Enticed Read online

  “Noted,” I said. “You have suits of armor in your grand fortress, right?”

  Again, he laughed, which pleased me greatly. From all the photos, he looked stern and humorless. I was reluctant to meet him because I assumed he was as stuffy as his position of power and influence hinted that he would be. It was nice to hear that he was a three-dimensional human being capable of more than just one emotion, especially the dour one I was used to seeing on the cover of magazines.

  “If you work out the way that I expect that you will, Miss Dennehy, you won’t need it. I’ll see you Monday,” he said as he brought the call to an end.

  I stood there holding the receiver in my hand for long moments after the call disconnected. I didn’t know what I expected when I sent that email in desperation, accepting this incredible offer more out of spite than anything. But with each passing moment, it was all so much more than I could have dreamed. So far there was nothing to send me screaming back to Texas.

  The only variable left was Jonathan, really, and I had never met a child I didn’t like. My love for children was what drove my desire to teach, despite the notoriously low pay and the endless, thankless work. I had managed to turn even the most hopeless discipline cases around within a school year.

  Now I had one weekend with one child on which to focus my attention. My mouth curved into a confident smile as I placed the phone handset back in its place before going to dress.

  Chapter Three

  Commotion at my bedroom door caught my attention as I finished dressing, adding a light green peachskin tunic to my sturdy pair of khaki shorts. I easily tied my long brown hair into a ponytail, slipped into some casual sneakers and walked to the door. Outside were two distinct voices. One was the unmistakable accent of Harrison. The other was younger, higher-pitched and filled with entitlement. This, I assumed, was my new student, Jonathan Fullerton.

  “Dad said I could meet her as soon as I got home,” the younger voice insisted.

  “She’s traveled very far today, Master Jonathan,” Harrison responded gently. “Let the poor woman rest.”

  I suppressed a smile as I opened the door.

  Master Jonathan was all of four feet tall, with the same dark hair and striking blue eyes of his father. His face, much like his dad, featured the same classic high cheekbones and full lips. It was like someone took Drew Fullerton and stuck him in a dryer.

  Jonathan wore a white martial arts uniform with an orange belt cinched around his middle, and I watched him stand a little taller as he gave me the same once-over inspection I was giving him. After years of Texas home cooking, I carried a little extra weight around my hips and thighs, and especially in my bra. My figure settled somewhere around size-12 shortly after college, and I saw no reason to starve myself into a smaller size. I had always been healthy and active, so I just watched my fat intake and moderated sugar, figuring the rest was all cosmetic.

  I lived to impress no one, even the nine-year-old son who glanced me over like a prize-winning pig at the county fair. My skin was clear, my teeth were brushed and my clothes and body were clean. More importantly I was a damn good teacher and I knew it, so I squared my own shoulders as I stared down at my potential student. I offered a hand. “My name is Rachel Dennehy. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Jonathan.”

  He studied my hand for a moment before he finally placed his small hand in mine. His grip, however, was surprisingly strong. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Dennehy,” he greeted formally.

  He was such a little man that it nearly broke my heart. No wonder he was a discipline case. No one would allow him to be a child.

  No one, I decided, until now.

  “I noticed you had a pool out back,” I commented casually. “Cleo gave me some cookies and tea. I thought I’d have my snack poolside. Would you like to join me?”

  “That would be acceptable,” he said, giving me the sense that he really wanted to impress me with his Lord of the Manor routine. He turned to Harrison. “Please bring the cookies and tea out to the pool, Harrison.”

  I shook my head. “No need. I can carry them.”

  Jonathan’s blue eyes widened, as if he were confused by my refusal. He was speechless as he watched me walk into my room toward my desk, grab the plate and the glass, and return to where they stood in the hall.

  Harrison’s eyes darted between Jonathan and me, as if he were waiting for the tiny terror to come unglued at any moment. I, on the other hand, was completely composed as I gestured behind us toward the stairs. “After you.”

