Sleeping Beauty's Billionaire Read online

  But Colleen’s favorite feature was the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows at the far side of the living room. Her brother Joe might consider “all that glass a break-in just waiting to happen,” but Colleen loved being able to look out on her small garden. Like the park next door, it wouldn’t be long before the first crocuses began to appear, followed by the constantly changing tableau of blooming flowers, bushes and trees that would go on until the first fall freeze.

  “Would you put the kettle on while I go change?” she asked Brett. She could hardly wait to shed her high heels and panty hose.

  “Sure.”

  “Help yourself to a glass of milk or a soda. And there’s some lasagna in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

  “Who made it?”

  Headed toward her bedroom, she stopped, turned and made a wry face at him. “My sister.”

  “Great.”

  Amused, she watched as he hurried toward the kitchen. Due to the brownstone’s high ceilings and wide doorways, she could see him perfectly well as he turned on the light and yanked open the appliance door. “Someday my cooking’s going to improve and you’re going to be sorry for your attitude,” she warned.

  He straightened and turned, a casserole dish in one hand, a carton of milk in the other, and flashed her a grin. “I’m not holding my breath.”

  Even as she warmed at the sight of that rare, sunny smile, her stomach clenched. The brightly illuminated kitchen revealed what she hadn’t seen before. The corner of the boy’s right eye and the cheek below were bruised and puffy.

  She parted her lips to ask what had happened, then clamped them shut. She and Brett had been down this road before during the past six months and she knew what to expect. At her very first question, his smile would vanish and the usual guarded look would come over his face. Next he’d claim that he’d run into a door, or something else equally as lame. Then he’d make an excuse to leave.

  And if she reported, as she had the last two times, her suspicions that he’d tangled with one of his mother’s boyfriends, he’d vanish. He’d go to ground on the streets, not showing up at school for weeks. And when he finally did return, he’d stick stubbornly to whatever story he’d told initially.

  “Hmm.” Somehow she managed a smile. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And with that she twisted around and slipped into her room. Shutting the door, she leaned back against it and allowed herself a sigh of frustration.

  Darn it! How could she justify collecting a paycheck, much less live with herself, if she couldn’t find a way to provide help when it was needed? Brett was such a good kid at heart, but if something in his life didn’t change soon and for the better, there was a more than good chance she’d lose him. He already had two strikes against him—an absent father and an alcoholic mother. Add to that his tendency to keep things bottled up inside, and it was a recipe for disaster.

  If only she could find—and convince him to accept—a good foster home. Or even provide him with a role model, someone to show him that real men didn’t have to resort to violence to get their way, that he could rise above his beginnings if he stayed in school, applied himself and didn’t give up.

  Like a genie escaping a bottle, an image of Gavin popped into her mind. With absolute clarity, she recalled the warmth that had crept into his voice when he’d talked about the older man who’d helped him get started in the hotel business.

  Transfixed, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Of course! What Brett and the rest of her kids needed were mentors. People who came from similar backgrounds, who’d faced some of the same things they confronted every day and had succeeded, anyway. What’s more, Gavin would be the absolutely perfect match for Brett.

  She tried to push the idea away, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Yet lodged with it was the recollection of the coolness that had been in Gavin’s voice when he’d spoken to her, the reserve with which he’d treated her, the hurried way he’d said goodbye the instant it was politely feasible. A dull ache blossomed in the region of her heart as she faced a truth she’d been trying to avoid for hours.

  Whatever feelings he’d once had for her were dead. The best thing she could do for both of them was keep her distance so they could both get on with their lives.

  And yet, if he could help Brett…

  She instinctively glanced heavenward. “I don’t know if this is part of Your plan for me, but I’m not making any promises,” she warned Him, her feelings as tangled as a ball of yarn tossed into a roomful of kittens. “Except that I’ll think about it.”

  For now that would have to be enough.

  A nun.

  Gavin stared unseeingly at the columns of January revenue figures laid out on his desk.

