Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | The Tycoon′s Proposal

The Tycoon's Proposal
Leigh Michaels


HAS THE TYCOON MET HIS MATCH…?With the holiday season fast approaching, Lissa Morgan is in dire straits–she's stuck without a job, and the roof over her head is definitely temporary! So when a two-week live-in job is offered to her, Lissa snaps it up. What she doesn't realize is that she'll be in close proximity to Kurt Callahan–the man who broke her heart years before when she discovered he had only dated her for a schoolboy bet!Kurt's now a sexy businessman, and the attraction between them is sparking. Can Lissa forgive, forget and accept this tycoon's new proposal…?









Of course, there was the little matter of Kurt Callahan.


But once the grand opening of his new store was past he’d be going home, and that interference would be gone, as well. And with him out of the way, her peace of mind would be restored and she could get down to work…for a while, at least.

The nerve of the man, threatening to tell her new boss what had happened between them all those years ago. Of course he wouldn’t actually do it, because he’d be the one who ended up looking bad. Still…Lissa had thought she was long over the sting of the single evening she’d spent with him. Even in the cloakroom last night she hadn’t entirely lost her perspective. But that was before she’d had to deal with him on such a personal level, and now all the feelings had come flashing back: the frustration and the anger, the hurt, the desolation and, yes, the attraction, too….




The Tycoon’s Proposal

Leigh Michaels







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Leigh Michaels has always been a writer, composing dreadful poetry when she was just four years old and dictating it to her long-suffering older sister. She started writing romance in her teens, and burned six full manuscripts before submitting her work to a publisher. Now, with more than seventy novels to her credit, she also teaches romance writing seminars at universities, writers’ conferences and on the Internet.

Leigh loves to hear from readers. You may contact her at P.O. Box 935, Ottumwa, Iowa 52501, U.S.A., or visit her Web site: leigh@leighmichaels.com


For Alexandra, who knows why




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#u9c6ad5a1-3e5f-5887-8844-1169c6e86c17)

CHAPTER TWO (#u7aa89b12-772e-5a2d-a0f6-4bd44c05e715)

CHAPTER THREE (#u28b29cff-1747-5a0e-a9a3-83b9f53d523c)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


LONG BEFORE THE banquet was over, Kurt was feeling restless. Why couldn’t people just say thank you and leave it at that? If he hadn’t wanted to donate all that equipment he wouldn’t have done it. So why should he be required to sit at a head table and smile for what seemed hours while everyone from the university’s president on down expressed their appreciation?

As if she’d read his mind, his grandmother leaned toward him and whispered, “Most people who donate things enjoy the public recognition. You look as if you have a toothache.” She gave an approving nod toward the podium and applauded politely.

Kurt hadn’t noticed until then that yet another speaker had finally wound to his interminable conclusion. He rose, made the obligatory half-bow toward the speaker, gave the audience another self-deprecating smile, and hoped to high heaven that they were done.

Apparently they were—or else the audience had finally had enough too, for most of them were on their feet. “At last,” he said under his breath.

“It’s only been an hour,” his grandmother said. “You really must learn some patience.”

Now that it was almost finished he could begin to see some humor in the situation. “I didn’t hear you saying anything about the need to be patient while I was getting myself established in business, Gran. In fact, I seem to remember you egging me on by saying you wanted me to hurry up and get rich enough to buy you a mink coat.”

“What I said,” she reminded him crisply, “was that I wanted a mink coat and a great-grandchild before I died, and since I was perfectly able to buy my own mink coat you should concentrate on the great-grandchild.”

He suppressed a grin at how easily she’d stepped into the trap. “Well, these people have been telling you all evening how great your grandchild is. So the way I see it, now that you know I’m perfect you have nothing left to complain about.”

She smiled. “And here I thought you brought me tonight only because you couldn’t decide which of the young women on your list deserved the laurels.”

She wasn’t far wrong about that, Kurt admitted. He could think of half a dozen women who would have been pleased to attend this event with him—unexciting as it had turned out to be. But that was part of the problem, of course. Invite a woman to a party and she understands it’s just a date. Invite her to a boring banquet in your honor and she starts thinking you must be serious.

His grandmother was looking beyond him. “Don’t look now, but here comes another one.”

And if you take your grandmother to the banquet instead, he thought, the hopefuls start coming out of the walls.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a woman coming toward them. This one was blond—but only the hair color seemed to change; they were all young, sleek, improbably curvy, with perfect pert noses. It was as if someone had put a Barbie doll on the copy machine and hit the enlarge button.

There had been two of them before they’d even sat down to dinner—fluttering over to enthuse about how wonderful he was to make such a huge contribution, obviously thinking that the way to any man’s heart was through his ego. If Kurt had started the evening with any inclination to think himself special—which he hadn’t—that would have been enough to cure him.

“Time to get out of here.” He offered his arm to his grandmother.

Outside the banquet room, a few people were milling about, buttoning winter coats and wrapping scarves before leaving the warm student union for the wintry outdoors.

“There’s a chair,” Kurt said. “And isn’t that your friend Marian? You can talk to her while I get your coat.”

The cloakroom counter was busy, and only one attendant was on duty. When they’d arrived the crowd had been trickling in and there had been two people manning the cloakroom. Now that everyone wanted to leave at once there was just one. Bad planning, Kurt thought.

Several young men were clustered at one end of the counter. Kurt recognized some of them as the athletes who had helped to demonstrate the equipment he had donated for the student union’s new gym before all the dignitaries had trooped up to the banquet room to start the congratulations. Kurt looked past them and saw why they were hanging around—the attendant on duty was female, young, and not at all hard on the eyes.

He fidgeted with his claim ticket as he waited his turn, and he watched the young woman. She wasn’t conventionally pretty at all. She was far too thin for her height, he thought. Her eyes were much too big for her face, and her auburn hair was cropped shorter than many men’s. And the anonymous uniform of a server—black trousers, boxy white tuxedo shirt, bow tie—did little for her slim figure. But she was stunning, nevertheless, the sort of woman who drew gazes, and attention, and interest.

The athletes were certainly interested. Every time she came back to the counter with a coat, one or more of them had a comment. Some of the remarks she ignored, some she smiled at, some brought a quip in return.

She’s leading them on, Kurt thought. Not that he cared whether she flirted with the customers, as long as she continued to work efficiently through the crowd. He eyed the small glass jar which sat discreetly at one end of the counter, hinting that tips would be welcome. It was half full of bills and coins. No doubt the occasional flirtation increased the evening’s take.

Before long the foyer was emptying out, but the athletes were still hanging on. “When do you get off duty?” one of them asked the attendant.

“Hard to say,” the young woman said. “With all these people to take care of, it might be another hour.”

“I’ll hang around for a while,” the athlete said. “You’ll need a ride home because it’s snowing.”

“No, thanks. I like snow. Besides—” She checked the number on a ticket and went to the farthest rack to get an overcoat.

By the time she came back the athlete had apparently thought it through. “I know. You’ve got a boyfriend to come and get you.”

She flashed a smile. “What do you think?”

“I’ll save him the trouble,” the athlete offered.

The young woman held out a hand for Kurt’s claim check, but she didn’t look at him because she was still studying the athlete. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll give you a phone number. Call in an hour—just in case he hasn’t shown up.”

The athlete was practically salivating. He grabbed for a discarded napkin that lay on the counter and thrust it at her. She scribbled something and pushed it back.

“Is this your cell phone?” the athlete asked. “Where are you from, anyway? This isn’t a local number.”

She didn’t seem to hear. She looked up from the ticket she held and smiled at Kurt. “Be right back.”

