Major Daddy. Cara ColterЧитать онлайн книгу.
Shauna had also had about each of the men who had dated Brooke since Brooke had joined her employ. And, in each case, it had been entirely, heartbreakingly correct.
And so, Brooke had been dispatched to check on things in Canada. The trip was nightmarish, as always. The final indignity had been a huge tree across the highway just miles from Shauna’s lakeside estate.
“Ma’am, we’re going to be a while cleaning up this mess,” a road-crew member had informed her helpfully. “You might want to think about getting a room in Creston and trying later in the week. Or if you’re en route to Nelson, you can go the other way.”
But she was not en route to Nelson, and she wasn’t about to be thwarted at this stage of the journey. She hadn’t succeeded as a personal assistant to someone as famous and temperamental as Shauna because she lacked determination.
So, here she was, her shoe broken, most of her nylons left behind on the branches of a fallen tree she had skirted, her gray silk suit smudged, rumpled and stained beyond repair, her hair falling in her eyes and sweat trickling down her neck from the final climb to Shauna’s cliff-top mansion.
Facing a gorgeous and mysterious man who felt like an adversary. Of course, lately, she felt pretty adversarial toward all members of the male species, fickle swine that they were. And the better-looking they were, the more adversarial she felt. No excuses needed.
Brooke’s exhausted mind tried to figure out if she disliked the man before her on principle, or if she sensed real danger. It did seem like a horrible possibility that Shauna’s misgivings might be founded, once again. The facts: a notoriously handsome stranger with ice-blue eyes and the look of a warrior king was in Shauna’s house and held two of her unsuspecting children captive in his powerful arms.
Brooke tried not to let the terrifying thoughts that were flitting through her mind show on her face. What if the fierce-featured man in front of her was holding Granny Molly and the children hostage? Even if he truly didn’t know who Shauna was, the house announced to any who glimpsed it that the owner had a great deal of money, if not a whole lot of taste.
“Who are you?” she demanded again, her voice stronger as she slid her hand unobtrusively into her bag and searched around for her can of Mace.
“Who are you?” he returned, unforthcoming. His eyes narrowed and flickered to where her hand was imbedded in her purse and then back to her face. “We’re expecting the housekeeper, which you obviously aren’t.”
We’re expecting the housekeeper. As if he lived there!
“Addie Bwookie,” Kolina informed him by way of introduction.
“I’m Brooke Callan,” she said. “Shauna Carrier’s personal assistant.” She debated offering her hand, but she would have had to pull it out of her purse to do so, and she had almost found the Mace. Also, both of his hands seemed to be full.
And then, while debating what tone to take, she realized she was just too tired to be civil or cautious.
“I want to know what you are doing in Shauna’s house. Where is Grandma Molly?”
She realized she should have summoned the energy for a more civil tone, because she did not like the look on his face, the tightening of his jaw or the squint in his eyes one little bit. She found the can of Mace and wrapped her fingers firmly around it.
In a blur of motion, he set Kolina on the ground and caught the wrist of the hand Brooke had inserted in her purse. His grip was not painful, but it was relentless.
“Let me go,” she said and felt the first surge of true panic. This man was obviously much stronger than her. If he was holding the children and Granny, did she think he was going to come out and admit it?
Of course not! He would take her hostage, as well!
“You let go of whatever you have a hold of in there first,” he said quietly, and the calm of his tone abated her panic slightly. Her fingers seemed to loosen their hold on the Mace of their own accord, and he let go of her wrist immediately.
“Now put your hand where I can see it.”
The authority with which he spoke gave Brooke the very awful feeling he had done things like this before.
Though he had not for a moment looked tense, she saw that he relaxed subtly when she withdrew her hand from her purse and let it drop to her side.
Even after he had let go, she felt the imprint of his hand on her wrist and felt the leashed power of his grip and his personality. Kolina, on the other hand, was oblivious to his threat. From her new station on the floor, she had coiled her arms around his legs and was peeking out from behind his knee.
“Of all the nerve!” Brooke sputtered.
“What have you got in there, a gun?” He spat out a word that was not at all appropriate in front of Kolina, then took a deep breath as though he was gathering patience. He seemed a little confused about who was the suspicious party here!
“It is none of your business what I have in my purse!” She resisted a temptation to rub her wrist.
“This is not exactly L.A.,” he told her. “And guns and kids don’t mix. I can’t even believe you’d think of pulling one while I was holding two babies.”
“Not a baby,” Kolina informed him with a piqued pull on the leg of his jeans.
In spite of her indignation, Brooke registered the slim comfort that he actually seemed concerned about the children’s welfare.
“How do you know where I’m from?” she demanded.
“You already told me you work for the movie star. We don’t have a big film industry here in Creston, B.C. Besides, if the road crew is in the same place they were in yesterday, you’ve walked less than two miles and you look like you have survived a two-year trek across an unmapped wilderness. We make Canadian girls a little tougher than that.”
His gaze moved to her torn panty hose, which fluttered in the wind, and she felt a strange but not completely unfamiliar twist in her tummy.
Her worst enemy, attraction to the opposite sex.
No wonder she was so determined to believe he was a villain!
So she could be glad that she looked terrible. More than glad. She should be deliriously happy. But, oh no, Brooke-who-dances-with-temptation was shattered by the appraisal of the cool stranger before her.
Insanely, even if he was a notorious criminal, she had a purely feminine desire to be found irresistibly attractive by him.
Survival, she told herself. A little attraction might sway the power a bit in her direction if need be.
Besides, she liked basking briefly in male attention until they either found out who she worked for or Shauna appeared in person. Though reasonably attractive, Brooke could not compete with the stunning otherworldly beauty of her employer and had long since given up trying.
But this stranger seemed indifferent to Brooke’s female allure even without Shauna’s presence outshining the sun.
He continued his assessment of her in a flat tone. “Your hair color is fake and your tan is real.”
“Canadian girls don’t dye their hair?” she asked sourly.
“They don’t have that golden-girl look about them,” he said. “You do.”
He did not say it as if it were a compliment, and, unfortunately, when Brooke thought of golden girls she thought of Bette White and Bea Arthur.
“That’s an awful lot to know about a person in a glance,” she said, irritated at having been found superficial and inadequate without a fair trial. By a potential criminal.
And he wasn’t finished with her yet!
He ignored the challenge in her statement and went on, his voice low and level. “Don’t ever touch a gun unless you are prepared to use it. And