve struggled to keep breathing normally. “I’ve—I’ve organized … events and managed guest lists,” she said, her voice coming out amazingly strong, given how frantically her heart was pounding. Okay, the event was merely a big society party her parents threw every year, and frankly, her part had never been that difficult. Her parents always told her exactly what they wanted and they always wanted the same thing. As for the guest list, people had always flocked to see her parents’ art, so her main task had been whittling the list down to manageable proportions. Her role had always been a quiet one both in planning the party and in keeping records of her parents’ work.

Lucas folded his arms over his chest, which only served to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders and made her feel even smaller than she was. A small smile lifted his lips. As if he knew what she was thinking. She hoped he didn’t know what she was thinking.

“Your parents, Ann and Theo Patchett, certainly set the world on fire with their flair for design and their talent with stained and blown glass. I understand that you traveled with them everywhere, were at their side at every event, and I imagine that you were born making things happen.”

But he imagined wrong, Genevieve thought. Her parents had been personalities and she had learned how to do all the things they wanted, how to dress and walk and talk and smile and how to quietly live in the large shadow they cast, how to bolster their egos. There was nothing powerful about her. And in recent history, nothing wise. After her parents’ deaths, she had been taken in by a con man, one her parents had adored and introduced her to. She had been engaged to that con man, robbed by him and dumped by him, too. She hadn’t made things happen.

Apparently, Lucas McDowell thought otherwise. Should she tell him the truth?

No, you’re good at following orders. Just … follow orders and try to do what he tells you. If he hires you, that is.

“Your parents decorated some of the most luxurious homes in the world,” he was saying. “Teresa caught me just when I was going to begin interviewing candidates. I need someone who knows decorating and has organizational skills. I’m extremely interested in that kind of talent.”

Genevieve wondered exactly what Teresa had told Lucas and how well he actually knew Teresa. Teresa was a smart woman, no doubt she’d been a good employee, but she had no aversion to embellishing a story, either. If Lucas thought that Genevieve was a creative genius like her parents and if he found out the truth … Genevieve couldn’t brazenly lie, not after what had happened with Barry. She opened her mouth to say that she was nothing like her parents, then shut it again. Wasn’t there some way she could make this work out for both herself and Lucas?

“I don’t have my parents’ experience on a commercial level or … okay, on any level,” she said truthfully, “but I have spent my whole life in beautiful rooms, admiring them, studying them for long hours, in some cases cataloguing the details when my parents wanted assistance.” Which wasn’t what he was looking for at all, she didn’t think, but … he studied her closely.

She tried not to squirm or to think of him as a gorgeous man. That was so not relevant. Her trust had been betrayed many times in her life in small ways, but never so thoroughly as it had been with Barry. Love—being blinded by a man—had been her downfall. It wasn’t happening again. Even if the incident with the beautiful brunette hadn’t taken place, Teresa had already warned her that Lucas had a solid reputation as a fast-moving rolling stone and a heartbreaker who never really let his guard down with a woman. She’d also said that he was totally tempting, but she needn’t have bothered.

It doesn’t matter how astoundingly virile he is, Gen thought. She didn’t want a man. Of any kind. All that she wanted right now was work. Money. Salvation. A new life where she would stand on her own two feet, order her own world and rely on no one. Trust no one. Love no one. Simple rules.

But first she had to get the job. She looked up to find Lucas studying her closely.

“Who chose your outfit?” he suddenly asked.

“Excuse me?” She blinked and lurched in her chair, but she quickly regained her calm expression. What an odd question, but … so what? Maybe he was just some sort of eccentric. As long as he wasn’t a lecher or an ax murderer—and she’d never read anything that indicated that he was either of those—nothing else mattered beyond the fact that he had a job that needed filling.

“I chose it.” Okay, she’d had it made. She’d had plenty of money at the time.

“Hmm.”

Genevieve tried to keep from responding to that. And lost the battle. “Is that a bad ‘hmm’?”

“It’s an interested one.” He looked at her bronze skirt and dark gold blouse with the small, cream-colored star-shaped glass buttons she’d made herself, each one slightly asymmetrical and different from the next. “The effect is muted, tasteful, in some ways even a bit old-fashioned.” Which was right. This was one of the oldest outfits she had. “But the buttons are … most unusual. They’re a bit out of step with the rest of your attire, but in spite of being a bit unconventional, they work. It’s an outfit, not a room that needs decorating, but the skills are related. You know about color and planning and how to mix things up so that the big picture works. And the colors complement your red hair.”

Genevieve was grateful that he hadn’t used the word fiery. Her parents hadn’t cared for her hair’s particular shade of red and had tried to get her to dye it many times. Barry had hated it, preferring blondes. Or at least preferring the blonde he’d spent Genevieve’s money on. In her one act of defiance she’d kept the color but had toned things down by pulling her hair back and out of the way in a severe ponytail that made her hair less noticeable. Or so she’d hoped.

“The skirt is too short, though,” Lucas said suddenly, and automatically Genevieve looked down to her crossed legs. The skirt exposed her knees and a bit more.

She bit her lip.

“Say it,” he said.

“I’m … sorry,” she said, although she wasn’t sorry. She was chagrined. Lucas was either not going to hire her or he was going to be very difficult to work for. “I … this is the length I usually wear my skirts. Will this be a problem with your dress code?”

Lucas looked amused. “I don’t have one. I just wanted to know if you would defend your choice.”

“I—” She wanted to tell him that he was being unfair. She was interviewing and was afraid to argue with a potential employer. But telling someone they were being unfair wasn’t her style. She was the “go along to get along” type. And right now she was scared and nervous and tired and hungry.

“I wish you wouldn’t play games with me,” she said, surprising herself. Maybe she was more tired than she’d realized, because she was definitely acting stupid. What man would hire someone who reprimanded him? She opened her mouth to apologize.

Too late. Lucas was already speaking. “You’re right. My comment was unfair, given the circumstances. So, let’s just do this. For the rest of this interview, you try turning off the nerves and act exactly the way you would if you were already working for me. All right?”

“And …” She swallowed hard. “That is … what if you don’t like the way I act?”

He shrugged. “I won’t hire you. The minute I have an inkling of doubt I’ll end the interview. Is that fair?”

It was terrifying. “Are you always this frank, Mr. McDowell?” If he hired her, would she be on full alert every hour she was on the job?

“Always.”

He stared directly into her eyes, and she couldn’t look away. That intense expression of his … she felt as if he was daring her to object to his tactics. Genevieve’s body began to hum with awareness. This man was very potent, and the fact that he held her future in his hands was very scary, but she had told herself that she preferred truth to deception and just because that truth was unnerving wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Because

Lucas McDowell hadn’t ended the interview yet. She still had a chance to get back on to solid ground.

“I think … I’m good with all this, Mr. McDowell. You’re being fair.”

“I’m being a bit of a jerk, and your skirt’s just fine.”

It was. It was perfectly decent. Even so, Genevieve was suddenly aware of her knees in a way she’d never been aware in her life. She was very conscious of the fact that Lucas McDowell had been studying her legs. Even though he had shown no interest whatsoever.

“Okay,” she said.

He looked as if he was going to smile, but … not quite. “Okay, that I’m a jerk or that your skirt fits the bill?”

“I—”

He shook his head. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Answer this, instead. Do you have any strong feelings about the homeless, about people who have no money or prestige, people who may have been in trouble? ”

I’m seriously going to faint, she thought. Is he talking about me? How much research did he do? Does he know everything about my situation?

“I think … that people shouldn’t be judged by their financial situations. I would hope that most people felt that way.” Even though she knew that that wasn’t the case.

Lucas nodded. “All right. Last question. You and Teresa haven’t seen much of each other since you’ve grown up, but when you were young, you were close, she tells me. I’m sure she shared secrets with you. I make it my business to know everything about my employees past and present. Can you tell me some of those secrets?”

“No!” Genevieve’s voice came out a bit too loud, but shock at the bizarre and rude question rushed through her. For a moment she felt physically ill. Maybe she’d never interviewed for a job before, but she was sure that such questions were out of line and just plain alarming. What kind of man was this?

She looked up at Lucas and knew that in that moment, with that no, she had sealed her fate. The sick feeling grew. Lucas was gazing at her intently, waiting, those gray eyes mesmerizing. Hard. Cold. Demanding. What would it be like to have no money, no home, no food? No doubt she was about to find out.

“No,” she said again, softly this time. Teresa, despite her playful attitude and her money, had had a harsh childhood. She trusted Genevieve. “No.”

Lucas’s cold gray gaze softened, just a touch. “When can you begin work?” he asked.

“What?”

“Work. When can you begin work? That’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I thought—your question … I …”

“Most people have a few dark secrets in their closet. I have no interest in prying into Teresa’s past. What I needed to know was whether you would spill those secrets in order to get a job. That’s all I needed to ascertain.”

His deep voice delivering the news she most needed to hear seemed to rumble right through her body, touching every nerve ending on its journey. Genevieve let out a deep, shaky breath, still disoriented and more than a little alarmed by her physical attraction to this man when he was so obviously someone who didn’t play by the rules. She had been fooled by people reputed to be straight shooters. How on earth could she deal with someone whose methods she couldn’t even begin to understand?