Now he understood what had drawn the athletes. She might be skinny and big-eyed and boyish, but when she smiled—even that polite, almost meaningless smile of acknowledgment—the room instantly grew ten degrees warmer. Or maybe it wasn’t the entire room which heated up but just the men in her general vicinity. That would certainly explain why the athletes’ tongues were all hanging out.

There was something almost familiar about that smile….

But then, practically everything Kurt had seen in the last few days had given him a sensation of déjà vu. It was because he was back on campus, that was all. It had been a long time since graduation. And there were a lot of memories—good and bad—to dredge up…

She was gone for quite a while, and he started to wonder if she was ever coming back. Kurt leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, and the young men, after a few wary glances in his direction, moved away.

She returned with his grandmother’s mink and his own dark gray cashmere overcoat. “Sorry to take so long. I had the mink tucked away clear in the back, where it would be safer. It’s too beautiful to risk.” She ran a hand over the fur before she passed it across the counter.

Kurt laid the mink down and put on his own coat. “I seem to have driven away your admirers.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” she said lightly. “If they’d hung around here much longer they’d have gotten me in trouble with the boss.”

“I hope I didn’t discourage the young man from calling.”

“Probably not.” She didn’t sound excited at the possibility. “I hope he likes listening to the time and temperature recording in Winnipeg.”

He wasn’t surprised that it hadn’t really been her number she’d handed out. But why had she admitted it to him—a complete stranger?

Three guesses, Callahan, he told himself. Because she’s after bigger game, so she’s making sure you know the athlete’s not important.

No wonder he’d had that flash of thinking she looked familiar. One predatory feminine gaze was pretty much like another in his experience.

Her fingertips went out to caress the fur, still draped across the counter. “Careful where you leave that. We get a soft drink spilled every now and then around here, and I’d hate to see that beautiful coat get sticky.” She looked up at him through her lashes, with something like speculation in her gaze.

She’s debating what kind of approach will be most successful, he thought. Well, maybe he’d make it easy for her.

He picked up the mink, and then turned back as if struck by an afterthought. “I wonder….” He did his best to sound naive. “If I asked for your phone number, would you pass me off with time and temperature in Winnipeg?”

She looked at him for a long moment and her eyes seemed to get even bigger.

Calculating my bank balance, no doubt.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She reached for his claim ticket, which was still lying on the counter, flipped it over, pulled a felt-tipped marker from her pocket, and wrote a number on the back side. “Here you go.”

It certainly wasn’t the time and temperature in Winnipeg, Kurt saw, because she hadn’t added an area code. Not that he’d expected anything else. Now she had connected him with the expensive coat, there was no doubt in his mind that she had given him a real number.

Still, he had to admit to a trickle of disappointment, because somehow he’d expected more subtlety from this young woman.

So much for subtlety. He wondered how long she’d wait for him to call. Too bad that he’d never get to find out.

He dropped a substantial tip into the glass jar, and didn’t look back as he crossed the lobby to where his grandmother was talking to a white-haired dowager. “I’ll meet you here for lunch tomorrow, Marian,” his grandmother said. “And perhaps you can bring that young friend of yours to tea sometime in the next few days? Kurt’s staying with me through Christmas, you know.”

Kurt held his tongue until they were outside, protected from the falling snow by the awning as they waited for the valet to bring his car around. The street was already covered, with soft ruts starting to form in the traffic lanes. Flakes the size of quarters were falling slowly and almost silently. “Marian’s young friend is a female, of course,” he said.

“Now, what would make you say that, dear?” His grandmother looked meditatively at the street. “Falling snow is almost hypnotic, really. It’s such a relief in weather like this to be in the hands of an exceptionally good driver.”

“What big fibs you tell, Granny,” Kurt said dryly.

His Jaguar pulled up under the awning. As he reached into his pocket for a tip for the valet his fingers brushed the claim ticket. Maybe he should give that to the valet, too, he thought. No—the kid might think he’d been handed a reward, and no inexperienced young guy deserved the kind of trouble that woman represented.

Kurt decided he’d tear the ticket up and throw it away when he got home. Or maybe he’d keep it for a while, just as a reminder of how careful a guy needed to be these days. Not because he’d ever be tempted to use it.

The ticket slid from his fingers and drifted downward like one of the snowflakes. The small card was warm from his pocket, and the first huge flake which collided with it melted instantly and blurred the ink. He dived after it, and his dress shoe slipped on an icy spot, almost careening him headfirst into a drift.

Even as he was scrambling to keep his balance in the snow he told himself it was stupid to care whether he could still read a number that he had no intention of calling. But it burned itself into his brain anyway, as he picked up the ticket and carefully blotted the snowflake away. The handwriting was strong, clear, and neat, with each numeral precisely formed. And there was a nice sequence to the numbers, too. A memorable sequence.

An odd sequence, he thought as he slid behind the wheel. Maybe it was even a little too rhythmic. Five-six-seven-eight…. Wasn’t that just a little too handy a combination to be real? It sounded more like an aerobic dance routine than a phone number.

“Was there something you needed to go back for, dear?” his grandmother asked. “Or are you just planning to sit here and block traffic for the rest of the evening?”

Kurt stared at the ticket still cupped in his palm, and then he reached for his cell phone, angling it in the light from the entrance canopy so he could compare the keypad with what the young woman had written down. The corresponding letters leaped out at him. Five-six-seven-eight…. He started to laugh.

It looked like a phone number, all right, but he’d bet it led only to a misdial recording. Because surely no phone company would deliberately give a customer that particular series of numbers.

The ones which corresponded to the words GET LOST.

Lissa smothered a yawn and tried not to look at the clock posted high on the foyer’s opposite wall. The banquet was over, and most of the crowd was gone, but her nerves were still thrumming from the encounter with Kurt Callahan. She couldn’t let down her guard yet, however; she had to stay in the cloakroom until the very last garment was claimed or turned over to Lost and Found once the security officers declared that the building was completely empty of guests.

The double doors of the banquet room opened and one of her co-workers emerged pushing a full cart. She looked hot and tired, and Lissa wished she could go lend a hand. Though the work was harder, she’d much rather draw dining room duty than tend the cloakroom. She’d rather be busy than sitting around doing nothing. The time went faster, the tips were usually better, and there was no opportunity to think…

She glanced at the glass tips jar. Not much in it tonight, except for the nice-sized bill Kurt Callahan had pushed through the slot. A big enough bill, in fact, that she half regretted giving him a fake phone number. Not that she would have given him a real one under any circumstances, because Kurt Callahan was the epitome of trouble; she’d learned that lesson long ago. But she could have just told him no.

She hoped he wouldn’t actually call. No, she amended, what she really hoped was that the owner of the number wouldn’t take offense if he did. She really should have checked out whether that number was actually assigned to a customer…

But then she’d never needed a backup before, because the time and temperature in Winnipeg had served her well through the years. Until tonight—when she’d blurted out the truth to Kurt Callahan. But why had she told him about her ploy? To show off how clever she was? To very delicately let him know that she hadn’t been trolling for a date with the athlete? To hint that she needed such stratagems to hold off the vast numbers of men who clustered around her? To point out that even though he wasn’t seriously interested in her other men were?

She smothered a snort at her own foolishness. As if any of that would matter to him. A man with his success, and the good looks to match—hair so dark it had had a bluish cast under the artificial lights, blue-gray eyes, a chiseled profile, and a dimple in his cheek which peeked out at the least expected moments—wouldn’t have any doubts that he was attractive to any woman still able to breathe.

Maybe she did hope he’d call that number. It would do him good to have his ego trimmed back a bit. And if she could be the one to do it…Somebody has to start a trend, she thought.

