A Year With the Millionaire Next Door Read online

  “Arrrgh!”

  The cry cut through the city noise, making him start and nearly spill tea on his robe. There could only be one source at this altitude. Forgetting Parliament, he headed toward the western end of the terrace, where he spied his neighbor. She was only partially visible through the foliage, but it looked like she was pushing against the wall, her arms stiff and her hands wrapped around the metal guardrail. Unlike the other day, she was dressed for business in a purple sleeveless dress and, he hoped, high heels. Her hair wasn’t pulled back today, either. It hung like a dark brown curtain in front of her cheeks.

  In the old days of last year, he would have gone on an all-out charm offensive, hoping—planning, actually—to establish more than a neighborly friendship. After all, she had everything he liked in a woman: great legs and two X chromosomes. When it came to women, he didn’t believe in being discriminatory.

  “So long as they sleep with you, right?” his last ex-girlfriend had said.

  She’d chosen to storm off before he could answer. Otherwise, he might have told her it was the challenge, not the sex, that mattered.

  All that was before the letter. His new neighbor didn’t realize it, but she was safe from his disreputable behavior.

  Except here he was, watching her through the bushes like a voyeur. He stepped around the trees and into the open. “Are you trying to make the terrace wider?” he asked.

  The question made her turn quickly. Her wide-eyed expression was made sensual by the parting of her lips. That the sensuality was unintentional made it that much more arousing. Linus willed himself to think dampening thoughts as he watched her recover. First straightening her back, then brushing the hair from her face.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, once she was finished. “I was reading the paper when I heard you scream. Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, that.” He could practically hear the blush creeping into her cheeks. “Frustrating phone call.”

  “I know how those go. Don’t tell me work is already getting to you?”

  “Not work.”

  Something else, then. He wondered what, but didn’t ask. If his neighbor wanted him to know more, she would have said. “How is your charge doing today? No more flying leaps, I noticed.” Leaning forward, he spied Toffee stretched out on a table. “Is that a harness?” he asked.

  “We came to a compromise. She stays on the leash; I let her sleep outside while I work.”

  “Impressive. I’m surprised your arms aren’t covered in cat scratches.”

  “She’s surprisingly cooperative for a cat.”

  “Agnes did take her everywhere,” Linus said. “She must have learned it was best not to put up a fight.”

  He studied the space between their respective ends of the terrace. The distance was no more than a few feet. Why had he never noticed how close the two balconies were to one another? Most likely because he seldom sat on this side. If he wanted to see the sunset, he repositioned the double chaise near the living room; the seat was far better for relaxing with company.

  “I take it this is where she made her escape,” he said, looking downward. Below he saw a small patch of green shrubbery.

  “I still can’t believe she did,” Stella replied. “Something must have caught her attention in your garden. That’s quite a display you’ve got going.”

  “Thank you. It’s my way of bringing nature to central London.”

  “You mean other than the parks?” She pointed toward the Belgrave Square Garden grounds, which could be seen in the distance.

  “Last time I checked, public parks frowned on you having tea in your pajamas. This way I can enjoy nature on my terms. Not to mention that I find the different foliage inspiring.”

  “How so? Are you an artist?”

  “I like to think there’s artistry involved, but my brother would disagree.”

  She drew closer to her side of the wall. As she walked, Linus watched the way her hips rolled into her steps. Definitely high heels. Linus tightened the belt on his robe to keep his body from reacting.

  “I’m a chemist,” he said. “I’m head of research and development for Colliers of London.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen their products. They sell them at some of the high-end boutiques on Fifth Avenue. Sounds like a fun job.”

  “It has its moments.” She hadn’t made the connection yet. “At the moment I’m working on a new idea—scented oils and candles based on our botanical products. What do you think of a lavender-heather combination?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never smelled heather.”

  “It’s surprisingly floral. The problem is I can’t decide on a top note. I want something clean but not too overpowering. Mint would be my first instinct, but there’s also basil and...you’re smiling.” A tiny, amused smile. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I take the science of scents very seriously.”

  “Don’t apologize. You love your job. That’s nice.”

  “It’s just that there are so many possibilities and combinations, I have trouble not getting carried away. My brother and sister are forever giving me a hard time.”

  “But isn’t that what a scientist is supposed to do? See all the possibilities?”

  “Will you do me a favor and explain that to my brother the next time he tries to rein in my research budget?”

  “Sure. What is it about siblings that they feel the need to...”

  The words died on her tongue. Connection made.

  Stella cringed. Talk about clueless. He wasn’t just the head of R & D. “Your family owns the company.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he replied. “Although in fairness, Colliers is really my brother’s company. I’m more of what you would call an active shareholder.”

  Six of one, half dozen of another. He still owned a stake in the company. Explained the penthouse, and the fact he was lounging about in his bathrobe on a weekday. “I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection,” she said.

  “Why should you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because your last name is Collier.”

  He laughed at her emphasis. “Personally, I’m glad you didn’t. It was nice to meet someone who didn’t know my history straight off. Meant we could get acquainted without pesky assumptions.”

  “Why would I assume anything?” Other than his being rich, which was fairly obvious seeing as how he lived in a penthouse apartment.

