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At The Millionaire's Request
Teresa Southwick
When Sean Spencer lost the ability to speak as the result of a terrible accident, his father vowed to do anything to bring him back. Anything. Top of the list was to bring the best speech therapist money could buy to live in his sprawling mansion.Gavin thought that would be the easy part. But he hadn't met M.J. Taylor.She was a woman who had also dealt with tragedy–only her solution was to stop doing what she was born to do: work with young kids. And she thought nothing could change her mind–until Gavin Spencer forced his way into her life.



“You have a reputation as a gifted children’s speech pathologist. But you turned your back on a career….”
“You don’t have any idea!”
“I don’t have to.” Gavin held up a hand. “I’m a father. I’d slay dragons and storm fortresses if it would make my son the way he was. I can’t help him, but you can.”
“Not anymore.”
“I don’t buy that. You got positive results in the past. Why not now?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“No. That’s true. But the fact is I’m not giving up until I get one.”
M.J. recognized the determination on his dark features. “An explanation? It’s called survival, Mr. Spencer. I simply can’t get wrapped up in a child. I can’t do it anymore.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have the heart. My son took it with him when he died.”

At The Millionaire’s Request
Teresa Southwick

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
TERESA SOUTHWICK
lives with her husband in Las Vegas, the city that reinvents itself every day. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.
To speech-language pathologist Christine Rosenthal who patiently and in great detail answered all my questions about what she does.
To my friend and middle school teacher, Connie Howard, who reminded me that her niece Christine is an SLP.
To my friend and kindergarten teacher, Marilyn Tobin, who was at dinner with Connie and me when grateful parents stopped to thank her for her dedication to their son.
The encounter inspired this book. The three of you are an inspiration to me and all your students in spite of the way it sometimes feels.
Teachers rock!

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One
G avin Spencer would make a deal with the devil if it would help his son.
And this just might be hell, he thought, staring at the high school kid with his red-tipped, spiked Mohawk and so many piercings it looked like he’d fallen face-first into a tackle box.
“In the office they said I could find M. J. Taylor here,” he said to the teen sprawled in a student desk.
“Who?”
“Your teacher.”
“You mean, the sub?”
“If M. J. Taylor is your substitute teacher, then yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, that’s who I mean,” Gavin answered, barely holding on to his temper.
He didn’t have time for this. Every minute he wasted was a minute of normal that his son Sean wouldn’t have.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Gavin asked.
“Why do you want her?”
In two seconds he’d grab this skinny, disrespectful spiky-haired worm and shake him till his piercings fell out. Huffing out a long breath, Gavin counted to ten. Manhandling a kid was most likely not the way to get what he wanted.
“It’s none of your concern why I want her. I just do. Where is she?”
Spike shrugged. “Took Evil E to the office.”
Evil E? Gavin really was in hell and it was getting more difficult by the second to believe M. J. Taylor was the angel he’d been promised by his son’s doctor.
At that moment the door opened and a woman walked in accompanied by a male student. To Gavin’s immense relief her blond hair was perfectly normal, worn straight to just past her shoulders. Her only piercings were silver hoops in her ears where piercings were supposed to be. She looked very young, but her navy slacks, long-sleeved white cotton blouse and sensible low-heeled shoes told him she wasn’t a teenager. He couldn’t say the same for the white-faced ghoul dressed in black beside her.
Gavin stared at the newcomer. “This must be the infamous Evil E.”
The kid glowered more, if possible. “Famous? Is that good?”
“Infamous,” she corrected, frowning at Gavin. “His name is Eveleth, you fill in the blanks.” Then she looked at the kid. “Your homework is to look that word up in the dictionary.”
“But I’m suspended.” The tone was just this side of insolence.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have homework. It simply means you have several days of time out to think about your behavior and figure out how to make it acceptable in the classroom before coming back to school.”
“I didn’t start it. He did.” Lifting a finger, he pointed at Spike.
“You were supposed to be gone, Sullivan,” she said to hardware face.
“I was waiting for him to come back for his stuff.” The languid teen instantly jumped up and went for the ghoul, shoving the sub out of the way.
Recovering quickly, she got between them and tried to break it up. “Knock it off, you two,” she grunted, pushing against ghoul’s chest.
For all the attention they paid her, she might have been an ant between two chihuahuas. But the stubborn look on her face said she wasn’t giving up. And that’s when she got popped by a stray fist.
Gavin grabbed ghoul by the neck of his black T-shirt and easily yanked him back. The physical intervention startled him long enough for Gavin to step between the two and sweep her out of the way with his arm.
“Back off before you get hurt,” he ordered.
“They’re my responsibility.”
“The responsible thing to do would be to get help while I keep them from killing each other.”
She nodded then picked up the phone on the wall and spoke to someone on the other end. Two minutes later the door opened and a beefy man who looked like campus security burst into the room and the teens froze. He took one look at the situation and shook his head.
“Office,” he barked at the two combatants. “Now.”
The two creeps glared at each other, breathing hard. Then Spike shot Gavin a drop-dead-bastard look before he sauntered out the door, every step broadcasting his message: screw you and every other adult on the planet. The ghoul followed in his cocky wake.
“You okay?” the guard asked the teacher.
“Fine,” she said, letting out a breath.
Then the door closed and they were alone.
She met Gavin’s gaze and her hand shook as she tucked a strand of silky blond hair behind her ear. “Thanks for your help.”
“I’m glad I was here.”
He studied her from head to toe, which didn’t take long as she barely reached his shoulder. Her hair was fine and straight, a center part sending the silken strands to frame her small face. Her too long bangs caught in the thick, dark lashes framing her big blue eyes—eyes that tilted up, catlike at the corners, which was the only striking thing about her. She was slender, delicate and almost fragile-looking.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but when a woman was a man’s first, best hope, he wanted someone more…more something. Wings, a halo and the ability to walk on water would be a definite plus. He’d figured taller, too. Then he noticed the red mark just forming below her eye and anger surged through him all over again.
He cupped her cheek in his palm and gently probed the area beginning to swell. “This needs ice. Are you really all right?”
Her beautiful eyes widened as she quickly backed away. “I’m fine,” she said. “And grateful that you were here.” Then she stared at him. “Why are you here?”
“I’m looking for M. J. Taylor.”
“You found her. And you are?”
“Gavin Spencer.”
She looked puzzled. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. Do you have a student in one of my classes?”
He wanted to ask if he looked old enough to have a child in high school but decided he didn’t want her to confirm it. What he’d been through with Sean had most certainly aged him. Instead he let his gaze wander over water stains in the acoustical ceiling and numerous desktop carvings in the thirty or so desks lined up in rows. This classroom was pretty grim.
“The real question is, why are you here? From what I just saw, tax money would be better spent on pepper spray and self-defense lessons than books and computers.”
She laughed and it was a lovely sound. The shadows disappeared from the depths of her blue eyes.
“It’s really not that bad. I like working with teenagers. They’re funny and spontaneous. Today was just one of those days. An argument over a girl. Something happened at lunch.” One slender shoulder rose in a shrug. “Teenage passion mixed with an abundance of hormones is not a pretty sight. Most of the time those two are actually quite pleasant and bright,” she said, glancing at the door where the teenagers had disappeared.
“You sub for them a lot?”
“I’m a permanent substitute. I know. It’s an oxymoron. I’m taking over the class for a teacher who recently had a baby.”
Suddenly the sparkle was gone and the shadows returned, and he wondered why.