“I’m afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. McDowell. Teresa told me that the job might involve a little decorating, some clerical or organizational skills. She told me what little she knew, but … as I mentioned earlier, I have no real idea what the job will entail or why you would need to know whether I would spill my guts about a friend’s past.”

“I know, and I apologize for the bizarre nature of this interview. My only rationale is that the work you’ll be doing, should you accept the task, is in some ways very public, but other parts are very sensitive. The person I hire has to be capable of dealing with sensitive personal information, but it’s difficult to measure that kind of loyalty. Most job candidates would insist that they were capable of discretion, but in reality not that many can resist retelling a juicy story. So, my apologies for my methods. I guarantee that from here on out, we’ll have the most practical and ordinary of business relationships.”

Genevieve highly doubted that. There was nothing ordinary about Lucas McDowell. “All right,” she said. “Can you tell me what the job is now, please?”

He looked slightly amused.

“What?”

“You’re exceptionally polite, given the fact that I no doubt creeped you out.”

She tilted her head. “You hold the cards.”

“So I do. All right, Genevieve, I’ve bought a large piece of property in the suburbs. The plan is to create a shelter for women who are down on their luck, a place to rebuild the lives of those who’ve been damaged by poverty or circumstances. We’re going to make it something the city can be proud of. I’m hoping it will spawn other such establishments, so we’re going to give it plenty of publicity. I want Angie’s House to be a perfect jewel, a success that will be the epicenter of a growing movement that will change lives. That means lots of buzz in order to jump-start the project with the public and potential sponsors of future Angie’s Houses.

“However, once we open the doors, we can’t forget that the women who’ll live there have already been betrayed by life. Some of them will want to keep the more personal aspects of their hardships to themselves. Others may put their trust in you by sharing parts of their stories. It’s important that whoever I hire knows how to put on a big show but also how to keep a confidence. I have to know that whoever works with me will talk up the concept while never betraying the trust of the prospective new tenants. It’s a fine line we’ll be walking.”

Genevieve knew what it was like to have her trust betrayed. She shuddered.

“That’s why you asked me about Teresa.”

“If you had tried to say one word about her past, I would have stopped you. And I couldn’t have hired you.”

She looked up into Lucas’s harsh face. “Mr. McDowell, I assure you that I understand. It isn’t always easy or smart to trust someone. Words aren’t enough.”

“Agreed.”

“So … why me?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I choose my employees carefully. Teresa is trustworthy. She recommended you. That alone wouldn’t have been enough, however. I need a good project manager and I’m sure I could have found someone else. You, however, have an edge.”

For the job of project manager? Genevieve wanted to close her eyes. Had Teresa overstated her skills? Did Lucas McDowell think she knew more than she did?

“What’s my edge?” she managed to ask.

“If you’ve organized your parents’ society events, you have a handle on how to make things happen and how to deal with time constraints, problems, setbacks and personnel. You’ve proven that you can keep a secret should that become necessary, and you have some experience with decor, something I lack. Furthermore, and most importantly, because as I said, I don’t want this project, Angie’s House, to be a single entity, you have the name to get people talking, to attract the kind of attention we need to bring in other donors for other houses.”

Genevieve struggled to keep her hands from shaking. The last thing she wanted right now was attention. The last thing she was capable of was bringing in people on the mere mention of her name.

She tried to swallow, struggled to find her voice. “You have a famous name.”

He shook his head. “I have money and a successful business. With a few exceptions, famous entrepreneurs don’t become household names. But people like your parents? World renowned artists? Yes, they do. Their name is like a glowing diamond. It puts people in a good mood, gets them excited. And you happen to share it.”

Genevieve’s heart fell a bit. Her importance hinged on her parents’ talents as it always had. She wanted to back away. But she couldn’t afford to.

“Does that mean I really do have the job?” She managed to ask.

“If you want it.”

She wanted it, but she must have been slow to say yes.

“If you don’t, tell me now. I’m on a strict timeline.

I have another job waiting in France when this one is done, an opening of a new store in Japan after that and I intend to finish up here in six weeks. So, if you can’t do this, Genevieve, or if you don’t want to, tell me. You’re free to go.”

She wanted to walk away. There were things she didn’t like about this setup. Her name, unlike her parents’ names, would be of no use. She should tell Lucas that. She didn’t really even have the skills he needed. And then there was the man, this intimidating, far too masculine man. But … hunger gnawed at her. Her faintness wasn’t only from nerves. She wasn’t free. She had to have this.

“I’d like the job, please,” she said. “I’ll be your …”

“Project manager.”

She nodded. The title was that belonging to a bolder person, one who knew how to take charge of situations and not be tricked or bullied into doing things she didn’t want to do.

“I’ll be your project manager. I’m your woman.”

For a moment, those gray eyes turned fierce. Genevieve realized just how little she knew about this man.

“Good.” Lucas held out his hand, and Genevieve automatically reached out. His fingers closed around hers, his hand much larger than hers. She should have felt trapped, insignificant. Instead, as heat seeped from his skin to hers, she was suddenly aware of him as a man more than as her new boss. That could be a problem if she let it. She wouldn’t.

“You should know that I believe in being hands-on in a project like this, Genevieve,” he said, releasing her. “If you and I are going to oversee and sell this project, we have to know it from the ground up. Every higher level employee at every factory and store I own spent some time in the trenches so that they could fully understand the business, so we’ll get started on your ground-floor experience right away. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We’re headed straight for Angie’s House. Dress for work.”

“What kind?”

“The dirty kind. Do you have clothing you can mess up?”

She had clothing. It was the one thing she still had in abundance. Whether or not she had what Lucas meant, however, was questionable.

“No problem,” she said, hoping her smile was reassuring. “Let me give you my address.”

“I have it already.”

Once again, Genevieve had that feeling of being overwhelmed, too small and insignificant next to this man. She felt vulnerable, and vulnerable was the last thing she wanted or needed to feel right now.

“I won’t let you get to me, Mr. McDowell,” she muttered to herself later when she scoured her closet looking for something that could rightfully be called work clothes.

But she knew she lied. The man seemed to know everything about her. He felt like a powerful dark tornado that drops out of the sky, wreaks havoc in your life and then roars off again. He had her at a disadvantage, and she had sworn she would never be at a disadvantage with a man again. She would have to work on that and just start ignoring all the unnerving things about Lucas. She hoped that was possible.

Lucas shook his head after Genevieve was gone. This might well be a disaster in the making. She was young, destitute and had never worked at a job in her life. Despite her telling him that she wanted the job, she might change her mind later if there were complications or strife or if something better came along. He’d spent most of his youth dealing with people who thought they wanted to do something good but later changed their minds when things hit a rough patch.

What’s more, she was far too pretty. Even with her hair scraped back from her face so brutally, or maybe because of it, her classic features were striking. And also … a vision of her legs and those luscious knees crept in, and he quickly slapped that right out of his consciousness. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a socialite who was down on her luck and looking to improve her situation. Women … and others had used him or tried to use him before. Repeatedly. As an orphan in the foster system, people had thought taking him in would earn them Good Samaritan points. As a man who’d fought his way to wealth and power, women like Rita thought he’d make a nice trophy or else they wanted his money and power. The only thing that none of them realized was that he had nothing to give them, emotionally or any other way. He’d spent all his emotional capital years ago, wasted it, burnt it, lost it. Now all he had—all he would ever allow himself—was work and guilt.

But he was not going to feel guilty about Genevieve Patchett. Their relationship would be work only, nothing personal. He wasn’t responsible for her problems, and she wasn’t going to be on his conscience.

And he wasn’t going to think about her legs, either, or those gorgeous green eyes. At least not much.

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT MORNING, Genevieve crawled from bed and faced the dirty, cracked and chalky walls of the small room she had rented.

Today is the day I start working for Lucas McDowell, she thought, trying to choke back the fear that accompanied the thought. Would she be able to be the kind of employee that Lucas wanted? She’d never even needed to work before. But now …

“I need—”

Her words were interrupted by an angry shout echoing through the paper-thin walls. Something hard hit the wall. Caught off guard, Genevieve jumped. Even though such sounds weren’t at all unusual, she had yet to get used to how close and heated everything was. How desperate. How different from the life of luxury that was all she’d known until a few months ago. Tension coiled within her. That old life was gone. It wasn’t just this place that seemed desperate. She was desperate.

The tension slid up a notch as, once again, the reality of her situation hit home. The sun had already risen and Genevieve knew that anytime now, her landlady might appear, screeching, demanding the rent that Gen didn’t have. Threatening.

Before now, no one had ever seriously threatened her in her entire life.

But Mrs. Dohenny would, and she had the right to do that. Genevieve was a full month behind on her rent. She fought the sickness that followed that thought and tried to rush. She hoped to be gone long before Mrs. Dohenny showed up. The last thing she needed was for her new boss to find out that she was, essentially, living here without paying. Gen remembered her father yelling at a doorman who had displeased him in some way. Firing the man as he pleaded for his job so that he could feed his family. Ignoring the man’s pleas.

“Stop it,” she whispered weakly. Don’t think about that. It’s not helping. She didn’t even know why she was thinking about that incident now.

No, that was a lie. She knew. She was afraid of failing, of becoming the doorman and having Lucas fire her on her first day.

Closing her eyes for a second, she dragged in a deep, shaky breath and tried to proceed with her tasks. Quickly, she showered in the small, cramped tub with its leaking, rusty showerhead and broken, institution-green plastic tiles, exited the bathroom and moved to the battered three-legged dresser that was the only piece of furniture other than the bed and one wooden chair.

