CHAPTER THREE

WHAT WAS HE THINKING? Runner’s courtesy, his behind. She was a grown woman, perfectly capable of using an online map. There was zero reason to volunteer to play tour guide. Except...

Something about the way she talked about herself made the nerves tingle. The self-deprecating comments—self-defeating, really—that she dropped into conversation. Her certainty she was about to be fired. When he spoke to her on the terrace, it was because he heard tears in her eyes. Over a bloody cat. Then there was a tension that emanated off her in waves.

Victoria had been uptight and self-deprecating, too. He thought it part of her charm. Considered it part of the challenge.

He’d missed the signs once. He’d be damned if he missed the signs a second time. And so, he was extending a friendly hand to his neighbor.

That’s all. Just a friendly hand.

Idiot that he was, he should have thought about his ankle first. He knew when he rolled the damn thing the other day that he’d tweaked it, but he figured that between tape and adrenaline he would be fine.

Wrong. His foot throbbed, and they had another half kilometer before they reached Belgrave Square.

That’d teach him to be nice.

He looked sideways at his running partner. Stella wore earbuds, blocking any attempt at conversation. That didn’t mean he couldn’t treat himself to a look now and then. After all, he was embracing monkhood, not death. Her tank top and running shorts showed off her toned body to perfection.

It was funny. She had the body of an athlete, but she didn’t move like one. He’d expected long, graceful strides that matched her legs. Instead, she was stiff jointed and awkward. She was someone who ran because it was good for her, but she was not a runner.

He tapped her on the arm. “Three more blocks and then turn left,” he said. As though voicing the distance would make it feel shorter.

She nodded. All business.

That was another thing that bothered him. There were a few details missing from her answer about getting the job. Like why she decided to take a leave of absence from her usual job to become what was basically a glorified pet sitter. She said she needed to “get away.” Why? Had something—

The dip in the sidewalk came out of nowhere, causing his leg to collapse beneath him. He pitched forward, his hands and knees skidding across the concrete.

“Oh my God, are you all right?” Stella spun around the moment he went down. “What happened?”

“Bloody dip in the pavement.” He rolled over onto his rear end. The entire situation was embarrassing. People were staring at him.

“Are you all right, mate?” one man stopped and asked. “Need a hand?”

Of course he wasn’t all right. His palms were bruised and scratched, his knee had a raw red patch that would be stiff in the morning and his ankle was throbbing.

“I’m fine,” he told the man. “No need to worry.”

“Are you sure?” Stella asked. She crouched down to eye level, her eyes wide and very brown. Like melted chocolate. For a minute he lost himself in them.

“Linus?”

“Sorry. I’m all right. Nothing a stiff drink and an ice bag won’t solve. Help me up?”

He didn’t want a hand from the stranger, but he would take one from her. Her palm was moist from the heat. Oddly enough, he liked the feel. Gripping her fingers tightly, he slowly made his way upright.

Only to come within inches of her concerned eyes again.

One of the things he’d learned over the years was that people had different body chemistries resulting in very different, very unique scents. Stella’s scent, even with the musky undertones of exertion, was sweet. His body reacted with enthusiasm, arousal stirring deep inside.

“Thanks.” He stepped back quickly, stumbling from the abruptness as well as the pain stabbing his ankle. “Dammit,” he rasped.

“Is it your knee?”

“My ankle. I twisted it.” So much for running. The last time he hurt his ankle, he didn’t run for weeks. “I’m afraid I’m done for the day. You can go on, if you’d like. Three more blocks and turn left. You can’t miss the park. It’s large and very green.” He took a step and winced on the word, killing his attempt at lightness.

“Nonsense,” she said. “If I go on, how will you get home?” Before he could stop her, she had grabbed his arm to steady him. “We’ll try walking back, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll flag a taxi.”

“It’s only a mild sprain, not a broken bone. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to hold me up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely.” Besides, he didn’t want to spend the next kilometer with her holding him. It felt too nice.

Slowly, the two of them made their way along the street. “I have to admit,” Stella said. “Truncated run or not, the exercise felt good. Thank you for insisting I go.”

“To be honest in return, you looked as though you could use the stress relief.”

She laughed. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Your aggravated scream for starters.” He’d practically wanted to hug her when she was berating herself. “Although I can’t entirely blame you. I’d scream, too, if I had to spend a day with Teddy. How was it, by the way?”

“As you would expect. He made it very clear that he knew the house backward and forward. I got a complete tour. Then he made himself at home and proceeded to tell me how Dame Agnes changed her will when they had a spat, and that she had changed her mind since then.”

