Riches to Rags Bride (7 page)

Genevieve stopped. So did Lucas. Then he waved her through. “My apologies. You're the project manager, and
Angie's House and any visitors here are in your hands. We'll continue this discussion later.”

Which meant that she hadn't won. Yet.

Stubborn, overbearing, infuriating man. No wonder women fell all over themselves trying to attract his attention. It must be the prospect of attaining the unattainable.

Thank goodness she wasn't that susceptible.

 

Lucas watched Genevieve walk away, knowing he was handling this situation all wrong.

The truth was that Genevieve tied him up in frustrated knots. He admired her for sticking to her guns, but he needed to have her settled, clear of his conscience and out of his private thoughts. If she was here, safe, he wouldn't have to think about her at all beyond the job. He would have compartmentalized her situation, controlled the danger zones, the loose ends, the tough, emotional stuff that had once made his life a nightmare. Plus, if she truly wanted to be empowered…

His thoughts were interrupted by Genevieve appearing in the doorway.

“That was a delivery of paint primer,” she told him with a frown.

“Something wrong with the order?”

She shook her head. “No, but up until now you and I have only
spoken
about what's happening at Angie's House. Here I was all set to show my stuff and prove that I could handle any situation, and all I had to do was tell him where to put everything. Nothing even remotely challenging about that.”

Lucas couldn't help smiling just a little. “Don't worry. You'll face plenty of challenges before we're through.
There are always setbacks and glitches. I suppose you're looking forward to those.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Is this a trick question?”

He chuckled. “No, no tricks, but if it's empowerment you're after…”

“It is.”

“Then come stay here.” Like a dog that couldn't ignore the bone, he came back to the topic that was keeping thoughts of Genevieve simmering in his conscience.

“That's not empowerment. It's giving in.”

A trickle of admiration at her tenacity slid through Lucas. He knew Gen didn't like conflict, but she was making a stand. Too bad her stand conflicted with his. And with a cold, hard truth.

“It's not giving in,” he said. “Think about this. A lot of the women who'll come to live at Angie's House know all about neighborhoods like yours because they've been there, they're trapped there. If they see you as someone who's lived in that world, kicked free and survived to grow stronger…that's inspirational and empowering. It makes you a role model.”

She stood there, staring at him, her eyes wary. “It feels exactly like quitting.”

“It's not. Gen, a good portion of the residents where I used to live stayed there because they were powerless to get away or change their circumstances. I was like that. Getting out empowered me and changed my life. It meant that I was taking control of the situation.”

Lucas didn't miss the war taking place in Genevieve's eyes. She wanted to take up his offer, but taking what she saw as the easy way out didn't fit with her new life's plan to be a strong woman. He was losing her.

As he'd lost others.

No. No. Strike that thought. Focus on the now, on taking charge, making things right.
So, he fought his instincts, fought the urge to put his fist through something. In the past he would have done just that. But not now. Now he was all about control. Control was survival.

So he couldn't stop. Not until he had made sure Genevieve was safe and until he'd restored the “no personal interest” parameters of their relationship and kicked free of his fascination with her. It was the only way he could continue to function with her, given his past. Given what he'd learned about Angie.

He ached to turn back time and save Angie, but he couldn't. The only one he could save today was Genevieve. But he didn't want to break her spirit. He couldn't let the cost be too high.

Lucas cleared his throat, cleared his mind, focused on the key elements, on the truth. He knew how much she valued the truth.

“Genevieve, I won't deny that I'm worried about you living in such a dangerous place, mostly because I know all about predators and the damage they do.” He glanced away. That was enough of that. She didn't need to know more.

“But as I said, think about the good you could do if you became the first resident of Angie's House. Your experiences these past few months would help you understand what these women, the future residents, have dealt with for years. The simple act of standing in their shoes could be very useful in your job.” His voice trailed off. There was nothing more that he could say. If she didn't want to move here, if his arguments hadn't convinced her, he couldn't—and wouldn't—try to force her.

For several seconds Genevieve said nothing. She
closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was frowning. “You're used to controlling your empire, aren't you?”