Her reflection in the cracked mirror above the dresser was too pale, the meager items on it a sad testimony to how far she had fallen. An almost empty jar of expensive cleansing cream shared space with half a tube of lipstick in a golden, emerald-studded case and a tiny half-used vial of perfume she refused to touch except in emergencies, because it felt like armor, the last little bit she possessed. Once it was gone, there would be no more.

Staring at these remnants of her past life, Genevieve sighed. The cost of these three items new would have paid her rent in this little broom closet of a room several times over, but now they were merely some of the last precious remnants of a lifestyle she’d never, ever know again.

The cheap clock clicked loudly as another minute passed. Genevieve looked at the sagging mattress so unlike the luxuriously soft bed encased in crisp scented sheets she’d once had, and a drumbeat of panic began to pound in her breast. Lucas McDowell was picking her up soon. What if he saw this room with its holes in the plaster and the windows that had bars over them to keep the bad people out? Then he would know that she couldn’t even take care of herself, much less be a project manager.

She couldn’t let that happen. She grabbed the lipstick with shaky fingers and gathered the few other items. Carefully, sparingly, trying to make these last remnants of her once elegant life last a bit longer, she began to apply her makeup. Then, she picked out the most casual clothing she could find. When Lucas got here, she would need to find a smile and something that looked like confidence. Not for the first time in her life, she wished that she was the outgoing, confident type who won people with her dazzling personality and talent instead of being the quiet, behind-the-scenes type.

But wishing had never made anything happen in her life. It hadn’t made her parents love her. It hadn’t saved her from her con-man financial-advisor fiancé. All she had to help her right now was the determination to do whatever she had to in order to survive.

No, more than survive, she hoped. She wanted to be … more, to become a different person: bolder, more successful, independent. Make that completely, totally, “never rely or lean on anyone again in her life” independent.

That meant she had to please Lucas McDowell.

No matter what.

Lucas frowned as he pulled up in front of the dark, ugly apartment building that matched the address he had for Genevieve Patchett. He wasn’t a native to Chicago, but he’d lived here for a while as a teenager; he’d done business in this city on numerous occasions, and even if he hadn’t, he knew a bad neighborhood when he saw one. As a child he’d lived in them, nearly died in them, and this one had “get out of here if you can” written all over it. He’d recognized that before he’d gotten within three blocks of this place. This wasn’t your standard debutante living arrangement.

Genevieve had fallen even further than he’d guessed. But then, that wasn’t his problem, was it? His new project manager’s abode wasn’t any of his business. The only reason he was here at all was to escort her to the work site, and he wouldn’t even be doing that except for the fact that summer construction had temporarily disrupted public transportation to the area where Angie’s House was located.

So ignore this place. Just go get her, he told himself, reaching for the car door handle.

At that moment he saw her. She exited the building like a rabbit being chased by a fox, zipping out the door, glancing back over her shoulder with fear in her eyes.

Yeah, that was fear. He was familiar with the expression. Something had Genevieve Patchett spooked.

“No, please don’t get out,” she said, hurrying to the passenger side of his black sports car. “I—I don’t want to be late on my first day and … and someone might hurt your car if you leave it.”

She reached for the handle, practically dove for the thing.

He exited the car, ignoring her fluttering and flustered admonitions. Despite the fact that she was none of his concern, there were rules to be followed. Rules and discipline kept a person safe and helped maintain distance. They kept things under control, and being in control was … necessary. It had always been of supreme importance ever since he finally—thank the stars—realized that he didn’t have to be at the mercy of others’ damaging, self-serving whims. So …

“I’m not that worried about the car, Genevieve.” Without another word, he moved to the passenger door and opened it for her. But as they drove away, and despite himself, he couldn’t help wondering what it was that she was so afraid of.

And that kind of speculation would have to stop. He had no business thinking anything about Genevieve Patchett beyond the tasks they would share. He liked his world well-ordered—by him—and already he could see that she, with those vulnerable green eyes that betrayed her every emotion, would create the kind of havoc that he never allowed in his life. He didn’t get deeply involved. With anyone. Certainly not with his employees, so it was a good thing that she was here to do a job and a short-term job at that. Their paths would only run parallel for a very brief period of time.

Then he would never think about her ever again. Which was a very good thing, he reminded himself.

Still, for the moment, she was here, she was his employee. That alone made her his responsibility, and … she was wearing some pale blue lacy thing. A blouse.

With pencil-slim light-colored pants. Shoes with a little heel. Very stylish. No doubt very expensive, but not the kind of thing that would survive the day ahead.

He couldn’t hold back a frown. How had he let Teresa talk him into this, he thought, then reminded himself that he was the one who had hired Genevieve, not Teresa. Because Genevieve is a Patchett, he told himself. Because she has the required skills and a name that may prove useful. Having her name attached to this project would engender the kind of attention and cachet that was needed to make Angie’s House the next big “it” charity. It would get Angie’s House in the newspapers, so how Genevieve looked to him was unimportant.

Which was a good thing, because right now, he thought, glancing to the side, she looked very good. Those clothes might be impractical but they fit her curves to perfection. Her pink mouth looked very …

Small. Pink. Moist.

Darn it, McDowell, stop it. She’s off-limits. “Is that the plainest thing you have?” he asked, scattering all those inappropriate thoughts he was having.

She fidgeted with the door handle in what looked to be a nervous reaction. “I’m sorry. It was the only thing I had that was cotton.”

“Silk and satin more your thing?” He frowned again.

Genevieve took a deep breath. “I … I hadn’t anticipated all of this.”

He wasn’t sure what “all of this” entailed but she suddenly seemed even more vulnerable than she had before. He wondered once again at the wisdom of hiring her. Could she handle this job?

“I told you about how all my employees get involved on the ground floor, but I didn’t explain how monumental this task is. The building where Angie’s House will be located is a total mess. I’m afraid your clothes are going to get pretty dirty.”

She gave a small nod, as if she was used to being handed bad news. And he guessed she was of late, given that her money was all gone.

“If my clothes get dirty, then I’ll wash them,” she said in a small, quiet voice. “I need to learn to do things like that. I’m not afraid of work, Mr. McDowell.”

Maybe she believed that, but she hadn’t seen the inside of this place yet. Her hands were pale cream, soft. Hands that didn’t do manual labor or come into contact with dirt on any kind of a regular basis. And the mere fact that she was learning how to do things like wash a blouse practically screamed “privileged.” Unlike her, he hadn’t been born to wealth, even if he had plenty of money now. He knew how to use his hands, and with the tight schedule he’d set for the completion of this project, he didn’t have time to baby her.

This was a deadline that couldn’t be missed … for numerous reasons. The opening date was significant in ways he preferred not to think about, but there was also the fact that delaying things would result in innocent, needy people waiting longer for their chance to move in. Those people had no money and never had. There wasn’t a soft-skinned, lace-and-satin princess in the bunch.

“I don’t have time to baby you,” he said as if his brain had somehow foolishly directed him to say what he was thinking. Or maybe because a part of him hoped that if he was callous with her, he would stop wanting another glimpse of those big green eyes.

“I assure you that I don’t need special treatment.” But despite the softness of her voice, he could tell that he had offended her. That was unprofessional of him. It was unacceptable. Getting personal with his employees for good or for ill was not allowed.

“What do you need?” he asked.

A slight tremble visibly rippled through her delicate frame. She seemed to consider her words carefully. “Honesty—that is, I would be happy for simple, honest work.”

So she’d started to tell him she needed honesty, then had probably decided that it was the wrong thing to say to her boss. The obvious response was to simply tell her that he would be honest with her. But he wasn’t going to say that. He had learned long ago to do what was necessary, and what was necessary wasn’t always honest or pretty. He had been raised in a harsh world of broken promises, so the only promises he made were of the most limited variety.

“You’ll have honest work and I’ll pay you well for it,” he said. It was, after all, all that he had to offer anyone.

“Thank you, Mr. McDowell.”

The weariness in her soft voice made him feel like a jerk. The relationship already felt strained, and that was a problem. For the next few weeks, they would be working together and they would need to work quickly. He needed her cooperation. He needed her not to call him Mr. McDowell, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. Maybe he didn’t want to know why.

“Just Lucas.”

“Lucas, then. I may not have been raised to be self-sufficient, but I intend to learn how to be totally independent. I have to be independent, to know that I can rely on myself to do it all. I want that more than anything. So, there’s no cheating allowed. No shortcuts such as looking for someone to marry, support or save me. I need to become totally self-sufficient, to do this and do it well, so don’t worry about the blouse.”

She smiled, a bit uncertainly, and he couldn’t help but be affected by those tell-all-her-secrets eyes and her naïveté. She had no clue what she was doing, but she was going to do it. Her determination when the odds were stacked against her made him want to learn more about her, and that wasn’t allowed. He didn’t get involved with anyone and especially not with someone like Genevieve. Because despite, or maybe because of, his association with Angie’s House and the situation that had driven him to take on this project, vulnerable women were poison to his soul, a reminder of times he wanted to forget. That wasn’t going to change.

Genevieve quickly scrambled to exit the car. She didn’t want Lucas thinking she expected him to open her door or give her any special favors.