Besides, if she’d coldly refused to give him the information he wanted, he might have started to wonder why. No, this way was better—he wouldn’t call, and so he would never have reason to question why the woman in the cloakroom was immune to his charm. He’d probably never give her a second thought.

Her long evening shut up in the cloakroom should have meant plenty of time to finish reviewing her notes for the next morning’s political science final. Of course it hadn’t quite happened that way. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to concentrate. A dozen times she’d started to study, only to find herself straining to listen to the speeches coming from the ballroom instead.

Well, it was too late to go to the library. She’d walk straight home instead, look over her notes again, then get some sleep. And once her last exam was past, and she had worked her only remaining dining room shift tomorrow, the semester would officially be over and she would have no other obligations until after January first.

No obligations—but also no income. For with school out of session the student union would close as well.

Lissa bit her lip. She had enough cash tucked back to survive two weeks without a paycheck—and the idea of two weeks of freedom, with no timeclock to punch, no boss to answer to, was sheer heaven.

A crash made her jump and look toward the banquet room. Another of the dining room attendants had misjudged and rammed a cart loaded with the last debris of the banquet—coffee cups, water glasses, crumpled linens, and a few odd baskets of dinner rolls—into the edge of the door. An awkward stack of half-empty glass dessert plates wobbled on the corner of the cart.

Lissa swung herself up onto the cloakroom counter and across, jumping off just as the stack of dishes overbalanced. She slapped her hand down on the top plate, stopping the disaster but splashing leftover creme caramel over the front of her own white shirt and the waitress’s. “Sorry about making such a mess, Connie.”

“No problem. I’d rather wash out a shirt than clean glass shards out of the carpet. I think that stack will stay in place now.”

“Now that I’ve squashed the plates together and spread dessert all over the foyer, you mean?” Lissa cautiously lifted her hand. Caramel and custard oozed between her fingers. “Maybe I should just lick it off.”

“I wouldn’t advise it—those things never taste as good as they look.”

Lissa reached for a crumpled napkin and tried without much success to wipe the sticky sauce off her fingers.

Their supervisor appeared from the banquet room. “What’s the holdup, girls? And why aren’t you in the cloakroom, Ms Morgan?”

“There are only two coats left, and no one seems likely to claim them at this hour,” Lissa said. “So I was giving Connie a hand with the cart.” She didn’t climb over the counter this time; she very properly went through the door and back into the cloakroom.

“Connie needs to learn to manage on her own.” The supervisor eyed the glass tip jar. “You seem to have done rather well this evening. The contributions of young men, by any chance? Perhaps I should make it clear, Ms Morgan, that the cloakroom is not a dating service. If I hear again about you giving out your phone number….”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lissa didn’t bother to explain. She suspected her boss would not see the humor in Winnipeg’s time and temperature. And right now she didn’t even want to think about how the supervisor might have heard about the whole thing.

“All the guests have gone. Lock up the rest of the coats, and then you may punch out,” the supervisor said.

Lissa was relieved to be outside, away from the overheated and stale atmosphere of the banquet room. Now that traffic had died down the snow was getting very deep—though she could see a pair of plows running up the nearest main street, trying to keep the center lanes clear. She slung her backpack over her shoulder, took a deep breath of crisp air, let a snowflake melt on her tongue, and started for home.

Though it was only a few blocks, it took her almost half an hour to struggle through the snow, and by the time she reached the house she was cold and wet. There were still lights on upstairs, but the main level was mercifully dark and relatively quiet. With a sigh of relief she unlocked the sliding door which separated her tiny studio apartment—which in better days had been the back parlor of a once-stately home—from the main hallway.

The fireplace no longer worked, of course, but the mantel served nicely as a display shelf for a few precious objects, and in the center she’d put her Christmas tree. It was just twelve inches tall, the top section of an artificial tree which had been discarded years ago, stuck in a makeshift stand. There were no lights, and only a half-dozen ornaments, each of them really too large for the diminutive tree. But it was a little bit of holiday cheer, a reminder of better days, a symbol of future hopes….

She frowned and looked more closely. There had been a half-dozen ornaments that afternoon, when she’d gone off to work. Now there were five. On the rug below the mantel were a few thin shards of iridescent glass where the sixth ornament, an angel, had shattered.

Someone must have slammed a door, she told herself, and the vibration had made the angel fall. But she knew better. The fact that there were only a few tell-tale slivers meant the ornament had not simply been broken, but the mess had been hastily swept up.

But no one was supposed to be in her room, ever.

Lissa’s breath froze. She spun around to the stack of plastic crates which held almost everything she owned and rummaged through the bottom one, looking for her dictionary. In the back of it, under the embroidered cover, was an envelope where she kept her spare cash. She’d tucked it there, secure in the thought that no other occupant of the house would be caught dead looking up a word even if they did invade her privacy to snoop through her room, as she had suspected some of them might be tempted to do.

The envelope was still there, but it was empty. Someone had raided her room, searched her belongings, and walked away with her minuscule savings. All the money she had left in the world now was in her pocket—the tips she’d taken from the glass jar before she left the student union tonight.

She had to remind herself to breathe. Her chest felt as if she was caught between a pair of elevator doors which were squeezing the life out of her.

You’ve survived hard times before. You can do it again. There would be a check waiting for her when the union reopened after the holidays, pay for the hours she’d worked in the last two weeks.

But in the meantime, to find herself essentially without funds and with no immediate means of earning any….

Maybe, she thought wryly, she should have given Kurt Callahan a real phone number after all. At least then, if by some wild chance he had actually called her, she could have hit him up for a loan, for old times’ sake….

By the next afternoon the snowstorm was over, though the wind had picked up. In the residential neighborhood where his grandmother’s three-story Dutch Colonial house stood, some of the alleys and sidestreets hadn’t yet been plowed. The driveway had been cleared—the handyman had been busy since Kurt had left that morning—but in places small drifts were beginning to form once more, shaped by the wind.

He parked his Jaguar under the porte cochere at the side of the house and went in.

From the kitchen, the scents of warm cinnamon and vanilla swirled around him, mixed with the crisp cold of the outside air. Christmas cookies, he’d bet. He pushed open the swinging shutters which separated the kitchen from the hallway and peered in.

His grandmother’s all-purpose household helper was standing on a chair, digging in a top cabinet which looked as if it hadn’t been opened in years. As he watched, a stack of odd pans cascaded from the cabinet, raining past Janet’s upraised arms and clattering against the hard tile floor.

He offered a hand to help Janet down, and started gathering up pans almost before they’d stopped banging. “Why are you climbing on a chair, anyway? I thought I bought you a ladder for this kind of thing.”

“It’s in the basement. Too hard to drag it up here. That’s the pan I need, the springform one.” She took it out of his hand. “Everything else can go back.”

If only all of his store managers were as good as Janet at delegating responsibility, Kurt thought, the entire chain would run more smoothly. He gathered up the remaining dozen-odd pans and climbed up on the chair to put them back. “Is Gran home from her lunch date?”

“Not yet. She and Miss Marian always have a lot to talk about.”

Including, Kurt remembered ruefully, planning a tea date for him and Marian’s “little friend.” As if he couldn’t see through that for the matchmaking stunt it was. No wonder Gran had been helping to hold off the procession of women at the banquet last night…

“There’s fresh coffee,” Janet said.

Kurt got himself a cup and carried it and a couple of cookies into the big living room. The sun had come out, and it reflected off the brilliant whiteness outside and poured into the house. The arched panel of leaded glass at the top of the big front window shattered the light into rainbows in which a few dust motes danced like ballerinas.

The enormous fir tree in front of the house swayed in the wind, and a clump of wet snow fell to the sidewalk just as a small reddish car turned the corner and pulled into the driveway. Kurt stared. That was certainly his grandmother’s car, but why she would have taken it out in weather like this—

The side door opened and shut, and he met her in the doorway between hall and living room. “What the devil are you doing driving around in this snow?” he demanded.