  I followed the boy down the stairs and through the kitchen toward the French doors leading outside. Sculpted topiaries stood on either side of the reflecting pool, which connected in a channel toward the hot tub and finally the Olympic-sized pool behind the iron gates. Chaise lounges were scattered in pairs on the brilliant green grass surrounding the concrete pool, so we headed through the solarium to a couple at the far end. A breezeway covered in fragrant wisteria separated two smaller houses in the same style of the main house, quite possibly servant quarters for either Harrison or Cleo. Jonathan affirmed my assessment with a curt nod.

  “Father likes to keep the house staff close,” he informed me as he snagged a cookie from the plate. “I see them more than I see my own family,” he stated matter-of-factly, which further tugged at my gut. What a lonely little boy.

  “I know that can be tough,” I said with such a sincere tone that he turned his head toward me.

  “Do you have family?” he wanted to know.

  I shook my head sadly. “Most had passed by the time I graduated college. And there’s no one else,” I concluded as I glanced away.

  Jonathan nodded, as if the answer didn’t surprise him. “Father probably wouldn’t hire you if you did,” he said as he glanced at the pool.

  It seemed like such an odd thing to say that I couldn’t help but probe. “Why is that?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “He just doesn’t,” he said, as if that were an answer in and of itself. Off my look he added, “He is very selective in who has access to the family. Both Cleo and Harrison were older when they came to work for us, so they could dedicate themselves to the family full-time. Father puts heavy emphasis on dedication and loyalty. Having commitments on the outside would interfere with that.”

  I chuckled. “You make it sound like a prison.”

  His eyes met mine. “It is.”

  Before I could pounce all over his raw comment, he forged ahead with his own questionnaire. “Where do you live?”

  “I’m from Texas,” I answered.

  “Would you miss it if you moved here?”

  I thought about that for a moment. “I’ve never lived anywhere else, so I wouldn’t know for sure until I did. But even if I missed it, I would keep my commitment to the job, if that is what you’re worried about.”

  His chin tipped defiantly. “I’m not. I’m used to people leaving.”

  God, this kid was killing me. He was way too young to be this heartbroken and this cynical. “I understand that.”

  He was skeptical as he met my gaze. “You do?”

  I nodded. “Yeah,” I said softly.

  He let the comment pass to continue his interrogation. “Do you teach in a school?”

  I nodded. “Middle school. Seventh grade. Your dad tells me that you’re quite advanced for your age.”

  It was his turn to nod. “Testing at sixth grade levels,” he said with the same proud tilt of his chin. “They say that’s why I don’t do well in class. I’m not challenged enough.”

  “Why do you think you don’t do well?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I get bored.”

  I put my glass on the table beside the lounging chair. “Okay, rule number one: you never get to say you are bored. Bored is for the ignorant or the dull. I don’t know you very well, but I’m pretty sure that you are neither of those things. If you are intelligent and talented, there’s absolutely no way to get bored. There are always new thoughts to think, and new
ideas to spark into plans. We are a species driven by innovation and creativity. The world is full of information and any number of things to learn and discover at any given time, so if you are bored, it’s your choice. As such, you’re not allowed to complain.”

  He looked absolutely taken aback that I could speak to him so forcefully upon our first real meeting.

  “Do you read?” I pressed on. He nodded, but wisely opted to say nothing. “I’ll give you a reading list,” I said. “Whenever you think that you’re bored, take out a book and lose yourself in a story. We can also approach the lesson plans a little more liberally, if there’s one subject that stimulates you more than the other. Once you discover what you love about learning, you can apply it to any subject. It’s all about perspective.”

  “Well, well, well,” I heard a male voice drawl from just beyond the fence. I turned to see what might have been Drew Fullerton’s scruffier, more uncouth twin. He was just as tall as Drew, with the same dark hair and light eyes and sculpted features. This man, however, sported long hair, a close beard and wore a flannel work shirt, faded jeans and dusty, worn cowboy boots.

