Patricia Seeley - The Millionaire Meets His Match

With an effort she shook off her trance and walked closer to him, following the heavy ornamental iron fence a short distance until she was only a few feet from the man. “Excuse me,” she repeated, louder than before.

This time, the gardener must have heard her. He drove his shovel into the ground and turned toward Cass. Involuntarily she caught her breath. He was incredibly good-looking. Her next thought was that he’d probably been a beautiful child. The years had sculpted a leaner, more angular look to his cheekbones and jawline, and added enough experience to make the face even more interesting than it was handsome. His sea green eyes regarded her with polite inquiry, the proper attitude, she supposed, for the hired help. Cass wished she felt equally unaffected by him. She was here on business, after all.

She cleared her throat. “Would you help me, please?” she asked. She tried to sound imperious, like a lady of the manor used to ordering the servants about. Instead, her uncertain delivery gave the request a peculiar poignance rather than any insistence.

The gardener leaned on his shovel, one foot propped on the blade. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Crosswhite. Would you please let me in?” Cass pointed to the huge wrought iron gate.

“The main gate is back that way.” The gardener jerked his head in the direction she’d just come from. “Security there screens all visitors.”

“I know. I was already there. He... There wasn’t anyone at the gate so I came around here.” Cass had thought it wasn’t possible to feel any more overheated and uncomfortable until hot blood flooded her cheeks with the lie. She tugged at the neckline of her wilting silk blouse, trying to unstick the material from her perspiring skin.

“The front gate is always manned,” the gardener said, watching Cass squirm as he calmly confronted her with her own falsehood.

Cass pushed a wet tendril of dark hair out of her eyes. She had no patience for this kind of game. “All right,” she admitted. “Someone was there. He wouldn’t let me in. He insisted I had to make an appointment first, but I can’t make an appointment because Mrs. Crosswhite’s phone number is unlisted and I haven’t time to write a letter. It’s vitally important that I speak with Mrs. Crosswhite. If I could just explain the problem to her...”

“Explain it to me.”

The gardener walked casually toward Cass, pulling off his heavy gloves. He stopped just on the other side of the fence, disconcertingly close. Cass could smell the mingled scents of earth and grass clinging to his sweat-sheened body. The sun glinted off his streaked sandy brown hair.

“Explain it to you?” Cass repeated.

“Explain it to me. Convince me you need to see Mrs. Crosswhite and maybe I’ll let you in.”

Cass didn’t like the direct way he looked into her eyes, or the keen intelligence evident in his coolly assessing gaze. He seemed to be taking her measure in a completely detached, analytical way that was more intimidating and more intimate than the leering and ogling some men indulged in. She felt exposed and vulnerable, as though all her secrets were being laid bare before his critical eye. She took a step backward and folded her arms protectively across her breasts, forcing herself to meet his stare. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s personal.”

Gabe Preston had assessed the woman on the far side of the fence with a single, trained glance. Now he made a show of giving her a slow once-over, head to toe, just to see how she’d react. Nice legs, he thought fleetingly, as she reflexively retreated a step or two despite the obvious protection of the wrought iron gate standing between them.

Everything about her was all wrong. Her dressed-forsuccess suit was damp and wrinkled with heat and perspiration, but the style was a mistake in any case. The straight, clean lines of the short jacket and slim skirt had trouble accommodating the lush curves of her body which spoiled the intended silhouette.

The haircut was equally amiss. Some hair stylist’s fantasy of sleek sophistication, it clearly was supposed to have a sculpted appearance. Instead, her thick, dark hair was windblown and tousled. It curled and waved around her face damply, destroying the elegant simplicity she probably hoped for.

In short, she was a mess, albeit an attractive one, right down to the guarded but obviously distressed expression in her hazel eyes. Gabe was intrigued in spite of himself. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what it’s about,” he advised her.

Was Cass only imagining a change in his voice or did he really sound concerned now? Here was her opportunity, yet she balked at telling her story to a stranger. He would think her ridiculous and no doubt refuse to help.

“I can only say it’s urgent,” she hedged. “A matter of life and death, really. Please, won’t you let me in?” She read surprise and doubt but also hesitation in his unguarded eyes. Desperately she searched for a way to tip the balance in her favor. “I...I’ll pay you,” she added, fumbling at the catch of her purse.

For a moment the gardener looked stunned. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Cass didn’t understand what he found so funny. Did Mrs. Crosswhite pay this man so well he didn’t need any extra money, or was it the notion that Cass could have enough in her purse to interest him that he found so hilarious? Regardless, she seemed to have forfeited what little headway she’d made. Any spark of compassion she might have glimpsed in the gardener’s eyes had been extinguished by amusement. She snapped her purse shut

“Excuse me,” the man said, recovering himself and taking note of Cass’s stony expression. “I suppose that must seem like a logical offer to you. And it probably sounds hypocritical to say, standing in front of a place like this—” his arm made a sweeping gesture encompassing the estate grounds “—that money can’t buy everything. But it can’t, you know. That’s the first thing you learn when you’re around people who have lots of it.”

He leaned against the wrought iron bars of the fence, so close Cass could hear him breathe. He lowered his voice to acknowledge their new proximity. “Money is also no guarantee of sincerity, I’m afraid. No,” he said, shaking his head, “you’ll have to find some other way to convince me to let you in.” Then he made a deliberate show of giving her a slow once-over, head to toe, and grinned wickedly as he met her gaze.

Chapter Two

Cass glowered at the smiling gardener, trying without success to ignore the physical sensations that flooded through her body when she looked into his laughing green eyes. She was certain she knew exactly what this man expected her to offer by way of a bribe.

She wasn’t willing to go that far to see Mrs. Crosswhite. There had to be some other way to get inside the fence. But before she left this gate, admitting temporary defeat, she could still salvage a minor triumph. It would be a real pleasure to slap the smirk off the gardener’s face. “Just what do you have in mind?” she asked with studied innocence.

‘Well...” the man stepped back and made another exaggerated survey of her through half-closed eyes veiled by dark lashes. He smiled slowly. ”You could climb the fence.”

Cass stared at him, uncomprehending, so prepared for him to say something else that she could muster no response to what he actually said.

“You see,” he continued, “if I were to go back to my digging and you were to climb the fence while I wasn’t looking, then you could say that you’d become lost on the way to the house, and I’d have to show you there. It wouldn’t be as though I’d actually let you in. Once you’re on the grounds, you’re presumed to be a guest and I’d have to show you every courtesy.” The gardener’s grin was even wider now, and more knowing. He’d guessed the kind of proposition Cass expected and was enjoying her speechless confusion.