“Couldn’t have changed it too much since she kept the terms of the will.”

“Oh, he knows. He claims Agnes had grown very forgetful in her later years. Not that he minds, according to him. He said his initial reaction was one of surprise, not anger. That he doesn’t need the money, and it’s not as if he won’t inherit Agnes’s estate after Toffee dies. Not that he wishes any harm to come to the poor sweet dear, of course.”

Linus could hear Teddy droning every word. “Then he insisted on inspecting every room in the house to make sure everything was shipshape. This was after the tour, mind you. By the time he left, I was jonesing for a run like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’m assuming ‘jonesing’ means you wanted one,” Linus said. He liked the Americanism.

“Try dying for one,” she replied. “Toffee had the best idea. She hid under the bed for the visit. Does he always drone on that way?”

“Do you mean like a pompous windbag? Usually. I do my best to avoid him. Was he drunk?”

“I’m not sure. His breath smelled like he’d swallowed a tube of toothpaste, so he’s either got incredible dental hygiene or he was trying to mask something. Did I mention how much he loves Etonia Toffee Pudding? He insisted on using her full name every time. Says he’s always adored her. I think he may be planning to challenge the will.”

They stopped at a corner to wait for a traffic light. Linus lifted his foot to let his good leg bear the weight a moment. “What makes you think that?” he asked.

“Nothing specific. The way he kept talking about how much he loved Toffee made me think he was up to something. I don’t know him very well, though. I could be mistaken.”

Was she kidding? She’d captured him perfectly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did mount a challenge. I was at the reading of the will. What he calls surprise certainly looked like outrage to me.”

“What this meeting told me is that I need to be extra careful to have all my records in order so as to not give him any ammunition. I’m going to be the best feline caretaker in Europe.”

“I’m sure Toffee will appreciate the dedication.” Ahead, he saw a familiar blue and red sign and smiled. “Would you mind if we stopped at that restaurant?” he asked, pointing. “Mrs. Paracha doesn’t work on Mondays, so I need to pick up some curry for supper.” And give his foot a chance to rest. With the adrenaline having worn off, it was throbbing more than before.

Stella checked her watch. “If we hurry,” she said. “Mrs. Churchill can only stay until 6:00 p.m.”

Toffee was a cat, not a child; she’d survive a few minutes unsupervised. Linus kept the thought to himself. The comment wouldn’t be well received. Not after her speech about being the “best feline caretaker in Europe.”

“My stomach thanks you,” he said instead.

They both bought takeout. Stella couldn’t resist the aromas of turmeric and fresh-baked naan hanging in the air. Exercise always brought out the eater in her.

She watched Linus hobble the last few blocks. A bad ankle did nothing to take away from his gracefulness. He even limped elegantly. When they were running, it had taken all her effort not to keep watching him move. He ran with such fluid motion, like a natural athlete. Personally, she hated running, and only did so because she liked carbs.

She also liked how easy it was to talk with Linus. As they killed time waiting by sharing their days, she tried to remember the last time she had had such a relaxed conversation. Usually her brain ran amok, critiquing everything she said and did, but not with Linus. He made her feel comfortable with herself, at least in the present.

Maybe that was why, when they reached their homes, she invited him inside.

“I just thought it seemed silly to take our food into different houses to eat alone when we could eat together,” she said when he hesitated.

For the first time in an hour, she second-guessed herself. Maybe he didn’t find her company as relaxing as she found his. Or maybe he feared she was misinterpreting his kindness for something else. “But if you’d rather go home, that’s fine. It’s no skin off my nose either way.”

“No,” he replied. “It would be nice to eat across from a real person instead of my television set. Lead the way.”

Toffee was in the entryway meowing when she opened the door. Seeing the big fur ball safe and sound made her feel less guilty about being home five minutes late. There was a note from Mrs. Churchill on the entryway table.

“I hope she doesn’t think I’m neglecting my job,” she said while walking into the kitchen. The note said Toffee had had dinner, although you wouldn’t know it. The crystal bowl was licked so clean it looked like it hadn’t held food in the first place.

“Who? Mrs. Churchill? Why would she think that? Because you didn’t arrive home when the clock struck six? I doubt she cares. Don’t forget, the woman worked for Dame Agnes. I’m sure she’s seen everything.”

“Maybe, but I’m not Dame Agnes. Part of my job is to take care of the heiress here. Blowing off dinner doesn’t look good.”