  “Uncle Alex!” Jonathan exclaimed gleefully as he shot up off of the chaise lounge. He ran to the gate and around the yard until Alex Fullerton hoisted him up in one powerful arm.

  “How you doin,’ kiddo?” Alex asked with a wide smile. He tugged at the orange belt. “You’re not a black belt yet? What’s wrong with you?”

  Jonathan laughed at Alex’s teasing tone. “It takes time, Uncle Alex.”

  “For everyone else,” Alex dismissed. “But for Jonathan Fullerton? I think not. You are made of too much awesome.”

  “Lemme show you some new moves!” Jonathan offered as he hopped down.

  “Now, buddy,” Alex chastised gently. “Don’t forget your manners. Why don’t you introduce me to your new friend?”

  Jonathan walked closer to the fence where I sat. “This is Rachel Dennehy. She’s my new teacher.”

  I stood and approached the iron fence. “We’re still working on that part,” I corrected. “I’m in the interview process, you could say.”

  Alex’s hands landed on either of Jonathan’s shoulders. “Hope Master Jonathan here went easy on you,” he offered with an easy smile that never quite made it up to those steely eyes, which gave me the same critical once-over his nephew had.

  “Hey, are those Cleo’s homemade chocolate chip cookies?” he asked. Jonathan nodded, so Alex patted him on the back. “Feel like fetching your old uncle a plate?” Another vigorous nod before Jonathan raced off into the house to accommodate a man he clearly idolized.

  Knowing what little I knew of their family history, I felt it a tad ironic.

  Alex leaned over the fence. “So my brother finally did it,” he commented as his eyes swept over me.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Brought in a ringer,” he clarified. “What better weapon to prevent his ex-wife from getting full custody than put a matronly female influence right in the house?”

  Matronly? Was that a nice way of calling me fat? I stood straighter. “I’m just here to teach,” I informed him stiffly.

  “Good,” he said as he glanced down at me with narrowed eyes. “Because if you’re looking to cash in, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  My eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s not like we haven’t seen this before,” he offered offhand. “Single billionaire, big, empty Beverly Hills mansion and a lonely kid who desperately needs a mom. Easy pickings for a smart gold-digger.” My fur started to rise but he went on, undaunted. “Hell, we even saw it when he was a married billionaire. One of the main reasons he’s single now.” He looked me over. “I will give him credit, though. He’s definitely casting against type this time around. Natural hair color, no breast augmentation and no designer clothes. You really do look like a school teacher.”

  My eyes narrowed. “That’s because that is what I am. I don’t appreciate any insinuation otherwise.”

  He held up a hand. “No offense intended,” he said. “And if I misjudged you, I apologize. I’m more than willing to be wrong.”

  “Really?” I challenged as I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

  “Yeah,” he said as he glanced toward Jonathan, who approached with a plate full of cookies. “For his sake. You really want to do him a favor? Go back home. Let his mother have a fighting chance to raise him way the hell away from this poisonous family.”

  I was speechless as I watched Alex saunter easily toward Jonathan, who had become a little boy again with the presence of his uncle. They interacted with ease, with Jonathan performing several of his moves for Alex under the flawless blue sky. Their relationship was easy and playful. There wasn’t a trace of the bitter skeptic that had faced me at the fence, the one who essentially called me a gold-digging whore out to secure my place as the future “ex” Mrs. Fullerton.

  I knew from that moment on that if I decided to take this job, Alex Fullerton would prove an annoying thorn in my side.

  It was enough to give me pause, and wonder – again – what the hell I had gotten myself into.

  Chapter Four

  The sun blazed across the cloudless sky as I waited to resume my time with Jonathan. Alex tumbled and sparred with him for a good hour before he thankfully departed. He sent me a mock salute before turning to leave, which ground my gears even more.

  The only one sorry to see Alex go was Jonathan, whose mood took an immediate nosedive as soon as his uncle disappeared from his sight. He was sullen as he faced me from the other side of the fence. “I should probably go change before dinner,” he said, and I raised no objection. I followed him quietly into the house, hanging back in the kitchen as he slipped through the door and down the hall.