Still, when he threw open the door of the house, she had to fight not to exclaim. The entryway was huge, and while there was very little furniture, what was there was absolutely caked in dust and dirt. Cobwebs hung everywhere, and the few cobwebs she had ever encountered in her life prior to this had sent chills running up her spine. In addition, there was plaster scattered over the filthy floor where part of the chandelier had come loose and pulled part of the ceiling with it. The windows were grimy.

“How long has this been empty?” she couldn’t help asking. “And why?”

“Years. It was originally a smaller house, enlarged and then enlarged again by a man who won the lottery, then lost all his money at a dizzying speed. It’s too big and costly for the rest of the neighborhood, not in a good enough location for anyone who could afford it. So, it sat here, unwanted and out of place for years, ever since he walked away from it. No one knew what to do with it.”

Something cold and steel-like in the way he had said “unwanted and out of place” made Genevieve turn to look at him, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Why … I don’t understand. Why would you choose it, then?”

The smallest of smiles lifted his lips. Far from making him look less dangerous, it made him seem more handsome. The flutter it brought to her stomach practically screamed “step away from the gorgeous man, Gen. This one will hurt you.”

“I’m sorry. Did I say something funny? Or wrong?” she asked.

Lucas stared directly into her eyes, pinning her so that she felt powerless to look away. The flutter intensified. She almost backed up a step to try to curb her too-feminine reaction to him. “I suppose I’m not used to hiring members of the privileged class,” he said. “Most employees steer away from questioning my motives.”

Uh-oh. Her lack of experience was showing. “I shouldn’t have asked,” she observed.

“No. Ask what you want to know. I’ll answer if I feel it’s pertinent to the project. In this case, you’re dead-on. We needed a big building, but not one that would attract a lot of attention. Tucked away in this low-income but solid and safe residential area, the women of Angie’s House won’t stand out. They can move around in safety, become members of the community and, for once in their lives, have a place where they can—hopefully—heal and find some joy and satisfaction, unfettered by fear. The building suits our needs perfectly. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

She wanted to say no. There was something so empty and sad about the house. The fact that someone had built it during a happy time in their life and then lost all that happiness hit far too close to home. But my misfortune was partly my own fault, she reminded herself. The signs about Barry had been there, but she had ignored them. There had been times during their engagement when Barry had seemed shallow or uncaring of others and she had ignored it because her parents had liked him, her friends had admired him, and some of that admiration seemed to rub off on her.

Plus, while Barry had turned out to be a first-class jerk who had stolen much of her fortune while she’d been mourning the loss of her parents, the truth was that she’d had years before that to educate herself about her finances and she hadn’t bothered to make the slightest effort. Even if she’d thought about questioning what Barry was doing, she wouldn’t have known what questions to ask. If she’d known more, she might have saved herself, but now it was too late. The damage was done. There was no going back.

That was a good thing in only one way. She’d been forced to her knees and she wouldn’t make the mistake of relying on anyone that way ever again.

“Lead on,” she said, mustering some bravado. “I’m ready.” For anything. But that last thought was a total lie. If Lucas smiled again and the hard line of his mouth softened again … well, now Genevieve finally understood what Teresa had meant when she fretted that Lucas might be too dangerous for her friend. She’d just been admonishing herself for being too trusting with one man and here she was staring at Lucas’s mouth when he was a man who was obviously, glaringly someone she had no business thinking about at all beyond the job.

So stick to business, she told herself. Try to figure out what’s required and do a good job. Otherwise, Lucas would have no reason to keep her. She would be cast aside by one more man.

She couldn’t let that happen. From now on, she was going to throw herself into this project with every ounce of her being. Down that road lay freedom, redemption, independence. “I can’t wait to get started,” she said.

Lucas raised one dark brow.

“I mean it,” Genevieve said. She needed to earn her first money, pay her overdue bills, prove herself and reclaim her self-respect.

Closing her eyes to her lack of experience, she tried not to panic at the thought of the massive task ahead. “Where should I begin?” She glanced toward the brooms and rags and cleaning supplies in one corner.

“Today we’ll just get you acclimated. I want you to get a feel for the building and the possibilities, what we need to accomplish. In time, there will be eight women living here, so you’ll want to get a sense of the space and help me decide what we’re going to do with it decorating and usage-wise. I deal in sporting goods and making money and I’ve spearheaded the construction of a number of stores, but I’m sure you’ll have more of an idea about what women might want or need in a dream home. You’re also the expert in decorating and events planning.”

“Okay. So … what type of events will those be?” Her heart was pounding so hard she was amazed Lucas couldn’t hear it. She had always been the behind-the-scenes person, not the up-front person.

“This house is in a residential neighborhood. We’ll want to make sure the locals are comfortable with us. For that, we’ll need to court them, to reassure them that the women here will be their neighbors, women committed to making life and this neighborhood a better place. This place—” he swung his arm out in an arc “—as I mentioned, is meant to be a place where women arrive broken and leave whole, with pride in who they are and who they can become.”

Genevieve couldn’t help herself then. “That’s wonderful. What you’re doing is wonderful.” She couldn’t help wondering what had sparked this project, but she didn’t dare ask. Maybe she was clueless about a lot of things, but something so far-removed from the realm of running the sporting goods empire Lucas had built his reputation on? It had to be personal.

To her surprise, he frowned at her compliment. “Wonderful is a very strong word. It doesn’t fit here. The fact is that I’m a very rich man, and I can get this started, but that’s not nearly enough. The real power lies in getting other people, lots of other people, behind Angie’s House and the next Angie’s House and the next. So when we’re done with the renovation, we’ll open the doors. I want you to plan and oversee a major open house for the most elite members of the city. Our goal is to impress them and to impress upon them the need to get involved. Finally, you’ll help me find the women who’ll live here and the employees who’ll work here.”

She blinked, trying not to be overwhelmed, trying not to panic at what was going to be expected of her. Breathe, Gen, breathe. Take it easy. Take it one step at a time, she thought. Just take one tiny step. “Okay. That all makes sense. For now, I guess—I should probably get started on the cleaning. There’s a lot of building here.”

A whole lot of scrubbing for a woman who had never done anything like that.

There was that elusive hint of a smile again, the straight, hard line of his mouth barely curving up at one corner. What had she said that was so amusing?

“I’m sure this isn’t what you grew up doing and I don’t expect you to single-handedly tackle this mess. I have two helpers coming in. They’ll be assisting you as the project progresses and they’ll be doing most of the repairing, painting and cleanup. But they’ll respect you more if they see that you’re not afraid of getting a little dirt beneath your fingernails.”

Was that a dare? Genevieve had no idea and no real idea of how to begin. She wasn’t even sure how to make use of her helpers who would be coming soon. She’d never been in this kind of position, and her parents had been flighty, self-absorbed people who probably weren’t typical employers, so there was little use in trying to utilize her past experiences. Still, she didn’t want to ask too many questions. If she was supposed to be a project manager, shouldn’t she appear … managerial? She especially didn’t want to ask anything that would make her look foolish. Barry had often made fun of her naïveté.

“All right. That makes sense. And I’m not afraid.” Not of getting dirt under her fingernails, but of Lucas, a man who overwhelmed by his presence and his manner and his looks …? Yes, she was afraid, but she didn’t want to think about that.

Instead, she picked up a broom and began to sweep. With vigor and determination. Soon the dust was swirling, flying all around, clogging her throat.

She couldn’t hold back a cough.

Lucas appeared at her side. He touched her hand.

Just the lightest of touches, but when his flesh met hers, fierce heat swirled through her, her breath caught, her whole body became aware of him as a man. She jerked back, stopped sweeping.

“Easy, Genevieve. It’s just dust. You want to push it, not attack it. Like this.” He demonstrated.

She took back the broom, embarrassed that she couldn’t even manage the simplest of tasks. With some effort, she tried not to think about how Lucas’s fingertips had felt against her skin.

It couldn’t matter. Nothing could matter except succeeding. Moving on. Moving up. Learning. And getting good at being alone.

A mere two hours into the day, Lucas looked up to see that Genevieve was soaked to the skin. She was a total mess.

A beautiful mess, he corrected, then frowned at the thought. She was washing walls and water was sluicing down her arms, slicking away the layers of dirt she’d accumulated dusting and sweeping. The moisture turned her creamy skin shiny and damp and then sloshed onto her pale blue blouse, making it cling to her body.

But she wasn’t complaining.

A sliver of admiration slipped through him followed by something else. Something hot when he stared at that damp fabric encasing her slender form.

Knock it off, McDowell. She’s your employee. Your very temporary employee. And off-limits. In all ways.

Stifling a growl, Lucas threw down the cloth he was using to wash windows and went into the closet, where he had stashed a few changes of clothing. Removing a faded chambray shirt from a hanger, he walked over to

Genevieve. “You might want this. And … you probably don’t need to use that much water.”

She looked up at him through dazed eyes. Tired eyes. He realized that she’d been working like a dog since she arrived two hours ago. When she looked at the shirt and then glanced down at her chest, he could see the jolt of embarrassment rip through her. That creamy skin turned almost as rosy as her hair.

“I—thank you. Yes, less water. I’ll remember that,” she said as she hastily reached out, took the shirt and slipped into it. It was miles too big for her. Baggy. Good.

“Time for a break,” he said.