Her voice sounded wistful, but she quickly rushed on. “I didn't mean that quite the way it sounded.”

She stood there looking beaten. For a moment, Lucas wanted to take back everything he'd said even though all of it was true.

But he didn't. He waited, hoping for a positive outcome. Eventually, she took a deep, visible breath and pushed her shoulders back in that way he'd seen her do when she was facing adversity. She plastered on a resigned smile. A small smile. “So, you think moving here will help me do my job better. Are you sure you're not just giving me an easy way out?”

He couldn't help himself then. He dropped his head and groaned. Then he laughed. “Gen, do you call the conversation we just had taking the easy way out?”

When he looked up, she was smiling. “I guess it
was
pretty uncomfortable. But let me ask you this. Why do you care where I live?”

“Why does it matter where you live?” Man, there was the tough question. Lucas wondered if he even understood all the reasons why. And he had no intention of examining his motives too closely. There certainly wasn't a chance in hell that he would tell Genevieve about waking up in the night. Or about Angie or any of the rest.

Letting her know that he'd lived in poverty? That was common knowledge. The fact that he had pulled himself out of the gutter and become a success was part of what engendered respect among his peers and the public. But sharing more? No. He never let anyone
in on the more intimate details of his life, especially those from his past.

“Beyond the reasons I've already given you,” he said. “Let's just say that I can't have my employees getting hurt. And think how bad it would look for Angie's House if anyone thought that I paid my project manager so poorly that she had to live in a place where she needed six locks on her door.” He finished with a smile, trying to somehow turn this into something light and teasing. Because now he knew how much she longed for independence and pride, a need he understood all too well.

Genevieve tilted her head. “You're very good at getting your way, aren't you?”

Her voice was wistful. He felt as if he'd just man-handled a defenseless kitten. “I don't like unpredictable situations, especially when they pertain to work,” he admitted. “And this
is
work.” Her tone was questioning.

“Yes.” He wouldn't let it be anything else.

“You'll let me pay rent.”

“No.” Not when he was practically forcing her into this transition. Not when he needed her to make this change as much as she needed it.

But he could see she was going to object. “It's work, remember?” he said. “Part of your job.”

She still didn't look totally convinced, but finally she nodded. “Well, then. All right, Lucas. I'll live in Angie's House and I'll try to make use of the extra hours I'll be there to get more done.”

Lucas scowled at that. He controlled things but he didn't overwork his employees. “Overtime isn't necessary.”

Genevieve had a trapped look in her eyes. Her slender
body trembled and she licked her lips nervously. Finally, she closed her eyes, then looked to the side, lifting her chin a bit imperiously. “I would like to ask you to reconsider that point at least. If I'm your project manager and my staying here is to set the reputation of Angie's House and bring attention to it, then I should have some say in how things proceed, shouldn't I? The goal of Angie's House is to reenergize the spirit of the women who live here, you told me. So, as the first inhabitant…I would very much like to either pay rent or work overtime in order to feel that I am truly contributing and so that my spirit will be reenergized.”

She never raised her voice, but it was clear that if he said no, she would feel as if he didn't value her service. And after the heavy-handed method he had used to get her to agree to this change…

Lucas swore beneath his breath. Okay, she had him over a barrel. He could push the issue, but…she was clearly a woman who had been misused, whose ego had been trampled. And he had sworn he'd never damage a fragile female again. It was another reason why he only dated women like Rita, women who were just as cold and calculating as he was.

Genevieve was nothing like Rita. She wasn't cold enough, hard enough or experienced enough. In fact, he should never have hired her, but…letting her go would certainly damage her. She'd be out on the streets with nowhere to go. Now that he fully understood that…

“A little overtime would be all right,” he conceded. Because in the end he had gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? She would be safe. That meant he wouldn't have to think about her anymore. From that moment on, the two of them would only be about the job.

But hours later he realized that moving her hadn't
totally solved the Genevieve problem. Vulnerable green eyes crept into his thoughts. He knew why, too. He owned Angie's House. And even though he was staying in a high-rent hotel all the way across town, the truth was that Genevieve was now living, breathing and sleeping beneath his roof.

