The Playboy Takes a Wife. Crystal Green

a small house off the profits from the impetuous sale of her deceased grandparents’ home. She had pleaded with the orphanage’s director to be the one who played hostess to the billionaire, to be the one who secured a bundle of money for their needs.

      She had to succeed in her goal for the orphanage today, to do whatever she could to be a decent person and fight for their requirements. Had to. The more money she raised, the more she could forget about the stain on her soul left by her abuelo’s dying words.

      “So you’ve met him?” she said to the visitor, testing the waters. “Lucas Chandler? Do you think he’s a kindhearted sort of guy?”

      The man seemed taken aback, but then he fought a smile, clearly knowing something Alicia didn’t. “Kindhearted? I suppose that depends on when you catch him.”

      “Oh.” Heaviness settled on her shoulders.

      “What?”

      He leaned forward, encouraging her. From just his smallest movement, Alicia’s pulse kicked, sending a swirl of scrambled yearning to her chest. But passion wasn’t on her daily schedule. Not when it was so important for her to wait for a respectable marriage; it was the only way to experience what came between a man and woman. Marriage made sex pure and right.

      She drew the jacket closer around her body. “Truthfully? We were hoping that he’s one to part easily with his money.”

      Well, that had come out wrong. Maybe she was just too flustered around this man; Lord knew she was more articulate than this. She’d meant to say that she hoped he would be generous to the children, that’s all.

      And she could tell that she’d surprised him with her words—her greedy-sounding, awful words. Well done, muchacha, well done.

      His shoulders had stiffened. She rushed to correct herself but was interrupted.

      “Alicia!”

      She turned around to find Guillermo Ramos, head of the orphanage, rushing toward her. His crown of salt-and-pepper hair fluttered with the speed of his gait and his slender mustache twitched. Someone was in a snit.

      “It’s not quite time to start the greeting,” she said in English, not wanting to leave their visitor out of the loop. “The children should be ready in a few more minutes.” “No, we are clearly starting now.” Guillermo stopped suddenly, hand to heart. “Mr. Chandler, I am Guillermo Ramos. We have talked on the phone.”

      Alicia glanced at the stranger, who had gotten to his feet, hand outstretched toward Guillermo.

      Mr. Chandler?

      Good heavens, she was crushing on the billionaire?

      “Good to see you, Señor Ramos,” he said.

      Gulp.

      Alicia anxiously fiddled with the charm bracelet she always wore, but Guillermo was all smiles.

      “I see Senorita Sanchez has been entertaining you during our delay—which I apologize for profusely,” he said.

      “Our future Sister Alicia’s been doing an exceptional job.” The stranger—no, Lucas Chandler, the billionaire—turned to her. Now, with the title and money, he seemed…different. More imposing and definitely even more off-limits. “We were just small talking.”

      Yes, she thought. Due to her ill-chosen words at the end of their conversation, she had obviously gotten smaller and smaller in his estimation.

      And…future Sister Alicia? Who did he think she was?

      “I am glad to hear it,” Guillermo said. “But you must know that Senorita Sanchez is not with Our Lady of the Lost Souls.” Here he laughed a little. “She is not even a Catholic, but we are fortunate that she is working in our company.”

      At those words Lucas Chandler’s eyes lit up, changing him from an average visitor to everything the other orphanage employees had been whispering about.

      Playboy. Ultimate bachelor. Devil in disguise.

      “Excellent.” He leveled that lethal dimple-edged smile at Alicia once again. “That’s some excellent information to know.”

      She swallowed hard, feeling as if he’d whipped the jacket right off her.

      Exposing everything she’d been covering up.

      Chapter Two

      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,