“No, I … I’m fine. I need to get this done. We’re on a tight schedule, right?”

“We are. But even bosses need breathers. Thomas and Jorge will be here any minute. They’ll need us to give them orders, to guide them. A boss that looks beat-up doesn’t instill confidence in the employees.” Which was true but sounded like a made-up excuse. Still, she gave him a tentative nod. She stopped long enough to have a drink of water and rest for a minute. Then she went back to her wall-washing.

When Thomas and Jorge showed up, Lucas introduced them. Thomas bowed slightly. “You are … muy bonita, Ms. Patchett,” he said.

Jorge elbowed Thomas in the stomach. “Thomas, Ms. Patchett is our boss. Show some respect. Forgive my brother, Ms. Patchett. This is his first job.”

To Lucas’s surprise, Genevieve laughed. “There’s nothing to forgive, Jorge. This is my—”

Uh-oh, the princess was going to tell Thomas and Jorge this was her first job, wasn’t she? That would be a mistake.

Lucas coughed and glowered at her.

Her eyes widened and she looked at him. A flush climbed from the neck of his shirt to her cheeks. She turned back to Jorge. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Jorge. And Thomas, thank you so much for the compliment. I’m wet and dirty and I appreciate your efforts to make me feel better about that. I look forward to working with both of you.” Wiping her palm on her pants, she held out her hand. The pink polish that had graced her nails this morning was chipped and her nails were ragged, but Thomas took her hand and bowed over it as if she were royalty. Jorge gave her a big smile and did the same.

Lucas had met the men before. He’d hired them, and Jorge had worked on a previous job. Now he said hello. and waited for his project manager to make the next move. When she said nothing, he glanced her way.

Genevieve stared him directly in the eyes, that pink glow growing rosier. Then she raised her chin and cleared her throat. “Lucas and I have been concentrating on cleaning the living room and entranceway. Thomas, why don’t you work on the kitchen, and Jorge, take the family room. Let me know if you have any questions or concerns.”

“I have a question. Will there be plaster work required? I have some experience in that area, but Thomas has none. If there’s a lot of it to handle, we might need help.”

A brief look of panic sprang into Genevieve’s eyes. Lucas inwardly cursed, then opened his mouth to bail her out. But she was shaking her head. “I’m not sure yet. Let me get back to you on that. For now, let’s just concentrate on getting rid of all the dirt.”

The two men nodded, then wandered off. When they had gone, Lucas turned to her. “Good save.”

She stared up at him with big eyes. “It was all I could think of. I don’t know anything about plaster work.”

“You know what a smooth wall looks like. Jorge knows enough to handle any problem areas. There are a few but not much. I’ll take you on a tour. We’ll discuss what basic repair needs to be done. I should have done that already.” Except a part of him had needed to see how “the debutante” handled the tough, dirty stuff. To his surprise, she was handling it. Not with any finesse, but with determination.

“Let’s go,” he said.

He led her through the rooms, pointing out problem areas, the general plan for cleanup, repair and renovation and the big picture. “When we’re done, each woman will need her own private space but there needs to be plenty of flow and room for interaction. This is a house, but it will also be a community, hopefully a family. The space needs to reflect that.”

Genevieve didn’t say much, but she listened. She nodded. “And I’ll be overseeing all of this.”

Her voice sounded slightly faint.

Lucas frowned. “I’ll work with you closely, but I have a business to run, other irons in the fire. This will largely be your project.” Except he would personally see to it that the deadline didn’t fall through. The deadline was that important.

“All right. I see.” Genevieve gave a tight nod. They turned down a hallway, not speaking, their steps silent on the carpeting.

The slosh of water sounded in a nearby room. “I don’t know. Ms. Patchett is very nice, but … not experienced,” Jorge was saying. “I hope she knows what she’s doing and doesn’t lead us into any mistakes. I don’t want to lose this job.”

“She’s very pretty. Do you think she and Mr. McDowell …?” Thomas’s voice trailed off.

“Idiot. No,” Jorge said. “I’ve worked with Mr. McDowell before. He doesn’t mix business and pleasure. Besides, she’s too … I don’t know … too innocent for him. Not his type.” He stopped. “We shouldn’t be talking like this. They might hear. We might get fired. And anyway, it’s wrong.”

Genevieve had stopped in her tracks. She looked up at Lucas, embarrassment written across every feature. Suddenly, she grabbed his hand and pulled him silently back down the hall. Then, cheeks blazing, she took a deep breath. “How long do you think the repair and renovation of this place should take?” she asked loudly. Too loudly. Loud enough for the other men to hear. Clearly, she didn’t want Thomas and Jorge to know what she had overheard.

“Everything has to be done in six weeks. After that, we invite the world in, invite the tenants, and I leave town. Can you handle that?” he asked, playing along.

She took a deep, visible breath. “I can handle anything, Mr. McDowell.” Her voice shook slightly, but it came out loud enough to carry.

They continued down the hall past the room where Thomas and Jorge were working. “I lied. I’d like to pretend that I know exactly what I’m doing, but I think it’s clear that I’m learning. But I’ll tell you this much, Lucas. Truthfully. Totally truthfully. I may not be able to handle everything yet, but I don’t intend to slack off or slow down or disappoint you if I can help it. I intend to do my best at this job.”

A nicer man would have assured her that that was enough. He had never been a nice man. “I intend to see that you do,” he said. He hoped she would be able to produce the results that he needed. If everything worked out as planned, Genevieve would be his glowing gateway to the people he needed to reach.

But, by the end of the day, she wasn’t glowing. Instead, she was wet, dirty and drooping. Strands of her bright hair had come loose from her tight ponytail and there was a scrape on her cheek. She looked as if she might drop to the ground at any minute.

“I’ll take you home,” he said. “Congratulations. You survived your first day.” But he wondered whether she would be back for a second day or if she would choose to slink away, to decide that this was no life for a debutante.

Still, when he pulled up to her apartment, the sight of her crumbling and dangerous neighborhood reminded him that she had left debutante status behind. And he wasn’t buying her declaration that she would never marry for money. Too long in a place like this and a woman—or a man—might do anything to get out. He knew about that kind of thing. Far too well, he thought with a grimace. Genevieve could get hurt. She shouldn’t be living here.

The thought caught him by surprise. He never allowed his interactions with employees to get personal, but then this project was personal, the repayment of a long overdue debt. Finishing it would close a chapter in his life he never wanted to look back on again and tie up loose ends he couldn’t control. Then, he could concentrate on a future he could control, one with zero emotional risks. Just the way he liked things.

“Thank you for the ride,” Genevieve said, reaching for the door, clearly uncomfortable. Probably not used to silent brooding bosses frowning at her.

“You don’t … fit in a place like this,” he said, stopping her and further surprising and angering himself.

To his amazement, she laughed, a light, bell-like sound. “I fit,” she said. “We’re all misfits here. I’m just not the norm.”

Then she sprinted for her building, paying no attention to her surroundings, her purse flopping against her hip.

Darn it! But then, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at her carelessness. A princess like her would have been used to leaving everything, including her security, to others.

Growling, he flung open his door and got out. “Genevieve,” he said, his voice carrying.

She turned, those big eyes open wide, startled.

“Lock your door,” he said. “I don’t want to lose my project manager through carelessness,” he felt compelled to add.

Genevieve blushed. She bit her lip. Was that a trace of resentment in her eyes? Intriguing. He hadn’t seen that before.

“I have six locks,” she told him, lifting her chin a tiny bit. There was just a trace of haughtiness, of the miffed debutante. “I … You don’t really trust me, do you?”

He hesitated. “I hired you.”

She nodded. “Because I’m a Patchett.”

He wasn’t going to deny it. Nor was he going to tell her he trusted her. He wasn’t sure whether he did. The truth was, he had a suspicion that hiring her had been a mistake, for reasons that had nothing to do with the project, reasons he didn’t even want to acknowledge. There was something about her that made him not trust himself. He had a terrible feeling that he knew what it was, too. It wasn’t good.

But he had hired her. The only thing to do now was to muddle through this mess. Quickly. Soon enough Genevieve Patchett would just be another woman in the rearview mirror of his consciousness. He was a pro at leaving bad situations—and problematic women—behind. If Genevieve was more problematic than most … well, he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d tell her what she needed to know to do her job, oversee her progress from a distance and then he’d send her on her way with enough money to escape this place.

And both of them would walk away happy. End of story.

CHAPTER THREE

GENEVIEVE LAY IN THE DARK, staring up at the ceiling but seeing instead the frown on Lucas’s gorgeous face. Carefully, she went over what had taken place during the day. And cringed.

“You didn’t even know how to sweep a floor, how to wash a wall.” She groaned and placed her palms over her hot face. “The man must think that he’s hired an idiot. He’s probably cursing Teresa and me right now, probably already looking through his list of applicants for my replacement. I don’t have any of the skills necessary, nothing that he wanted.”

Worse than that, she had an annoying habit of blushing every time she looked at the man. With just one wordless glance, he had pointed out that her wet blouse was plastered to her body, and her reaction had been beyond embarrassment. Heat had slithered through her veins. Those steel-gray eyes had found her time and time again today, often wordlessly, and every time he had looked at her, she had felt like …

A woman when she should have felt like an employee. For two seconds she thought back to the days when she had appeared at all of her parents’ balls and openings. What would Lucas have thought of her had he met her under such circumstances?

