Jennifer Greene - The Billionaire’s Handler

“Look, I’m getting sick and tired of your being right, Maguire. I’m starting to feel like a dunce.”

“You’re not a dunce. You’re ultrabright. Just not about big money. How could you be? And why should you expect yourself to be brilliant about everything? See…I’m way better at being selfish than you are. That’s why I’m the natural teacher in this.”

She opened her mouth to say something sassy and clever…it was about time she put him in his place. He was mighty comfortable in the role of ‘Fixing Carolina.’ Not so comfortable when she turned the tables and made him talk about himself.

She was about to direct a raft of questions at him…when a commotion across the patio diverted her attention. Although most of the tables were filled, most conversations were desultory, natural to guests enjoying a leisurely morning and fabulous food. But at the far table near the aqua pool, voices suddenly raised.

Carolina glanced over, and saw what looked to be a father and teenage daughter. Although they weren’t fighting in English, she could easily get the gist. Likely similar arguments took place in every household on every continent, when a daughter was trying to grow up before her daddy thought she was ready.

Their voices kept rising. The daughter snapped back, sassy, from her tone. The father’s retorts became colder, sterner. It was just an argument. Just a personal fight.

There was just a moment…when the blond-haired girl stopped looking defiant and strong. She…caved. Whatever her dad said…hurt.

Crushed her. The lips trembled. The eyes welled. Her so-pretty face looked full of pain, beyond hurt.

Carolina could feel her pain. Could remember feeling as if she was breaking from all the people yelling at her, not hearing anything she said, until the words wounded beyond bearing. And just like that, she suddenly lost it. The sound of their voices. All their voices. All sound.

The stupid hysterical deafness was back. She shook her head, but it was like trying to shake water from her ears after swimming. Any sound that came through was just a pale blur, nothing with any decibels.

Maguire saw the change in her. She knew from his expression.

He couldn’t know what triggered the problem this day-Carolina wasn’t sure she could explain it to herself-but Maguire didn’t need all the answers to act.

He just turned into her hero again. Anger steeled his expression-but not anger at her. He swept her up and out of there, an arm around her shoulder, steering her past people, past doors, past everything. Carolina sensed that he’d battle off a few armies if they tried getting near her.

He steered her through his room, to get to hers. Coaxed her to lie down. Put a warm cloth on her forehead. Came through with tea. And a foot rub. American newspapers to read.

She must have napped, because when she woke up, she found her red shoes on a pillow in her sight-a picture that was guaranteed to make her smile.

The short nap seemed to fix the hearing problem this time, because she could hear bursts of laughter and splashing from the pool below. Sweet sunlight pooled in the windows, and she heard Maguire’s voice, quiet, talking on a phone from the balcony. He was using his “making arrangements” voice.

When he stopped talking, she assumed he’d finished the call, and spoke up. “So where are we going, Maguire?”

Faster than the spin of a dime, he charged in, studied her face with the fierceness of a scientist-not a lover. His stiff shoulders eased. “You’re hearing again.”

“Yup. And I’m sorry. Angry at myself. That was stupid. The whole deaf thing is stupid. I’m strong now.”

“You are strong, Carolina. You’re just not tough. There’s a difference.”

“I’m both.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushed a hand through her hair. “I’ve had it with this weakling business. So I had some stress. Everybody has stress. They don’t just cave. I’m through being a wuss.”

“You were never a wuss, Carolina.”

Arguing with him was useless. She should have known. “I heard you making some kind of travel arrangements, or that’s what it sounded like. So where are we going?”

A smile finally broke through that austere frown. “First, we’ve got a few hours before our flight. So…we’re getting you another suitcase, and you’ve got two or three hours’ worth of a shopping spree to fill it. After that…we’re headed to one of the places on your list. And I’ll admit, you gave me a real challenge coming through on this one. You’re going to love it.”

She didn’t plan on loving anything. She’d found a lover last night-an unforgettable lover. But because she’d done the stupid hysterical-deafness thing again, he had a chance to push away. He had a great time doing his fix-Carolina thing…but no one was getting close enough to fix Maguire.

Truthfully she didn’t want to fix anything about him. She just wanted to show him that someone could be there for him, too. That it wasn’t always one-sided.

So far, she’d flunked that course completely.

Well, hell. Maguire fixed things. He was good at fixing things-not to be egotistical, but personally, he thought he was downright outstanding at fixing things.

But he was rotten when fate threw him a curveball that he wasn’t prepared for.

“We’re just going back to Washington for a couple of days,” he told Carolina. The interminable overseas flight was…well, interminable.

“You told me. It’s fine.” Carolina, curled up in the window seat, looked sleepy and content.

Maguire wanted to claw the walls. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“I know. And I get it, you’re stressed about this. But whatever you have to do, just do, Maguire. You told me Tommy was coming over tomorrow. I couldn’t be more delighted to see him.”

He could see she meant it. Her eyes lit up at the idea of seeing his young brother-so unlike the rest of the world, who looked at Tommy and tended to see disabilities.

The change in plans had a good side, he told himself. They were going to be around people for a couple of days, rather than alone together. She’d have a block of time to forget that wild night, to get things back in perspective. He’d keep her way, way too busy to think about…well, to think about sex. At least sex with him.

By the time the jet finally touched down in Seattle, they were both blithering tired. Maguire didn’t usually suffer from jet lag, but he hadn’t slept. How was he supposed to sleep, when the damn woman had put down the barrier between the seats and snuggled next to him?

She made out like his chest was her pillow. Like his arm belonged tucked around her. Like it was okay that her hand had drifted between his legs when she fell asleep. That her hand had been there for ages and ages. That the damn woman had reached up to brush her lips against his neck in her sleep, for Pete’s sake.

Was that fair? Was that reasonable? How much could a man be expected to endure?

He’d arranged a limo to pick them up in Seattle, which saved him having to drive when he was bleary-eyed. Once they got back to the lodge, she poured into bed almost as easily as liquid Jell-O, only spoke up when he took off her sacred red shoes.

He had no memory of stumbling into bed, but he must have, and then woke up early in spite of himself. Maybe he was brain-dead tired, but he still figured the rise-and-shine thing was a good idea-he’d have a chance to mentally prepare before Carolina was up.

The rain started at dawn, beginning as a sleepy drizzle and turning into a silent gush. Even inside, the pines seemed to smell more verdant, the air steamed with freshness. By the time Carolina bounced downstairs, in jeans and an oversize sweatshirt, he had a table loaded with papers and information for her-and he was on the nice, far distance of the other side.