Right now she was probably lying in bed.

Lucas groaned. He tried not to think about Genevieve's beautiful copper-colored hair spread out across a pillow or those long bare legs….

“Stop it. Don't go there. Just…speed this up. Let's get this done—finished—so you can walk away as you always do,” he whispered. It was a good plan. Two months from now, Genevieve Patchett would no doubt be back making the debutante rounds, and he would be far away. She would barely be a blip in his memory base.

Which was…excellent, because if this heat and temptation kept building, he would be kissing Genevieve's pretty pink lips any day now.

And that would be the worst kind of mistake.

But it wasn't going to happen. Order had been restored to his life. His solitary journey could continue.

He could finally get Genevieve out of his thoughts, couldn't he?

T
HE DAY AFTER
G
ENEVIEVE
moved in, she tried to throw herself into work, opting to paint one of the bedrooms herself, even though Thomas and Jorge were better painters. She needed activity. Not just planning. She needed to immerse herself in something purely physical, so that she wouldn't have time to think. Because the truth was that already she was having trouble adapting to living in Angie's House.

She knew why, too. This place was very nice. It was quiet and safe and even a bit lovely now that the decorating was beginning to take shape. But she just couldn't seem to forget that Lucas owned this house. Living here, eating and sleeping and dreaming here…it all felt too physical, and she'd already discovered that she was very susceptible to Lucas's touch. She couldn't be thinking about him all the time or risk getting close to him.

Which was a ridiculous thing to worry about. He wasn't about to let an employee get close. In truth, she knew very little about the man. She knew that he was rich, she'd searched around online and discovered that he had other philanthropic projects he was involved in besides this one. He provided free sporting goods to inner-city schools, he sponsored summer camps for
poor children. What she didn't know about him was anything…personal.

Except that for some reason he had decided to do more than give money to charity this time. He was personally involved in this charitable venture. Sometimes when he spoke about women who had terrible, frightening lives, a fleeting look of something, maybe anguish, came into his eyes. She'd seen it but she didn't understand it at all.

Then, too, this place was called Angie's House. Had there been an Angie or was it just a convenient moniker? And if there had been an Angie, had he been in love with her? Had he—

“Genevieve?” Lucas's deep voice sounded behind her.

Genevieve jumped. She dropped the paintbrush onto the drop cloth, splattering blue paint, then rushed to pick it up, trying to hide her blush and her embarrassment.

“I'm sorry,” Lucas said. “I startled you. I should have made more noise or—”

Suddenly, he stopped talking and Genevieve looked up to see what had interrupted his speech. He was looking at the walls, which were…

A mess. A series of loops and sloppy brushstrokes. Obviously, she had taken her erratic thoughts about Lucas and translated them to her work. Embarrassment rushed through her. And Lucas was shaking his head.

“Genevieve, why are you painting?” he asked. “I thought we agreed that you had completed your hands-on tasks.”

They had. “I—” His frown sent her words stumbling. She looked at the walls that appeared to have been painted by a child. All of this would have to be redone. More paint. More work. More time wasted when she knew
he was already on a tight deadline. The other day when he'd been there he'd received a phone call regarding the job in France. They needed him there soon, possibly sooner than originally planned. If he'd hired someone more experienced than she was…maybe he
would
hire someone like that and let her go. She hadn't made nearly enough progress. “Lucas, I know I haven't lived up to expectations yet. But I will. I promise.”

To her surprise she wanted to add,
Please don't send me away,
but that was too personal. It sounded too much like she wanted to stay here to be with
him.
Thank goodness her voice was shaking too much and her sense of self-preservation stopped her. Why was she even thinking such a crazy thought, anyway? Most likely because Lucas had voiced concern about her safety. That must be all it was, because certainly he was nothing to her. She didn't want to feel anything for him.

But she couldn't stop herself from looking up at him. And what she saw there wasn't anger, but something that looked a lot more like sadness, a hint of pain. It flickered in his eyes and then it was gone.

Heaven help her, but she wanted to move close to him and touch him, to apologize again for not being what he had expected. She knew this project was important to him. She hated the fact that she was messing things up.

