скачать книгу бесплатно
For some reason the descending elevator seemed to creep along, in direct contrast to the way it seemed to have shot her to his floor when she’d arrived. He turned and faced her, leaning back against the wall that was paneled in gleaming mahogany with narrow mirrored inserts. “You look nice today.”
Her lips parted. She blinked and looked up at the digital floor display above the door. Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. “Thank you.” He looked nice today, too. Mouth-watering nice.
Which was a direction her thoughts didn’t need to take.
“Did you sleep well?”
Even more disconcerted, she slid him a quick glance, then looked back up at the display. “Yes, thank you. My hotel was comfortable.” It was hardly The Plaza, but then she was on an expense account. Unlike her wardrobe, the cash-strapped institute would foot the bill for this little junket. As such, the room was moderately priced and not entirely conveniently located. She glanced at her watch. “My flight leaves this afternoon.”
Twenty-four. Twenty-three.
“Do you ever wear your hair down?”
“I beg your pardon?”
He pushed his hand in his trousers pocket, dislodging the excellent lay of his black suit coat. “It’s long, isn’t it?”
Eighteen. Seventeen.
“A bit,” she allowed, trying to figure out what angle he was coming from.
“I’ve never seen you wear it down.”
She huffed a little, exasperated not just with him, but with the eternal slowness of the elevator. “Since you’ve seen me only a handful of times, is that so surprising?” She didn’t like—or trust—the faint smile hovering around his lips. “If we’re going to be asking for personal information, then what was it that had you—” her voice dropped into a toneless imitation of Cynthia’s “—unavoidably detained?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“My mother was in the hospital last night.”
Stricken, her eyebrows lowered. “Oh. I’m sorry.” She looked more closely at him. He didn’t look unduly upset. His suit was as magazine-perfect as always, his eyes clear and sharp; he didn’t look as if he’d spent the night in some hospital waiting room. “She’s all right?”
“A sprained ankle that they thought might be broken.”
“Oh. That’s good then. Well. Not good that she has a sprain, of course. But—” She realized she was babbling and broke off.
Fortunately, the elevator finally rocked softly to a stop and the doors slid open. He waited for her to exit first but he still held her briefcase. And continued to do so, either oblivious to, or choosing to ignore, her awkward gestures of taking it back.
They were nearly to the main entrance and he was still in possession of it when he spoke again. “Your security pass.”
She’d completely forgotten it. She unclipped it from her lapel and dropped it off at the desk, then rejoined Rourke where he was waiting. “I didn’t realize you owned the building,” she said, holding out her hand for what seemed the tenth time. “It’s quite an impressive space.”
He glanced around. “It’ll do.” Then he took her hand, as if that was what she’d been waiting for, and tugged her through the doors.
Feeling as if she’d dropped through the looking glass, she couldn’t do anything but follow.
Outside, the breeze had picked up, but the sun had warmed, foretelling a perfectly lovely September day. She caught her skirt with her free hand before it could blow up around her knees. “I’ll contact your assistant to reschedule.”
“No need. Come with me.” He released her hand, and touched the small of her back, directing her inexorably toward a black limo that was parked at the curb.
She tried digging in her heels, but that was about as effective as holding down her skirt against the mischievous breeze, and before she knew it, she was ensconced in the rear of the spacious limousine.
With him.
And what should have felt spacious…didn’t. Not when his thigh was only six inches away from hers and she could smell the heady scent of him. Fresh. Clean. A little spicy.
“Mr. Devlin—”
“Rourke.”
A jolt of nervous excitement whisked through her. Maybe all wasn’t lost, after all.
On the other hand, maybe he was merely planning to drop her at her hotel.
The teeter-totter of possibilities was enough to make her dizzy and answers were the only thing that would solve that. So she obliged him. “Rourke.” Warmth bloomed in her cheeks at the feel of his name on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”
“Greenwich.”
“What? Why?” It would surely take an hour each way, and that was if the traffic didn’t get heavier.
But he just lifted his hand, putting her off as he put his vibrating cell phone to his ear.
She fell silent and sank deeper into the butter-soft leather seat, crossing her arms and kissing goodbye any chance she had of making her flight home on time.
He was still talking, so she reached for her briefcase—at last—and pulled out her own phone, sending a quick message to Ella that she’d need to move back her flight. Again.
Then, leaving that to her trusty assistant, she scrolled through her e-mails—two from Derek which she ignored as surely as she’d ignored his voice mail—and then dropped the phone back into her briefcase in favor of looking out the window.