“The streets are perfectly clear now, dear. We’re used to snow in Minneapolis, and the road crews are very good at their job.”

“It’s freezing out there, Gran. The wind chill must be—”

“A man who climbs mountains for fun is worried about wind chill?”

“Not for myself,” he growled. “For you. You could get stranded. You could have a fender-bender. Just last night you were telling me how much you appreciated having a good, reliable driver.”

“Very true. It’s quite a fine idea, in fact. Would you hang up my coat, dear? And ask Janet to brew a pot of tea.” She dropped her mink carelessly on the floor and walked into the living room.

Kurt bit his tongue and started for the kitchen. Just as he pushed open the swinging shutters to call to Janet the side door opened again, and he had to jerk back to prevent his toes from being caught under the edge. Cold wind swirled in, and a feminine voice called, “Mrs. Wilder?”

“I’m just across the hall,” his grandmother answered from the living room. “Come on in.”

A face appeared around the edge of the door. A heart-shaped face with very short auburn hair ruffled around the ears and cheeks reddened by the wind. The young woman from the cloakroom.

Kurt stared at her in disbelief. “Where did you come from?”

She didn’t answer directly. “I didn’t expect you to be here. I mean—right here. I didn’t bang the door into your nose, did I?”

Finally things clicked. What was wrong with him that it had taken so long to make the connection? “I should have known Marian’s ‘little friend’ would turn out to be you,” he grumbled. No wonder she’d looked at him that way last night. She’d been speculating, all right—wondering what his reaction would be when he finally figured out who she was. “Is that why you pulled all that nonsense with the phone number last night? So I’d be surprised when you turned up here?”

She flushed suddenly, violently red. “Look, I’m sorry about the phone number. It was a stupid trick, and if someone took it as a prank call—”

“I didn’t have to dial it to figure out the joke.”

“You didn’t? Then I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. All I did was drive your grandmother home from the student union.”

He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Why?”

His grandmother crossed the hall to the stairs. “Kurt, you said yourself just now that I shouldn’t be driving in weather like this, so Lissa drove me home.” Her voice faded as she reached the top of the staircase.

Kurt stared at the young woman again. “You’re not the friend of Marian’s that Gran invited to tea?”

She shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint you. Are you talking about Marian Meadows? I know who she is, but that’s all.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to tell you, if you’ll just listen. Actually, I’m glad to find that you haven’t gone back to Seattle yet.”

“You’ve done your homework, I see. Not that it’s hard to find out where I live.”

Her gaze flickered, and he felt a flash of satisfaction at disconcerting her. But she didn’t explain, or defend herself. “Maybe you can convince your grandmother to see a doctor,” she went on. “I didn’t get anywhere when I tried.”

His attention snapped back to her like a slingshot. “Doctor?”

“She had a dizzy spell. She’d had lunch at the restaurant in the student union. Mrs. Meadows left, and Hannah—”

“You’re on a first-name basis?”

“Your grandmother stayed to finish her coffee. When she stood up, she almost passed out. I tried to get her to go to the emergency room, but she insisted she was fine to come home.”

“So you grabbed the opportunity to drive her out here.”

“She was going to drive herself,” the young woman protested.

“Why not just put her in a cab?”

“She didn’t want to leave her car there to be towed by the snowplow crews. Will you quit yelling at me and think about it? I’m betting that’s just like her.”

She was right, Kurt admitted. His grandmother was perfectly capable of refusing to see a doctor, and of insisting on not leaving her car unattended, of driving when she shouldn’t. And she was behaving oddly—she didn’t normally fling her coat onto the floor.

“Thank you for bringing her home,” he said quietly. “I’ll take it from here.”

But the woman didn’t budge. She looked almost uncomfortable.

Kurt wondered why she didn’t just go. Was she waiting for some sort of payment? Or did she have something else on her mind?

He frowned as he remembered the flash of familiarity he’d felt last night. He’d dismissed that as the look of a woman on the prowl. But had it been more than that? He tipped his head to one side and looked closely. Tall, slim and straight, red hair and big brown eyes, and a smile full of magic…What had his grandmother called her?

A few random words swirled in his brain and settled into a pattern. Magic smile. Lissa. You’ve done your homework….

“Calculus class,” he said softly. “You’re Lissa Morgan.”

It was no wonder, really, that he hadn’t recognized her last night. There was nothing about this slender, vivid woman with the huge brown eyes which even resembled the lanky, awkward girl who was stored in his memory—the one with frizzy carrot-colored hair straggling to the middle of her back. The freshman frump, some of his fellow students had called her—dressed in oversized shapeless sweaters and with her face always buried in a math book.

And yet there was one thing which hadn’t changed. He’d seen it last night when she’d smiled, and that was why she’d looked familiar, despite all the surface changes. Because the only other time that she’d ever smiled at him….

That was long ago, he told himself. Another lifetime, in fact.

Still, no wonder he’d been itchy around her last night. No wonder he’d picked at her, egged her on, found fault with everything she did. His subconscious mind must have recognized her, despite all the changes in her looks.

“So you’re still hanging around the university?” he said. “I figured by now you’d be head actuary for some big pension fund or insurance company or national bank. Or an engineer somewhere in the space program. Or—no, I have it. You must be working undercover at the student union, checking for fraud. Because I’m sure a woman with the brainpower you’ve got would never be satisfied with just running a cloakroom.”

Her jaw tightened, and he thought for a second she was going to take a swing at him.

“She’s not running a cloakroom,” his grandmother said from the stairway landing. “Not anymore. Kurt, Lissa is my new driver. Only I’m going to call her my personal assistant, because it sounds so much nicer. Don’t you agree?”




CHAPTER TWO


IF HANNAH WILDER had pulled the stair railing loose and hit her grandson over the head with it, Kurt couldn’t have looked more dazed. Under other circumstances, Lissa thought, she might have enjoyed watching him turn green. She wondered whether it was Hannah’s announcement or his past coming back to haunt him which had caused Kurt’s reaction.

Then she almost snorted at the idea. As if Lissa Morgan popping back into his life after all this time could have any such stunning effect on him. Frankly, she was surprised that even her name had jolted his memory loose. Any guy who would make a bet with his buddies on whether he could get the most unpopular girl in the class to believe that he was interested in her—and prove it in the most intimate of ways—just so they could all laugh at her for the rest of the semester because she’d been taken in by his charm, wouldn’t bother to remember the details six years later.

Unless she’d been an even funnier joke to him than she’d realized. Unless she’d been an even easier conquest than he’d hoped for.

Which, of course, she had been. Stupid—that was the only word for her back then.

He’d been a senior in college, taking advanced math for the second time to fill out his requirements, struggling to get his grade point far enough above the danger level so he could graduate in a couple of months. So when he’d asked her—only a freshman, but the most advanced student in the class nevertheless—to tutor him, there had been no reason for Lissa to think he might not be telling the truth about his motives….

Stop it, she thought. That was all over. Her days as the frump were long past. If anything, she should thank Kurt Callahan, because in a convoluted way he’d inspired her to lose the frizzy hair and the bulky sweaters and make herself into an entirely new woman….

Yeah, right, she thought dryly. Keep talking, Lissa, and maybe you’ll convince yourself that a one-night stand with him was a good thing.

Still, she wasn’t about to let herself overreact now; she was bigger than that, and running into him again wasn’t going to change anything.

So what if he was even better-looking now than he’d been in college, with his crisp black hair and unusual blue-gray eyes, his youthful arrogance mellowed by time and success into something more like self-confidence? It didn’t matter to her anymore.

