At The Millionaire's Request. Teresa Southwick

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      “No, Gavin.” Her voice was brittle, as if she could shatter at any moment. She gripped the curved back of the oak chair in front of her until her knuckles turned white. “You couldn’t possibly understand how I feel because you still have your son.”

      She was right. Sean’s accident had opened a very small window into what it would have been like to lose him, but fortunately it slammed shut and he still had his boy. Any comfort he could offer seemed pathetically inadequate, however sincere.

      So he didn’t offer any. “What happened to him?”

      “Brian,” she said. “His name was Brian.”

      “Brian.” He nodded. “Tell me about him.”

      A small smile touched her lips. “He was a sweet boy. Quiet. Sensitive. Smart.”

      “Was he ill?”

      Something in her expression said that would almost have been easier. “He was hit by a car. He ran out into the street after his ball. The driver couldn’t stop in time.”

      Gavin nodded as the thought hovered in his mind.

      Who was watching him? But he couldn’t ask. It was an accident. And he’d bet ever since it happened she’d been asking herself enough questions when she wasn’t torturing herself with “if onlys.”

      That was something he could understand. If only Sean hadn’t fallen on the rocks. If only he hadn’t hit his head. If only… Sean could be his normal, active self.

      But he couldn’t. That’s why Gavin was here. “It must be a comfort to have your mother. And Brian’s father—”

      For an instant her mouth tightened and something hot and harsh flashed through her eyes. “My husband died less than six months later. He wasn’t ill, either,” she said. “Car accident.”

      “I’m sorry.” The words came out before he could stop them.

      Fate really had her in its crosshairs and her expression said sorry didn’t begin to help. It also made him think that there was much more she wasn’t saying. Any or all of which was none of his business. Not that he didn’t care. He wasn’t a heartless bastard. But he wasn’t here to rub her nose in the pain or to make her feel bad about the devastating losses she’d endured. His purpose was to secure the help his son needed to get his life back.

      “Look, M.J., you’re right. I have no idea how you feel. I can’t begin to understand. And, to be brutally frank, I don’t want to know. I came dangerously close to losing my son and that was enough.”

      “I’m sure that was difficult.” Her grip on the chair eased.

      “The time he spent in a coma was hell. Not knowing if he would live or die was torture.”

      “I can imagine.”

      And he knew she could. He could imagine that she wished to be in his shoes right now—to have the chance with her own child to bring him back from an injury. Maybe empathy would help him get through to her.

      “Sean needs your help,” he said simply.

      “My answer is still the same. I’m sorry.”

      He was right about the words being pathetically inadequate. “I’m sorry” was the polite thing for her to say, yet it made him irrationally angry. Frustration gathered inside him and threatened to blow the lid off his temper as he tried to figure out what it would take to get through to her.

      He glanced around the kitchen as if he’d find the answer there. The white appliances were spotlessly clean, but not very new. Old in fact. Wooden oak cupboards showed bare wood yellowed with age and in urgent need of refinishing. Faded yellow paint covered the walls and in the nook where the table sat, he could see chipping.

      When he’d driven up to the front door, the Victorian had charmed him with its wraparound porch and turret. Then he’d looked closer and noticed shingles missing from the peaked roof and a loose section of railing that could use repair as well as a new coat of white paint.

      Gavin looked at M.J. Her hair was pulled up, away from her face and fastened with a large clip, revealing a long graceful neck and good cheekbones. Again she was wearing slacks—black this time, with a long-sleeved cotton blouse, inexpensive and serviceable.

      He raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, if it’s about money…”

      The term “got her back up” entered his mind. Her reaction was nearly imperceptible, but he’d swear her spine turned to steel. Or maybe he was just watching carefully because money had made him a target more than once. But the word “money” had definitely put a defensive look in her eyes, just for a moment, and her chin inched a bit higher. But she didn’t respond.

      “I can pay you well.” He heard the guarded note in his own voice. He’d paid off a woman once. She’d deliberately gotten pregnant. Oh, he’d been a willing participant, but she’d lied about taking the pill. She’d threatened to terminate the pregnancy unless he paid her. He had because the life she carried was part of him. How such a mercenary, devious witch had produced a sweet-natured innocent like Sean he would never understand. But he’d fallen in love with his son at first sight and would do anything, pay anything, to bring him back. “Name your price.”

      “It’s not about money, Gavin.”

      “In what fantasyland? It’s always about money. Anyone could see I’m desperate. Why wouldn’t you manipulate the situation to get more out of me?”

      “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

      “Everyone has a price,” he snapped.

      “That’s quite a cynical attitude you’ve got there.” She folded her arms over her chest as she observed him with her cool blue eyes.

      “I earned it. School of hard knocks. You should know all about that,” he said, looking at her shiner.

      “I’m going to make an educated guess.” Absently she touched her fingers to her cheekbone. “Your wife took you for a bundle. Frankly, instead of trying to tempt me with more money, you’d be better off channeling those bucks into better legal counsel. Next time get a prenuptial agreement.”

      “There were no nuptials so an agreement was never an issue. But I don’t intend to let my guard down again.”

      “That’s the first thing you’ve said that I can relate to.”

      He had no interest in relating to her and didn’t give a damn whether or not she would trust again. That hinted at problems with her husband and the man was gone. The two of them wouldn’t get a chance to work out their issues. Gavin wasn’t unsympathetic. He simply didn’t have time to waste. All he wanted was to hire her for his son’s therapy.

      He let out a long breath and willed himself to patience. “It doesn’t take a mental giant to see that you need the money. I have lots of it. I can pay you extremely well for your expertise.” God, it sounded like he was begging, but if that would change her mind, he’d do it. “Just say the word, M.J.”

      “I can’t.”

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