The Playboy Takes a Wife. Crystal Green

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      As the Chandler party returned from the horse stables on their grand tour of Refugio Salvo, Lucas kept his photo-op smile in place. The cameras caught it with their freeze-frames, trapping him in the flashes yet again.

      Alicia was at the head of the group, leading them toward the main building, which had been sparsely decorated for the upcoming holidays. There they’d be having an informal meet and greet with the children, who had already welcomed Lucas into their home with a sweet rendition of “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” before Alicia had guided them onward. They’d seen the state-of-the-art school building with its computer room, the mini gymnasium with basketball hoops and hardwood floors, the library stocked with the most recent and popular titles, the cozy quad-occupancy rooms in the cottages.

      Money. It could work wonders.

      Lucas stuck his fists in his pockets. Idly, he watched the way Alicia moved, her hands clasped behind her back, her hips swaying under the oversized jacket and full, dark skirt as she traveled the dirt path that led from the paddock to the main house. The mild air, scented with hay and sunlight, toyed with her black curls. When one strand of wild hair tickled her cheek, Lucas imagined smoothing it away, tucking it behind an ear and receiving one of her gorgeous smiles in return.

      But she hadn’t been smiling so much during the tour. Not after she’d told him the real reason she was interested in Lucas Chandler.

      We were hoping that he’s one to part easily with his money.

      Join the club, honey, he thought.

      He’d tried to forget how his chest had clenched when she’d said that. But why was he surprised? People liked him for what he could supply, whether it was cash, amusement or a good headline to laugh over in a tabloid.

      That was all anyone had ever expected of him, so what was the big deal?

      Hell, maybe he just wanted more from a woman who’d at first seemed a little different from the rest.

      They arrived at the casa’s back door, where one of the older boys—a teen with slashing eyebrows, crooked teeth and long scraggly hair—greeted them. Camera flashes bathed the teen and Lucas as they shook hands.

      Then, as everyone started entering the building, Alicia thanked them, inviting the crowd to eat and mingle.

      The journalists wasted no time in attacking the spread: burritos, small tostadas, punch and cookies placed carefully on plates over the paper tablecloths. The boys stood nervously around the poinsettia-strewn room, plastic cups in hand, waiting to play host to their patron.

      While going inside, David gave a laconic nod to Lucas. His brother was obviously happy about how today had gone. A flare of satisfaction caught Lucas in its spotlight and he glanced at the ground, hiding his reaction.

      After the teen had entered, too, that left Lucas, who had stepped back outside to hold open the door for Alicia, the last of their group.

      She hadn’t moved from her hostess spot. In fact, Lucas got the feeling that she’d been watching him the whole time. He could tell by the intelligent depth of her gaze, the tilt of her head that maybe she’d gleaned something about him that he wanted to hide. Something that most people never caught on to.

      He shut the screen door, arming himself with the Dimples to throw her off the scent of what she might’ve seen: Lucas’s need to get this right, his fear of always being a joke.

      “A job well done, Ms. Sanchez,” he said lightly.

      Narrowing her eyes a little, she held his jaunty stare. “I’ve been waiting to apologize to you. For the entire tour, I kept wondering what you must think of me.”

      “Don’t sweat it. You thought I was a regular guy, I thought you were going to be a nun….”

      “I’m talking about my comments. Please don’t let my failure to say what I really meant reflect on the orphanage. We really are grateful for everything you’ve done. I hope you don’t believe we aren’t appreciative.”

      Caught by her honesty—Lucas wasn’t really used to it from anyone except David—he leaned against the casa’s stucco, the texture scratchy against the fine weave of his shirt.

      Before he could answer, a preteen bounded out of one of the cottages, his all-white clothing spotted by colors.

      “Ay, Roberto,” Alicia said, stopping him. She laughed, glowing, as she straightened the boy’s wardrobe. “Did we interrupt your painting?”

      Roberto nodded, shooting a glance to Lucas, who shrugged in confederacy with the boy. Being late was cool with him.

      “You.” Alicia sent Roberto off with a soft, good-natured push. “Just don’t let Sister Maria-Rosa see you.”

      After Roberto tore off, Lucas watched Alicia. She was still smiling in the wake of the boy’s presence.

      How could he ever doubt this woman’s intentions? She seemed so openhearted, so guileless.

      But…damn. It wasn’t as if Lucas had great insight into character. There was a lot of anecdotal evidence that could prove his lack of judgment.

      “Well…” Alicia said, whisking her hands down over her skirt, removing the imaginary wrinkles. “I suppose we should be getting inside.”

      Disappointment dive-bombed him. “Yeah—” he adjusted his tie “—I suppose we should.”

      Neither of them moved.

      Instead, they waited as the wind hushed around them, the sun sinking closer to the horizon.

      Both of them laughed at the same time, a quiet, intimate admission that neither of them felt like going anywhere.

      “I’ve had it with reporters,” Lucas said.

      “I can tell.”

      “Not that I don’t want to greet more of the kids. Don’t get me wrong.”

      “Of course.”

      His eyes met hers and, for a moment, everything around them stopped—the wind, the rattle of branches.

      For the first time in his life, Lucas didn’t know what to say to a woman. But he didn’t really want to be talking, anyway. In this pocket of stolen time, he was content just to look at her, to see the gold in her eyes shift with thought and sunlight. How had she come to be here, wearing these frumpy clothes and hanging out with nuns?

      As if reading his mind, she looked away and touched her bracelet, almost as if it gave her something to concentrate on.

      “So what’s your story?” he asked softly. “What made you decide to volunteer for this kind of social work?”

      Another strand of hair grazed her cheek, her lips. Lucas couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth, the lush promise of it.

      “I’ve found,” she finally said, “that I’m good at working with young people.”

      “I can see you enjoy them.”

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