“Stop it right now, Gen,” she ordered herself. She wasn’t some silly romantic girl anymore. Besides, she most emphatically did not want a man, and Lucas certainly didn’t want her, she thought, remembering Jorge’s, Teresa’s and Rita’s words.

Besides, her very survival depended on her doing well at this job. And yet … in the back of her mind she heard her parents berating her for being awkward and for not being talented enough. She heard Barry mocking her for being such a sheltered, clueless princess. The thought that any day now Lucas might decide that she was incapable of doing her job …

Genevieve swallowed hard. Even the sound of yelling down the hall paled in comparison to her fears about what would happen if Lucas fired her. And it wasn’t just about the money, either.

She sat up in bed and dashed away one stray tear. “Don’t cry, you idiot. Do. Learn. Prove to him that you’re not afraid of anything.” Even though she was desperately afraid. But she wasn’t going to let Lucas know that.

“Odious, virile man,” she whispered. “Other women have cried buckets over you, but I won’t ever be one of them. I don’t care what you think of me as long as I survive you and learn from you.”

One thing she was sure of. When this was over, she would be more than glad to see the back of Lucas McDowell.

Lucas grunted as he flexed his arms, moving into his seventy-second push-up and trying to clear his thoughts. He was staying in the penthouse apartment of one of Chicago’s most luxurious hotels and there was, of course, a gym available to him, but he had his own private regimen he followed. One hundred push-ups for starters. Every night. No exceptions. After the emotional chaos of his childhood, discipline had been his salvation. Nothing was going to change that.

But clearing his mind to concentrate on his task was proving difficult. After he’d left Genevieve at her apartment with her six locks, he’d searched the internet and easily located the crime statistics for that neighborhood. Theft was a given, domestic disputes the norm. He growled at that. He knew better than anyone that domestic dispute sounded much too mild for all the horrors that tag encompassed. But that had nothing to do with Genevieve.

“Not your problem or your business,” he reminded himself. Control the situation. He repeated his mantra. Don’t let yourself get involved. Don’t let the situation have power over you. Because control was everything. It was the only thing that had kept him out of jail. It made life and success possible.

But in spite of his best efforts to stop thinking about Genevieve, when he tried to return to his task, he could still see the look in her eyes when she had told him that she had all those locks and asked him if he didn’t trust her. Somehow he was sure she wouldn’t appreciate him interfering in her life or suggesting that she might want to take her first paycheck and move.

It certainly wasn’t the kind of thing he ever did or wanted to do. Keep a distance. Never get too involved was his motto.

And yet, Genevieve Patchett’s naïveté, her dangerous situation, had kept him from completing a task he’d done every night for years. He was still stuck on push-up number seventy-two.

“Idiot. Get control of yourself. Stay out of this. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” With a groan, he forced himself to complete the push-up and all the rest of them. Having withstood the onslaught of doubts and come out ahead, he went to bed. A soft bed. A safe bed. In an exclusive hotel in an exclusive neighborhood.

“And everything is perfectly fine,” he mumbled. But in the middle of the night he woke from a dream in a cold sweat, his fears about why Genevieve was bothering him confirmed. Voices from a past he tried never to remember had pushed their way into his dreams. He’d heard his mother crying in the night. He’d felt his own failure, his inability to be what she wanted, and his own panic as she’d walked out the door, never to return. And after his father’s death when he’d been left totally alone, there had been other mother figures, women who had tried to help him and recoiled in distress at his wounded animal anger. Some had been nice; most had merely wanted to use him to gild their reputations; one society princess had called him her “street child” until she had a baby of her own, a better, sweeter child, the kind she’d always wanted. In the end, he had spurned all of them. And then …

Lucas took a deep breath, knowing that there was no use trying to hold back the next part. Because the next was the worst, the most damning incident. Then, there had been Angie, an innocent girl who had been savagely beaten by her father just because she had been involved with a reckless troublemaker like Lucas. He’d known what her father was. He’d selfishly and arrogantly ignored it, urged her to defy her father and stay with him. And she had paid the price.

Anguish rushed over him at the memory of a young woman who had suffered at the fists of a full grown man, a woman who had never fully recovered, he had discovered only a few months ago.

Lucas cursed in the night. There was the connection. Angie. Because he’d known the danger that had existed for Angie and he’d ignored it, downplayed it. Just as he knew the danger for Genevieve.

Don’t think about it. Don’t get involved. Don’t lose control. This is a different woman, a different situation, he told himself.

And the next day, he knew he was right. Genevieve and her situation were nothing like Angie. The Patchett princess got into his car wearing a pair of designer shoes, biscuit-colored slacks that would never survive the day and a gold silk blouse.

He studied her, and without thinking, he raised an eyebrow.

Genevieve stared back at him with just a tiny bit of defiance in her eyes. He was half-convinced that if he said anything about her clothes, she would sass him. But a second later, her cheeks turned pink, she looked away and he realized that he had been mistaken about the sass and the defiance. She was still just a little rich girl flailing around.

The fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes off the V of her blouse or the way that sweet pink flush made her seem vulnerable and fragile and … enticing was irrelevant. Wasn’t it?

Maybe. But once she was in the car, he was thankful that he had to keep his eyes off of her and on the road. It was a good reminder. Always keep your eyes on the goal, the job, on whatever got you to where you wanted to go. Goals were good. They kept a man from doing something he would regret later. And he would definitely regret doing anything … instinctive where Genevieve was concerned.

He glowered.

She was very silent. Maybe his glowering was scaring her.

Maybe he shouldn’t have hired someone he could scare so easily. And yet …

“Did you survive yesterday all right?”

He knew the minute she turned to him. “Yes. Of course. You even told me that I survived before I went home.”

“I know, but …” Damn, but he was bad at this sensitivity thing. “You were working hard. Muscles get sore. The next morning is sometimes tougher than the day before.”

Her sudden chuckle was soft, whisperlike. “I may have been raised a privileged debutante and okay, maybe I am a little sore, but I’ll get past it. Actually, it was rather nice … the feeling that I had actually used my own two hands to make a difference. So I’m fine, Lucas.”

Okay, she was fine. And he was looking like an idiot. This was not the way he usually treated his employees. What was it about Genevieve Patchett that threw all of his thoughts out of whack?

He needed to get his thoughts back in line, restore discipline.

He would. He’d made his last mistake. Genevieve, he reminded himself, was no Angie. He didn’t really have to worry about her. She was a pampered princess, and if she’d ever met him back in the day when he was a skinny, angry, dirty kid, she probably would have put her nose in the air and run the other way. Besides for the moment at least, she was his employee. He should be treating her as such. The job he had hired her for was too important, too meaningful for all this foolishness.

He turned his thoughts back to business, ignored the scent of her perfume. Why on earth was she wearing perfume when the smell of cleaning solution would overpower that delicate floral nonsense after a scant few minutes on the job?

“Before we get started this morning, I’d like to go over some paperwork with you, including your job description,” he said, pulling up in front of Angie’s House.

“All right. I’ll look forward to it.”

Those simple words, though soft, were delivered in a professional tone. And they did the trick. He and Genevieve were back to business. All that other stuff, her fragility, his annoying urge to protect, the way her perfume went straight to his senses and made him envision placing his lips on that enticing little pulse point in her throat … darn it, those were irrelevant. Thank goodness she knew how to speak “business style.” As long as she kept that up, he could stop thinking of her as a woman. A good thing, because he needed to be her boss. And nothing else.

Genevieve noticed the minute Lucas’s demeanor changed. She had spent her whole life in the background, observing other people, so she was good at noting the little things that signaled a change in direction. Her parents had been volatile people, smiling at customers and sponsors one minute, screaming at their daughter for failing to do or be what they wanted the next. She had tried so hard to please them, but to no avail, and so she had learned to read the signs that a “berate Gen” attack was coming on. Even now her chest felt tight at the memory of those days.

It wasn’t like that with Lucas. Nothing volatile, no yelling, even though she sensed that under the right circumstances, he could be very dangerous. He was, as Teresa had told her, strong and silent. Still, she noticed the subtle change when he moved from frustrated concern about her having overdone things the day before into total businessman mode.

And, she told herself, it was a relief to have all that intense concern and attention turned away from her. Wasn’t it?

Yes, she thought, because Lucas was too overwhelming as it was. Having him paying attention to her, and worse, she admitted, liking the attention, would lead her down the “you’re going to regret this later” road. So, she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand.

“You’ve had a chance to spend a day in the house and get the lay of the land. Now let’s discuss what we can do with the rooms and how we can best utilize the space that we have.”

This was new territory for Gen. Her parents had a massive home, but they traveled so much that, beyond the bedrooms and studios, most of the rooms were seldom used. They were filled with art, were cleaned by the staff, but there didn’t seem to be any purpose to them.

“You’ll be a better judge of what women need than I do. What do you think?” Lucas asked as they stared at a large sunny room.

Think, Gen, think. So far you’ve done nothing to justify Lucas’s hiring you other than having a recognizable name. “I think … this would be a good place for the women to gather, to talk, to share secrets,” she said, struggling for a good response, remembering her own “travel here and there” lifestyle that had precluded building the kind of friendships other girls had. “I’d—I think I’d paint it a soft color, maybe add some comfortable couches and possibly put in lots of big floor pillows. And we could … yes, we could add a table where they could work on crafts or sit and share tea or coffee,” she said, picking up steam and forgetting that she didn’t really know what she was talking about. She had never had any real contact with poor women who had truly suffered. But she knew what she would like. Maybe those women would like some of the same things.