And the fact that she wanted to help him, to touch him?

It totally petrified her. It was like looking over the rim of the Grand Canyon and feeling your feet slipping. She seriously needed to step away from the edge Lucas represented.

 

Lucas looked at the loopy, layered paint on the wall. When he had come across Genevieve she had been
painting away, clearly involved in her thoughts instead of her work and going at the wall with vigor.

He wondered if that Barry guy, that ex-fiancé who had cleaned out her accounts, had tried to contact her again. Was that what had her so distressed?

Lucas felt a growl coming on. Why was he even thinking such thoughts when Genevieve's personal life was none of his business?

Darn right, but…she
was
distressed and right now she was on his property, in his employ, living under his roof. That made her…his.

No! It didn't. It simply made him partly responsible for her, especially since he clearly had her scared to death that he was going to let her go.

Grr. Damn him for being an unfeeling jerk.
Lucas shook his head. “I'm not going to fire you, Gen. Stop that. I'm sorry I ever even mentioned that possibility.” While having her here was proving to be more complicated than he had hoped, she was working hard, she was trying, she had met him halfway on moving here when she hadn't wanted to and she had some good ideas on how to dress up this place. And there was one more reason he didn't intend to fire her. He just didn't want to hurt her.

Hadn't he already done that? Because the fact that she was scared and afraid of losing her job was a kind of hurt, wasn't it?

When he'd mentioned letting her go, it hadn't really been because of what she'd done or not done, but because of how she affected him. She awakened hard-to-control desire in him. His problem, not hers. Threatening her with termination had been a purely selfish, defensive move. An ugly move. But then, he'd done ugly, selfish
things before. And Angie, at least, was still paying the price.

Lucas tensed again as the memories of all the people he'd hurt and who had hurt him threatened to descend.
Control the situation,
he told himself.

“Genevieve, don't worry about the wall. It's just paint. Not life or death. It's fixable.” When so many things in life weren't fixable. Like a woman who had been scarred because the person she most trusted and cared about had failed to protect her.

“Lucas?”

He looked down at Genevieve. Those big green eyes were worried. “You don't have to be gentle with me just because I'm inexperienced and still learning the basics. I can tell that you're angry.”

“I'm not angry at
you.
”

To his surprise she crossed her arms and gave him an incredulous look. “You're positively glowering. Lucas, I told you I'm not a child. Just look at this mess. It wasn't incompetence but inattentiveness and I won't make that mistake again. Here, I'll show you. I'm going to totally fix it. Right now.” She reached for the paintbrush.

That was when he noticed the cut on her hand. And was it his imagination or was she thinner than before? Were those circles beneath her pretty eyes? Was she losing sleep, trying to get this job done for him, to finish up that long list he'd given her in a too-short time frame while he'd failed to notice because he was trying to keep his distance from her?

A rough word escaped his lips. Reaching out, he gently grasped her hand, resting it on his much larger palm as he examined it closely. There were scrapes, a long, thin cut. “You're hurt,” he said, his voice harsh.

“No, I—I'm fine. I just…snagged it on the paint
can opener. I was rushing, trying to do things too fast. Not anything major. It's fine.” But her fingers trembled against his. Her entire body was trembling.

“Gen, you're not fine. You're pushing yourself too hard. I caused this, didn't I? With my talk of how important it was to get in there and do the tough stuff and that stupid comment I made about letting you go…I—damn, you'd think a man like me would have already learned how easy it is to hurt someone, wouldn't you? I'm sorry for letting it come to this.”

“No, Lucas. Really. Please don't apologize. Don't think I'm fragile or that I have to be protected or treated with some sort of deference because I lack experience. I don't want that.”

She had scrambled closer. He still held her hand and now she placed her other hand on his chest. To stop him. To shut him up. He felt her touch right down to his core.

“I know,” he said with the smallest of smiles. “You're one tough lady. You're independent,” he managed to say. “But, Gen, you're trembling. Is it because you thought that I might fire you? I'm sorry if I scared you.”

