The Maid's Daughter. Janice Maynard
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wound me.” He put his hand over his heart. “What exactly do you think I have up my sleeve?”
“I don’t know you well enough to tell.”
“I’d like to get to know you, Gillian.” He hadn’t meant to say that. The words tumbled out uncensored, but they were true. Something about her seemed so real, so honest. In his experience, those were qualities rarely found in female companionship. Gillian knew as much or more about him, warts and all, than most people did. And he had an inexplicable urge to win her approval.
But the devil in him couldn’t leave it alone. “I’ll have a driver out front in fifteen minutes to take you to your mother’s house so you can pack your things. I’d like you to be back on the mountain by five. I want to take you to see the property we’ve purchased … get your impressions.”
She sat back down abruptly and started eating soup. “I’m not finished with my lunch. Better make it forty-five.” She gave him a bland gaze that did little to disguise her intent. It was clear that she wouldn’t be pushed around.
The businessman in him applauded her chutzpah. The hungry male took it as a challenge. This give-and-take was foreplay whether she realized it or not. The circumstances weren’t ideal. He’d already made a list of “cons.” But if Gillian felt the same sexual pull he did, he’d figure a way around the difficulties. He wasn’t accustomed to denying himself when it came to women. Nothing permanent could come of this. He was not the pure, uncomplicated man Gillian needed for the long haul.
Devlyn Wolff, however, did temporary damned well. Gillian might try to hide her sexuality beneath generic clothing, but he could see the possibilities. And they excited him.
“Remember,” he said, “You’re agreeing to be here 24/7 anytime I’m in town. I want to get my money’s worth.”
Those big, beautiful eyes reflected shock and denial. “But you’re not home all that often.”
“At the moment, that’s true. So we’ll have to rely on emails and late night phone calls, won’t we?”
“Late night?” Her voice squeaked.
“Some days that’s the only time I can break free. Do you have a problem with that?”
She shredded a roll between her long, graceful fingers. “I don’t suppose so. But I’m not sure what my mother will think about all of this.”
“You’ve been on your own a long time, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She pursed her lips as if she had bitten into a sour spice. “You have quite a reputation in regard to the opposite sex.”
“But ours is a business relationship. I’m sure your mother understands the difference.”
“I guess …” Her hesitance aroused him as he imagined what it would take to coax her into his bed. In the past six months his schedule had been brutal. Workaholic was an understatement.
Life was too short not to play when the occasion presented itself. And Gillian Carlyle, as reserved and wary as she was, promised to be endlessly entertaining.
He glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid I can’t drag this out any longer. I’m overdue for several phone calls. But I’ll expect you back here at five … right?”
She nodded her head slowly. “I’ll be here. You can count on it.”
Devlyn forced himself to leave the room. If he pushed too hard, she might decide to walk out, unemployed or not. And he couldn’t have that.
He found his father, Vincent, and his Uncle Vic in Victor’s study. Pipe smoke hung heavy in the air, and a chessboard sat between their armchairs, resting on a marble-topped table.
His father looked up when he entered. “Don’t distract us. This is a hell of a game.”
Devlyn took up residence on a sofa adjacent to the fireplace and pulled out his phone to begin working through emails. Soon he was immersed in the day-to-day operation of a global, multibillion dollar company. Some days it baffled him to realize the enormous enterprise he steered on behalf of the family. The responsibility was huge. But damned if he didn’t love it.
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