“What frightens me the most is that those two will be making the decisions about our welfare when we’re in our declining years,” he said.
“One hopes not those two in particular,” she said, the corners of her lips curving up.
“You should do that more often.”
“What?”
“Laugh. Smile.”
Again the amusement disappeared and she was all seriousness. And sadness. “Training the next generation—our caretakers—is no laughing matter.”
“So why do you do it?”
“I have to make a living.”
Everyone did. But he’d learned the hard way that if you had a lot of it, you became a target for the unscrupulous and morally challenged who wanted it. “You don’t have to make a living like this,” he said, glancing around again.
“That’s presumptuous.” Her gaze narrowed warily as she studied him. “You never answered my question. Are you here about a student?”
“I’m here because you’re a speech pathologist.”
“How did you know that?” she asked sharply.
“Dr. McKnight gave me your name.” Gavin saw recognition in her expression, which told him she knew the neurologist.
“I was a speech therapist. Now I’m a teacher.”
“A substitute,” he pointed out. “Why?”
“I got burned out. This is less intense.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that fight was pretty intense.” He looked around her classroom, then met her gaze. “Playing referee is better than helping children?”
“I believe I’m still helping children. But none of that is any of your business. So, Mr. Spencer, unless you have a student in my class that you want to discuss, I think we’re finished—”
“I want to discuss a student. But he’s not in your class. He’s my son and he’s in Kristin Hunter’s first-grade class.”
“I know her reputation. He’s in good hands and couldn’t be in a better school.”
Gavin knew that. It’s one of the reasons he’d bought his central California estate, Cliff House. He didn’t want his son in private school as he’d been. And all his research about the area had confirmed that Northbridge Elementary was the best. There were things he couldn’t give Sean—like a mother—because he’d taken steps to make sure the scheming opportunist who’d borne him a son would be out of their lives forever. But Gavin had grown up without benefit of maternal influence and he’d turned out okay. Sean would, too. There was no doubt in his mind. Because his boy had been doing great, until that terrible day—
“It is a good school,” he agreed, pushing away the painful image.
“He’s a lucky little boy.”
Not so much, Gavin thought. If luck were involved, Sean would have been undamaged by the accident. But he was damaged and he needed therapy. Gavin intended to see that he got it.
“My son suffered a fall that resulted in traumatic brain injury. It changed him. He needs therapy, Miss Taylor, and you come highly recommended. From all accounts, you’re the best.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Spencer—”
“Gavin.”
“I don’t do that anymore. I can’t help your son.” She turned away and walked over to the desk. After opening the bottom drawer, she pulled out her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder.
Before she could walk out the door, he curled his fingers around her upper arm to stop her. “Wait. You’ve made up your mind? Just like that?”
Surprised, she looked up at him, then at his hand, and he removed it. “Not just like that. There’s no decision to make. I’m retired from the profession. Goodbye.”
“I don’t get it.”
“School is over for today. I’m leaving now. It’s customary to say goodbye.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m told you have a gift for connecting with children. But you’re turning your back. And you won’t explain why?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.” But there was sympathy in her expression when she added, “I’m sorry about your son. I truly hope you find someone for his therapy and that he makes a full recovery.”
“I’ve already found someone,” he pointed out.
“Not the right someone. I can’t help him.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Then you heard wrong.”

M.J. had been fine, making real progress putting her life back together. Until Gavin Spencer. Two days ago she’d seen the sorrow and anguish in his eyes when he talked about his son. Sorrow and anguish. She knew them well, along with gut-wrenching grief. At least Gavin Spencer’s son was still on this earth. Pain tightened in her chest when she thought about her own son. Her Brian. Her sweet boy. She missed him terribly.
Still.
Always.
And, God help her, she couldn’t put her heart and soul into another child. She just couldn’t.
Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away.
These troubling thoughts were all Gavin Spencer’s fault. If he hadn’t come to school the other day, all this would be buried as deep inside her as she could get it. But he’d brought it to the surface again.
She was tired when she guided her small, clunky compact car into the long drive leading to the house. As always, it came into view after she passed the tall cypress trees lining the road. She loved the big old Victorian where she’d grown up. More importantly, her mother and aunt loved the house that had been in the family for three generations.
And M.J. didn’t want to be the generation that lost it. Since it was her fault ownership was in jeopardy, it was her responsibility to make sure it stayed in the family.
Frowning, she pulled up behind the sleek, shiny black Lexus sedan parked in the circular drive. When she shut off her ignition, the little car shuddered for several moments before going still. To the best of her knowledge, her mother and her aunt didn’t know anyone who drove an expensive car like this. Their bingo, bunco and bridge-playing buddies zipped around in small compact cars—in better condition than hers.
As M.J. crossed the wide porch that wrapped around the house, she glanced once more at the black car and wondered if the sleazy bank official twirling the ends of his oily black mustache might be waiting inside to take her house away—in the very finest tradition of the Perils of Pauline. But that was silly and paranoid. She was making the payments on the mortgage her mother knew nothing about.
Inside, she proceeded to the kitchen, picking up the sound of voices. As she got closer, she realized one of them was masculine and disturbingly familiar. She stopped in the doorway and saw her mother sitting at the oak table with Gavin Spencer. Apparently he was a man who couldn’t take no for an answer.
There was always a first time, M.J. thought, walking into the room. Two pairs of eyes—one blue, one very dark brown—stared at her.
“M.J., you’re home. Finally. I was starting to worry.” Evelyn Taylor fiddled with the china floral-patterned teacup in front of her. “After that incident at school the other day—Well, I worry that you’re not going to come home at all.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
Evelyn glanced at the man across from her. “M.J., you remember Gavin Spencer. He tells me he helped you break up the fight in your classroom.”
“How’s your cheek?” Gavin met her gaze.
She resisted the urge to touch the bruise that was in a colorful state of healing—and none of the colors were especially flattering to her skin tone. “It’s fine. And, yes, I remember him.”
It would take a case of amnesia to forget Gavin Spencer. The man was tall and tanned and sinfully handsome. His almost black eyes snapped with intensity and his powerful, muscular body seemed to hum with tension and harnessed energy. His ride-to-the-rescue manner had unnerved her, along with his gentle touch. The heat of his fingers had seared a path clear through her.
Off balance, she’d answered his questions when normally she’d have clammed up. Clearly he had the power to get to her and she didn’t like it. No man would get to her again—and she especially didn’t trust one as glib and charming as Gavin Spencer. Charm and wit hid a multitude of sins. She was still paying the mortgage on that lesson, too.
“That school—” Her mother shuddered visibly. “It has the worst reputation in the district. I worry the whole time she’s subbing.”
“Mom—”
“I don’t know why she insisted on taking an assignment there.”
“Mom, don’t start.”
“It’s no wonder they can’t find subs for that campus.”
“It’s not that bad,” she protested. But when she met Gavin’s gaze, there was something predatory in his dark eyes, something warning that he’d use the information against her if he got the chance.
“Not that bad?” Evelyn heaved a huge sigh as she shook her blond head. “So you like getting between teenage boys with more testosterone than brains?”
M.J. glared at Gavin. Unable to hide it from her mother, she’d glossed over the cause of the cheek bruise. But he’d obviously filled in the blanks and she really wished he hadn’t. “At school kids would call you a narc.”
“Nice.”
“Not so much. You ratted me out to my mother.”
“Don’t be mad at him,” Evelyn protested. “We were simply chatting and he assumed I knew the particulars.”