  A nun. The word—and all it implied—had been rattling around in his head for the past four days, surfacing at odd moments to ruin his concentration.

  And he was damned if he knew why. After all, as he’d proved at Nick’s wedding reception, Colleen meant nothing to him.

  It was just… He didn’t like the idea of anybody locking themselves away, wasting vital years of their life, in a convent. It was the twenty-first century, for God’s sake. Women had choices. And though he’d never thought about it before now, it seemed pretty obvious that prior to making a commitment to the Church, a young woman like Colleen should be required to have some real life experience.

  Oh yeah? Like what? Sleeping with you?

  Terrific. On top of everything else, now he was being ambushed by his own mind—or what was left of it. Irritated, he slapped the report shut, shoved back his chair and climbed to his feet, then paced over to the large windows that overlooked the street forty stories below. A nerve ticked to life in his jaw.

  Who would’ve thought that after all this time something as tame as dancing with Colleen would be enough to kick his hormones into overdrive? Much less that just thinking about her days later—the fragile hollow at the base of her throat, the slight weight of her hand in his, her faint but never forgotten lily-of-the-valley scent—could make his temperature rise and his skin feel tight?

  Not him, that was for damned sure, he thought grimly. If you’d asked him a week ago what he thought about Colleen, he would have replied flatly, “I don’t.” And now he couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind.

  There was a soft rap on his door. “What?” he barked, impatiently shoving a hand through his hair.

  His secretary poked her head in. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I buzzed the intercom and you didn’t answer—”

  “What is it, Carol?”

  “A Ms. Barone is here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment, and I told her you were busy, but she asked me to tell you she only needed a few minutes.”

  For an instant he felt nonplussed, as if his thoughts had somehow conjured up Colleen. Then the moment passed and his normal pragmatism kicked in. Whatever the reason for her sudden appearance, seeing her again could only be a good thing. In the clear light of day, on his own turf, he’d no doubt be able to consign her to where she belonged—in the past.

  He walked back to his desk and sat. “It’s okay. Show her in.”

  Quickly masking her surprise, his secretary inclined her head. “You’re the boss.” She backed away, then returned moments later, ushered his visitor to a chair and discreetly departed.

  Having learned the power of silence, Gavin took a good look at the woman who’d been in his thoughts far too much lately. Her finery of Saturday night was gone. Today she was casually dressed in low-heeled boots, slim-fitting black slacks and a fuzzy, pale peach turtleneck sweater. An inexpensive-looking black wool coat was folded over her arm, a small black satchel slung over her shoulder.

  She looked great.

  “Hi.” Her smile was tentative. “I know I should have called, but—”

  “What do you want, Colleen?” The words came out harsher than he intended, but he didn’t care.

  For a split second she appeared taken aback. Then she q
uickly gathered her composure. “I’d like to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  Perched on the edge of her chair, she laced her fingers together. “Actually, I have a favor to ask.”

  “I see.” He didn’t see at all. What could she possibly want from him? He couldn’t think of a thing. Unless…

  He thought again about their turn on the dance floor the other night. Hell, maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d felt hot and bothered by their encounter. Maybe she’d experienced a similar rise in temperature and was interested in finally finishing what they’d started all those years ago—

  “It’s not for me, really, but for my kids. The ones from my school.”

  The prickle of anticipation he was feeling vanished, replaced by self-disgust. When, exactly, was he going to learn? Colleen hadn’t wanted him when they were younger, and obviously nothing had changed.

  He reached over, opened the appropriate desk drawer and pulled out his checkbook. Flipping it open, he picked up his pen and angled a hard look at her. “How much do you want?”

  Her eyes widened. “Pardon me?”

  He held her gaze. “I said, how much? You can spare me the pep talk about whatever project you want the money for or how great the kids are. Just give me the bottom line.”