“No. I'm okay. If you said I could stay, then I trust that you meant it.”

“You trust me.”
Don't trust me,
he wanted to say. How many women had trusted him and regretted it when he'd failed them?

“Yes. And I'm past that weakness I had a moment ago. I'm embarrassed about it and I'm better now. I'm strong.”

And as she looked up at him with those big green eyes, trying so hard to show him how strong she was…she was so very close, so soft, so determined, so earnest…

“You're strong. I'm glad,” he said, covering her hand on his chest with his palm. The movement brought her closer and sent her fingers sliding against his skin. The sensation…he thought his heart might just pound its way out of his body. He looked at Genevieve, at those eyes, those soft pouting lips he coveted and…

“I'm strong, too, Genevieve, but I'm afraid I'm just not strong enough to resist this,” he said, and with one tug he pulled her into his arms. His mouth covered hers and finally, finally he got to taste her. She tasted of fresh peaches and intriguing woman and something else, something he couldn't describe. But he liked it. He wanted it. He kissed her again, nearly devoured her as he began to lose control.

Her arm came around his waist. Her head tilted back. She returned his kiss, pleasing him. Very much. A tiny moan escaped her.

As if the sound had awakened her and brought her back to reality, Genevieve tore her lips away from his. She brought her hand up to her mouth. Her eyes grew even bigger. Scared. “No,” she whispered. “I absolutely can't do this.”

Lucas recognized guilt the moment he saw it. He lived with it every day, and this moment, this day, would no doubt heap more guilt upon all that he already carried.

“You didn't do anything,” he said. “I did. Please don't worry about this. Don't even think about it. It's all on me. I stepped well over the line. I apologize for touching you.”

And because he was afraid that he might touch her again, scare her more, worry her more, he turned and walked away.

The truth was that he had done everything wrong
with Genevieve from the start. He had hired her when he shouldn't have, given her too much work, not understood her situation, forced his will on her by making her move here, and now he had kissed her. His self-control had been compromised from day one.

That was going to have to stop. From now on he needed to realize that the two of them had to work in concert. Only by succeeding at this job and standing alone would she claim that independence she craved. Only by completing this task and moving on to the next and the next could he begin to make amends for his past transgressions. When this was over, she needed to move on. He needed that, too.

No more touching,
he told himself. But he still craved another taste.

 

Genevieve stared in the mirror. She touched her aching lips. Something had happened back there with Lucas.

“A lot of somethings,” she whispered. First of all, she had seriously messed up, allowing her daydreaming ways to get in the way of doing her job well. The room was a mess and she intended to fix it.

But more important than that was the other. Not the kiss. She wouldn't think about the kiss. It had been too overwhelming, too wonderful, too insane, too…everything. Thinking about kissing Lucas—or worse, kissing him
again
—would make her crazy. As it was, her nerves were tingling. If she hadn't somehow recalled herself, she would have been totally lost in his arms and then…

“Then, nothing, you idiot.” Because that was what happened with Lucas. She'd been warned. Women tripped over each other trying to get to that incredible mouth of his and then he got tired of them. He moved
on. Always. Always. And anyway, she did not want a man, did she?

“No, I can't want a man.” Certainly not Lucas.

Yet here she was, doing what she had forbidden herself to do. Thinking about the kiss.

So Gen forced herself to remember the other, the way Lucas, a man who exuded power and control had been so angry at the thought that he might have harmed her that he let that famous control slip. She'd seen the pain behind the mask.

Lucas wasn't a man without feelings, as some thought. He was a man who didn't
want
to feel. He kept it bottled up. What had he said? That line about how a man like him should have learned how easy it was to hurt a woman? Apparently, he had regrets, bad memories of past relationships. He wasn't as cold as people said he was.

And there it was. Another brick in the wall that separated her from Lucas. Because if she fell in love with him and got hurt when he left her…

“I'll be a part of his pain,” she said. Like Rita. Like… Angie? Was there a real Angie?

Don't think about it. Don't go there. And don't get too close to him.
It was immensely clear that any personal involvement between her and Lucas could only end up badly for both of them. Best to keep her distance.