electric blanket, yet its warmth was all male animal, all his. The same, woodsy scent floated around her, uninvited yet irresistibly pleasant, capturing her senses.
“If you intend to stand out here debating the issue for the whole two weeks, you’ll need a coat.”
“I only intend to stand here debating as long as you’re here!”
“Try two weeks.”
“Two—t-two…” Her voice faltered and died. This time her stutter wasn’t due to the winter chill, but to the suggestion that he would be in Chicago for two weeks. It was the worst possible melodrama she could dream up—even in her most horrifying nightmare. She couldn’t have heard right. “You—you’re not staying?” she demanded in disbelief.
He pursed his lips. Apparently his lack of response was supposed to be all the answer she needed.
Elaine feared she had lost her mind to frostbite. The coat had come too late to save her gray matter. Why on earth would he threaten her this way? How could this happen? Why was he here two weeks early? Was it possible he planned to steal even her final few days in this place that had been her home for the past year? There was so much to do. Packing and cleaning and—and besides, she hadn’t found another job or place to live.
He stared at her for a slow count of three, then shook his head as though her bullheadedness was beyond belief. Grasping her arm, he hauled her into the foyer. “Why, thank you, a tour of the house would be very nice.”
The door boomed shut as Mr. Rath took it upon himself to move them both inside. She jerked from his grasp and spun on him. “Never put your hands on me! I’ve had all the controlling I can take for one…” No, Elaine! You will not blurt out your personal problems to this man! Another voice in her head tried to say something about how doting and attentive Guy had been when they’d met. With the distinction of an Ivy League MBA, a first-class family pedigree and the believable veneer of charm, he’d been impossible to say no to. Not to the whirlwind courtship or the marriage. After that it had been too late.
Guy’s unreasoning jealousy and bullying temperament had been a shock. Mere days after the wedding she wasn’t allowed to make a move without Guy’s permission. And her associations with male clients in her e-business had sent him into fits of rage.
He’d charged into her textile art e-business with big ideas for expansion. Fearful of his explosive temper, she hadn’t known how to extricate herself from his tyranny. He essentially took over what Elaine had been slowly and steadily building for five years. What had begun as a small outlet for handmade quilts was evolving into a respected market for the discriminating customer in search of custom textile art.
Guy’s petty jealousies and tin-god attitude coupled with his billowing ego turned out to be calamitous for Elaine’s marriage as well as her business. He’d scorned her worries, dived in headfirst pitching marketing schemes, negotiating contracts, making promises she and her crew of talented seamstresses could not physically meet.
“For one—what?”
The question yanked her from her dark musings and she started, refocusing her anger in a more appropriate direction. Toward the man who’d plundered her business. She mustn’t be angry at the dead. Though on the very day Guy died, she’d finally found the courage to walk out. Their seven-month marriage and business partnership had been a nightmare. She’d already packed a bag and had planned to tell him it was over that night. Instead, the tragic news of his death had come. From that day until this, she hadn’t been able to shed the irrational belief her desire to get out of a bad marriage had somehow sealed his fate.
She swallowed over a lump in her throat. With Guy Stuben dead, the clout of his family name was gone. Almost before Elaine could take a breath, the loan was called. The last five months had been worse than five years in Hades as she’d struggled to live up to the merciless contract Guy had pledged them to. Floundering in overwhelming debt and working under impossible conditions, she’d fought with every fiber of her being to save her company.
She exhaled long and low. All that was in the past now. The business was gone. All her money, gone. Claire’s too. The physical bits and pieces of her company belonged to Mitchell Rath, including this estate. She needed to face that and come to terms with it. She needed to begin to work through her feelings of guilt. Start over, get a job, save enough to begin her textile art e-business again. On her own terms this time. No more stupid, rash decisions about men, either!
“You’ve had all the controlling for one—what,” he repeated slowly, as though he already knew but insisted that she say it out loud.
Not likely, Mr. Rath! You may have picked the bones of my business carcass but you aren’t going to feast on my personal life! She glared at him. “Nothing. Forget it,” she said. “What do you care?”
His gaze hardened for a split second, but he didn’t immediately respond. It was almost as though she’d hurt his feelings. Ha! That was a laugh. What feelings?
His gaze probed for a moment before he shrugged and let his attention drift away to scan the elegant foyer. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry.” His voice was full and rich, very pleasant to listen to. Elaine sensed it was the sort of voice that made women turn and search a room to discover its source. “I’ll take that, if you’re through with it,” he said.
She was confused and frowned.
He inclined his head toward her. “My coat.”
Feeling stupid for letting herself get sidetracked by anything so frivolously superficial as a voice, she shrugged off the overcoat, shoving it at him.
“Thank you,” he said. “Now, if you’ll show me to my room?”
She stared, dumbfounded. After a few thundering heartbeats she found the ability to speak. “Your room?” How dare he assume she would let him stay! His company lawyers had promised her she had two more weeks of ownership before he was to take possession. It hadn’t been in writing, but she’d assumed the man would keep his word! “Try the Holiday Inn.”
“Or—the master suite?” He glanced around, seemingly looking for something. “That would be traditional.”
“Tr-tra…” She was speechless. “That’s my room.”
He walked away from her, toward the foyer closet. After he’d hung up his coat, he turned, his dark eyes mesmerizing. Elaine refused to be affected, telling herself the glittering hue was perfect for the cold, heartless creature that he was. And she’d thought she’d seen warmth in their depths! Double ha!
His head dipped in a nod. “Since the master suite is taken, something with a southern exposure, then?” His behavior was oddly suggestive of a chivalrous enemy granting a small concession.
“‘Southern exposure?”’ she echoed, highly dubious. “I’d think you’d want the coldest room in the house—to keep the ice water in your veins sufficiently chilled!”
The room held a deathly hush. His gaze grasped hers and held. His eyes sparked with indignant anger, with just a touch of Mount Olympus aloofness to let her know he would not strike out. That steely gaze combined with the eerie sensuality he radiated was getting under her skin. She didn’t like the torrid effect it had on her. He was the dreaded Vulture, for heaven’s sake!
“I realize this is an imposition, Mrs. Stuben.” His voice shattering the stillness, made her jump. “I’ll try not