“First of all, you didn’t blow off dinner. You missed feeding time by...” He checked his watch. “Seven minutes. While I realize seven minutes is an eternity in cat time, it’s not that huge a deal. If anything, after working for Agnes, Mrs. Churchill’s probably relieved to see someone treating Toffee like a cat.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, handing him a plate from the cupboard.

“Try me.”

Maybe she was being overly conscientious, but she didn’t want another failure on her résumé. What would people think—what would her family think—if she couldn’t ace something as easy as taking care of a cat? “It’s important I do this job right.”

“Right or perfect?”

“Is there a difference?”

An odd look crossed Linus’s face. Serious and intense, like he was seeing her for the first time. The expression left her feeling exposed. “You’re thinking I’m an uptight nutjob, aren’t you?”

“Did I say you were a nutjob? Oh good, we’re in luck.” Reaching over her head, he took a bottle from the wine rack. “I was hoping she had a bottle of Viognier left.”

“Before you grab a corkscrew, let me check my inventory list.” There were several collectible bottles listed. Her head would be on the block if they drank one.

“Doubt you’ll find this label. I bought it around the corner myself for thirty quid. A wine snob Agnes was not. When push came to shove, the old broad stayed true to her coal-mining roots.”

Without waiting for a yes or no, he took out the corkscrew. Stella watched as he handled the bottle with strong, capable hands. Everything he did, from running to scratching Toffee to changing the subject, he did deftly. She could see why Agnes had wanted his company.

“You and Dame Agnes were a lot closer than simply sharing dinners once in a while, weren’t you?” she asked once her glass was poured.

“I told you, she liked my company. I flirted with her. Who doesn’t like being flirted with?”

By a man who looked like Linus? No one. “It was kind of you to give her the time.”

He shrugged. “She was a national icon. Hardly a sacrifice. Besides, it wasn’t all one-sided. She listened to me a time or two as well.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t ask you to be Toffee’s guardian.”

“We discussed it, but I don’t think she thought my lifestyle was cat friendly enough.”

“Why is that? Did you own a dog?”

“No, I ...” His features drew together as though he were weighing his next words. “Let’s say I had an active social life until recently.”

Meaning he didn’t now? What happened? Something serious, she suspected, because his eyes had grown grayer. The color didn’t suit.

“Does this mean I shouldn’t worry about you throwing loud parties?” she asked.

“Not even a quiet party,” he replied. “I’m on what you’d call a social sabbatical.”

Stella assumed that was Brit-speak for sticking close to home. Again, she wondered why. Not that it was any of her business, but why would someone as handsome and charming as Linus need a break from his social life?

Afraid any further questions would look nosy, she sampled the wine instead. The label might not be expensive, but the dry taste went down smoothly. She took a large sip, savoring the metallic apricot flavor on her tongue, and let the remaining tension from the day ebb away.

“This is delicious. You have good taste.”

“Thank you. I pride myself on being able to buy the best inexpensive wines in the city. I leave the high-end buying to my siblings. Scotch whiskey, on the other hand, is a different story. Give me a couple hours and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

“My father is all about buying expensive wine. The higher the price tag, the better. He and my mother took some kind of class, too, so they can use words like bouquet and finish.”

“I had a stepmother who did that. Always sounded like too much work to me. Dining room or living room?”

“Living room. You can elevate your ankle. And that’s a bold statement coming from a man who makes his living evaluating different scents.”

“Different animal,” he replied as he limped toward the sofa. “Chemistry is my job. Wine is a drink. I don’t need to work that hard for my beverages.”

“What about Scotch?” Didn’t he say he’d talk her ear off on the subject?

“My dear girl, Scotch is nothing like wine. It’s art in a glass.”

“I stand corrected.” The conversation was completely nonsensical, which only made her relax more.

Once Linus was seated, she set one of the pillows on the coffee table and insisted he rest his foot. Then, after making sure he didn’t need an ice bag, she settled next to him. Toffee immediately jumped between them. With her head resting against Stella’s thigh and her tail draped across Linus’s, she began purring.

“Someone feels at home,” Linus remarked.

Stella swallowed her mouthful of wine. “Maybe your company reminds her of the old routine.”

“Maybe. Or she’s accepted you.”

“Or she decided this was the most comfortable spot in the room. Never underestimate a cat’s ability to know the best place to sit.” She raised her glass. “To cats and their uncanny knack for putting their comfort first.”

Linus tapped his glass to hers. “And to neighbors who help you limp home,” he said. “Appreciate the helping hand.”