“That wall would be perfect for a bank of bookshelves. And we could also add a hideaway television or hang one on the wall, so they could watch movies together. If it were my house, that is,” she said, finally remembering that she was on virgin ground here as she hesitantly turned to Lucas. He had a slightly amused expression on that too handsome face.

Uh-oh, she had gone overboard, hadn’t she? Her parents, despite being artists, had been practical people and they had always told her that she was far too much of a dreamer. That’s why they had wanted her to marry Barry, a man of numbers, one who would overshadow the nonsensical daydreamer part of her and keep her out of trouble.

Hmm, that was a plan that had failed miserably, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been right about the daydreaming. Spending her time making up castles in the air hadn’t prepared her for the real world and her current lifestyle at all.

“Those things you mentioned, is that what you did with your girlfriends?” Lucas asked.

“It’s what I think the women who’ll live here might want to do,” she said, trying not to sound too defensive. She was most definitely not going to tell Lucas how few friends she’d had. She already looked pathetic enough as it was.

“Then it sounds like a very good idea,” he said. “Excellent, in fact.”

At the words of praise a glow began deep inside Genevieve. No one had ever applauded her ideas before.

Well, don’t make too much of it. Teresa said that Lucas was a good boss. He probably praises everyone’s ideas.

“Where to next?” she asked.

“Well, after that, I don’t think there’s any need to do a play-by-play of each room. You seem to have the right idea. Instead, let’s move on to the big-picture plan. Come on. I had Jorge set up a control room last night.”

“A control room?”

“Yes. Once we get you set up and comfortable, I’ll return to my hotel where I have a bank of offices to oversee McDowell Sporting Goods and the other projects I’m involved in. I’ll drop in to check on the progress of Angie’s House and for public events, but you’ll be spearheading things, so you’ll need an office. It’s just at the top of the stairs.”

Genevieve followed him into a room that had been totally empty yesterday. Now it was filled with the latest technology, furniture, a bookcase filled with reference materials on the city, a cabinet full of supplies and a state-of-the-art sound system. There were pictures on the wall, curtains at the windows, a fresh paint smell and new carpeting.

Blinking, she shook her head. “All this for a job that will end in a few weeks?”

He shrugged. “All my jobs end in a few weeks.”

Which she supposed she already knew. Lucas was renowned for coming to a town, getting a buzz going, setting up a new store and then moving on. Surely he must have one place he called home, but if so, Teresa had said, he didn’t share that info. It was a good thing to remember. The man was both temporary and a mystery. And she’d had enough of secretive activities and men who left you empty-handed.

“Thank you for being so thorough,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll find everything I need here.” If only she knew exactly what she needed to do.

“Here’s what you’ll be doing,” Lucas said, as if he’d read her mind. He came up beside her. And for some reason she didn’t want to examine, her heart began to pound. He was much taller than her with broad shoulders and he exuded virility the way desert sand exuded heat waves. Standing this close, she felt small, feminine, as if her whole body was waiting for something to happen.

Then he reached around her and picked up a stack of papers. His arm brushed hers.

Genevieve’s breath stalled in her throat. She hoped he hadn’t noticed how aware of him she was. It would be a good idea for her to step away. But would a strong, sensible, seasoned project manager do that just because a good-looking man was standing beside her? Of course not. With a great effort, she modulated her breathing. In. Out. Show no emotion. Try to look professional, Gen.

Thankfully, Lucas stepped aside quickly. He held the papers out to her. “Here’s the agenda, all that has to be accomplished during the next few weeks. I want you to avail yourself of whatever resources you need and if you need additional personnel let me know. You will, of course, have an expense account. Also, for the next few days, until you get acclimated, I’ll drop in from time to time and you can also update me on the way to and from work. Thereafter, I’ll provide you with a driver and we’ll meet at scheduled times for updates just as I do with my other employees and my other business. I’ll be available for any public events you set up. So. are there any questions or concerns? Things you want to talk about?”

Gen looked down at the list. It was long. She was to oversee Thomas and Jorge in the renovation and decoration of the house itself, and introduce herself and the project to the neighbors, possibly by hosting a neighborhood gathering. She was expected to locate sponsors for the women and donors for future projects, contact charities for prospective candidates to live at Angie’s House, establish links between local community colleges for classes and training sessions for the women, contact possible employers for those women who needed work, arrange for the open house, interview candidates and hire a director. In several places, he had noted that she could rely on him and on her own social contacts to smooth the way and drum up interest.

Did she have concerns? She had them in spades, although pulsating fears that turned her legs to jelly might be a better way to phrase it. This was beyond anything she had ever done for her parents and so much of it seemed to rely on using her family name. Genevieve wanted to close her eyes, to try and explain to Lucas just how little influence she had. Her parents had been the movers and shakers, while she had been an insignificant shadow in the background. And after Barry had spread all those ugly, damning and humiliating lies about her, no one was ever in this lifetime going to care what she had to say. About anything. But if she told Lucas that …

“I have to be honest, Lucas. I don’t think my name is going to have much influence. My parents were the ‘capital P’ Patchetts. That’s not me.”

He studied her, looking down at her shoes. “Genevieve, look at yourself. Look at that little patrician nose of yours, that perfect posture and those long, slender artist’s fingers. Listen to the way you enunciate your words. You may be living in less elegant surroundings right now, but you’re still a Patchett.” With that, he reached out and touched the silk of her blouse. His finger didn’t even make contact with her skin, but she felt as if it did. An awareness of him thrummed through her, sending warmth down her body in a rush. “You’re still a princess.”

With some effort, she raised her chin. “I’m sorry if I misled you, but I was never a princess.”

“I see. So … you don’t think you can do this?”

Genevieve swallowed hard. “I just don’t think that anyone who was wild about my parents is going to transfer that esteem to me.”

“No? Do me a favor. Do that thing you did yesterday when you suggested that I didn’t trust you. Give me that look of defiance. Raise your chin just a touch.”

Flustered, Genevieve tried to do as he asked, but she was too self-conscious. And she wasn’t angry at him.

Lucas frowned. “You can do better than that. You know what I need from you. But I’m going to have to let you go if you can’t do this job the way it needs to be done. I won’t want to, but I need someone who can produce and produce quickly. If you can’t do that, then I’m afraid you’re gone.” His voice dropped lower, the last words barely a whisper, but the steel in his tone was unmistakable. He would be ruthless if need be.

And like that, the desperation of her situation kicked in. Anger that she was failing and that yet another person was dismissing her overshadowed all of her fears. This time she didn’t just lift her chin. She threw her shoulders back the way she had been taught by a long-ago posture coach and she raised her head in what could only be called a regal gesture. “I won’t be gone,” she said and though her voice barely carried from her mouth to his ears, there was determination in her tone. “Don’t fire me,” she said. “Just … don’t.”

He stared at her with those fierce, dark, bird-of-prey eyes of his and she managed not to flinch. But when he still hadn’t said anything, she finally dropped her gaze. “Please don’t,” she said.

A low curse issued from his lips. “I hired you for a very good reason. I’m counting on you to be what I need you to be,” he said. “And I’m not firing you.” She waited for the word yet, but it didn’t come. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t thinking it. It was do-or-die time for her. She might not know what she was doing, but that couldn’t matter. She was going to do something.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE WOMAN WAS A DANGER to his composure. Lucas hated that. He had almost told her that she could have the job no matter what she did or didn’t do. And what kind of a mess would that turn out to be? Had he forgotten how important this project was or the promises he had made just a few months ago? To a woman he had wronged and never righted the wrong. To a woman … no—to many women whose anguished eyes still haunted him.

No. He would never forget. He would go to his grave trying to fulfill those promises. And he would not allow anything to stand in the way of completing Angie’s House on time.

Still, he could surely afford a few days to give Genevieve a chance to find her bearings. His controlling ways seemed to be detrimental to her composure and confidence. Maybe if he stayed away from her, she’d have a better chance of success.

“Sure, put it that way, McDowell,” he muttered. The truth was that he just needed to stay far enough away from her to regain his composure. There was just something about Genevieve with her prim, pouty little mouth, her hair that was pulled back so hard that it had to hurt and her slender little body and delicate, haughty chin that made him want to …

Cover that mouth with his own, slide his hands into that hair and send the pins flying, mold that sweet, perfect body to his.

And that was the real reason he was staying away. Maybe that flare-up with Rita and the fact that he had spent most of the past six months alone was just making him crazy for any woman. No matter. He was going to give Genevieve some room to run.

So, he did his best to stay away, concentrate on his legitimate business and not think about Genevieve at all beyond the sphere of work.

Except he still drove her to and from Angie’s House and stopped in for a progress report every single day.

That kept her in his sights, in his thoughts. He hated that. Staying with one woman, letting any woman slip behind his defenses, wasn’t allowed. He had good reasons for that. This was a nonnegotiable item.

As for Genevieve and her progress, at first she was tentative in her reports. “I was thinking that it might be nice for each woman to be able to have some say in what her room, her personal retreat, will be like. So I thought perhaps … maybe … we should make each bedroom look finished but still leave room for more decorating after the women move in. They can perhaps … possibly … accessorize and make the rooms their own.”

