Sun Chara - Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

“Good thing that.” A hint of a smile lingered on his lips, and his gaze strayed to the curve of her breast, barely visible by the tear in her sweatshirt.

His eyes darkened, shuttered, his smile vanished.

Her eyes grew wide, lashes fluttering, shielding.

Signals … danger … combustion.

Stella took another gulp of water. “I-it’s not funny.”

“Never said it was.”

“The burn stung.”

“I know.”

Heat infused her body. Was there a double-entendre in that? She set the glass on the table with more force than necessary; the liquid swirled against the clear walls, but didn’t spill. Too bad. She felt like doing injury to something or, she glanced at the man beside her, someone. He certainly didn’t think she could be contained against her will without retaliating?

Tossing a crumpled napkin on the table, he pushed his chair back and motioned her to the sofa by the window. For a second, she debated whether to sit or stand, but not wanting him to think she was on the defensive, plopped on the settee. He lounged on the armchair across from her, trapping her in the lens of his vision like a high-powered combatant’s target.

Breath pocketed in her chest, and she pushed up her sleeves, on guard.

“Stella, I, or rather we” –he crossed one leg over his knee— “have followed your career as a martial artist for some time. Rare to see a woman master the art of self-defense to the professionalism you’ve achieved.”

“Thank you,” she said, wondering where this was leading. If he thought he could lull her into a false security with compliments to get what he wanted from her, he was wrong.

Dead wrong.

“This woman was worth the risk, after all.” She couldn’t help the jab.

“Financially, yes,” he hit back, his tone all business. “You’ve proved a worthwhile asset.”

A silent growl built in Stella’s throat. How dared he talk like she was some inanimate object. Asset, indeed. “So, why bring me here?”

“I wanted the very best for Troy. No one else would do,” he murmured more to himself than to her.

“You wanted the very best of what?” she asked, her curiosity pushing anger aside. “Who’s Troy? And what does he have to do with me?”

A silent moment passed, and he leaned forward, his midnight blue eyes boring into her. “I want to hire you as my son’s martial arts coach.”

“Troy.”

“That’s right.”

“This is ludicrous. Absolutely wild.” She nearly burst out laughing but some innate sense checked it in her throat. “There are plenty of martial arts schools you could enroll him in. There was no need for you and your … er … friends to go through this farce to bring me here. Even if you wanted me as his Sensei—”

“Instructor.”

She nodded. “I’d have been happy to coach him at my studio.”

“I didn’t want Troy in a public class, stared at, ridiculed by other children.” He brushed a hand across his chin. “My son needs a private coach.” His voice deepened, hinting at a deeper, conflicting emotion. “You, Ms. Ryan, will teach him until he feels confident … strong again.”

Children could be cruel, but for him to take these extreme measures to get her here was beyond her comprehension. “I don’t understand.”

He paused for a moment, the silence deafening. “He must become healthy again. Feel like a valued human being.”

Was he playing on her emotions? Could he have an ulterior motive?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers,” she said, recalling how callous he could be. “I have a full schedule.” Ignoring her erratic pulse, she cleared her throat and scooted forward. “I’ve spent years building my business and Karate is my life.” She’d practically starved to do it, but he didn’t have to know that. “I can’t abandon it for the whim of a father and his son.” Her words sounded abrasive even to her own ears, but she had to be tough.

Tough with him.

And tougher with herself, because the man was dangerous to her heart, her emotions, her mind … to her whole self.

In one fluid motion, Stan hauled himself from the armchair, eyes blazing and nostrils flaring. Startled, Stella squared her shoulders and shuttered her gaze, ready to dodge if necessary.

“What do you know of pain? Of a child tossed about like chattel who’s—” He shoved a hand through his hair and paced the room, his outburst surprising him more than it did her. “I apologize. You’re not to blame.” His jaw clenched. “Trauma, especially recurring, can scar for life.”

Stella uttered not a word.

Dangerous didn’t describe him. Lethal was more accurate.

The man was lethal.

“When a child is involved, one can become ballistic.”

“And are you?”

“What?” He glanced at her, a blank look across his features.

“Ballistic?”

An unwilling smile flittered across his mouth but he neither confirmed nor denied.

Her pulse leaped. His demeanor oozed sexual energy. Moisture glazed her upper lid. She swabbed it with her thumb, and his eyes zoomed in on her mouth.

A silent moment, a tense moment, a telling moment.

She didn’t want to know … acknowledge the shift in the atmosphere between them. She had to be smart, strong, deliver her blow and get out of there. Fast.

So, she said the only thing that came to her mind, “What’s the matter with him? Your son?”

“That’s not your concern.” His words were like ice chaffing her skin.

“All right,” she said. “Why don’t you teach him how to fight.” She scrutinized the length and breadth of his body to the detriment of another leaping heartbeat. “You … uh … look capable.”

“I could teach him to use his fists, but street fighting isn’t the best for him.” He caught and held her in his sights, a wry twist on his mouth.

Stella struggled, yet didn’t move an inch. But her vitals were going haywire. She had to get out of here, get out … get some air.

“Martial arts, the ancient art of self-defense, exercising the spirit, mind and body would suit him better,” he insisted.

A time bomb was ticking.

“Take the job.”

“No!” She leaped to her feet.

“No?”

She mocked a cough to hide her discomfort, and reverted to her business persona. “I’d like to help, but it’s out of the question.”

“Think again,” he said, voice smooth, silky. “Do it for three months.”

“I couldn’t teach your son Karate in that time,” she said, voice soft. Was she weakening? Where was her tough stance? “It’s a lifetime thing.”

“I understand.” In two strides, he bridged the gap between them, crowding her. “But it would give him a start. Some basics.”

“True.”

He was so close, his body heat warmed, his breath fanned her cheek, the faint scent of Scotch making her want to taste … him. She folded her hands into fists, determined to chase away this overwhelming rush that had her heart battering her chest.

“A philosophy, a discipline underscores the Martial Arts.” She forced the words out. “More important is when and how to use defense technique.”

“I know,” Stan said. “That’s why I didn’t want to hire just anyone.”

“You’re flattering me, Mr. Rogers,” Stella said, lowering her lashes a fraction. “However, three months is impossible.” Good, when she didn’t look at him, she sounded herself, the savvy businesswoman. “I’ve scheduled events I can’t get out—”

“Can’t or won’t.”

“You’ll find someone else to help your boy.” She dared lift her lashes … a mistake. Her breath swept out of her, leaving her deflated. “Someone willing to be on call…” She was fighting herself more than him.