“Don’t sweat it. That’s what friends are for, right?”

His eyes widened. “You consider me a friend?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

He looked into his glass for a moment before looking back at her and smiling. “Yes, you should.” As she met his gaze with a smile of her own, Stella felt a ribbon of satisfaction winding through her. The feeling reminded her of how she felt those times when—if—she did something right and made her parents proud. At the same time, the feeling was different, too. Her parents’ pride never made her insides turn upside down. Suddenly she realized why.

This sensation wasn’t satisfaction—it was pleasure.

“Do you find it difficult, being the spare?” Dinner was over and they were enjoying the last of the wine. Comfortably full and fuzzy headed, Stella was relaxed enough to ask the question.

“Spare what?” Linus asked.

“Collier. You said your older brother ran the company.”

“Oh, that. For a moment, I thought you were referring to royal lineage. I never gave it much thought one way or the other.”

“You didn’t?”

“No need,” he said with a shrug. “It was always assumed Thomas would take over. My grandfather all but named him heir apparent when we were children.”

“Because he was the oldest,” Stella commented.

“Probably, and he was the only one who paid attention when we visited the company museum.”

“You have a company museum?”

“Doesn’t every family?”

Stella shook her head. “Mine doesn’t.”

She leaned forward and reached for the wine bottle. Sometime during the evening, she’d taken off her running shoes and curled her legs beneath her. Toffee was long gone, having moved to her favorite chair, allowing the space between Stella and Linus to shrink.

“Damn,” she declared, holding the bottle upside down. Her glass was close to empty, too. First time all night. “Should we open another bottle?”

“In my experience,” Linus replied, “whenever you ask yourself if you should have another drink, the answer is always no.”

“Good answer.” She would have said yes and regretted it in the morning. Especially since she suspected she’d drunk most of this bottle. She definitely filled her glass more often than Linus had.

“What’s it like, your company museum?”

“Your typical celebration of a four-hundred-year-old company. Yes, really,” he added when she gasped. “Sounds old to Americans, but it’s barely a blip in British history. Like your revolution.”

He grinned. She smacked his shoulder.

“There’s one section where children can mix different scents to see how they blend. I spent most of my time there while my grandfather dragged Thomas around and lectured him on duty and legacy. Susan usually spent the visits asking if we could go for ice cream.”

Silently, Stella agreed with Susan’s thinking. Leaning her head back, she studied Linus’s chiseled features, trying to imagine him as a little boy. “Did it ever bother you? That Thomas got all your grandfather’s attention?”

“What makes you think he did? Oh, because he was Grandfather’s choice to carry on?” He shook his head. “If anything, I was grateful. My brother carried a lot of weight on his shoulders, and it nearly ruined his life, while I was free to pursue my own interests. Besides, Grandfather wasn’t stupid. It was obvious we were on different paths.”

His smile grew nostalgic. “If the museum didn’t convince him, my propensity for kitchen experiments did. By the way, never light flour on fire.”

“Why not?”

“Trust me—just don’t.”

He punctuated his advice with a stretch, his arm reaching across the back of the sofa. Stella pulled her legs tighter, saving the feeling of security currently enveloping them. “Sounds like you were a natural-born chemist.”

“And Thomas was a natural-born CEO, bossy git that he is. Made the division of labor quite easy.”

“What about your sister?”

“Susan? Took her a little longer to find her place, but that had nothing to do with Thomas being in charge. All and all, I’d say we all mesh rather nicely.”

“You’re lucky.” A smart person would come back with a clever answer like how a lot of family businesses had conflicts or some other response that deflected the conversation back to Linus. The smart answer, however, didn’t want to come off her tongue. “You knew what you wanted to do.”

“Are you saying a life of corporate finance wasn’t your life’s calling? No stories about little ten-year-old Stella Russo sitting in the kitchen playing with the calculator?”

She rolled her eyes. “Hardly.” Ten-year-old Stella Russo was reading juvenile historical fiction and being told to stop daydreaming. “I didn’t choose my career path until I was in college.”

“What made you decide on finance?” He shifted his position so he was looking at her straight on, the genuine interest in his eyes catching her by surprise. Between the wine and his sincerity, she found herself answering honestly. “Because it wasn’t law or medicine.”

She’d never said the words out loud before. Having done so, she rushed to explain. “My sister is a neurosurgeon, and my brother is a criminal defense attorney.”

“So rather than copy one of them, you chose a path to call your own.”

“Something like that.” More like she took a path unlikely to invite comparison.