M.J. realized something bothered her more than the fact that he’d given her mother the ugly details. It was that he was here at all. How did he know where she lived? Why did he think her answer to his offer would be any different this time? She had no illusions that he was here for any other reason. She was an un-remarkable woman, not the sort who inspired to-the-ends-of-the-earth passion in a man like him. He wouldn’t notice her unless he wanted something only she could give. That was annoying enough, but even worse was that on some level it mattered to her.
But that was her problem and she would deal with it as she always did. On her own. All the same, she couldn’t help being the tiniest bit grateful to have her mother here. When he asked again and she told him no again, she wouldn’t be alone with him.
The thought had barely formed when Evelyn looked at the clock on the wall above the table and jumped up. “Good heavens, look at the time. I’m going to be late for the movie.”
“Wait, Mom—”
“I can’t. Mr. Spencer arrived just as Aunt Lil and I were on our way out the door. I sent her on ahead and told her to buy the tickets. You know how she hates to not be settled when the lights go down.”
“But, Mom, I—”
Evelyn kissed her cheek. “See you later, sweetie. Nice to meet you, Mr. Spencer.”
Before M.J. could say “boo,” she was facing him alone. And she didn’t particularly like it. He was too big, too good-looking, too dark and too persuasive. Too everything. And that made M.J. too nervous.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I’d like to finish our conversation from the other day.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s finished.”
“I’d like the opportunity to change your mind.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
“It’s my time.”
“You can’t change my mind,” she warned.
“I don’t believe that, Ms. Taylor.” M.J. had the uncomfortable feeling that the sheer force of his personality could make people do things against their will. But not in her case. After Brian died, she’d really tried to continue her work in speech therapy. But it simply hurt her heart too much to be around younger children. That made her hold back, avoid connecting. Protecting herself kept her from doing the job the way it should be done. She was no good to the kids now.
M.J. decided to change the subject. “How did you know where I live?”
“I didn’t follow you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He lifted one broad shoulder in a casual shrug. “This is the electronic age. With computer technology you can find anyone with very little information.”
That was true. In this age of technology, it was pretty hard to hide. Not that she was. But still…“This feels very much like an invasion of my privacy. But you don’t strike me as the sort of man who worries very much about breaking rules.”
“A father has to do what a father has to do,” he said, arrogant enough not to deny it.
In spite of his arrogance, she had a glimmer of respect for his parental determination, but then her own protective shields went back up. “And what is it you think you’re doing?”
“Whatever I have to do to help my son. He’s six years old.”
Her chest tightened, as if a hand had reached inside and squeezed her heart. The crushing pain made it a struggle to catch her breath. Her son would have been six now.
She sucked in air. “I already told you, I don’t work with children.”
“The other day you said teens are children, too.”
This was a bad time to learn she’d been right about him collecting information to store up and use against her.
“High school doesn’t count,” she said defensively. Then she watched his dark eyebrows go up questioningly. She huffed out a breath. “Okay, technically they’re children until eighteen. But high school kids are more like adults with impulse control issues.”
“Look, let’s stop splitting hairs. You need the work.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” she countered.
He stood and his eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “Here’s what I know. You have a reputation as a gifted children’s speech pathologist. Sean’s teacher and his doctor tell me you’re a miracle worker and have a proven track record in getting results from children like my son. But you turned your back on a career—”
“You don’t have any idea—”
“I don’t have to.” He held up a hand. “I’m a father. I’d slay dragons and storm fortresses if it would return my son to the way he was before the accident. I can’t help him, but you can.”
“Not anymore.”
“I don’t buy that. You got positive results in the past. Why not now?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“No. That’s true. But the fact is I’m not giving up until I get one.”
M.J. recognized the determination on his dark features. How dare he back her into a corner? Why wouldn’t he just take no for an answer? Anger blazed through her. She was furious that he was putting her through this. She wanted him out of her house. And he might even leave. This time. But he’d be back. He had determination written all over him or he wouldn’t be here now. Somehow M.J. was aware that he wouldn’t leave her alone until he knew the reason she could no longer handle the job she’d once loved.
“An explanation?” She took a deep breath. “It’s called survival, Mr. Spencer. I simply can’t get wrapped up in a child. And that’s what it takes to reach them. It’s about dedication and focus. I can’t do it anymore.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have the heart. My son took it with him when he died.”

Chapter Two
G avin had no idea what he’d expected her to say, but that wasn’t it. Now he didn’t know what to say. Looking at the suffering in her eyes was like staring into a bottomless pool of pain.
If the antique oak table wasn’t between them, he was afraid he’d have taken her in his arms. “Look, M.J., I know how you feel—”
“No, Gavin.” Her voice was brittle, as if she could shatter at any moment. She gripped the curved back of the oak chair in front of her until her knuckles turned white. “You couldn’t possibly understand how I feel because you still have your son.”
She was right. Sean’s accident had opened a very small window into what it would have been like to lose him, but fortunately it slammed shut and he still had his boy. Any comfort he could offer seemed pathetically inadequate, however sincere.
So he didn’t offer any. “What happened to him?”
“Brian,” she said. “His name was Brian.”
“Brian.” He nodded. “Tell me about him.”
A small smile touched her lips. “He was a sweet boy. Quiet. Sensitive. Smart.”
“Was he ill?”
Something in her expression said that would almost have been easier. “He was hit by a car. He ran out into the street after his ball. The driver couldn’t stop in time.”
Gavin nodded as the thought hovered in his mind.
Who was watching him? But he couldn’t ask. It was an accident. And he’d bet ever since it happened she’d been asking herself enough questions when she wasn’t torturing herself with “if onlys.”
That was something he could understand. If only Sean hadn’t fallen on the rocks. If only he hadn’t hit his head. If only… Sean could be his normal, active self.
But he couldn’t. That’s why Gavin was here. “It must be a comfort to have your mother. And Brian’s father—”
For an instant her mouth tightened and something hot and harsh flashed through her eyes. “My husband died less than six months later. He wasn’t ill, either,” she said. “Car accident.”
“I’m sorry.” The words came out before he could stop them.
Fate really had her in its crosshairs and her expression said sorry didn’t begin to help. It also made him think that there was much more she wasn’t saying. Any or all of which was none of his business. Not that he didn’t care. He wasn’t a heartless bastard. But he wasn’t here to rub her nose in the pain or to make her feel bad about the devastating losses she’d endured. His purpose was to secure the help his son needed to get his life back.
“Look, M.J., you’re right. I have no idea how you feel. I can’t begin to understand. And, to be brutally frank, I don’t want to know. I came dangerously close to losing my son and that was enough.”
“I’m sure that was difficult.” Her grip on the chair eased.
“The time he spent in a coma was hell. Not knowing if he would live or die was torture.”
“I can imagine.”
And he knew she could. He could imagine that she wished to be in his shoes right now—to have the chance with her own child to bring him back from an injury. Maybe empathy would help him get through to her.
“Sean needs your help,” he said simply.
“My answer is still the same. I’m sorry.”
He was right about the words being pathetically inadequate. “I’m sorry” was the polite thing for her to say, yet it made him irrationally angry. Frustration gathered inside him and threatened to blow the lid off his temper as he tried to figure out what it would take to get through to her.
He glanced around the kitchen as if he’d find the answer there. The white appliances were spotlessly clean, but not very new. Old in fact. Wooden oak cupboards showed bare wood yellowed with age and in urgent need of refinishing. Faded yellow paint covered the walls and in the nook where the table sat, he could see chipping.
