to him…
That had been four years ago, and she’d never seen the American financier again. He passed her account to one of his associates at the Canadian branch and flown to his New York headquarters. She smirked. On his private jet no doubt. Being a small fry in a pond of sharks, she couldn’t turn him a fast profit, and he’d ditched her.
That had left her wondering why he approved her unsecured loan in the first place. Was she about to find out?
Stella shivered.
“Come in, Miss Ryan,” Stan invited, studying her. “We’ll talk over lunch.”
The Budweiser Lite curls brushing her face but not hiding the smudges on her cheeks were inherited from her Nordic father. Her almond-shaped eyes from her Japanese mother. He knew. He’d Googled her profile. At his blatant scrutiny, her violet-blue pupils glittered with anger.
She was east and west … light and dark … fire and ice.
The contrast was striking. Rare.
An exotic beauty—a dangerous beauty.
She made him feel again. Something he didn’t want.
A slight tilt of her chin, and she set her mouth in a straight line.
He caught the hint of a quiver on her bottom lip, and his conscience pummeled the vicinity of his heart. His gut turned to lead, his jaw to steel. She had left him no alternative; he had to bring her here.
“What if I don’t?” She challenged, taking several steps backward.
“We’ll park beneath that pine and rap.” Stan stood his ground.
Slender, she moved with the agility and light step of her profession—just as he remembered from their one meeting long ago. At that time, he’d locked her into a contract with a severe penalty clause, for business.
Now, he had to do the same, this time for personal gain.
At twenty-seven, she gave the impression of a delicate blonde. He curved his mouth but didn’t quite make it to a grin. He knew better. The lady had a quiet strength and a determination that couldn’t be beaten. Wasn’t that what had turned his hand to approve her loan? It had been foolish, of course. But her courage had stirred something inside him—hadn’t he fought the same financial battle twenty years ago when he was first stepping out—
Savagely, he hurled the reminder from his mind and trekked to the house. That was then, this was now. He couldn’t afford going soft on her.
Not with what was at stake. He had to crack through her defenses and he’d use any means at his disposal.
“Take her to Minni.” He tossed the command at the two men bungling to fold the net. A pause on the veranda, and he turned to her. “She’ll remove the splinter from your hand.”
“I don’t need—” she mouthed back, but he disappeared indoors.
Stella dismissed the tick to her pride and raised her arms, stretching.
“Ahh, freedom.”
She could ensue another battle, but weary from the first ordeal at the beach and the long bumpy ride, decided to bide her time. An opportunity would present itself. When it did, she’d be ready. In the meantime, sweaty and disheveled, she’d welcome a chance to freshen up before facing him again. Without a doubt, they were headed for another clash.
Joe, the dark-haired body guard escorted her inside the lodge, then left to go find Minni. Fred-the-red stuck to her like glue.
She caught his reflection in the wall mirror; he was shifting on his feet. She grinned. One on one … better odds. Her hands itched for action, but she wouldn’t get far if she made a move now. She scanned the hallway. A Tiffany lamp—a possible weapon—was set on a shelf beneath the mirror.
The coat rack in the corner—another possibility. Beyond the arch in front of her, a stairway curved to the second floor, fueling her curiosity.
“Over there is the living room and library.” A petite woman with a motherly smile and warm brown eyes walked through the portal, and Fred backtracked out of sight.
“Opposite on the left is the kitchen,” she said in her bubbly voice. “My favorite place.” She hugged a first-aid kit to her bosom and motioned for Stella to follow. “By the way, I’m Minni, Joe’s wife. I’ll be lookin’ after ye while ye ’re here.”
“I won’t be staying.”
“Joe and I’ve been with Mr. Rogers eight years now,” Minni rambled on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Shoulda heard the goings on ’round here a few months ago. The place turned upside down and all because of that poor child …” She paused for breath and picked her way up the stairs.
Halfway down the corridor, Minni opened a door and ushered her inside. “Mr. Rogers had this room specially prepared for you.”
“He did, did he?” Stella muttered, an uncanny sensation pricking the back of her neck.
“I did.”
She spun around. “Too bad you wasted your time.”
“Time is money, Ms. Ryan.” Stan winked at Minni. “I never waste either one.” He walked right past her, ruffling air between them. A hint of his scent floated to her. Fresh as the outdoors, it should have soothed, but instead, it made her ire rise.
“Nor do I,” she fired back, but he’d already bounded down the stairs.
“Come on then,” Minni called from inside the room.
Stella debated, thinking the ogre took a lot for granted, but the best she could do now was get as much information as she could. Smiling, she stepped through the door…and Minnie was her source.
“So, this a busy place?”
“It can be.” Minnie plonked the first-aid kit on a stack of magazines on the bureau by the bed, bumping the long-stemmed red rose in the crystal vase. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
Stella extended her hand. “You like living up here?” She scoped the room. Sunlight filtered through the curtains of a window—a possible escape route—she filed that away in her mind. “Ouch!” She winced as Minnie yanked out the splinter with a pair of tweezers.
“There, that should do it.” She smiled and blotted the scratches with antiseptic.
Stella turned to thank her and a splash of solid color on the bed caught her eye. She stretched across the laced bedspread and shoving the cushions aside, snatched up the uniform—a Karate gui.
“Hope it fits.” Minni fussed around her with a Band-Aid in her hand.
“Why?”
Minni turned quiet. After she bandaged her knuckles, she patted her hand. “There.” She swept up the first-aid kit and murmuring about lunch, made her exit.
Stella made a beeline for the window, turned the latch and raised it. She leaned out and gauged the distance to the ground. Too high to jump but she could climb down. Just then, Fred-the-red appeared from behind the corner of the house and gave her a brief nod. She waved a half-hearted greeting, realizing she’d have to be extra quiet and time it just right.
On her way to the bathroom, she paused to smell the rose and sucked in a breath, the force of it burning her throat. Her face was splashed on the cover of the magazine topping the stack on the dresser. Headlining the current issue of Sports Unlimited, Stella Ryan: the woman, the sensei, and the competitor at the International Karate Tournament in Tokyo. Air pressure fizzed between her teeth. She bolted into the bathroom and locked the door.
Twisting on the shower, she stepped beneath, the warm spray soothing her body, but not her mind. Two minutes tops, and she swabbed herself dry. Throwing on her clothes, she wondered what other surprises … er … shocks were in store for her.
Preferring to face-off her demons,