“Come in, Ms. Ryan.”
The ogre’s gruff voice made her jump, and she hesitated for a fraction of a second. She’d always confronted that which she feared and thereby conquered it. This … this man would be no exception. She took a bold step inside and another until she stood in the middle of the room.
He stood behind the bar, choking a bottleneck between his fingers, his intense gaze shooting into her. She cringed at her choice of words and her bandaged hand flew to her throat. Chills chased up her spine. She stood her ground and glared back at him.
Silence fueled the room. Thickened. Smothered.
He feigned a cough and splashed Scotch into a glass. The sound of liquid over ice shattered the tension between them. Stella dropped her hand to her side. She was trained to protect herself, her body her weapon … yeah, but here you are anyway.
“What’s your pleasure?” He seized the tumbler and motioned to an army of liqueurs on the counter. In a lazy sweep, his eyes toured her head to toe, then his lashes flickered, concealing a glint of something indefinable in his pupils.
A blush warmed her skin.
“My pleasure is to get out of here,” she snapped on an intake of breath. Boldly, she allowed her eyes to do some appraising of their own.
Fortyish. Over six-feet. He exuded strength and power.
Raw sexuality.
Her stomach flipped. Her heart raced.
The walls seemed to close in.
She shook her head, blinked. This man could crush her. She inhaled a mouthful of oxygen. Exhaled. Okay. She twitched her lips, but didn’t smile. She knew from experience that size and strength were not the key. The right move combined with speed and accuracy could bring anyone down. Including Stan Rogers.
Tempting.
But, timing played into it and this was not quite the moment for it. Patience was not her greatest virtue.
“I figured you’d prefer clean clothes after your shower.” Stan took a swig of the amber liquid and studied her over the rim, amusement tugging the corner of his mouth.
“You figured wrong.” She ventured forward a few paces, not wanting him to think she was afraid. “I’ll wear what I please, when I please and how I please. And, I’m not in the habit of wearing borrowed threads and certainly” –she paused for effect— “I don’t dine in a Karate gui.”
“Of course.” He brushed a thumb across his fuzzy chin. “A sweaty jogging suit is so” –his gaze dropped several notches, zeroing in on the rise and fall of her breasts— “much more appealing.”
Stella was about to blast him with a string of verbal bullets, when he held up a hand, warding off her attack.
“How remiss of me not to consider your lack of attire,” he said, a tone of formality in his voice.
Stella twisted her lips. Attire? Get with the times, mister.
“I’ll speak to Minni about it.”
“Don’t bother.” She narrowed her eyes, sizing him up like an opponent in a ring. “I intend to leave here within the hour, and if you try to stop me, I’ll have you charged with kidnapping.”
“You’re not a prisoner here, Ms. Ryan,” he said, tone cool. “You’re an invited guest with whom I wish to discuss business.”
“Why didn’t you call or e-mail or drop by my studio to discuss your … er … business?”
“In a sense, I did.”
“Stop talking in riddles.”
He shrugged.
And that had her hackles rising.
“This charade is utter nonsense.” She moved another few steps closer, the table a barrier between them. “I don’t like being manhandled.”
The deep sound of his laughter ricocheted off the walls. “Heard it was the other way around.” He saluted her with his drink.
Stella shook her head, pointing her finger at him. “Look here, I have a business to run. Right now, my students are at the dojo waiting for me.”
Stan set the empty glass on the gleaming countertop and rubbed his palms together. “Took care of it.”
“I demand to be relea—” She gaped at him. “What does that mean?” she demanded. “You know you could be arrested.”
“My men—”
“Thugs.”
“—left a memo at your studio explaining your absence.”
“Disappearance.”
He shuttered his eyes to blue slits, considering her veiled warning. “Ms. Ryan, I’m offering you my hospitality as my guest.”
“I’m not your guest.” She tossed her head. “And don’t need or want anything from you.”
He hiked a brow, and she swallowed a lump in her throat. Of course, he had control of her core asset and—
“You’re on a publicity tour … Tokyo, Toronto … family demands,” he explained, his words saturated with meaning. “You’d be returning soon.”
“You dared to—” A tremor vibrated from her head to her toes, shivers prancing on her spine.
He shrugged. “A risk worth taking.”
Stella paled, their one and only meeting zooming to the forefront of her mind.
“Something wrong, Ms. Ryan?” Casually, he slid his hands in his pockets, confident he’d cornered her.
Stella groped for the back of a chair, the wood smooth and hard beneath her fingertips.
Like the man—unbreakable.
“Do you often take such risks?” she tested, her voice brittle.
“Occasion—”
“Why?”
“High stakes.”
“How lofty are they this time?” She tightened her grip on the chair, her heart pounding a warning.
“Riskiest bet of my life,” he admitted.
She wouldn’t be bridled. “Must be, to ditch your life of the rich and famous for that of a recluse.”
He laughed, a dark, ominous sound. “It is.” A shadow swept across his eyes, and a nerve pinched his jaw. He shrugged and didn’t elaborate.
Tenderness pierced through her frustration. She must be mistaken, or nuts. Nuts to feel anything but contempt for the ogre. She shoved the pinch of feeling away. She didn’t care, couldn’t care, refused to care.
“I don’t play cat and mouse games, Mr. R.”
“You do remember.”
The gray at his temples and his beard had thrown her at first. His electrifying blue eyes and commanding tone, capped off with his baiting remarks, cued her a second time in as many hours, how well he knew the game of finance and how well he wielded the rules for his benefit. Yes, she remembered him. He was not a man she could easily forget, nor could she forget how ruthless he could be.
“How do I fit into your scheme of things this time?” Stella asked, her voice crackling with ice.
“Predominantly.”