She was even beyond trying to puzzle out what Rourke was up to, because she just ended up with a headache, anyway.
He stayed on the phone the entire drive—his voice low and steady as he discussed some upcoming media launch—and she found herself struggling against drowsiness. When the car finally turned up a long, winding drive bordered by immaculate lawns and massive shrubs, some still blooming, Rourke finally put away his phone.
They passed an island of tall, slender cypress trees bordering a flowing fountain, then a terraced swimming pool, and after rounding yet another curve in the drive, came to a stop in front of an immense Tudor mansion.
“It’s beautiful.” She couldn’t stop the exclamation when they stepped out of the car. “Who lives here?”
“My mom.” He didn’t head toward the grand entrance, fronted by a dozen wide, shallow stone steps, but instead to a smaller, more unobtrusive door well off to one side.
She hurried after him, her heels clacking against the pavement.
He stopped and waited until she caught up to him, and they went in through the door. “You grew up here?” Her voice echoed a little in the long, empty hall they found themselves in.
“Hell, no.” He reached back and grabbed her hand unerringly—sending a shuddering quake through her that she tried to ignore—then turned and left through another door that led outside onto a stone terrace.
She immediately heard the high-pitched squeal of children’s laughter and Rourke let go of her hand just in time to catch up the little girl who aimed for him with the speed and accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.
It was all Lisa could do not to gape as his face broke into a full-blown smile while he swung the blond-haired imp up in the air, earning another peal of squealing laughter from her. She caught his face between her starfish fingers and pressed a smacking kiss against his lips. “What’d you bring me?”
Rourke laughed outright and hitched the little girl on his shoulder, tickling her knees beneath the short hem of her miniature white tennis dress. “This,” he told Lisa, “greedy little one is my youngest niece, Tanya. Say hello to Ms. Armstrong, munchkin.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
Lisa nearly choked, particularly when Rourke sent her a sidelong look. “Does she look like she’s my girlfriend?”
The little girl’s eyes were just as dark as Rourke’s; a startling contrast considering the golden curls spilling around her head. And they focused on Lisa with an unnerving intensity. “Maybe,” she determined. “But I’m gonna marry Uncle Rourke, anyway. He’s mine.”
Lisa couldn’t help but smile. “I see.”
“I’m five, so I gotta wait a while. But you can still play with him,” Tanya said generously. Her hand patted Rourke’s head as if he was a particularly good pet. “I’m not very good yet.” She pointed toward the tennis court on the far side of yet another swimming pool. There were a half-dozen kids trotting around the court, batting tennis balls back and forth more like ammunition than in any semblance of a real tennis match.
Trying not to blush—because the second Tanya had said play, her uncle had given Lisa a look that left her feeling scorched—she caught at her blowing skirt again and focused anywhere other than on Rourke. “Are those your brothers and sisters?” She nodded toward the other children.
“They’re my cousins. I’m a lonely only,” Tanya said so pathetically that Lisa had to bite back a laugh.
“Lonely my foot,” Rourke chided, lifting her off his shoulder and flipping her heels over head before setting her on her feet. “Where’s your grandma?”
“Aunt Tricia said she hadda sit in the shade with her foot elevatored.” She gestured toward the lagoon-shaped swimming pool where several lounges and chairs were arranged around tables shaded by large beige market umbrellas. If it weren’t for the thick border of trees well off in the distance that were showing faint shades of fall, it would have seemed like the middle of summer.
“Run ahead and tell her I’m here with a guest.”
Tanya immediately turned on her little sneakered feet and raced across the stone courtyard, dashing down the terraced steps and across the lawn toward the pool.
Lisa caught at her drifting skirt again. A rerun of her trousers from the day before would have been smarter. “Rourke, you could have just said you wanted to check on your mother. I would have understood the need to reschedule our meeting.” If anything, his evident concern for his mother made him seem much more human than she’d previously suspected.
“Rescheduling isn’t necessary.”
The teeter-totter was back in full force. “Because.?” She trailed off warily.
“Because I already know what I need to know.” He lifted his hand in a wave when a petite woman appeared from beneath one of the umbrellas and started toward them. “That’s Tricia. Be prepared. She likes bossing everyone around.”
Her jaw tightened. He was being deliberately obscure. “Runs in the family, evidently,” she murmured.