But why couldn’t that encounter last night have been the end of it? She’d been proud of the way she’d handled herself in the cloakroom standoff. She hadn’t lost her temper or embarrassed herself. She hadn’t even needed to publicly rub his nose in the facts in order to feel good about telling him to get lost. But now that she was face to face with him once more…. Now that he had remembered her….

Hannah’s offer had seemed so simple on the drive from the student union to her house. And it was so perfectly logical. You need a job, Hannah had said. And I need some help for a while. We can be a team. What difference did it make whether the woman offering to hire her was Kurt Callahan’s grandmother? He wouldn’t know anything about it.

Only here he was—in the flesh. And what nice flesh it was, too, Lissa thought. Today he wasn’t wearing a suit, but khakis and a polo shirt, and the clothing showed him off nicely. He was tanned and athletic without being showy—no overdone bulges of biceps. In fact, he was perfectly proportioned, without a flaw anywhere to draw the eye. He might be a little more muscular than he’d been six years ago, a little more imposing. But even then he’d been pretty much perfect—strong and hard and clean and intoxicatingly attractive.

In short, she admitted, he’d been simply intoxicating. He’d acted on her senses like a rich old brandy, sweeping away every inhibition, every fragment of common sense…. He’d used his charm, he’d used her, just so he could win a bet.

What a shame it was that Kurt Callahan’s flaws were on the inside. He hadn’t had a conscience six years ago, and she doubted very much that he’d grown one since.

Well, she’d just have to work around him, that was all. Surely he wouldn’t be staying in Minneapolis for long—a man with his responsibilities? And Hannah’s plan was not only simple, logical and sensible, it was the best deal Lissa was likely to find.

How it had come about, however, was nothing short of fantastic, when Lissa stopped to think about it. She’d simply been doing her job, taking care of two elderly lunch patrons. She’d seen them many times before in the union’s dining room—they were simply Mrs. Wilder and Mrs. Meadows, and she treated them as she did every other patron.

Then Mrs. Meadows had left, and Hannah Wilder had sat still a little longer, drinking her coffee and chatting as Lissa cleared the table and brought her receipt. And then she’d got up from her chair, reeled, and almost fallen….

Lissa still didn’t quite understand why she’d actually told Hannah about the money which was missing from her room. More than twelve hours after the discovery she’d still been a bit dazed over the realization that she’d been robbed, of course. But why she’d actually confided in Hannah—who had enough problems of her own just then—was beyond her.

However, Hannah had asked her to sit down for a few minutes and keep her company while she recovered from her spell of lightheadedness. And then she’d looked straight into Lissa’s eyes and said, “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

It was the first time in months that anyone had treated Lissa with such obvious personal concern. One thing had led to another, the words had come tumbling out…and here she was.

“Driver?” Kurt said.

Lissa pulled herself back to the moment.

“Personal assistant,” Hannah corrected. She came down the last few stairs, holding tightly to the railing. “If you insist on discussing it, Kurt, let’s go back into the living room and have a seat.”

Kurt was instantly beside her, offering an arm. “I’m sorry, Gran—I forgot you weren’t feeling well.”

“It was only a momentary weak spell, and it has passed. I got up too suddenly, that’s all. I’m certainly not an invalid.”

Lissa couldn’t stop herself. “But if your blood pressure is likely to behave like a jumping jack, you shouldn’t be driving.”

Kurt shot a look at Lissa. “I can’t disagree with that—though it sounds self-serving when it’s you who’s saying it. I suppose you’re the one who suggested the whole plan?”

“The only thing she suggested was that I see a doctor,” Hannah said placidly. “I don’t think the idea of a driver would have occurred to Lissa at all. Since she doesn’t have a car herself, she doesn’t think in those terms.”

Kurt was starting to look like a thundercloud. “You don’t have a car? Do you even have a driver’s license?”

“All students do,” Hannah put in. “I understand there’s some rule about not being able to go into a bar without one.”

You’re not helping matters, Hannah. Lissa put her chin up and looked squarely at Kurt. “I have a perfectly valid driver’s license, and not just to use as proof of my age so I can go out drinking.”

“When’s the last time you were behind the wheel of a car?”

She’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask that. “I suppose you mean before today? A while.”

His eyes narrowed.

“All right, it’s been—maybe three years. I don’t remember.”

“Great. Add up the two of you, and we still have a mediocre, inexperienced driver.”

Much as she wanted to, Lissa couldn’t exactly argue with that. Between the unfamiliar car and the slick streets she’d been nervous, on edge, and too cautious for their own good, creeping along at a snail’s pace in fear of losing control. But at least she knew her limitations.

“They say you never forget how,” Hannah added helpfully. “Or were they talking about bicycles?”

Kurt rubbed the back of his neck. “Gran, it’s a wonderful idea for you not to drive anymore. But since Janet doesn’t drive either, it would be much better to sell the car and use the money for taxis. The car’s probably only worth a few hundred dollars, but that’s a lot of taxi rides.”

With all his money, Lissa thought, he could buy Hannah her own private limo service. Instead he was suggesting she sell her car and tuck the money away in a taxi fund? “I didn’t realize you had such a cheap streak, Kurt.”

He shot a look at her. “I’m not the one with the cheap streak.”

“I hate to wait for a ride,” Hannah said. “In fact, I hate taxis all the way around—they smell. And a cabby won’t walk you into a doctor’s office.”

“That’s why you have Janet.”

“Janet’s no steadier on her feet than I am these days.” Hannah laughed lightly. “You should have seen us trying to buff the hardwood floor in your room before you came, Kurt—we must have looked like the Three Stooges on ice. Well, two of them, at least.”

“Why were you buffing…?” Kurt closed his eyes as if he were in pain. “Never mind. How often do you even leave the house?”

Hannah began ticking points off on her fingertips. “The hairdresser, the massage clinic, physical therapy, the doctor, the pharmacy, the grocery store, the bank, my broker, the—”

“All right, I take your point. What about a limo service? They don’t smell.”

“I’d still have to wait around for someone to come and pick me up. And it would be expensive, because I go out at least once a day. I deliberately split up my errands and appointments so that every day I get some fresh air and exercise.”

“I can afford it, Gran.”

“Waste is waste, no matter who’s paying for it.”

Kurt shot a look at Lissa. “See? I told you I’m not the one with the cheap streak.”

“I’m not cheap,” Hannah said. “I just like to get value for money. So if you’re worried about Lissa getting off too easily, don’t. She’ll have plenty to keep her occupied, helping me out.”

“Gran, you can’t have it both ways. If you’re saying now that you’re ill enough to need someone right beside you all the time, then surely a personal nurse would be a better choice?”

“Oh, no.” Hannah took a deep breath and let her gaze wander around the room, as if she’d rather look anywhere than at him. “I don’t need a nurse. Just an extra pair of hands and a strong set of legs. I wasn’t going to break the news to you just yet, Kurt, but I suppose it’s time to tell you.”

Here it comes, Lissa thought. She hadn’t quite believed it herself when Hannah had told her. Not that it was any of her business, but she felt like ducking behind the couch to avoid the worst of the explosion when Kurt heard the news.

“Tell me what?” Kurt sounded wary. Almost fearful.

“I’ve decided to give up the house,” Hannah said simply. “I’m just not up to taking care of it anymore, and neither is Janet.”

“Then hire a housekeeping service.”

Despite her best efforts, Lissa couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “Perhaps you could stop snapping out orders and just listen for a change?”

Hannah was smiling. “Thank you, Lissa dear. It’s really no wonder that the women he dates have such a short shelf-life, is it? I can’t blame them for getting tired of it.”

“I’m only trying to help!” Kurt’s voice was almost a bark.