When he’d driven up to the front door, the Victorian had charmed him with its wraparound porch and turret. Then he’d looked closer and noticed shingles missing from the peaked roof and a loose section of railing that could use repair as well as a new coat of white paint.
Gavin looked at M.J. Her hair was pulled up, away from her face and fastened with a large clip, revealing a long graceful neck and good cheekbones. Again she was wearing slacks—black this time, with a long-sleeved cotton blouse, inexpensive and serviceable.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, if it’s about money…”
The term “got her back up” entered his mind. Her reaction was nearly imperceptible, but he’d swear her spine turned to steel. Or maybe he was just watching carefully because money had made him a target more than once. But the word “money” had definitely put a defensive look in her eyes, just for a moment, and her chin inched a bit higher. But she didn’t respond.
“I can pay you well.” He heard the guarded note in his own voice. He’d paid off a woman once. She’d deliberately gotten pregnant. Oh, he’d been a willing participant, but she’d lied about taking the pill. She’d threatened to terminate the pregnancy unless he paid her. He had because the life she carried was part of him. How such a mercenary, devious witch had produced a sweet-natured innocent like Sean he would never understand. But he’d fallen in love with his son at first sight and would do anything, pay anything, to bring him back. “Name your price.”
“It’s not about money, Gavin.”
“In what fantasyland? It’s always about money. Anyone could see I’m desperate. Why wouldn’t you manipulate the situation to get more out of me?”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Everyone has a price,” he snapped.
“That’s quite a cynical attitude you’ve got there.” She folded her arms over her chest as she observed him with her cool blue eyes.
“I earned it. School of hard knocks. You should know all about that,” he said, looking at her shiner.
“I’m going to make an educated guess.” Absently she touched her fingers to her cheekbone. “Your wife took you for a bundle. Frankly, instead of trying to tempt me with more money, you’d be better off channeling those bucks into better legal counsel. Next time get a prenuptial agreement.”
“There were no nuptials so an agreement was never an issue. But I don’t intend to let my guard down again.”
“That’s the first thing you’ve said that I can relate to.”
He had no interest in relating to her and didn’t give a damn whether or not she would trust again. That hinted at problems with her husband and the man was gone. The two of them wouldn’t get a chance to work out their issues. Gavin wasn’t unsympathetic. He simply didn’t have time to waste. All he wanted was to hire her for his son’s therapy.
He let out a long breath and willed himself to patience. “It doesn’t take a mental giant to see that you need the money. I have lots of it. I can pay you extremely well for your expertise.” God, it sounded like he was begging, but if that would change her mind, he’d do it. “Just say the word, M.J.”
“I can’t.”
Two words, yet it sounded as if her heart was being ripped out. She’d told him that Brian had taken her heart, but Gavin didn’t understand why that kept her from doing the job that, by all accounts, she was extremely good at.
“Why can’t you? I would think your loss would motivate you, that you’d want to help injured children.”
“You arrogant, pigheaded idiot. How dare you?” Anger flashed in her eyes and it was better than the sorrow. “What gives you the right to judge me?”
“I’m not judging—”
“The hell you aren’t.” She glared at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s too painful to be around young children.”
“So it’s self-protection?”
“Partly. But there’s a clinical basis for my decision.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple really. I hold back emotionally. It’s a response to pain, like pulling your hand away from fire. I can’t connect with kids anymore—” She swallowed hard. “Whatever made me a good SLP is broken.”
SLP. Speech language pathologist. Gavin had done his homework on the subject. And Sean’s doctor had said she was the best. He needed her.
Correction: Sean needed her.
Gavin had seen her in action with teenagers. She’d found something positive to say about the two antisocial rebels. Whatever made her good with kids might be damaged, but he’d bet it wasn’t broken.
But he noticed she was even more pale than that day in her classroom and more shaken up than she’d been after going a couple rounds with Evil E and hardware face. Her mouth trembled and her eyes were haunted, the bruise on her cheek standing out starkly against the fair skin. He’d stirred the pot of her feelings and should regret it, but guilt was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Still, desperate as he was, it was clear that he’d pushed hard enough.
For now.
“I’d like to see for myself whether or not you’ve lost your edge.” He slid his wallet from his back pocket and saw her gaze narrow as she frowned. After pulling out a business card, he dropped it on the oak table.
“Do me a favor. Just think about it.” He walked past her and started toward the doorway.
“Do you ever say please, Gavin?”
“If it would change your mind I’d say it in a second.”
“It wouldn’t,” she said. “I just wondered. Goodbye.”
For now, he thought again.

M.J. set her steaming mug of green tea on the kitchen table, then sat down, unable to suppress a tired sigh. “It’s good to be home.”
Her mother set out three floral placemats followed by plates, napkins and utensils. While Evelyn set the table, Aunt Lil stirred something on the stove.
“Rough day?” her mother asked.
“Yes.” M.J. saw the frown and regretted her honesty.
“You look tired, sweetie.” Evelyn’s mouth tightened with disapproval.
“I am.” And not all of it was about the energy drain of educating teenagers. Some of it had to do with not sleeping well, and that was Gavin Spencer’s fault.
How dare he dredge up all the painful memories? She’d worked hard the past two years, not to forget because that wouldn’t happen, but to make herself remember the good things. To keep Brian alive in her heart. But it wasn’t just about her memories. The dashing Mr. Spencer was disturbing, his intensity unsettling. He was alternately challenging and charming. But she refused to be charmed.
Her mother set a trivet in front of her on the table. “M.J., I don’t know why you refuse to take a less stressful, permanent position. It’s not like the school district has an abundance of teachers.”
“There’s a need for educators on every level,” M.J. admitted.
She remained on the substitute list because the per diem scale actually netted her more money. The downside was a different classroom every day. Except she was a permanent sub until the teacher she’d replaced returned from maternity leave.
“But sometimes I think the kids would learn just as well from a Sumo wrestler.” She remembered Gavin saying she needed pepper spray and self-defense lessons. Today she agreed with him.
“What did the little stinkers do this time?” her mother asked.
“The usual. Not turning off cell phones. Someone with a camera phone trying to take a picture underneath an unsuspecting girl’s skirt.”
“Today’s technological equivalent of sticking pigtails in the inkwell?” her mother asked wryly.
M.J. grinned. “Sort of. But what pushed me over the edge was the boy who jumped on his desk and let out a Tarzan yell during a test.”
“It’s too bad they won’t let you smack knuckles with a ruler anymore. There’s something to be said for corporal punishment and the old days.” Evelyn nodded sagely.
“Now we send them to the dean of discipline,” M.J. explained, feeling inadequate for not being able to deal with the situation. “But it’s not fair to the other students when a teacher can’t teach because one bozo disrupts the entire class.”
Evelyn frowned. “I suppose. But I can’t help wondering if you took a job in a different school things might be better.”
M.J. was grateful when she was spared the need to lie because Aunt Lil walked over with a big container of split pea soup. She was older than her sister, a shorter version with blond hair and hazel eyes. Both were technically spinsters since neither of them had ever married. But unlike Evelyn, Lillian had never had children. She’d been like a second mother to M.J., a more diplomatic, less judgmental version.
“It’s soup weather. March comes in like a lion, out like a lamb,” Aunt Lil said. After setting down the large tureen, she automatically rubbed her wrist.
“Is your arm bothering you, Aunt Lil?”
The older woman smiled, a spunky look in her eyes as she held up her arm. “I could predict a cold front with these bones.”
“I’m sure it’s arthritis,” her mother said.
“You should have let me know you wanted the soup on the table,” M.J. said. “I’d have carried it over for you.”