“Your parents must be very proud.”

“Of Camilla and Joe? Very.”

“I meant of all three of you.”

She shrugged and looked down at her glass.

Only a few swallows of golden liquid remained. She was more relaxed than she had been in years. Whether it was from too much wine or the security of Linus’s company, she couldn’t be sure, but thoughts she usually kept buried were suddenly comfortable bubbling to the surface. “I think I’m like your sister, still finding my way.”

“No crime in that,” Linus said.

“You’re not a Russo,” she replied. “My father has very high expectations.” She tipped back the rest of her glass before continuing. “My grandfather died when my father was in high school. He had to quit school and take over Grandpa’s fruit and vegetable market to support the family. Turned it in to a regional corporation. Biggest distributor in New England.”

“Quite an accomplishment.”

“It is.” But it wasn’t enough for Kevin Russo. “My dad hates that he didn’t go to college. Didn’t even graduate high school. Meanwhile, my uncle went to Yale and so did all his kids. Uncle Donny’s always bragging about them. So, Dad has made it his mission to make sure we are bragworthy, too. Camilla and Joe are fulfilling the mission admirably.”

“You don’t include yourself in the list?”

“Oh, sure. I’m doing peachy.” Reaching for the bottle, she turned it upside down again and watched as a trickle dripped into her glass. Barely enough to count as a swallow but better than nothing. She drained her glass.

“Did you know I finished in the top five percent of my glass at graduate school?” she asked.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Camilla and Joe finished first.”

“I’m pretty sure a potential employer would call that splitting hairs.”

Says the man who worked for his family. “I got hired by the top consulting firm in Manhattan.”

“See?”

“Yep. Lasted a whole five months before I blew it.”

The room wobbled when she set her glass down. She sat up and pressed her hands to her knees to still the movement, shivering slightly as her body mourned losing Linus’s body heat. This wasn’t the kind of confession that deserved coziness.

“I’d been doing great,” she told him. “Working a ton—seventy, seventy-five hours a week—but that wasn’t new. I’ve always had to work more than others to keep ahead. Plus, I was working on this project that had huge potential. The kind of project that can turn an employee into a rock star.”

She remembered how the night before, she and her father had talked about the project’s make-or-break potential.

You need to make them notice you, her father had said.

“Then one morning I was on my way to work, and I froze. Right in the middle of Fifty-Second Street. Couldn’t move forward or backward.”

As she expected, when she looked over her shoulder, Linus wore a frown. “Eventually, I managed to cross the street, but that’s as far as I got. Standing on the sidewalk, shaking. I couldn’t talk. I could barely breathe.”

The moment was etched in her memory forever. The way the building seemed to stretch and grow larger. The rush of white noise in her ears. And the fear. The paralyzing fear that if she went inside, it would kill her.

“A coworker took me to the emergency room. Severe burnout is what the doctor said. I just knew that I couldn’t go back to work. I wanted to, but I didn’t want to. If that makes sense.”

“What did you do then?”

“What could I do?” she replied. “Went home and told my parents I’d messed up.”

“I wouldn’t say you—”

Stella was on too much of a confession roll to hear him. “Do you have any idea how humiliating that was? There were Camilla and Joe racking up the accolades, and here I was, pulling up the rear. Again. So, I ran away. Couldn’t face the idea of running into someone I knew and having to explain. Figured England was far enough to get my act together.”

She flung herself back against the sofa, back to the security of Linus’s proximity. “Now you know why I need to do the best job possible while I’m here. I need to show them that what happened in New York was an anomaly. To prove I’m not a disappointment.” Her voice cracked on the last part. Damn alcohol.

A reassuring hand cupped her shoulder. Stella found herself pulled toward Linus in a semihug. She rested her head on his shoulder and drank in the comfort. “I don’t think you’re a disappointment,” he said.

“No offense, but how would you know?”

“Your story. You may have crashed, but you picked yourself up and came to England. If you ask me, that shows resilience. Disappointments aren’t resilient.”

Stella pulled back far enough to look into his face. What she saw was a friendly smile. No mocking or sign of insincerity. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she said.

“Then you’re clearly not receiving enough compliments.”

Stella met his smile.

Suddenly, the room grew small. Reduced to the sofa and the air around them. A lazy heat started low in Stella’s belly, a longing for closeness. She wanted to feel a man’s hands on her skin. To feel desirable. She looked into Linus’s eyes and saw a beautiful gray sky. Scrambling to her knees, she let herself fall into them. Deeper. Closer. Until her lips met his...