“In such a typically masculine way, too,” Hannah murmured. “Your grandfather used to do the same thing—as soon as I complained about something he would tell me precisely how I should solve the problem. It was really quite annoying, and I never managed to break him of it…At any rate, I have a housekeeping service already. It’s not the work I’m concerned about, Kurt, it’s the responsibility.”

Kurt frowned.

“I’m tired of writing out a list for the housecleaning team and making sure they follow it. I want someone else to think about the weeds in the flowerbeds and the leaves in the gutters, and whether the draperies in the guestroom need to be replaced or just taken down and sent along to the cleaners.”

Kurt rubbed his finger along the bridge of his nose. “I see. You’re talking about moving into some kind of retirement community, I suppose, where they do all that stuff for you? I’ll see what’s available, and—”

“You mean you’ll assign someone on your staff to see what’s available? Anyway, I’ve already looked. I know where I want to go. It’s a very nice apartment complex which provides all the assistance anyone could want—and doesn’t bother people when they don’t want help.”

Kurt shrugged. “All right, Gran. Whatever you want to do.”

The gesture looked as if it hurt him, Lissa thought. Clearly this was a man who didn’t enjoy being left out of the loop.

“When are you planning to do this?”

“Well, that’s a bit more difficult. I can’t just lock the door and walk off. This house holds many years of memories to be sorted out, and only I can do that. But Lissa’s going to be my hands and feet while I get the job done—starting tomorrow. I’m going to go upstairs for a nap now, so you just entertain yourselves for a while, children.”

As her footsteps retreated up the stairs, Kurt turned to Lissa. “If you think you’re going to walk in here and get away with this—”

It was clearly time to take a stand. “Get away with what? I’d say Hannah’s the boss, and you’re not—so what she decides goes, Kurt.”

“Maybe I can’t contradict her orders. But I can darned sure try to make sure she’s safe. Put your coat on.”

“Why?”

“Well, we’re not going to go build a snowman. Before I let you start chauffeuring Gran around, you’re going to have to pass a driving test. Scare me, and you flunk. Got it?”

She would have told him to jump headfirst into a snowdrift, except that Lissa knew some practice behind the wheel would be a very good idea—and she figured if she could drive safely with a frustrated Kurt riding shotgun, then she wouldn’t be putting Hannah into any danger at all. And if his backseat driving got to be unbearable, she mused, she would just slam the passenger side of the car into a tree somewhere and walk home….

“Watch out for that truck,” Kurt said, and Lissa pulled her attention back to the street.

Hannah’s car was small and light, and as the afternoon waned and traffic grew heavier the packed-down snow which remained on the streets grew ever more slippery. But, after a false start or two, Lissa’s confidence began to come back, despite the silent and glowering male in the passenger seat next to her.

Maybe Hannah had been right after all, she thought, and driving a car—like riding a bicycle—was a skill which never quite vanished from the subconscious mind. If it didn’t bother her to have Kurt either issuing instructions or seething not quite silently—like a pasta pot just about to boil—then she could handle normal traffic along with Hannah’s chatter with no trouble at all.

“Well?” she said finally, after a solid hour of negotiating everything from narrow alleys to eight-lane freeways. “Since I haven’t smashed either you or the car, and you haven’t grabbed for the steering wheel or the brake in at least twenty minutes, I’m going to assume that the test is over and take you back to Hannah’s house.”

“Not quite. Parallel park in front of that diner up there.”

“Parallel park? Nobody ever has to actually do that.”

His level look said that she would do it or else, so Lissa sighed and took a stab at it. Two tries later she was quite proud of the result. “Good enough?”

“Shut the car off. Let’s have a cup of coffee.”

“I’m honored at the invitation, but—”

“Don’t be. This is the only way we can talk without Gran interrupting.”

“We’ve been riding around for an hour,” Lissa protested, “and you haven’t had a word to say the whole time. So why should I—?”

“I wasn’t going to risk taking your attention off the road. Come on.” He slammed the car door and kicked at the wad of snow and ice which had built up behind the front wheel. “Looks like this thing could stand some new tires. Would you like coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?”

She settled for tea and refused a piece of apple pie to go with it. Kurt surveyed her over the rim of his coffee cup and said, “All right, what’s really going on here? How did all this happen?”

Lissa sighed. “I didn’t stalk your grandmother, if that’s what you’re suggesting. It just happened to be my table she chose at lunchtime. There aren’t all that many of us working at the union, you know—not as regulars in the dining room, at least. It’s also the last day before the holidays, so a lot of the kids who work there have already gone home for Christmas.”

She waited for him to ask why she wasn’t going anywhere for Christmas. But he didn’t.

“Look,” Lissa said, “I’ll tell you exactly what happened. Mrs. Meadows left because she had an appointment of some sort, and your grandmother stayed to finish her coffee. I cleared the dessert dishes, she wished me a Merry Christmas, then she got up from the table and started to sway. I helped her back in her chair and offered to find a doctor. She said no, but would I just sit down with her for a minute, so I did. Then when she felt better she asked if I’d walk her out to her car. When I found out she was planning to drive herself home, I suggested she take a cab, and—”

“And she offered you a job? Just like that?”

“She’s not quite that fast a worker,” Lissa admitted. “It took her maybe ten minutes in all.”

“Why?”

“Ask her. How should I know why she offered me a job?”

“I will. But what I really want to know is why you took it.”

“Because I need a job—”

“But why do you need a job? You were the math whiz of the entire campus—why aren’t you a chief financial officer at some big corporation by now?”

All the plans she had made and the dreams she had dreamed…. Lissa had thought she’d come to terms with all the losses and the delays, but it wasn’t until now—when Kurt Callahan asked the question in that slightly cynical tone—that she realized how much it hurt that after so long she was still marking time.

“Did you get caught with your fingers in the till, or what?”

Lissa bristled. “No. I’m still here because I had to drop out for a while. I have one more semester to go before I finish my degree.”

He went absolutely still. “Why, Lissa?”

“Why should it matter to you? It’s long over with.” Then she bit her lip and said quietly, “I’m still here because my father got lymphoma and I had to drop out and take care of him in the last year of his life. That cost me my scholarships, because walking out in the middle of a term doesn’t sit well with the financial aid people around here. I worked for a while, and saved money to come back, but I was just getting up to speed again when I got pneumonia. That knocked me down for months. I couldn’t keep up with classes, so I had to quit again.”

He seemed to be waiting for something else. Finally, when the silence drew out painfully, he said, “That’s nasty luck.”

Was there a hidden meaning in his tone? She told herself it was pointless to try to analyze. “Yes, it was.”

“But hardly anything new for you. You dropped out of that calculus class, too.”

“Noticed that, did you?” Lissa said dryly. “I’m amazed you were paying attention.”

“Dammit, Lissa, I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t even stop walking down the hall, much less let me apologize. And then before I knew it you were gone—”

“So what would you have said you were sorry for? Not making love, I’ll bet.”

“No,” he admitted. “Not that.”

“Then what? Getting caught? Making sure everybody in the class knew you’d won your bet?” She saw curiosity flicker in his eyes, and she took a deep breath and reminded herself that it didn’t matter anymore. The last thing she wanted to do was let him think she still cared. She’d buried those feelings long ago. “One-night stands happen, Kurt. I was quite a little more innocent than you were, that’s true, and it annoyed the hell out of me that you’d told everyone in class I slept with you—”

“I didn’t tell them.”

“Oh, really? Then how did they know? I don’t recall them being in your room observing.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Lissa, a brass band could have marched through my room that night and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Heat swept up her throat, over her face. “The point is, it’s over. There’s nothing to be gained by dissecting what happened.” Though at the time I’d have liked to dissect you. “I believe, before we got sidetracked a few minutes ago, that you were asking why I need a second job. Right now my budget’s unusually tight, so—”

“Couldn’t you make more at some other kind of job, instead of working at the union?”