Guilt squeezed M.J. because she was responsible for the injury that had resulted in the arthritis. Years ago her aunt had tripped over something M.J. hadn’t put away as ordered, and fell, breaking her wrist. M.J. had never seen her mother so angry and still remembered the lecture.
Good girls always clean up their messes. M.J. was doing just that as a substitute teacher. It was the best solution to her current financial mess because she simply couldn’t go back to her career. And she was getting tired of explaining herself. A little over a week ago, she’d had a similar conversation with Gavin Spencer regarding her substitute teacher status. He’d been curious about why she refused a permanent assignment, too.
“There are advantages to a permanent teaching position, sweetie,” her mother said, without missing a beat in picking up the thread of the conversation. “I should think knowing the good, bad and ugly about your students would take the edge off some of the stress.”
“I’m fine, Mom. There is no edge.”
Gavin had stood right here in this kitchen and said he’d like to see for himself whether or not she’d lost her edge as an SLP. She couldn’t help admiring his determination to move heaven and earth to help his son. And she’d half expected him to show up again either here or at the high school. At the very least she’d figured he would phone her to renew his demand. But she hadn’t heard a word.
The disappointment trickling through her was a surprise and made her feel particularly stupid. She should be relieved. Especially because memories of the intensity in his dark eyes gave her an odd, tight feeling around her heart. He was charismatic and persistent, a combination that would get him what he wanted with most people—women especially. But not with her.
However badly she needed the money, she simply couldn’t do what he wanted. Her life was a leaky rowboat and she was bailing as fast as she could. So far, she was staying afloat. Barring another disaster, she could meet her financial obligations and no one would be the wiser. She’d rather walk barefoot on broken glass than have her mother and aunt find out the only home they’d ever known was always one paycheck away from being snatched out from under them.
Her mother rested her hands on the table and leaned forward. “M.J., I just don’t understand why you’re making things harder—”
“Dinner’s ready,” Aunt Lil interrupted. M.J. shot the older woman a grateful look. “This smells wonderful, Aunt Lil. I love your soup.”
“Your aunt is a good cook,” Evelyn agreed. She sat across from M.J. “I never had time to nurture my inner chef.”
M.J. felt another twinge. Her mother was a single mom before the needs of single moms were commonly recognized. It wasn’t M.J.’s fault, but she felt guilty that her mother had worked so hard to provide for her. The only thing Evelyn hadn’t worried about was the roof over their heads because the house had been in the family for so long. M.J. intended to see that didn’t change.
“It takes more than time to be a cook, Ev,” her aunt said gently. She sipped from her spoon and nodded with satisfaction. “Yagottawanna.”
M.J. laughed. “Excuse me?”
“You have to want to do it. You’re a teacher, dear. You should understand. Some people go through the motions because they have to. Others just have the desire to be successful. Any fool who can read can follow a recipe. But a good cook has a calling, a need to experiment, a love of working with food.”
“I suppose I didn’t get that gene,” her mother admitted.
“Me, either,” M.J. said. She looked down at her empty bowl and realized she’d scarfed down the contents. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d write down everything you put in this soup so this fool could have a recipe to read.”
“I’ll do that as best I can. And thank you, dear. I’m glad you like it.”
After dinner, the sisters cleaned up and M.J. was shooed out of the kitchen to rest. Since she had papers to grade, that wasn’t going to happen. She grabbed the backpack with her work and started up the stairs to her room when she noticed the mail on the sofa table in the entryway.
Scooping it up, she headed upstairs. Her room was just above the kitchen and had the same bay window, with a chair and ottoman filling it. On one wall sat her queen-size bed, the pink chenille spread neatly covering it. Her desk sat just inside the door and she set the mail down there.
The top envelope caught her eye when she noticed the official-looking return address from a mortgage company. She’d learned to loathe official-looking letters. It was never good news. Her stomach knotted and her hands shook as she opened the envelope.
M.J. read through it several times, hoping she was getting it wrong, then realizing she wasn’t that lucky. The words second mortgage, balloon payment, six months and enough zeroes to make her eyes cross just put a gaping hole in her leaky little rowboat. This was the disaster she’d been afraid would sink her and it was a beaut.
After Evelyn’s mild heart attack three years ago, her mother and aunt had put the title in M.J.’s name because they weren’t getting any younger. M.J. hadn’t known about her husband’s compulsive gambling. Only after his death had she learned that he would do anything, use anyone, to get the money to fund his obsession. Some methods were more underhanded than others. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed the first mortgage let alone this one. The bill was due and payable in six months, she didn’t have the money, and she was liable. In addition to borrowing against the house, he’d maxed out numerous credit cards, some of them in her name, all of which she was responsible for. Thanks to him, her credit was ruined and she couldn’t borrow a dime.
M.J. dropped into her desk chair before her trembling legs gave out. What was she going to do?
She wasn’t sure how long she sat staring at the letter before dropping it on the desk blotter. Tucked into a pocket was the card Gavin had given her. She picked it up and stared at the no-nonsense black block letters. Gavin Spencer, CEO, Spencer Technology, Inc.
“I hate that you were right, Gavin. But everyone does have a price.”
M.J. picked up the phone and dialed the number on the card.

Chapter Three
M .J. breathed a sigh of relief when her little old car coughed and wheezed, then shuddered off in front of Gavin’s house. When giving directions, he’d said Cliff House overlooked the Pacific Ocean on a bluff, but with everything else on her mind, it hadn’t quite registered that getting there involved a serious incline.
“The little car that could. Barely.” She patted the dashboard approvingly, then got out.
She’d agreed to meet Gavin here at five o’clock and it was getting dark. Late-afternoon clouds had rolled in off the ocean and the large gray house blended in, except for the intricate and elaborate white trim that outlined the roof, windows and second-floor deck. The expanse of lawn was neatly trimmed as were the marguerites and privets bordering it. California cypress grew thick around the perimeter, giving the estate privacy.
She looked around again and knew she was putting off going inside. “Procrastination is a crime. It only leads to sorrow. I can stop it anytime, I think I will tomorrow.” It was a rhyme she recited to her students, teasing them into taking action. It was time to take her own advice. “I hate that rhyme,” she mumbled.
Taking a deep breath, she followed the walkway to the double-door entry. As the mist rolled in, she shivered, feeling like the plucky heroine of a Gothic romance novel. The difference was, she wasn’t plucky. Desperation was her only motivation. If she had a choice, she’d get back in her little car and go as fast as she could back down the hill.
She rang the bell and, through the oval etched glass in the door, she could see lights inside and someone coming. Bracing herself, she prepared to see Gavin again. When a tall, trim, gray-haired man opened the door, she was surprised.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m—”
“Ms. Taylor. I’m Henderson, the caretaker of Cliff House. Mr. Spencer said to expect you. He had planned to be here when you arrived, but was delayed at the office. He’ll be here shortly and sends his apologies. I’ll introduce you to Sean.”
“Thank you.” It was the polite response, but M.J. wanted to tell him not to do her any favors. She dreaded this with every fiber of her being.
“My wife, Lenore, is the housekeeper. She’s watching over the boy in the family room.”
M.J. nodded as she glanced around. The entryway ceiling must be twenty feet high. Twin staircases curved up to the second floor. As she followed Henderson through the house, she had a fleeting impression of elegant furniture in serene shades of celery and hunter green. In the artwork and glassware there were splashes of red, gold and orange. Beige tile gave way to plush carpet as they moved through the house.