  “When you have a famous name, people gossip. You never know what people may have heard. You know, rumors, preconceived notions and the like.”

  “I see.” She didn’t, not really, but the shadow that flickered across his face told her not to keep asking. She understood what it was like to be saddled with people’s expectations, and their disappointment when you failed to measure up. “For what it’s worth, the only assumption I had was that you could afford to live next door. Unless you’re squatting and about to get tossed out.”

  “No squatting. At least not yet.” It cheered Stella to see the light return to his eyes. Without their sparkle, his eyes—all of him, actually—lacked vitality. Like how a passing cloud marred a sunny day. She didn’t know Linus Collier well, but he struck her as a man with a lot of life inside him.

  Huh. Looked like she had made a few other assumptions.

  “Speaking of jobs,” he was saying, “we got sidetracked from our discussion. How is your job going? Beyond keeping Toffee in line.”

  “Haven’t done a lot yet,” she said. “At the moment, I’m conducting an inventory of the estate. Cross-checking items listed in the records, then listing what’s appropriate for donation or auction, what should be saved for historical preservation, etc.”

  “A challenge, considering everything Agnes did in her career. Every once in a while, when I visited, she would trot out a photograph of her and some icon.
Made me think she had boxes and boxes of memorabilia hidden away in one of the upstairs rooms.”

  “Based on the file Toffee is currently sleeping on, I think you may be right. I’m also going to be double-checking all the financial investments. Toffee has a very diversified portfolio. Between investments and properties...”

  “Did you say properties, with an S?”

  Sounded strange, Stella had to admit, especially when discussing a cat. “She owns two. This apartment and a country cottage in Berkshire.”

  “Really? Our family had a place in Berkshire. We had to sell it when my father died.”

  “I’m sorry.” The apology was a reflex, born out of a lifetime of etiquette lessons. Whenever someone mentioned death, you offered regrets.

  Linus waved her off. “No need. None of us wanted to take the property on. Now that you mention it, though, Agnes often talked about going to the country. Your job will be to manage everything?”

  “Yes and no. There’s actually a team. My job is to take care of the day-to-day management, make recommendations regarding investments and, of course, make sure the heir is comfortable.” When said like that, the job didn’t sound all that awesome. “It’s more challenging than it sounds.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Linus replied. He leaned against the railing, causing the front of his paisley robe to gape. “May I ask you a personal question?” he asked.

  “What?” She was busy trying not to stare at the freshly revealed patch of chest hair.

  “What makes a person from America come all the way to London to take care of a cat’s estate? Don’t get me wrong—it’s lovely to have you—but don’t they have estates in your country?”

  “They do.” How did she explain her running across the ocean in a way that didn’t make her sound unstable or weak? “But this job sounded interesting. I’ve never worked for a cat before or on an estate with such renown. And since I was looking to get away from New York for the next year—”

  “Get away?”

  Bad choice of words. “Travel bug. I never got my semester abroad, so I decided to come to London for the next twelve months.”

  “Your plan for seeing Europe. Smart.”

  “Oh, I won’t be traveling. I’ll be too busy working to see anything outside London proper. Except the summer house.”

  He was looking at her, confused. “I thought you said you had the travel bug.”

  “I meant to see London, not the rest of Europe. I figured I’d come, spend a year seeing the city, gain some invaluable experience in British finance and then head back to New York.”

  She could tell Linus didn’t quite buy the story, despite it being true, minus the part about wanting to see London. Whatever. She wasn’t about to explain. She didn’t have time, even if she wanted to. A quick look at her phone said as much.

  “Sorry to run on you,” she said, “but I better get Toffee inside and brushed. Teddy Moreland wasn’t kidding about contacting the law firm. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes to provide me with some ‘historical perspective’ regarding my job.”

  “Lucky you. If he drones on too much, close your eyes and think of England.”

  Stella snorted. “I think that phrase is supposed to mean something else, but thank you for the advice. I’m planning to detox with a nice long run this afternoon.”

  “I had a feeling you were a runner. Your legs,” he added. “You have runner’s calves.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” She guessed. Compliment or not, the idea Linus had checked out her legs closely enough to notice made her warm from the inside out. “I was going to pace out a route this afternoon when I was finished work.”

  “I usually go around 4:00 p.m. myself. There’s a very nice route around the gardens in the park.”

  “Is there? I’ll check it out.”

  “I tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t we head out together when you’re done with your meeting and I’ll show you.”

  “You... You want to go running together?”

  “Why not? I’m going to run anyway. Unless you’re one of those antisocial runners who only cares about besting her time. Are you?”

  “Not usually.” Running was something she did for health and vanity purposes only. Keeping track of times would only depress her, as they would invariably be less than her runner siblings.

  “Then why not join me? I’ll show you the best route, so you’ll have the lay of the land for when you go the next time. Consider it a runner’s courtesy.”

  “Sure,” Stella replied. Why not, indeed? Wasn’t as though the man was asking her on a date. Back home she joined male running friends all the time. Running with Linus would be no different.

  Well, almost no different. Back home, when the guys invited her to run, she didn’t get butterflies in her stomach.

  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 l
ost 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?”