“Possibly. But waiting tables isn’t a bad income, really. Most of our clients are alumni, and the tips are usually generous. Besides, the hours are flexible, and I don’t have to waste any time commuting. I can work an hour here and there and fit partial shifts in between classes. If I had to go all the way across town to a job I wouldn’t make any more, even if I got a higher rate of pay for each hour I worked.”

“Because it would take so long to get there, especially since you don’t have a car. I see. Still, I wouldn’t think you’d have gotten in over your head financially, wizard with figures that you are.”

“It’s hard to pay tuition and medical bills at the same time. Pneumonia’s not cheap, and I didn’t have any health insurance after my dad died.”

“Perhaps some financial planning advice—”

“There you go, problem-solving again. I’m sure your banker would be tickled pink to handle my portfolio, because I’ve usually got about fifty bucks to my name.” She was irritated enough not to stop and think before she went on. “I’d saved up enough to get through a couple of weeks with no income—but then I was robbed last night.”

His eyebrows went up. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes—thanks for asking. I wasn’t held up at gunpoint or anything. I’d left my extra funds in my room—only I obviously didn’t pick a good enough hiding spot.” She knew she sounded bitter, and probably stupid, too. She waited for him to say it.

He didn’t. “Did you call the police?”

“No. It wouldn’t do much good. It was cash, and there’s no way to prove that any specific twenty-dollar bill was mine once. Besides, if I’m right about my suspicions, and the thief is someone else who lives in the house—”

“You think your roommate robbed you?”

Why had she told him anything at all? Of course it had seemed safe, because he’d never been known for tenacity back in their college days. Quite the opposite, in fact—at least when it came to studying. But now he seemed to be like a bulldog with a bone, and it was too late to back out without explanation. “We’re not what you’d call roommates,” Lissa said reluctantly. “Or even housemates, for that matter. It’s more like a boarding house. Seven individual bedrooms, shared kitchen and bath. Reporting it would only make things more difficult in the future. Nothing would be safe.”

He nodded. “You always were pragmatic.”

“You don’t have to make it sound like a disease. In some situations there aren’t any good choices, Kurt. You just deal with it and go on, that’s all.”

He didn’t answer, but he pushed his apple pie away as if he’d lost his appetite.

Puzzled at the response, Lissa went on. “Anyway, to get back to the point—your grandmother got that much out of me and then she went all quiet. The next thing I knew—”

“She’d manufactured a job for you.”

“You mean she made it up from nothing? I don’t think so. If she’s going to move out of that house, she really does need help. There must be closets everywhere. Unless you’re planning to stick around to pack boxes…?”

Kurt gave a little shiver.

Lissa went on coolly, “Yeah, what a surprise. You’re too busy, right?”

“I’ll hire a crew.”

“She doesn’t want a crew, she wants me.”

“Maybe she thinks she does—right now.”

“And what does that mean? If you’re threatening to discredit me by telling her what happened between us all those years ago I suggest you think again, because you won’t exactly come off as Mr. Pure of Heart yourself. Anyway, someone will have to do the work, so why shouldn’t it be me?”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“I have two weeks free until school starts up again.”

“Surely you don’t think that job can be done in two weeks? And if you start dragging things out of dark closets and then abandon her—”

“Hello? What was that you were telling your grandmother earlier about not being able to have things both ways? Neither can you, fella. At any rate, I figure within two weeks Hannah will either have decided that she’s too fond of her house to leave it, or she’ll have gotten tired of sorting and decided to call an auctioneer and get it over with in a hurry.”

He stared at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “So in the meantime you’re just going to let her pay you for humoring her?”

“I intend to do whatever she asks me to. You know, it might not be a bad plan for you to follow, too. Humoring her, I mean, instead of arguing with her all the time.” And maybe you could see your way clear to cutting me a little slack, too. She’d probably better not hold her breath, though.

She looked at her watch. “I don’t mean to rush you, Kurt, but I have things to do. And, since your hair hasn’t turned white yet, I’m going to assume I passed the driving test.”

“We’re not all the way home yet. And I’m in no hurry to get back in that car. I felt like I was riding around in a tomato soup can.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that your grandmother drives a compact. If you’re used to the Jaguar I saw parked outside the house—”

“Don’t even daydream about driving my car. Buy her some new tires first thing, all right? Give me the bill for them.” He stood up and pulled out his wallet.

Lissa sat very still, her tea mug clutched between her hands. “Then you’re withdrawing your objections?”

“No. But since she seems set on the idea, I’m putting my objections on hold.”

At least he wasn’t still threatening her. Quite sensible of him, she thought. “Fair enough.” Once back in the car, she turned on the radio and hummed along with Christmas carols as she drove. She thought Kurt was looking even more like an approaching rainstorm. “What’s the matter?” she asked finally. “You don’t like ‘Jingle Bells’?”

“Not when it’s played on accordion and banjo, thanks. Where did you find that station?”

“I didn’t choose it, it was already tuned in. Why doesn’t your grandmother have a Christmas tree?”

“Tradition. It goes up one week before Christmas.”

Lissa calculated. “That’s tomorrow.”

“Enjoy the job,” Kurt said. “I’d help, but I’ll be at the grand opening of my new Twin Cities store.”

“Oh, that’s what’s keeping you here.” Lissa parked the car right behind the Jaguar, under the porte cochere.

“The grand opening runs through the weekend.” Kurt walked around to her side and opened her door. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“No, I’m just dropping you off.”

“Wait a minute. You’re taking Gran’s car? Do the words grand theft auto mean anything to you?”

She looked out over the dull red finish on the car’s hood. “Not grand theft, surely? Now, if I was taking your car, then I could understand you saying—” He started to growl, and Lissa thought better of pursuing the argument. “She told me I could.”

“You’re planning to commute using Gran’s car? And what other employee benefits have you talked her into providing?”

“Not to commute, exactly.” Her gloved hands tightened on the wheel, and she looked up at him through her lashes, waiting to enjoy the explosion she expected. “I’m just taking it today so I can load up my stuff.” She paused for just a second to let the news sink in, then added gently, “And of course I need to talk to my landlady as well—to give notice that I’m moving in with Hannah.”

And before he could open his mouth Lissa put the car in reverse and backed out into the street.

The sense of freedom was incredible. Traffic on the outbound streets was a disaster, but nobody was trying to get downtown this late in the day, and the little car buzzed along easily. For the first time in years Lissa wasn’t simply enduring Christmas carols, she was enjoying them. With the dim prospect of two weeks of living on macaroni and noodles now erased from her calendar, life was definitely looking up.

Of course there was the little matter of Kurt Callahan lurking in the background. But once his grand opening was past he’d be going home, and that interference would be gone as well. With him out of the way her peace of mind would be restored, and she and Hannah could get down to some serious digging and sorting…for a while, at least.

The nerve of the man, threatening to tell Hannah what had happened between them all those years ago. Of course he wouldn’t actually do it, because he’d be the one who ended up looking bad. Still….

Lissa had thought she was long over the sting of the single evening she’d spent with him. Even in the cloakroom last night she hadn’t entirely lost her perspective. But that had been before she’d had to deal with him on such a personal level, and now all the feelings had come flashing back: the frustration and the anger, the hurt, the desolation and—yes, the attraction too. Because he had been attractive, even to a frump of a freshman who’d known perfectly well that he was far beyond her sphere. A dumb frump of a freshman, Lissa reminded herself, who had bought the tale of his needing tutoring—which had certainly been true, as far as it went—and who had gotten in way over her head. And only when it had been too late had she found out that the whole thing had been the result of a bet, with the entire class in on it. That the single night which had been so magical to her had meant less than nothing to him.