Just off the kitchen with black granite-covered island and countertops, they stopped in the family room. A large sea-foam green sectional filled one corner with a huge flat-screen TV across from it.
An older woman sat on the sofa. Beside her, a recliner built into the sectional was pushed back with the footrest extended. Beneath it, a boy lined up little plastic dinosaurs, then set two pterodactyls on the footrest above, poising them to swoop down on the tyrannosaurus rex and the triceratops. She knew the names because Brian had loved them and constantly begged her to read him dinosaur books.
Emotion tightened in her chest and spread into her throat.
Henderson walked farther into the room. “Lenore, Sean, this is Ms. Taylor.”
A petite, brown-eyed brunette, Lenore smiled warmly. “Welcome to Cliff House.”
The polite thing to say would be that it was nice to be here. But it wasn’t nice. At this moment she’d give anything if she hadn’t been raised to be polite. M.J. wanted to turn and run from toys that were scattered on the floor, little cars small enough for little hands. A small boy in blue jeans and long-sleeved, striped T-shirt. His white sneakers were scuffed because active boys were hard on shoes. It was all so familiar, and looking at it produced a physical ache.
“Ms. Taylor?” There was concern in Henderson’s voice.
“Yes.” She let out a long breath as she slid her hands into the pockets of her sweater and looked at them. “Lenore. Sean. Hi.”
“Sorry I’m late.” Gavin rushed into the room and Sean smiled, then instantly jumped up and raced to his father.
Brian used to do that when she got home from work. Tears burned her eyes and she held her breath, waiting for the squeal of delight when Gavin swung his son into his arms. But it never came.
Gavin took the boy’s weight on his forearm and their faces were close together. There was no question of paternity. Sean was the image of his father. “Hi, buddy. Did you have a good day?”
Sean nodded.
“You met Ms. Taylor? M.J.”
This time the boy pointed at her and nodded.
“Good. She’s going to help you talk again.” Gavin bent to set him down and the boy clung for several moments.
When his father straightened, Sean looked up at him, dark eyes wide and questioning. He was a beautiful little boy and would grow into a handsome man, just like his father. She wondered if he’d also inherited Gavin’s intensity, determination and charm. All of that would help him be successful in the weeks of therapy ahead.
Gavin ran his hand over the boy’s dark hair. “Daddy needs to talk to M.J., son. You stay with Lenore.” When Sean pointed to his dinosaurs, Gavin said, “That’s right. Have fun with your toys.”
The boy shook his head, then pointed to Gavin and his dinosaurs.
“I can’t play right now, buddy. Later.” He looked at her. “We can talk in my office.”
She didn’t miss the flash of disappointment on the child’s face before Gavin put his hand at the small of her back and urged her from the room. She accompanied him down a hall and into an office that was as elegant as it was masculine. The walls were oak-paneled, with a matching desk dominating the center of the hunter-green carpet. One wall was entirely windows with French doors looking out on the ocean.
Two leather wing chairs were in front of the desk and he indicated she should sit.
Gavin took off his suit coat and draped it across the high back of the desk chair. He sat across from her, loosened his red tie and rolled up the long sleeves of his white dress shirt to just below the elbows. As if that wasn’t masculine enough, she noticed that his jaw was dark with five o’clock shadow. It gave him a dangerous look that set off a fluttering sensation in her stomach. Again her survival instincts were telling her to run, but this time for a different reason.
“So,” Gavin said, folding his hands on the desk. “Thanks for coming. Can I ask what changed your mind?”
She wanted to tell him he was free to ask, but she didn’t have to answer. Except, given her firm, outspoken objection to his offer, it was a fair question. That didn’t mean he was entitled to the whole truth. “Let’s just call it a moment of weakness.”
He studied her for several seconds, then shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. The point is you’re here. And I’m grateful.”
Don’t be, she wanted to say. “Sean’s injury was to the left side of his brain,” she said, getting straight to the point. They had no reason to do small talk.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“That’s where language function is controlled.”
Gavin nodded and his expression was grim. “He used to be a chatterbox.”
“With TBI, or traumatic brain injury,” she added, although probably he’d heard the term more than he wanted, “the jolt to the head disrupts brain function and it isn’t just language that’s affected.”
“The doctor told me.”
“Did he also make you aware that reading, social skills such as impulse control, gauging consequences for a behavior and acting out because of frustration can also be affected by the injury?”
He nodded. “Medically, Sean’s come as far as he can.”
“Do you have a prognosis?”
“The neurologist feels that with cognitive and physical therapy, Sean has a good chance to regain brain function lost due to the trauma.”
“Good. I’ll need to do a series of tests on Sean to see where he is, then work up a treatment plan.”
“Okay.”
She knew a therapist was the driving force in treatment. But, like a general, she needed to martial all the forces at her disposal. She needed to know who she could count on. “Gavin, clearly you’re dedicated to Sean’s care. What about Sean’s mother? Will she—”
“She won’t be involved,” he snapped. M.J. almost shivered at the ice-cold tone of his voice. “You should know that TBI kids typically progress faster when both parents become involved in the process.”
“Sean’s mother doesn’t have any contact with him.”
“I see.”
“I doubt it.” His gaze narrowed.
True. If she still had her son, nothing and no one could keep her from him.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “I don’t see. But I can make a guess that she’s the woman who worked you into that cynical attitude of yours and is responsible for you keeping your guard up.”
“You’d be correct.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “All you need to know is that Sean is better off without her.”
M.J. couldn’t help being curious. He’d never married Sean’s mother and he was raising the boy by himself. He believed money could buy everything and everyone. It didn’t require ugly details to see that the woman had really done a number on him. Sympathy started to stir inside M.J. and she shut it down. He was a client, her employer. As one parent to another, she sympathized with what he was going through, but she didn’t want to feel anything for him as a man.
“What about grandparents?” she asked.
Gavin shook his head. “My father passed away about two years ago.”
M.J. waited for more, but he didn’t say anything about extended family on his mother’s side. When curiosity stirred again, she ignored it. “Who takes care of him when you’re at work?”
“Henderson and Lenore. They’ve been with me since before Sean was born.”
“So they’re like family?”
“Yes. They’re devoted to my son.”
“Good.” She met his gaze. “But you’re the most important person in his world.”
“And I’ll do whatever it takes. You can count on me.”
She nodded. “Does Sean speak at all?”
“Not much,” he said ruefully. “A word here and there, but not complete sentences.” Worry etched lines in his handsome face. “He was perfect before the accident.”
“He’s a beautiful child,” she said softly. Something stirred inside her and again she shut it down.
Gavin met her gaze, his own stark with a father’s pain. “I want him back the way he was.”
M.J. nodded her understanding. Any parent in his position would feel the same. Now wasn’t the time to tell him Sean’s accident had changed him forever. No one could go through what he had and be the same as he was. The question was how much brain function could be regained.
To accomplish the best case scenario, M.J. needed to establish a bond with the child. How was she going to do that when every instinct urged her to shut down? To disengage from him? Once, she would have hugged Sean when introduced. Touched him. Shaken his little hand. Now she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
She hoped Gavin hadn’t made a mistake hiring her and that she hadn’t made a colossal error in judgment by accepting the job.
She stood and slipped her hands into the pockets of her sweater. “I’ll do my best to help Sean.”
That was also the truth. Although it wasn’t much, she’d give everything she had left. But that didn’t include her heart. Not for the child. Or his father.

