Daughter of the Spellcaster. Maggie Shayne

an entrepreneur, a freaking genius, and had taken to the streets with the 99% protestors a while back. He didn’t care much for the filthy rich. He probably would have lumped Ryan in with the rest if they hadn’t become best friends in college, before Paul had known who Ryan’s father was.

      Not that it had mattered. His dad had been long gone at that point. Physically and in every other way.

      Ryan nodded in the direction of the woman, just as she laughed, revealing a wide, sexy mouth, perfect teeth. He wondered if it was a real laugh, or if she was faking it for his dad’s benefit. She wore her mounds of fox-red hair in a way that looked careless and pretended to be coming loose but wasn’t really. Her dress was a long black number that hugged her curves like a lover, with a plunging neckline that revealed cleavage to make his mouth water. He couldn’t take his eyes off the swell of her breasts until she turned just so and the slit in the dress parted to reveal a long, long leg and a thigh he wanted to trace with his tongue.

       Damn.

      “You’re like something out of a monster flick,” Paul muttered. “Perfectly nice guy transforms into a wolf right before my eyes.”

      Ryan shrugged. “Call it a hobby.”

      “I call it a lie, but you do what you want. I’m out of here. We still on for that meeting tomorrow?”

      “Yeah.” Ryan jerked his eyes away from the woman and returned them to his friend. He hadn’t been looking for a friend back when they’d met, but Paul was one of those guys you couldn’t help but like. Salt of the earth, as honest as the day was long, just a purely decent human being. So few of those around these days. And he decided not to make him suffer another minute. “Paul, the meeting’s a formality. I’ve already decided. I’m going to fund the project. I think it’s amazing technology, and there’s no one I’d rather partner with.”

      Paul just stood there blinking at him. He ran a hand over his bristly chin and blinked. Ryan thought there were tears forming in his eyes behind those Steve Jobs glasses he insisted on wearing.

      “Just remember, not a word to anyone, okay? I’m a silent partner. Though I hope you won’t mind if I come around to watch your team in action. I’m as excited about affordable solar energy for everyday Joes as you are.”

      “I don’t understand you,” Paul said softly. “I mean, yes, of course I agree to all of that, and thank you. Thank you a million times over.” He cleared his throat, looked down into the glass he held in one hand and had yet to sip from. “But why do you want to be so secretive about it? I mean, come on, Ryan. Wouldn’t it help your image to be known for funding a project to put solar energy within the reach of every American household?”

      Ryan smiled. “Help it? It would destroy it.”

      Paul blinked. “But—your image is that you’re a spoiled, self-centered, overly indulged, lazy playboy.”

      “Exactly. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m about to go play that role to the hilt. See you tomorrow.”

      Frowning and shaking his head in bewilderment, Paul muttered good-night, then turned and headed for the hallway and the curving red-carpeted staircase beyond.

      Ryan watched him until he was out of sight, just to be sure he didn’t get waylaid by anyone demanding to know who he was and what he did. If his father found out, he would want in. Because though he’d ostensibly walked away from everything, he still had that profit-seeking missile inside him, and he could smell money to be made even from a mountainside in Tibet. He would just order his “people” to handle it—buy Paul out, make him an offer even he couldn’t refuse, and then Paul would see his beautiful, world-saving, idealistic notions slowly taken over by profit-seeking bottom-liners who would turn them into something ugly but lucrative.

      Besides, Ryan needed to be part of a few projects where he could be his own man, completely free of his father’s shadow.

      Once Paul was in the clear, Ryan made his way through the throng, pausing to return the greetings of all those in attendance, most of whom disapproved of him and made no secret about it, not that he cared, to his father, who stood out even in this crowd of standout individuals.

      Ryan had inherited his height from Ernst, who was broad-shouldered and narrow in the hip. In a tux, the man could stop traffic and impose palpitations on female hearts of any age, race or, Ryan suspected, sexual orientation.

      But he didn’t care. As far as he knew, Ernst hadn’t been with a woman since his wife, Sarah. Since her death twenty-two years ago, when Ryan had been eleven, Ernst had never been seen, photographed or even rumored to be dallying with any other woman. He must either have gone celibate or been impeccably discreet. Ryan didn’t see him enough to know which, because, as far as he was concerned, Ernst had also lost his mind at that time. His love for Ryan’s mother had been—all-consuming. Too strong. In the end it had destroyed him.

      You wouldn’t know it to look at him. He was still a billionaire, still one of the most striking, fascinating men in the world, but a part of him had died that day. The good part.

      Beside Ernst, as always, was Bahru, his “spiritual advisor.” He always wore red-and-white robes, was bone-thin, and both his hair and his endless beard of thick, dark dreadlocks had puffs of white showing through here and there. His age was impossible to determine, but for the first time Ryan thought he was showing signs of aging.

      Ryan nodded at Bahru, who gave him a pressed-palm “namaste” bow in return. Then he extended a hand toward his father. “Congratulations, Dad.”

      “Thank you, Ryan.” His father took his hand in a firm shake and lifted his free arm as if to embrace him, but then sort of eased off and settled for a shoulder pat right at the end.

      Awkward. But that was just how things were between them. His father had abandoned him, motherless and eleven, to go off with his guru. He’d put a gulf between them, and it had only widened since.

      Then Ryan turned his attention to the actual reason he’d crossed the room to begin with. The gorgeous female. He didn’t look her in the eye but let his gaze stay lowered while he clasped her hand and brought it to his lips. “Ryan McNally,” he said, before he kissed the back of that hand.

      Then he straightened and met her eyes.

      She stared at him, her big green eyes getting even bigger. She looked at him almost as if she recognized him, but he was damn sure he’d never seen her before. That he would have remembered. “It’s you,” she whispered, and then she jerked her head to the left, as if someone standing next to her had said something.

      But no one was standing there.

      She tugged her suddenly cold, suddenly trembling hand free of his and said, “Um, I— Lena. Magdalena Dunkirk. I have to go.”

      Turning, she hurried away, then stopped and looked over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. It was lovely to meet you.”

      Then she was gone, hurrying through the ballroom in heels that should have made speed impossible, while Ryan kept his eyes on her ass the entire way. The dress hugged it tight enough to show what a really nice ass it was.

      “Was it something I said?” he asked, turning back to his father only after she was out the door.

      “Maybe your reputation preceded you,” Ernst said. “But that’s just as well. She’s a nice girl. I wouldn’t want you breaking her heart.”

      “I don’t really want anything to do with her heart,” Ryan said.

      I should have known right then that she was trouble, he thought. Should have steered clear of her at all costs.

      But how could he have known that she would be the one to break his heart? For the first and only time in his life.

      She had run away after a nearly-two-month-long relationship that had been sheer fire because he hadn’t become serious about her fast enough for her liking. At least