“Could you take me on a tour of the inside of the house?” she asked brightly.
“I could,” the cowboy answered, but made no effort to follow through on her request. “But?” she asked. She made him think of a stick of dynamite about to go off. He was about ten inches taller than she was, but a stick of dynamite didn’t have to be very big to make a sizable impression. Just who was this woman and what was she doing here? “I don’t even know who you are.” “I’m not dangerous, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told him. As if he believed that. Finn’s mouth curved ever so slightly, the left side more than the right. He wondered just how many men this woman had brought to their knees with that killer smile of hers. “There’s dangerous, and then there’s dangerous,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. She raised her chin just a little, doing her best to generate an air of innocence as she assured him, “I’m neither.” “I don’t know about that,” he said. Cowboy for Hire Marie Ferrarella USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than two hundred books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com. To Dianne Moggy, for being nice enough to call and reassure me. Thank You. Contents
There had to be more.
There just had to be more to life than this.
The haunting thought echoed over and over again in Constance Carmichael’s brain as she sat in her father’s dining room, moving bits and pieces of chicken marsala around on her plate. Her father was talking. But not to her—or even at her, as was his custom. This time his words were directed to someone on the other end of his state-of-the-art smartphone. From what she had pieced together, someone from one of his endless construction projects. Carmichael Construction Corporation, domiciled in Houston, Texas, had projects in different stages of completion throughout the country, and Calvin Carmichael thrived on the challenge of riding roughshod on all of his foremen. The table in the dining room easily sat twenty. More if necessary. Tonight it only sat two, her father and her. She was here by mandate. Not that she didn’t love her father, she did, but she had never been able to find a way to bond with him—not that she hadn’t spent her whole life trying. But she had never been able to approach him and have him see her as something other than the ongoing disappointment he always made her feel that she was. Calvin Carmichael didn’t believe in pulling any punches. Rather than sharing a warm family dinner, Connie had rarely felt more alone. She felt utterly isolated—and distance was only part of the reason. Before the call came in, her father had insisted that she sit at one end of the table while he sat at the other. “Like civilized people,” he’d told her. He was at the head of the table and consequently, she was at the foot—with what felt like miles of distance between them. If merely sharing a meal had been her father’s main objective, it could have been more easily attained than this elaborate command performance. Connie was aware of restaurants that were smaller than her father’s dining room. She’d grown up in this enormous house, but it had never felt like home to her. She watched Fleming, her father’s butler, retreat out of the corner of her eye. It was no secret that Calvin Carmichael enjoyed with relish all the perks that his acquired wealth could buy, including not just a cook and a housekeeper but a genuine English butler, as well. The latter’s duties included serving dinner, even if the only one at the table was her father. Connie sighed inwardly, wondering when she could safely take her leave. She knew that if her sigh was audible, her father would make note of it. Moreover, he’d grill her about it once his phone call was over, finding a way to make her feel guilty even if he was the one at fault. Sitting
