Sun Chara - Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

By sheer force of will, she stood her ground and flexed her fingers. At the slightest provocation, her hands could morph to hammer fists. This man, Stan Rogers, could destroy her. She reeled and the past rushed in…

She had stood at the entrance of the downtown high-rise, every nerve in her body on alert, her mind pounding, this is your last chance . Hoping the spring rain didn’t frizz her hair, she wiggled her foot and the piece of cardboard covering the hole on the bottom of her shoe bumped her big toe. She tapped her toe on the pavement for a better ‘fit’. Dressed in her one and only suit, she’d pinned her hair at the nape of her neck and clipped gold –ninety-nine-cents-worth hoop earrings on her ears. She mustn’t look as ‘hungry’ as she felt.

She’d done every menial job on the face of the planet–from dishwasher, to cook, to janitor, to waitress, to sales—to put herself through the University of British Columbia. Her parents back in Toronto had enough to worry about with her two brothers; she didn’t want to be an added burden.

Penny-pinching, she managed to scrape enough for a down payment to open her own martial arts studio. But without a solid credit rating, reserve funds and income details, she was considered a high-risk commodity. She laughed but it came out as a groan. Every bank had turned her down.

R&R Financial had built its multi-million-dollar global chain by picking up the high riskers nobody wanted. Stella took a deep breath and let it seep out through her lips, the sound almost a snort. There’d be a catch.

She glimpsed her reflection in the dusky glass and clutched her purse, doubts bombarding her brain. Gulping down her uncertainty, she ventured through the revolving doors into the enemy’s lair.

“Give me one good reason why I should spend my hard-earned money on you.” Stan Rogers had curled his lip, studying her beneath his shuttered gaze.

“A good businessman would take a risk,” she countered, her words brave, but her hands clammy.

“A calculated one.” He brushed his fist across his jaw and reclined in his chair, his eyes piercing … cold. “He’d be a fool to rush in blindly.”

He raised his arms and locked his hands behind his neck, flattening the golden hair at his nape. An earring glinted. The muscles of his forearms flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves, and his shirt with a red tie loose at the open collar, stretched tight across his torso.

“Which are you, Miss … or should I say Ms. Ryan? A sure thing or a hidden hazard?”

Stella ignored the knock to the preface of her name and edged forward in her chair. “Neither.” She met his gaze head on and glimpsed the navy flecks in his irises.

A jolt shot through her.

He laughed, a humorless sound.

She scooted back.

“In my experience, a female is the biggest risk tempting mankind.” He unclasped his hands from behind his neck and brought them to rest on the polished surface of the desk. From the blotter, he picked up a pen and twirling it between his fingers, assessed her. “And you’re very much a woman.”

She barely heard the murmur from his lips, her gaze glued on the pen he toyed with … was he imagining it was her? She laughed, hiding her nervousness. Silly. The door was two feet behind her—a quick exit.

She went on the offensive. “And a male is—” she began, about to string a line of choice words after that particular species but he beat her to it.

“Trustworthy, dependable, steadfast.” A grin twitched the corner of his mouth.

“Matter of opinion.”

“Dare one ask yours?” he asked.

“Arrogant, self-centered, controlling …”

He held up a hand. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I see.” He replaced the ballpoint pen on its stand. “Are you an exception to the superficiality of most women?”

“One way to find out.”

“And that is?”

“Approve my loan.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes but it quickly diminished beneath his frown. He remained silent for so long, she thought she had lost the gamble. Sighing, she stood up to go, but his next words stopped her.

“Done.” He hauled himself from the chair. “With a three point higher interest rate. If you default on payment”, he paused and delivered his final shot, “I’ll clean you out, lock, stock and caboose.”

“You bast—”

He arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve been baiting me.”

“Those are the terms.” He stepped around, hitched up his pant leg and propped his hip on the edge of the desk. “Take it or leave it.”

Stella warred with common sense, with bravado, and with something more … her determination to build a business for herself. If she accepted his offer, she’d be shackled to him until she paid off the mortgage. It could take years. If she didn’t, she’d be ‘clocking in’ at a low wage for someone else to reap the profits. Either way, it would be a grueling cycle.

“Agreed.” If she had to slave away at work, she preferred to do it on her own turf.

She extended her hand and he clasped her fingers in a firm grip, the calluses on the ridge of his palm grazing her flesh.

High voltage charged into her. Her heart leapt, her breathing bumpy.

“Sealed,” he said, his gaze unwavering.

She snatched her hand away, but it was too late. The scent of his cologne wrapped around her like a forbidden caress, and made her pulse climb. She gulped, feeling like she’d sold herself 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.