Renee Roszel - The Tycoon's Temptation

His pleasant baritone registered more on Elaine’s spine than in her consciousness. A tingle frolicked up and down her back at the throaty sound. But the words were jumbled, making little sense. Obviously her mind wasn’t functioning up to par. She blinked several times in an attempt to jump-start her brain cells.

After a third and forth blink, one thing managed to get through. He was making fun of her. The next fact that registered was that he’d actually taken fifty cents she couldn’t afford to toss away.

Her momentary mental lapse ended and she experienced a wave of annoyance, giving him a critical once-over. Besides the expensive coat, he wore a high-priced, black suit and polished, hand-sewn wingtips. Her late husband had worn hand-sewn shoes, too, so she knew something about quality men’s wear. That maroon and gold tie he sported cost five hundred dollars if it cost a dime.

Even though this stranger’s expression had lost even the brief semblance of a grin, his hawkish features were elegant and arresting. His hair, the color of a raven’s wing, was scrupulously trimmed. He was the epitome of an upper-echelon executive. Maybe he was an old Harvard chum of her late husband’s. But if he’d come to pay his last respects he was late by nearly half a year.

As Elaine scanned his face, she sensed he did not give away smiles freely, but when he did, it would be quite a sight. Though the Chicago temperature on that January day was well below freezing, and several inches of white lingered on the lawn from the last snowfall, that thought about his smile sent an unruly heat racing through her, a heat that started in her belly and spread outward.

She gulped in a breath of frigid air, confused about where all this unwarranted feminine appreciation was coming from. Grappling for composure, she cleared her throat. “Um—may I help you?”

He arched a brow as though that should be obvious. “I’m here to see the mistress of the house.”

She was a little insulted that he assumed she was the help. If the truth were told, Elaine had been forced to discharge the household staff months ago. Sneaking a peek at herself, in jeans, sneakers and the dull brown turtleneck sweater, she faced the fact she didn’t look much like the mistress of a stately mansion.

She straightened her shoulders. “Please, state your business.”

He watched her for a moment before replying, “I’d be happy to.” After a pause, he added, “To the mistress of the house.”

Elaine was annoyed by the man’s impertinence. Well, he could go jump for all she cared. “Then you can’t see her. Mrs. Stuben is a busy woman.” She surprised herself, being so brusque. Not to mention she was lying. After all, he was “seeing” the mistress of the mansion right now. At least she’d be its mistress for fourteen more days.

Maybe it was this past, horrible year since her ill-conceived marriage. Guy’s sudden change from doting and sensitive suitor before the wedding, then on the honeymoon witnessing his shocking metamorphosis. Before her eyes he’d become a domineering, controlling brute with a sick need to have his ego constantly stroked. Not to mention his jealous rages every time she spoke to another man.

Then his sudden, tragic death five months ago. And after that, her day-and-night battle to save her Internet business. Maybe all of that together had made up the ingredients for the mortar that had given her this go-to-Hades grit. Or maybe she was simply so exhausted, so world-weary, she didn’t have the capacity to guard her tongue any longer.

Whatever it was, her outburst caused Mr. Tall, Dark and Trouble to lift an eyebrow at her. That was the second eyebrow lift in as many minutes! “Look, it’s cold,” she said less snappishly. “State your business or move along.”

He crossed his arms, the pause an eloquent warning. “Please tell the busy Mrs. Stuben, Mitchell Rath would appreciate an audience.”

“Mitchell Ra…” She’d almost repeated his entire name before she realized saying it aloud would not make the news any more palatable. “You—you’re Mitchell Rath?”

He nodded, then held out a hand as though he expected her to take it. “And you’re the very busy Mrs. Stuben.”

He surprised her by referring to her by her name. Resentment heated her cheeks. He hadn’t been taken in by her huffy impersonation of a domestic. “What—what—how do you know I’m Mrs. Stuben?” She refused to take his hand—the hand of the robber baron who was picking the bones of her company, buying her out for pennies on the dollar and stealing her home!

His gaze roved casually up to the cotton scarf covering her hair, then slid slowly, deliberately, downward to settle on her scuffed and dingy sneakers. After ponderous seconds, the critical excursion apparently complete, his eyes once again met hers. “How do I know you’re Mrs. Stuben?” His lips drooped sensuously at the corners in a facial shrug. “You can’t be the help,” he drawled. “They dress better.”

He gave her enough time to grasp his taunt but not enough to respond before he reached out, barely touching the tip of her nose. She caught a whiff of a woodsy aftershave. “What is that on your face?”

The soot! She’d forgotten about the dratted soot!

She cringed. Not only was this man profiting from her financial ruin, he found it necessary to ridicule her, too! Furious and too tired to watch her mouth, she said, “It’s vulture repellent! Obviously I sh-should have used more!”

She stared him down, her eyes telegraphing the question, How do you like being ridiculed?

He blinked, but Elaine couldn’t tell if a wince had been involved or not. “You’re shivering, Mrs. Stuben.” He indicated the foyer. “Why don’t we move our mutual admiration society meeting inside before you catch pneumonia?”