Lucas wasn’t a man who smiled much, but he couldn’t hold back a trace of a smile now. “That’s a great idea, Genevieve. No ‘maybe’ or ‘perhaps’ or ‘possibly’ about it,” he teased.

“Oh.” Her lips parted as if he’d caught her by surprise. Her green eyes opened wide, all bright and sparkly. She looked as if he had handed her the keys to a treasure. She was beautiful. Radiant. He wanted to move closer.

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.

“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.

CHAPTER SIX

GENEVIEVE LOOKED at her watch. Rats! She was running behind again. Ever since she’d moved in, ever since Lucas had kissed her, the two of them had been working at a feverish pace to finish everything before they opened the doors to Angie’s House and Lucas moved on to France.

And until I … do what? she wondered. But there wasn’t even time to worry about that. Thank goodness. Thinking about her future filled her with determination but also with trepidation and doubts. At least doing her job kept her mind off all that.

And off the memory of Lucas kissing her.

“Stop that,” she ordered herself.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Jorge looking at her, and she gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Sometimes when I’m tense or rushed, I talk to myself.”

He shrugged and returned her smile. “I noticed. You’ve been talking to yourself a lot lately. Lots of stress around here. Even Lucas has been talking to himself and that’s not like him. I worked with him here when he opened one of his stores. I think this place—” Jorge gestured toward the wall “—means a lot to him. He told me it was special. I wonder if there really is an Angie. Why did he choose that name?”

“Maybe it’s just a name, Jorge. And anyway, I’m sure that Lucas would have told us if he wanted us to know more.” But she had wondered the same thing, she thought, as Jorge agreed and went on his way.

Truly she had wondered about whether there was an Angie too much, too often. Repeatedly. Especially since she knew that this was the first such project Lucas had taken on and he spoke of it with such fervor. Especially since she’d glimpsed that pain in his eyes. She hoped that all of the wondering she’d been doing didn’t have anything to do with how Lucas had made her feel when he’d kissed her crazy.

Because that kiss couldn’t matter. It was almost as if it had never happened in Lucas’s eyes. Because once he’d apologized, he made it a point to keep his distance from her. He’d very politely told her that in order to speed up the project, she should feel free to use him in whatever way she needed to. Then he’d given her a curt nod and walked away. Now, although they saw more of each other than they had in those first few days, they kept their personal interactions brief. Nonexistent, really.

He handled the financial end of things, some of the more technical aspects of structure. She handled the big picture, the “what do girls like?” items, the pizzazz end of things.

Those areas might have normally crisscrossed. They should have. Somehow, however, she and Lucas managed to keep a polite distance between them.

At least she hoped she gave the appearance of polite distance. She hoped he never caught her staring at his mouth or his chest and remembering how it had felt to be in his arms.

A buzzer went off at that moment, sending her thoughts flying. “Darn it,” she said, looking at the reminder that appeared on her phone. She was supposed to be meeting with some of the neighbors over coffee tomorrow and she needed to finalize the food. That she could manage. The other item on her to-do list, sending out the invitations to the “meet the elite” party Lucas had requested was more problematic. Her throat closed up at the enormity of the task. The people he would want and expect might have come at her parents’ calling. They wouldn’t come for the “no artistic talent” daughter of the Patchetts. They especially wouldn’t want to come to a party she was throwing if they had heard any of the rumors Barry had spread, and they surely had. Gossip expanded like bread dough in her parents’ inner circle. She was going to fail Lucas.

For now she would concentrate on the coffee, the easy task. At least she’d thought it would be easy … until she showed up the next day and found herself fielding a barrage of questions.

“Would you consider marrying me? These cookies are better than any I’ve tasted and you’re an extremely pretty lady. I think I’m in love.” Those were the words Lucas heard as he entered the backyard where Genevieve was holding court with the neighbors. He glanced to where she was talking to a handsome aging man.

She was wearing a mischievous smile, and for a minute Lucas stood transfixed. It was hard to believe that any man—that rat ex-fiancé of hers—would intentionally hurt a woman like Gen. But then, I’ve hurt plenty of women, haven’t I? And if he followed his inclinations and chased Genevieve’s smiles, he would hurt her just like Barry had. Because in the end, he would still leave. And when they were done here, she needed her freedom and confidence, not some man born to disappoint her.

He leaned on the fence and listened.

“William, how many women have you asked to marry you today?” Genevieve said to the elderly man. “I’ll bet it’s been at least a dozen. But thank you so much for the compliment. If I could marry any man today, you’d be right at the top of my list. Unfortunately, I can’t marry anyone. And I’ll tell you a secret. I didn’t bake the cookies. I bought them.”

The man clapped one hand over his heart in mock horror. “No marriage? No home-baked cookies? Oh, you’ve broken my heart, Genevieve.”

“I know. It’s sad, but I’m sure another cookie or two will heal your heart. Even a store-bought cookie.”

The man’s laugh rang out, ending the exchange, and Genevieve moved on to another group of people. Lucas watched as she charmed them, keeping the conversation light. This was to be a social gathering only. Nothing serious. Just putting people’s minds at ease by being friendly. He didn’t really even have a place here, but she had asked him to stop by just in case anyone insisted on asking questions she couldn’t answer.

“Genevieve, thank you for inviting us,” one woman said. “This is so nice. I love all the pretty green and ivory umbrellas, and the food is delicious. I tell you, I’m glad to hear that you’re happy with the size of the house. We were afraid someone was going to tear the place down and build something even bigger.”

“No. The footprint will remain the same,” Genevieve said, “and we’ll make this pretty yard even more luscious by adding plenty of flowers and some benches.”

“Will you be living here then, you and your husband?” the woman asked. “I told William there that the two of you were most likely married. Or going to be married. You both spend so much time here.”

That was when Genevieve faltered. She looked up into Lucas’s eyes, as if seeking him out. Or maybe she was just afraid that he had heard.

Slowly, she was shaking her head, that pretty blush spreading up her throat. For some totally foolish, insane reason Lucas couldn’t understand, he wanted to hide her. He didn’t want anyone other than himself to see that intimate color that disappeared beneath the collar of her blouse. Which was, of course, ridiculous. He had no more right to think intimate thoughts of Gen than anyone here.

“Lucas and I merely work together,” Genevieve finally managed to say. “I suppose I should explain a bit about why we’re here.”

He couldn’t help smiling. She was always so honest. The script called for a brief neighborhood social hour followed by a mailing and then another question-and-answer meeting, no explanations given today.

Well, so much for the script. This was a lot like Genevieve’s foray into painting. Wild and uninhibited and … interesting. She was always interesting. And so were her cookies, he thought, looking down at the plates filled with miniature works of art.

But by then, she’d begun to speak. “This house is being transformed into a very special place,” she began. “A place that will offer hope to people who need it very much and a place that will, I’m sure, be a credit to your wonderful, beautiful neighborhood.”

“Hmm,” one man said. “That sounds like a lead-in to something I’m not going to like. This is going to be some sort of home for people we won’t want in our neighborhood, isn’t it?”

Lucas frowned at the man. Maybe he even growled or took a step forward, because Genevieve immediately sent Lucas a pleading glance. Which did no good. All Lucas could think of was his mother, who had been a lost soul, of Angie, who had had abuse heaped upon her, of … Genevieve living in a place where there were bars on the windows. A man like that one could raise an outcry, turn people against this project, stop it from happening.

Stop Lucas from doing this thing he desperately needed and wanted to do. Lucas opened his mouth.

“I suppose that might be true,” Genevieve said softly, halting Lucas’s speech. “That is, if you think someone like me would be bad for the neighborhood. This home will be called Angie’s House and it will house eight women like me. Ones who’ve had some hard times but want to raise themselves up. Women who need good, kind neighbors. Women who will work hard to win your trust and to become contributing members of the community.”

She was putting words into the mouths of women she didn’t even know and yet … that was the goal of Angie’s House, wasn’t it?

For two seconds, she looked into Lucas’s eyes. Was she looking for encouragement? He didn’t know, but he nodded. Although what he really wanted to do was challenge any man who questioned her, he knew that wasn’t what she wanted. Encouragement was all she would want to accept. You’re doing fine. He tried to convey the words with his expression.

Which was ridiculous. He was not a sensitive man. He’d been told many times that he looked cold and foreboding. Reassurance wasn’t in his library of expressions.

“So … are you Angie? Metaphorically, I mean,” a woman asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I am.”

“Is there a real Angie?”

“Must be. Why would they call it that if there wasn’t an Angie?” a man said.

The questions came hard and fast, but most of them fixated on the name of the place. “Will the real Angie be coming here?”

“Is she alive?”

“Is she dead?”

“Why did you call the place Angie’s House? What’s the story behind it?”

Lucas felt himself closing up inside. He cursed himself for not anticipating this. Of course, people would be curious about the significance of the name. What had he been thinking doing things this way?

And Genevieve … He’d put her in an uncomfortable position. She was supposed to be the all-knowing, all-seeing leader of this project and he had made her look bad by not giving her all the tools she needed.

“I—” She looked up. He thought she was going to look straight into his eyes, but just as her gaze almost met his, she quickly looked away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know all the answers to your questions,” she said. And she didn’t promise that she would seek out the answers, either.

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