  “Oh, dear. Obviously I’m not explaining myself very well. I don’t want your money, Gavin. I want you.” A faint flush rose in her baby-smooth cheeks as she appeared to realize what she’d just said. “That is, I want your time,” she hastily clarified. “I’m putting together a mentoring program, and I need you.”

  She needed him? For all of ten seconds he felt the siren call of being wanted. Then his sanity kicked in. “No.”

  She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I have a student, Brett Maguiness. He’s smart, special, but he needs a man in his life, someone he can look up to, who’s carved out his own success—”

  “No.” He’d be a bigger fool than he already was if he let a little flattery sway him. “I’ll be glad to donate money if it’ll help, but I can’t spare the time.” Not that he would if he could. It was entirely out of the question. The last thing he needed was involvement in an endeavor guaranteed to bring Colleen and him together on a regular basis. Not when by merely walking into a room she could make his libido attempt to hijack his brain.

  “This is a boy on the brink,” she continued. “He desperately needs someone like your Mr. Sutherland.” Reaching across the desk, she touched gentle fingertips to the back of his tensed hand. “Please, Gavin.”

  Sex drive screaming, he looked into her dark blue eyes and for a moment felt as if he were drowning. Sternly he reminded himself she was not to be trusted, that the one other time he’d given in to temptation and allowed her close to him, she’d ripped out his heart.

  It was a hell of a shock, then, when he opened his mouth to tell her to leave and, instead, heard himself say, “When would you want me to start?”

  Three

  He’d blown it.

  Gavin angled a swift gaze sideways at Brett. The boy sat stiff and silent on the Porsche’s sleek black leather seat, his face ever-so-slightly averted, his gaze fixed on the view outside with seeming fascination.

  Given that they were traveling on a section of road surrounded by warehouses and that rain was pouring from the inky February sky in sheets, Gavin doubted the kid was admiring the scenery.

  “Ugly night out,” he commented, taking yet another stab at conversation.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The wind’s coming out of the north. Maybe we’ll get snow tonight.”

  Brett continued to look out the window. “Maybe.”

  And maybe I’ll drop dead, which might give you something to talk about, if only briefly. With a frustrated shake of his head, Gavin considered the wet, shining pavement and tried to pinpoint the exact moment things had started to go sour.

  How about the second you clapped eyes on Colleen again?

  He shoved the renegade thought away. As much as he’d like to blame this on her, he couldn’t. For starters, he’d approached her at Nick’s reception. What’s more, it had been his decision to let her into his office. And she sure as hell hadn’t been holding a gun to his head when he’d opened his big mouth and agreed to this mentoring thing.

  But at least he was consistent in his use of poor judgment. Take earlier tonight. When Colleen had shared some ideas with the adult volunteers who’d gathered at the high school on how best to break the ice with the kids they were mentoring, he’d blown off her words, convinced he didn’t need her advice.

  He’d been right, too. At first.

  Though unmistakably wary at their initial introduction, Brett had relaxed a little when he’d seen that, unlike some of the other mentors who’d chosen to wear suits and ties, Gavin had dressed in jeans, a plain black sweater and a black leather jacket. And like any other red-blooded teenager, the boy had been enamored with Gavin’s silver sports car the instant he’d laid eyes on it.

  Not that he’d fallen all over himself oohing and ahhing or anything. Instead, with all the nonchalance of someone who rode in a $100,000 car every day, he’d yanked open the door, slung himself onto the glove-soft seat, taken in the custom-made burled-walnut dashboard with its polished steel dials and murmured, “Nice.”

  At the time, Gavin had found the kid’s determined cool amusing. Now it didn’t seem the least bit funny. On the contrary, it stood out as the high point of the evening. And it was his own damn fault. Colleen had advised him and the others to keep this first meeting simple, go someplace in the neighborhood for coffee and conversation, and let the youngster set the tone.

  And what had he done? He’d taken Brett downtown to the Independence, given him a tour of the hotel, including the view from the penthouse he called home, then ushered him into the main dining room for a five-star dinner.