You dropped out of that calculus class, too, he’d said.

Well, he was almost right. She’d stuck it out for a while, hoping it would all blow over and everybody would forget that stupid bet. But though the professor had kept order in the classroom, the teasing before and after class hadn’t ceased. After a while she’d made herself so sick over it that she’d skipped the rest of the lectures and turned in her work at the professor’s office. Only the fact that she was such a promising student had kept her from finishing up with a failing grade.

Just one more thing that Kurt Callahan was responsible for….

The steps up to the front of the boarding house were still buried in eight inches of snow, though a couple of trails had been broken by people going in and out. Lissa picked her way carefully up to the porch and let herself into the hallway. The landlady was standing outside the room which had originally been the front parlor, arguing with the tenant who was supposed to pay part of his rent by shoveling the walks.

Lissa unlocked her own door, then cleared her throat.

The landlady turned her head. “What do you want?”

Lissa debated. It wasn’t smart to announce that her room would be unoccupied for a while—but she couldn’t simply disappear for two weeks without letting the landlady know, either. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m going away for a while.”

The woman looked at her suspiciously. “How long a while? You going to pay for January in advance?”

Lissa couldn’t pay in advance if she wanted to. Not on the proceeds of last night’s tips. “I’ll pay for January when January comes,” she said firmly. “Just as I do every month.”

The front door opened again, and she saw the landlady’s eyes widen as she spotted the newcomer. Lissa looked around to see who had come in, and her heart sank.




CHAPTER THREE


KURT STAMPED HIS feet on the doormat and cast a long look around the dim hallway of the boarding house. The wallpaper was peeling, the glass in the door rattled as he closed it, the floorboards creaked under his feet, and the air smelled of burned popcorn.

Lissa looked over her shoulder. “Fancy meeting you here. I suppose Hannah gave you the address?”

“She sent me over to help so you’d be finished moving in time for dinner.”

The landlady stopped yelling and bustled over. “Did you say you’re moving?”

“I’m not giving up the room,” Lissa said. “I’m just picking up the stuff I’ll need for a couple of weeks.”

The landlady folded her arms across her ample chest. “If you want me to hold the room, you’ll have to pay ahead of time for January. Otherwise, how do I know you’ll come back?”

Kurt stepped between them. ”You trust her—the same way she trusts you not to put the rest of her stuff out on the curb the minute her back is turned.”

The landlady gave him the same stare she would a bedbug and went on, “And don’t expect me to return your deposit if you do give up the room, because there’s a hole in the wall.” She returned to the front parlor and went back to haranguing the other tenant.

“Home sweet home,” Lissa said. “The hole in the wall was there when I moved in.”

Honestly curious, Kurt asked, “Why do you put up with this?”

“Because it isn’t for much longer, and because living cheaply now means I won’t have so much debt to pay after I get my degree.”

“But you can’t want to come back here, after you were robbed.”

“Well, that’s rather beside the point, isn’t it?” Lissa pushed a door open. The sliding panel squeaked and stuck, and she gave it an extra shove.

In some situations there aren’t any good choices, she had said. You deal with it and go on.

It was starting to look to him like she was an expert at dealing with things and going on. Nursing a sick father, getting pneumonia herself….

She’d had a streak of hard luck, there was no doubt about that, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there was even more to the story than she’d told him.

Kurt followed her in. She flipped on every light in the place—such as they were. How she managed to get dressed in this gloom, much less read or study, was beyond him.

His gaze came to rest on the mantel, where a little Christmas tree stood bravely in the center, drooping under the weight of five too-big ornaments.

Damn. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her…but he did.

“You pack,” he said. “I’ll carry.”

The trouble was, Lissa had no idea what to pack. Clothes weren’t a problem—her wardrobe was limited, so she figured she’d just pile everything into a crate and take it along. It was all the other things she wasn’t sure about.

All the other things. What an all-encompassing, grandiose statement that was, Lissa told herself, considering how few material goods she actually possessed. Everything she owned would fit in the back of a minivan with room to spare.

Kurt came back from his third trip out to the car and raised an eyebrow at the half-empty crate Lissa was contemplating. “What’s the holdup?”

“I’m trying to decide what else to take.”

He looked around, as if he had no idea what she could be talking about.

She had to give him a little credit, though—Kurt hadn’t said a single disparaging word about her surroundings, her belongings, or the fact that her luggage consisted of plastic crates and not the monogrammed leather bags his crowd probably carried.

“Besides clothes, what could you possibly need?”

“Books, maybe. I wonder if I’ll have time to start studying for my spring classes.”

“Those would be the classes that won’t start until January? You already have the books?”

“Some of them. Picking up one or two at a time is easier on the wallet than buying them all at once.”

He looked startled, as if he’d never thought of that before.

His expression made it perfectly obvious, Lissa thought, that budgeting for textbooks had never been a problem for Kurt Callahan. “It’s sort of like putting money in the bank,” she said. “Buying what you need ahead of time, I mean.”

“So if you had invested all your cash in math books rather than just leaving it lying around, you wouldn’t be in this spot.”

“It wasn’t lying around, it was hidden.” Just not well enough. “And if I’d bought all my books with it I’d still have had a problem—namely, what I was going to eat for the next two weeks.”

“Speaking of eating,” Kurt suggested, “Janet promised prime rib for dinner, and I like mine rare. So can we hurry this project along?”

Lissa’s stomach growled at the mere suggestion of rare prime rib. Or, for that matter, medium or well-done prime rib; it didn’t matter, because it all sounded the same to her. Delicious, in a word.

“Just grab everything you might need, and let’s go.”

“Everything?” she said doubtfully.

“Sure. That’s really what’s bothering you, isn’t it? You’re wondering if the vandals around here will pop in to inspect whatever you’ve left behind and destroy it if it isn’t of any value to them.”

She couldn’t argue with that, since it was exactly what she’d been thinking. It was the reason she’d hesitated to tell the landlady that she’d be gone at all. If word got around that she wouldn’t be back for a couple of weeks she might as well leave the door standing wide open.

Still, her pride was nicked at the idea of dragging out the detritus of her life in front of him.

In front of anyone, she corrected herself. It wasn’t specifically Kurt she was sensitive about. She didn’t like letting anyone see the pathetically few sentimental things that remained to her.

Kurt strolled over to the mantel and picked up a textbook from the political science class she’d just finished. “What are you taking next semester?”

He was actually trying to make things easier for her—making conversation to cover her discomfort. If she had half a brain, Lissa thought, she’d be grateful. Instead, she was unreasonably annoyed—as if he’d come right out and said that he realized she had reason to be embarrassed, so he would do the proper etiquette thing and pretend not to notice. As if etiquette and good behavior were a big consideration with him!

She gathered up a couple of bags of books and kept her voice level. “Accounting theory, auditing, organizing information systems, advanced database programming—”

“What do you do for a hobby? Write the computer code for the federal government to calculate income tax?”

“I could,” Lissa said calmly. “In fact, I have. Not the government’s software, but a sample package for a small corporation. That was last year, in my tax practicum.” She pulled a ragged box from under the bed.

Kurt ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m curious—do the words pizza and a movie mean anything to you? You notice I’m not even talking about anything as elaborate as going to a basketball game or a dance.”

She shrugged. “I don’t have the time or money for entertainment.”

“Everybody needs to relax. And you can’t tell me those guys hanging around the cloakroom last night wouldn’t buy you a pizza. That looks like a very old quilt.”




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/leigh-michaels/the-tycoon-s-proposal/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.