Billionaire Bachelors: Stone. Anne Marie Winston

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      “He could have.” Stone’s chin jutted forward in a movement she recognized from the time he’d descended on the school to talk to her math teacher about giving her a failing grade on a test she’d been unable to take because she’d had pneumonia. “Besides,” he said, “it’s not as if it’s made a big dent in my pocketbook. Last time I checked, there were a few million left.”

      She shook her head. “I still don’t feel right about taking your money. Do you have any idea how I felt when I learned that you’d been paying my way for years?”

      “How did you find out, anyway?” He ignored her question.

      “In February I went to the bank to talk about my father’s investments—I thought it would be good for me to start getting a handle on them since you’d no longer be responsible for me after my twenty-first birthday, which is coming up later this year. I assumed I’d take on responsibility for my mother’s finances then, as well. That’s when I learned that every item in my family’s budget for eight years had been paid for by you.” Despite her vow to remain calm, tears welled in her eyes. “I was appalled. Someone should have told me.”

      “And what good would that have done, other than to distress you needlessly?”

      “I could have gotten a job right out of high school, begun to support myself.”

      “Faith,” he said with ill-concealed impatience. “You were not quite thirteen years old when your father died. Do you really think I would have left you and your mother to struggle alone?”

      “It wasn’t your decision to make,” she insisted with stubborn pride, swallowing the tears.

      “It was,” he said in a tone that brooked no opposition. “It is. Your mother appointed me your guardian. Besides, if you finish your education you’ll be able to get a heck of a lot better job than working as a salesclerk at Saks.”

      “Does my mother know the truth?”

      Stone shook his head. “She believes I oversee your investments and take care of the bills out of the income. Her doctors tell me stress is bad for MS patients. Why distress her needlessly?”

      It made sense. And in an objective way, she admired his compassion. But it still horrified her to think of the money he’d spent.

      The waiter returned then with their meal and the conversation paused until he’d set their entrées before them. They both were quiet for the next few moments.

      Stone ate with deep concentration, his dark brows drawn together, obviously preoccupied with something.

      She hated to be keeping him from something important but when she said as much, he replied, “You were the only thing on my agenda for today.”

      Really, there wasn’t anything she could say in response to that, she thought, suppressing a smile. “Since that’s the case,” she finally said, “I’d really like to have an accounting of how much I owe you—”

      “Do not ask me that one more time.” Stone’s deep voice vibrated with suppressed anger.

      She gave up. If Stone wouldn’t tell her, she could figure out a rough estimate, at least, by combining tuition fees with a living allowance. And she should be able to get a record of her mother’s fees from her doctor. “I have to get back to work soon,” she said in the coolest, most polite manner she could muster.

      Stone’s head came up; he eyed her expression. “Hell,” he said. “You’re already mad at me; I might as well get it all over with at once.”

      “I’d prefer that you don’t swear in my presence.” She lifted her chin. Then his words penetrated. “What do you mean?”

      “You’re not going back to work.”

      “Excuse me?” Her voice was frosty.

      He hesitated. “I phrased that badly. I want you to quit work.”

      She stared at him. “Are you crazy? And live on what?”

      He scowled. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

      “I can take care of myself. I won’t always be a salesclerk. I’m taking night classes starting in the summer,” she said. Despite her efforts to remain calm, her voice began to rise. “It’s going to take longer this way but I’ll finish.”

      “What are you studying?” His sudden capitulation wasn’t expected.

      She eyed him with suspicion. “Business administration and computer programming. I’d like to start my own business in Web design one of these days.”

      His eyebrows rose. “Ambitious.”

      “And necessary,” she said. “Mama’s getting worse. She’s going to need ’round-the-clock care one of these days. I need to be able to provide the means for her to have it.”

      “You know I’ll always take care of your mother.”

      “That’s not the point!” She wanted to bang her head—or his—against the table in frustration.

      “My father would have expected me to take care of you. That’s the point.” He calmly sat back against the banquette, unfazed by her aggravation, an elegant giant with the classic features of a Greek god, and she was struck again by how handsome he was. When they’d entered The Rainbow Room, she’d been aware of the ripple of feminine interest that his presence had attracted. She’d been ridiculously glad that she was wearing her black Donna Karan today. It might be a few years old but it was a gorgeous garment and she felt more confident simply slipping it on. Then she remembered that his money had paid for the dress, and her pleasure in her appearance drained away.

      “I’m sure your father would be pleased that you’ve done your duty,” she said with a note of asperity. “But we will not continue to accept your charity.”

      He grimaced. “Bullhead.”

      “Look who’s talking.” But she couldn’t resist the gleam in his eye and she smiled back at him despite the gnawing feeling of humiliation that had been lodged in her belly since the day she’d found out she was essentially a pauper. “Now take me back to work. My lunch hour is almost over.”

      He heaved an impatient sigh. “This is against my better judgment.”

      She leaned forward, making her best effort to look intimidating. “Just think about how miserable I will make your life if you don’t. I’m sure your judgment will improve quickly.”

      He shot her a quirky grin. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

      He didn’t want to notice her.

      She had been an unofficial little sister during his youth, and his responsibility since her father had died. She was ten years younger than he was. He was her guardian, for God’s sake!

      But as he handed her back into the car after their meal, his eye was caught by the slim length of her leg in the elegant high heels as she stepped in, by the way her simple dress hugged the taut curve of her thigh as she slid across the seat, by the soft press of pert young СКАЧАТЬ