It had been four weeks since M.J. had first come to Cliff House. Gavin had cut short a meeting at work so that he could be here before she left today. Standing in the shadows just outside the room, he could observe, but the two didn’t notice him.
He was frustrated as he watched her on the family room floor playing with Sean. They were doing a dinosaur puzzle and hadn’t noticed him yet. First she had the boy trace the space where the piece fit, then run his finger around the piece itself before fitting the irregular cardboard into the right place.
“Good job.” She smiled at the boy.
What the heck did this have to do with helping Sean to speak again?
“Now,” she said. “Brush your finger over the next space like I showed you. Do the same with the piece that goes there, then put it where it belongs.”
Concentration furrowed Sean’s forehead as he complied with the first directive. Then he blinked at M.J., confusion in his eyes.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Trace the space.” When he nodded, she smiled. “Good. Now what?”
The boy thought for a few moments, then put the puzzle piece in place.
“Way to go, kiddo. High five.” She held up her hand and Sean slapped it.
The boy grinned at her before rolling around on the floor.
“I think we need to get rid of the wiggles,” she said, standing.
She shook her hands using a wrist motion and Sean imitated. He copied when she stretched her neck then moved her head from side to side before bending to touch her toes. That gave Gavin a good view of her fanny, which was covered by the usual black pants. Since she’d been coming, he’d dropped by the therapy sessions a couple of times for a few minutes and this was the first he’d noticed that she had some pretty nice curves going on. Then she smiled at Sean and the expression transformed her.
She was prettier than Gavin realized. That didn’t make him happy.
When he moved to the center of the doorway, Sean immediately saw him and grinned, then raced across the room, but there was no shouted greeting. Gavin’s chest tightened. He longed to hear his son say, “Daddy.”
Gavin brushed his hand over his son’s hair as the boy caught his leg. When he looked at M.J., he saw that her smile had disappeared and found he missed it.
“Hey, buddy. How are you?” When the child pointed to the puzzle, then M.J., Gavin said, “I see. You’ve been playing with M.J.”
“He likes puzzles,” she said. “He’s good at them.”
“Of course he is. He’s a Spencer.” But being good at puzzles wasn’t the progress Gavin expected. He met her gaze. “I’d like to speak to you. Do you have a couple minutes?”
“Of course.”
After Sean was settled in the kitchen with Lenore, Gavin looked across his desk at M.J. She sat stiffly, her hands linked in her lap.
He was still remembering her smile and irritated because he did. “I’ll get right to the point. As far as I can see, there’s no change in my son’s condition.”
“I agree.”
That surprised him. He was accustomed to spin and excuses when the desired result wasn’t achieved. M.J. stared back at him without apology.
“I thought there would be noticeable progress. Can you explain why there isn’t?”
“Yes.” Her chin lifted slightly. “Because Sean is a little boy, not a business project. He’ll go at his own speed, not the timetable you mandate.”
“Based on your glowing references, I just thought—” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“You thought I could snap my fingers, wiggle my nose and he’d be cured?”
“Something like that,” he admitted.
“This isn’t about a cure. It’s about regaining the function that was lost.” Her tone was patient, soft, soothing. “It’s going to take a lot of work. And that will take time.”
Gavin had noticed the way she was with Sean today. She’d been playful, firm, determined and lively. There was a sweetness about her that seemed to come from within. It appeared genuine and unforced, a natural extension of herself—very real. And that smile. She was pretty when she smiled, and he wanted to think of her only as plain.
“How long?” He heard the edge to his voice and suspected it was fear. He was afraid his boy would never be okay. If only this were a disease and ten days of antibiotics the course of treatment. He wanted his son back now. At the very least, he wanted guarantees and a time frame.
“I don’t know.”
“You can’t make a guess based on experience? When my father was dying of cancer, the doctors gave me an estimate and it turned out to be almost to the day,” he snapped.
“That’s an entirely different situation. Medical doctors have studies and data and tests that help them make an educated guess. In situations like this, there can’t be a specific timetable. Every child is different. Every injury is different.”
“Can you give me a ballpark estimate?”
“No.” She met his gaze. “But I can tell you that it might go faster if you get involved in the therapy.”
“You mean, doing puzzles?”
“That was brain exercise and therapy for hand-eye coordination,” she said.
“It looked like playing to me.”
“If therapy techniques weren’t disguised as fun, how cooperative do you think Sean would be?”
“Obviously, I don’t know anything about speech language therapy. How much help could I be?”
“I can show you what to do. I distinctly remember that you promised to do whatever it takes to help your son. I believe you said I could count on you.” The tender tone was gone, replaced by toughness.
And she was right; he had promised. She met him toe-to-toe and wouldn’t blink. Part of him respected her for that. On the other hand, he didn’t as a rule notice when an employee’s smile made her pretty. That thought was followed by irrational anger, which didn’t bode well for tact.
“You’re the expert, Ms. Taylor. It’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
Any earlier traces of warmth and patience disappeared. “Is this third degree really about Sean?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Are you implying that I’m dragging out a child’s therapy for financial gain?”
“Are you?”
“That would be unethical.” Her mouth tightened and anger flashed in her eyes, making them a darker shade of blue.
You’re beautiful when you’re angry. The thought jumped into his mind before he could stop it. In that moment, she was striking. Something inside him responded, stirred to life, and he regretted it instantly.
Again his temper took over. “This wouldn’t be the first time someone held a child’s life hostage.”
“What does that mean?” she demanded.
It meant he’d been stupid once. A woman had used his child to get to him and he wouldn’t let it happen a second time. M.J. seemed warm and real and sincere. But what if he was wrong again?
When he didn’t answer, she stood. “Gavin, you’ve made it clear that you believe everyone has a price. But I’m not everyone and you don’t know me.”
He was getting to know her, and he wasn’t sure yet if that was a problem. “What’s your point?”
“Just this—you were the one who badgered me into taking this job. If you don’t trust me, I’ll gladly walk out that door. You’re paying me for my skill, but you have no idea what it’s costing me. That little boy is—”
The bleak expression was back in her eyes. “What, M.J.?”
She swallowed several times, then caught her top lip between her teeth. Finally she said, “Sean is the same age Brian would have been.”
That took the heat out of his temper. “I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. And I don’t know you. I don’t know why you’re cynical and determined to mistrust everything I do. I did warn you that I’m not the way I was, that my abilities are impaired, but you insisted. I promised you that I would do the best I could under the circumstances. But if you’ve changed your mind, say the word and it would be my pleasure to resign.”
Gavin studied her. He could almost see the anger drain out of her, replaced by weariness. Dark circles bruised the soft skin beneath her eyes and it had nothing to do with getting popped while breaking up a high school scuffle. But it might have a lot to do with the hard knocks in her life.
On top of that, she taught full-time and worked with Sean three evenings a week. He’d just seen for himself that the therapy demanded a high level of energy and attention. It wouldn’t violate his rules to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” he said.
She met his gaze. “If you do, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Then she walked out. After she said goodbye to Sean, Gavin followed her and opened the front door, but she walked out without looking back. She got in the car and turned the key in the ignition several times before the engine caught.
He watched the red taillights of her old car until they disappeared in the fog. He’d never thought he was the type to form an opinion about a person based on appearance, but now he wasn’t so sure. He’d thought M. J. Taylor pale and plain, but a few minutes ago he’d seen flash and fire in her. There was more to her than he’d first thought and he suspected there was far more than the little she’d revealed.
He realized he was staring into the swirling mist and closed the door. If only he could close off his thoughts as easily. He hadn’t spent this much mental energy on a woman in a long time.