  Cleo was hard at work chopping vegetables for our dinner that evening. I stopped at the sink to wash my hands before I joined her at the island. “What can I do?”

  Cleo brushed away my suggestion with the wave of a hand. “Absolutely nothing, miss. It would be highly improper.”

  “Screw propriety,” I said with an impish grin. “I’m the help, same as you. So let me help.”

  She gave me a narrowed, side-eye glance. “Master Fullerton would be terribly cross if he knew.”

  “Master Fullerton is not here,” I reminded. “I’m not going to tell him. Are you?” She shrugged and handed me a knife to chop some vegetables. “What are you making?”

  “Master Jonathan’s favorite, as usual. He’s quite picky.”

  I couldn’t help but chortle. “He’s definitely been groomed to get his way, hasn’t he?”

  Cleo shrugged. I knew she wouldn’t break any confidences with the family. “He has terribly big shoes to fill,” was all she would say.

  “Even more reason for him to be adaptable,” I said. “What’s on the menu?”

  “He wants fish sticks.”

  “Fish sticks?” I repeated. “That’s a little mundane.”

  Again, Cleo shrugged. “When it’s just Jonathan by himself, it seems pointless to make a full meal.”

  “How often is Jonathan by himself?”

  “Quite a bit,” she conceded begrudgingly. “At least three or four nights a week, easily.”

  It made me think of how happy he was to see Alex, like a puppy starved for attention. “Does he ever get to spend time with his mother?” I asked.

  A dark cloud crossed Cleo’s face. It was clear I had trespassed into some very uncomfortable territory. “It’s not my place to say, Miss.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed, instantly remorseful I had put her in such an awkward position. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”

  “You’re curious,” Cleo dismissed. “It’s only natural. But I would suggest you not address the subject with Master Fullerton once he returns home. The subject is generally forbidden.”

  I acknowledged the warning with a nod. “Well, I guess that�
�s even more reason to make time together special,” I said as I went to the fridge to examine the contents. After I calculated what I had to work with, I let out a triumphant cry. I knew how to make a nine-year-old boy happy, with something a little more substantial than fish sticks. I pulled out an armload of groceries including ground meat, eggs, bacon, cheese as well as mustard, ketchup and mayonnaise.

  “What are you going to make?” Cleo asked.

  “Meatloaf with a twist,” I announced with a big grin. “You have breadcrumbs, right?”

  “Well, yes, but… Master Jonathan doesn’t like meatloaf.” In fact, she looked rather distressed that we might make anything that would displease him. It only fortified my resolve.

  “He’ll like mine,” I said before I went over to the Intercom on the wall. It only took a minute to figure out how to call Jonathan’s room. “Jonathan? It’s Rachel.”

  “Yes?” he asked cautiously.

  “Come to the kitchen, please.” It wasn’t a request, but an authoritative command. Still, he defied it.

  “I’m playing my video game,” he said, as if that was all the reason he needed.

  “You can save your game,” I pointed out. “Ten minutes, please.”

  Maybe it was simple curiosity, but Jonathan arrived at the kitchen eleven minutes from our conversation on the intercom. “What?” he asked with a slump in his shoulders as he leaned on the counter.

  “Rule #2,” I said, “Common courtesy. You may either call me Rachel or Miss Dennehy when you greet me, but you will address me by name, standing straight and attentive for all lessons.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest and I waited.

  “You’re not hired yet,” he said with a slight sneer. “Rachel,” he added with emphasis.

  “You are correct,” I conceded. “This week is part of the interview process, for both of us,” I pointed out. “Your father needs to know I can teach you, but I also need to know if you are willing to be taught. Otherwise I might as well go back home to Texas and teach children who really want to learn.” I could tell that remark hit home. “There’s no better time than the present to dip our toes in the water.”