A rattling, clanking noise caught Elaine’s attention. She spotted Harry peddling down the long, snow-cleared curricular drive. Her unwelcome companion turned as the twelve-year-old pumped his skinny legs, steering the bike around the sporty silver Mercedes parked at the bottom of the flagstone stairs.

Harry hopped off his bike on the run and scampered up the half-dozen steps, shucking his backpack as he came. “Miz Elaine, here’s Miz Claire’s package.” He sounded a little winded, and his breath frosted the air. Showing off his chipped-tooth grin, he held out the crumpled brown sack he’d extracted from his pack. His attention skittered to the tall man. “Hi,” he said, oblivious to the fact that he was speaking to the notorious “Vulture,” renowned for swooping in on dying Internet businesses, buying up the carcasses and selling off the bones for personal gain. He’d made himself a wealthy man dismembering the remains of such broken businesses. And now he was dismembering hers.

“Hello,” Mitchell Rath said, startling Elaine out of her furious musings. She shot him a look, surprised to see him grin at the boy. Even in profile, she experienced a feminine flutter at that glitter of white teeth. She hurriedly shifted her gaze to Harry. “Hi, Mr. Browne,” she said with as much enthusiasm as her gloomy mood would allow. “Want to come in for cocoa?”

He shook his head, repositioning the red and blue Cubs cap. “Gotta get back to help Mom at the store. Mr. Goff said he’d give me two whole dollars if I’d sweep out the back room and break down some boxes.”

“Two dollars, huh?” Elaine managed a smile. Henry was such a super kid she couldn’t help herself. “I’d better let you get going, then.” She reached in her pocket, then remembered who’d snatched Harry’s fifty cents. She cast her tall nemesis a frown. “You have his money.” She had to bite her tongue to keep from adding, “Of course, pocketing other people’s cash is what you do!”

She sensed he got her message, by the slight narrowing of his eyes. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out several bills and handed them to the boy.

Harry fingered the bills and Elaine thought she saw a five among them. There had to be at least eight dollars there.

“Holy cow! Thanks, mister!” Harry’s grin grew broad. Aiming a hand toward the sports car, he asked, “Those your wheels?”

The man in black nodded. “It’s a rental.”

Harry’s wolf whistle astonished Elaine. She’d never heard him whistle with such heartfelt, grown-up gusto. “Someday I’m gonna own me cool wheels like that, dude.”

The tall man chuckled, the sound deep and rich in the cold, gray stillness. “I imagine you will.”

The man’s light compliment seemed to mean a great deal to Harry, for his eyes went wide and his grin grew broader. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely.” The man winked. “I’m never wrong.”

“Gee-thanks!” Turning back for a quick wave, he added, “Miz Elaine, call Mom at the store if you need anything tomorrow. See ya.” He faced Mitchell Rath again, and paused. “See ya?” The question was almost a plea.

“You bet.”

Elaine flicked the man a frown, irked at him for leading the boy on that way. It wasn’t as though Harry hadn’t already had a father abandon him. Did he really need men like Mitchell Rath making him careless, absurd promises? Arranging her expression to feign lightheartedness, she waved at Harry. “I’ll see you tomorrow—for sure!”

“’kay!” He grabbed up his bike and clanked away.

“Well?” came a deep voice, too close for comfort.

She jerked to glare at her offensive caller. With the remnants of a smile lingering on his lips he was pulse-poundingly handsome. Furious with her hormones for their demented betrayal, she glowered at him. “Well, what?”

“Do we go inside?” He eyed her, his expression challenging. “For the record, Mrs. Stuben, it is my house.”

She bristled. “Not for two weeks!”

His jaw worked and Elaine had the distinct impression he was disturbed. She experienced a swell of gratitude. Good! For once she was upsetting him! When he shrugged out of his coat and moved toward her, she lurched a step backward. “What are you doing?”

Undaunted by her suspicious recoil, he slung his coat over her shoulders. The voluminous cashmere engulfed her all the way to her ankles. She was shocked by how toasty warm it was, almost like being cloaked in an electric blanket, yet its warmth was all male animal, all his. The same, woodsy scent floated around her, uninvited yet irresistibly pleasant, capturing her senses.

“If you intend to stand out here debating the issue for the whole two weeks, you’ll need a coat.”

“I only intend to stand here debating as long as you’re here!”

“Try two weeks.”

“Two—t-two…” Her voice faltered and died. This time her stutter wasn’t due to the winter chill, but to the suggestion that he would be in Chicago for two weeks. It was the worst possible melodrama she could dream up—even in her most horrifying nightmare. She couldn’t have heard right. “You—you’re not staying?” she demanded in disbelief.

He pursed his lips. Apparently his lack of response was supposed to be all the answer she needed.

Elaine feared she had lost her mind to frostbite. The coat had come too late to save her gray matter. Why on earth would he threaten her this way? How could this happen? Why was he here two weeks early? Was it possible he planned to steal even her final few days in this place that had been her home for the past year? There was so much to do. Packing and cleaning and—and besides, she hadn’t found another job or place to live.

He stared at her for a slow count of three, then shook his head as though her bullheadedness was beyond belief. Grasping her arm, he hauled her into the foyer. “Why, thank you, a tour of the house would be very nice.”