The Playboy Takes a Wife. Crystal Green

miffed by her reluctance.

      Still, he’d respected her refusal to turn their alone time into something more, had seen the warmth in her eyes when she’d talked about being with the kids. Lord knew Lucas didn’t hang out with many people who had ambitions beyond planning the next party or acquiring the next “big thing” that would make them a Donald Trump overnight. She was refreshing, so why change her into one of his social casualties?

      Especially since he was supposed to be turning over that new leaf.

      As David summoned the limo and took a phone call outside, the last of the orphans said goodbye to Lucas. Gabriel, the kid who’d been so friendly at the beginning of the day, had seemed oddly shy at the reception, adhering to Alicia—who’d kept her distance from across the room—the entire time.

      But, now that the excitement had died down, the dervish Gabriel was back, zipping over to Lucas with the verve of a tightly packed hurricane. He was carrying the jacket Alicia had been wearing.

      “Hi,” he said, giving the material to Lucas and shuffling from foot to foot.

      Alicia followed him over, and Lucas perked up even more.

      “He’s practicing English on you,” she said, acting as if he hadn’t invaded her personal bubble earlier.

      Maybe her polite cheer would force Lucas to be a good boy around her.

      “Well, then…” He hunkered down to eye level with Gabriel. “Hi, back to you, too.”

      That was the boy’s cue. Gabriel started to rattle off a breathless description of all the food he’d eaten today, and Lucas listened attentively. Somewhere in back of him, an enterprising reporter clicked away with a camera. Obviously, at least one of them hadn’t gone home, after all.

      Photo op. Lucas had stumbled into a nice one, hadn’t he?

      It wasn’t until Gabriel stopped chatting and started watching him with those big dark eyes that Lucas realized his throat was stinging with an emotion he couldn’t identify.

      What the hell?

      Brushing it off, he chalked it up to seeing evidence of the good those English lessons had done.

      He abruptly stood, averting his face, ignoring thoughts of all the numb days that had been linking his existence together.

      His sight settled on his brother, who was lounging by the doorway, tucking his phone into a suit pocket, face pensive.

      Keep it together, he told himself.

      By the time Gabriel tugged on Lucas’s pants, Lucas had collected himself enough to turn around again.

      The child stood there, dark eyes wide and playful. “Come on, come on. Hide-and-seeks.”

      As the child jumped up and down and tried to lure Lucas out of the casa, a nun from across the room called to the boy.

      “It’s time for chores, Gabriel. Say goodbye now.”

      The child frowned, looking as if he didn’t comprehend why the fun had to end. Then, without warning, he turned to Alicia and fired a barrage of upset Spanish words that Lucas couldn’t translate. His tone was choked, his hands fisted in front of him as he punched the air.

      Lucas’s chest tightened with concern, with empathy.

      But when Alicia patiently reached out to smooth Gabriel’s spiky hair, just the way you would your own child, the boy paused, at first shaking his head and denying her. But as she spoke soothing words, Gabriel allowed her to get closer, closer.

      Carefully, she drew him to her, continuing to murmur as she hugged him and smoothed a hand up and down his back.

      Thank God, within a few seconds, Gabriel had stopped, his head resting on her shoulder, one hand fisting the material of her blouse.

      In his eyes Lucas saw those reflections again, the painted shadows of his own heart buried beneath this kid’s chest. The need to find someone who could help him, too.

      The words slipped out before Lucas could rein them in. “We’ll hide-and-seek next time, Gabe, huh?”

      He didn’t know why he’d said it. Dammit, when would he ever be coming back here?

      But then that beautiful smile lit over Alicia’s lips, and Lucas knew it wouldn’t take much more persuasion.

      “See you soon, then, Mr. Chandler,” Alicia said, leading Gabriel away and acting calm enough to fool him into thinking that nothing dramatic had just happened with the kid. “Thank you for everything.”

      Lucas nodded, unable to stop himself from appreciating the way her curvy hips swiveled under that shapeless skirt. She gave real nice form to it, that was for sure.

      Before reaching the door, she sent him one last glance, and the power of it just about bowled him over. All she did was smile a little, and his world tipped.

      What was it about her? In that smile it seemed as if she could read his mind, slip beneath his skin, whisper inside his head.

      I know you’re hurting, he imagined the smile saying. And I understand.

      After they’d left, Lucas finally took a breath.

      Realizing that he’d been holding the same one for what seemed like hours.

      David had already gone outside by the time Lucas had said his farewells to the orphanage director. The Brain was waiting for his brother near the limo, where they had a view of the property: the main building, the annexes and the cottages, the chapel, the stables.

      Arms crossed casually over his chest, David assessed Lucas, eyes a cool blue. With his stoic/casual pose, he looked like a stone-carved cowboy.

      “Guess who called?” David said.

      Lucas knew the answer before being told. “What’s the damage from the old man this time? Or is he announcing another future stepmom who’s two years older than I am?”

      Well practiced in this line of conversation—one that never went anywhere—David kept his silence. Instead, his body language said it all: the loose limbs that spoke of a man in control of his own destiny, the slight tensing of his jaw that hinted at tension between the brothers. David was a big fan of Lucas’s hands-off business approach; he didn’t mind running everything while Lucas flashed his smile to the world at large. It was Lucas’s majority holding in the corporation’s stocks—a contract-tight promise his father had made to his first wife that included always seeing that Lucas, the firstborn, would own the company—that got to the Brain.

      “Just spill it,” Lucas said, tired of waiting.

      “He wanted an update. Wanted to know if today’s events were enough to impress Tadmere and Company.”

      Tadmere, the family-oriented American media empire they were trying to acquire. Owning them would revitalize TCO, as well as give them more of an avenue to compete with the print rags and news shows that made a living off stalking Lucas. But the current, very pious owners were balking at turning over “their baby” to a company supposedly led by a man of Lucas’s reputation. It was Tadmere—and that scandalous Rome trip—that had prompted this whole personal PR campaign to make him look like a “nice guy.”

      “And what did you tell him?” he asked nonchalantly, as was his habit. His dad hated when he did that.

      And Lucas thrived on it.

      “I told him things went perfectly.” David glanced at his Rolex and stood away from the limo. “He was happy about that, Luke. Really happy.”

      A splinter of euphoria stabbed at his chest, making him bleed a little. It happened every time the old man seemed to be coming around, ever since he’d survived the stroke. But, even now, Lucas wasn’t about to get too giddy; Ford Chandler would return to prehealth-scare form soon enough. Lucas wasn’t about to set himself up for a fall.

      “I’m sure