But he just grabbed her wrist and strode off again, pulling her with him whether she wanted to go or not and not releasing her until he met his dark-haired sister and swept her into an unrestrained hug that surprised Lisa all over again.
Then he held out his arm toward Lisa, introducing them. “This is my sister Tricia McAllister. Trish, this is Lisa Armstrong.”
Feeling awkward, Lisa stuck out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Tricia had the same scrutinizing black eyes her brother possessed and they were clearly speculative as she looked from Lisa to Rourke and back again. “And you,” she returned, exchanging a quick handshake before addressing her brother again. “Cara and Lea are bringing lunch down any minute now. It’s so lovely out, I said we had to eat outside. So come say hello to Mother and then pull two more chairs over to her table.” She headed off.
Rourke caught Lisa’s eye. “See?”
“Is she the oldest?”
“Of my sisters, yes.”
Which, she assumed, meant he was older than they were. “Brothers?”
He shook his had. “Until Trish had her third kid—Trey—I was the only guy in the group, save a couple of brothers-in-law.” He wrapped his hand around her elbow, steering her toward the tables beyond which the pool shimmered like pale clouds floating in liquid silver. “Now smile and stop looking like you’re heading to your own execution.”
“I’m sorry. But I feel like I’m intruding here.”
“It’s just family.”
“Right. Your family.” The back of her neck itched. “I’m here on business but they probably think this is social.” At least that was what the speculation on Tricia’s face had indicated.
He lifted an eyebrow. “So?”
“So—” She broke off, her hands flapping uselessly. She’d left the briefcase—along with her means of contact with the outside world—in the limo. And with each step they took, her heels sinking into the still-lush lawn, she felt as if she was getting further away from that familiar world in favor of this resortlike home. “It’s…it’s not.”
“You’ll have your money. All of it. Now relax.” Completely disregarding the shock that had her legs nearly going out beneath her, his steps didn’t hesitate as he continued pulling her toward the others. “Think of us as one happy family.”
Chapter Three
All of it?
Lisa barely heard anything after those three little words. She supposed she must have functioned through the meal—carried from the house by Cara and Lea, who turned out to be Rourke’s other sisters. Rourke sat her across from his mother, Nina. She had one bandaged foot elevated on a second chair, a position that didn’t prevent her from busily working the colorful blanket she was crocheting. Like a general maneuvering her troops, Tricia called in all the children from the tennis courts, directing them around the two other tables even as she tossed out introductions that Lisa had no hope of following.
Not when all of it kept circling in her head, even trumping that ironic “happy family” comment.
He couldn’t have meant it literally. Could he?
Before she knew it, the meal was done, the oddly prosaic plastic plates and utensils disposed of and after being indulgently waved off by Nina Devlin, Lisa found herself walking through an honest-to-goodness hedge maze with Rourke while three of his nieces—Tanya in the lead—raced ahead of them.
“What exactly do you mean by all of it?” she finally asked.
They’d both left behind their jackets at the table. He’d rolled the cuffs of his white shirt up his forearms. Even his tie was gone. And at her abrupt question, he stopped and looked at her. The hedge was tall enough that it couldn’t be seen over, but not so high that it felt claustrophobic. She could hear the high-pitched little-girl voices ahead of them, and still feel the breeze tugging at her chignon and her skirt.
But when he focused his attention on her face just then, they might as well have been locked together, alone, in a four-by-four vault. “I mean all of it,“ he repeated as if she were witless.
Which was pretty much how she felt. Ultimately, the institute needed millions, and the most practical solution—if the least desirable—to that would have been from multiple sources. Not even Ted had really believed that Rourke would consider covering their entire need. “But—”
He lifted a hand, silencing her. “This isn’t up for discussion. I’m willing to invest as much as it takes, but I’ll be the only investor. No others.”
Her blood was zipping through her veins more quickly, excitement making her pulse pound. This was it, then. Truly it.
The answer to a prayer.
“Are you agreeing because of your friendship with Ted?”
“Does it matter?”
She slowly shook her head. “What matters is the institute.”
“Right.” His lips twisted a little. “As it happens, I do want to see Ted and Chance have every opportunity available to them. And Ted won’t leave the institute.”
Her shoes crunched on the smooth gravel of the path as she took two steps one way, then back again. “You asked him?”
His eyes glinted, reminding her needlessly that—indulgent uncle or not—he was a calculating businessman. “Of course.”
She swallowed. Paul had courted Ted and Chance away from San Francisco. With the institute in its currently precarious position, could she blame them if they were courted away from them?