And that time had been a disaster.

Chapter Four
M .J. put games, puzzles and flashcards in her backpack, then glanced around her room to see if there was anything else she might be able to use with Sean in today’s session. It was interesting that the techniques came right back to her as if she hadn’t been away for a year and a half. Somehow it seemed disloyal to her little boy’s memory, but her punishment was the pain of seeing Gavin’s little boy and being reminded that she would never see her own son again.
There was a soft knock on her door. “Come in,” she called.
Her mother opened it, then frowned. “You’re going out?”
“Yeah. Sean Spencer.”
She’d explained to her mother why Gavin had stopped by that day. The cover story was that his urgency and determination had eventually worn down her resistance and he’d convinced her to work with his child. Evelyn seemed pleased that she was finally putting the past behind her and moving forward.
“You look tired, M.J.”
That didn’t even begin to describe how she felt. She was beyond tired and had settled into a permanent state of exhaustion. The extra strain of burying emotion and bracing herself to see Sean’s achingly sweet young face took every ounce of energy she had left after teaching high school.
But admitting as much would mean explaining why she was working two jobs, and M.J. couldn’t go there. “I’m all right, Mom.”
“All right isn’t fine. Why are you doing this after an exhausting day teaching those ungrateful teenage dweebs?”
M.J. smiled at her slang-challenged mother. “As weird as it sounds, I like them. And let’s not forget, today’s dweebs are tomorrow’s grown-ups.”
“Then you could give up the other job.” Evelyn didn’t smile. “You don’t have to work with Sean. Gavin could find another therapist. Surely you don’t need the money.”
It was an old, tired conversation. After M.J.’s husband died, Evelyn had assumed he had life insurance. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, he’d left her with a mountain of debt she hadn’t known about.
Yes, Gavin could hire another therapist. But M.J. desperately needed the extra money to clean up the mess of the mortgages and other bills that her mother was better off not knowing about. Unfortunately that meant no whining, and M.J. really wanted to whine.
Instead she put on a happy face and bypassed the issue of money entirely. “Sean is a bright boy. Full of energy.”
“How’s he doing?” M.J. set her full backpack by the door then let out a sigh when she sat on the chair. The card Gavin had given her was still tucked into her desk blotter. She traced the bold, black letters of his name. His bold, handsome face flashed into her mind and she shivered.
She met her mother’s gaze. “Sean’s making steady progress.”
Even if his father couldn’t see it. Was Gavin too demanding? He wanted results, but what father wouldn’t in the same situation? Any parent who didn’t want their child to go back to the way they were before an accident was a parent who needed serious psychotherapy. And a mother who’d lost a child needed something she could never get back.
Evelyn patted her shoulder. “I’m glad he’s doing better. But I’m still concerned about you. All day in the classroom and that doesn’t include time spent doing lesson plans or grading papers. Then three nights a week you work with Sean. You’re going to make yourself ill.”
M.J. didn’t want to think about what would happen if she couldn’t work. So she didn’t. “Don’t worry about me, Mom. The schedule is intense and I’ll admit it’s draining sometimes, but I’ll be fine.”
As long as Gavin didn’t decide his son wasn’t progressing quickly enough and fire her. That was something else she didn’t want to think about. If it happened, she had no idea what she’d do. For the sake of her sanity, she decided not to borrow trouble. Right now she had enough to worry about, thank you very much.
Evelyn studied her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m sure.”
When Evelyn’s expression filled with sympathy and sorrow, it was clear she was talking about the child they’d lost. “You’re not just doing all of this to keep yourself too busy to think?”
Even if that were true, M.J. thought, she was a dismal failure because she was thinking all the time. Unfortunately some of those thoughts were about Gavin. What had happened to make him so cynical? Was that having a negative impact on Sean? Not only was Gavin aggressively taking up her conscious mind, his too handsome image drifted through her dreams. The dark intensity on his face. The glittering passion in his eyes was seared into her subconscious and she couldn’t seem to forget how determined he was to have his son back. If desire were enough, that boy would be whole again.
Desire.
The single word made her tremble. How stupid was that? She barely knew Gavin; she hardly ever saw him. It seemed he made himself more scarce after she’d tried to get him involved in Sean’s therapy. But facts were facts. Even if she was capable of caring, a man like him would never be interested in someone like her. How weird was she that the thought made her wistful? She should embrace facts without question.
M.J. said with absolute certainty, “I’m definitely not keeping myself too busy to think.”
“Okay.” Her mother nodded. “You’re a big girl.”
There were times she wished she wasn’t, but never more than when Gavin looked at her with that mysterious expression in his dark eyes. She would give almost anything to know what he was thinking. Almost.
“Tell me about your millionaire.”
That surprised her. “You mean, Gavin?”
“Do you have another one?” Evelyn asked.
“First of all, he’s not mine.”
“But he is a millionaire. I read the paper.”
“Even the society pages?”
Her mother smiled. “I get bored waiting for the doctor and the hairdresser.”
M.J. grinned back. “I’m shocked and appalled.”
“Don’t tell your aunt.”
“Our little secret.”
“So, what’s he like?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say he was a hottie, but M.J. held back. He definitely was that. And so much more.
“You met him,” M.J. said, not trusting herself to talk about the brooding intense man.
“I remember. He’s not the kind of man a woman could forget. Not even an old one,” she said with a grin.
M.J. understood all too well. “He’s certainly a concerned father.”
She admitted that concern, although she’d been infuriated by his insinuation that she was dragging out the therapy for personal gain. He’d told her he didn’t trust anyone, but she was only beginning to realize how deeply ingrained the mind-set was. Whatever happened to him must have been bad for him to still be so wary. He’d admitted Sean’s mother was the guilty party. And she knew the woman wasn’t involved in her child’s life. That was just wrong.
M.J. would give anything to have Brian here with her. The familiar pain took its place in her chest and she wondered how a mother could abandon her child.
How could a woman abandon Gavin?
The thought came out of nowhere and she shook her head, as if that would clear away the feeling. If she couldn’t get rid of it, she’d be forced to admit she was attracted to the man. It was a complication she didn’t need.
“What’s his house like?”
“Big. Beautiful. Overlooking the ocean. It’s a dream house. Like you’d expect a millionaire to have.”
Evelyn thought about that. “I’ll bet it doesn’t have the same character as this place and all the tradition of several generations.”
“That’s true.” Her stomach knotted. “He has a mansion, but it’s a house, not a home.”
And Sean was being raised by staff, not family.
True, Gavin was a working father. He had financial resources. But all the money in the world didn’t replace a mother’s love. The question was why Sean’s mother was out of the picture. Was it by choice or had Gavin “fired” her because she didn’t meet his expectations?
He was a demanding man and that concerned her for Sean’s sake.
She’d seen the way the boy looked at his father, as if the sun rose and set on him. She’d also seen Gavin rush in or not show up at all while she was there. He worked long hours and she could understand that. But was it by chance or by choice? Was he paying the staff to parent and her to put the boy back together?
Children wanted to please their parents. Even the antisocial teens she taught wanted approval whether they admitted it or not. M.J. couldn’t help feeling that Sean would progress faster if his father got involved with the therapy. That would mean spending more time with Gavin, as if her life wasn’t already complicated enough.

After six weeks, three sessions a week, M.J. wasn’t having much luck in distancing her emotions from Sean Spencer. They were on the floor in the family room as she looked at his easy smile and dark eyes. She smiled back and a little more ice melted from around her heart. If she weren’t so tired…

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