  He had to give himself credit, though. Not for nothing was he known in the business world as a mind reader, as well as a tough negotiator. Once they were ensconced at his favorite table, it had taken him only fifteen or twenty minutes of conversation—with Brett’s contribution consisting of half-a-dozen mumbled yeahs and nos accompanied by a handful of dismissive shrugs—to get the message.

  When it came to mentoring, he sucked.

  Now that it was too late, he could see that instead of showing the teen that where a man came from didn’t matter as much as where he ended up, he’d yanked the kid out of his comfort zone, dragged him into foreign territory, then practically put him on display. And though it hadn’t been his intent, he suspected he’d managed to look like a self-absorbed jerk in the process.

  So? It didn’t work. So what? Look at the upside. Now you can tell Colleen you gave it a shot and missed the target by a mile. You can say goodbye, adios, see you later.

  There was only one problem with that. And it happened to be sitting beside him.

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and took a left, headed for the westernmost Fort Point Channel bridge and Jefferson Heights.

  The truth was he wanted a shot at making a difference in this kid’s life. And not because of Colleen, but despite her—something he’d realized once she’d left the other day and he’d had time to think about his sudden decision to volunteer.

  For as long as he could remember, work had dominated his life. Recently, however, though no less busy, he’d been feeling restless, out of sorts, vaguely dissatisfied with his life. He didn’t have any family obligations—his mother had partied herself into an early grave years ago, he’d never known who his father was, and last summer Elliot had finally lost his long battle with cancer. Plus, he’d experienced enough real hardship in his life to know he currently had nothing to bitch about. Given that, the answer to his dissatisfaction had seemed obvious: do something for somebody else. To that end, recently he’d been considering getting involved in a number of good causes, from the Make-A-Wish Foundation to Habitat for Humanity.

  Instead, he’d chosen t
o take on a tough-as-nails teenager.

  He slowed the car slightly at the approach to the bridge, then slowed even more as a strong gust of wind buffeted the bridge and the brake lights on the car in front of him flashed. Narrowing his eyes, he told himself to concentrate on his driving, but he couldn’t entirely block out the voice in his head.

  The one saying, Yeah? And the instant things don’t go your way, you decide to blow out? Get real, O’Sullivan.

  Well, hell. With sudden decisiveness, he accelerated as the car left the bridge and switched lanes. He passed through the next series of traffic lights, then took a right.

  Brett shifted to look at him. “You turned too soon. I told you to drop me on Market. You do know where Market is, don’t you?”

  “It’s been a while, but yeah, I do,” Gavin replied evenly. He sensed the kid’s impatience, but he deliberately didn’t say anything more.

  A good thirty seconds passed. Finally the boy gave vent to his exasperation with a loud sigh. “So? Where are we going?”

  “There’s something I want to show you.”

  Suspicion instantly colored the young voice. “What?”

  “Relax, kid. I’ve got my faults, but whatever you’re thinking isn’t one of them. And before you say anything…” He raised a hand to forestall the attitude he could see building on the youth’s face. “—I don’t expect you to trust me—” not yet, anyway “—but you ought to have a little more faith in Ms. Barone.”

  “I do,” the boy said defensively.

  “Then relax, okay?” Frowning, he stared hard at the dimly lit street, trying to get his bearings. He thought for a moment he’d passed his destination, then saw a second later that he hadn’t.

  The property at 121 Calhoon Street hadn’t changed much. The brick facade was still dingy and crumbling, just the way he remembered. All the front windows were boarded up, with only a glimmer of light leaking here and there to suggest that anyone actually lived inside. Black plastic trash bags spilling garbage were heaped around the entrance and piled on the crumbling sidewalk, where a few scraggly weeds poked up in defiance of the winter weather. As a final touch, a soiled mattress shedding its stuffing rested at a crazy angle against the stoop, impaled on the finial of the one iron balustrade still standing.