In the Manor with the Millionaire. Cassie Miles

he never touched anyone or anything with his bare hands, she placed a glowing white shell on the ground before him. “It’s for you, Duncan.”

      If he didn’t pick it up, she’d think he was scared. Then she’d laugh at him and run away. So, he leaned down and grabbed the shell. It burned his hand. He couldn’t let go. Shivers ran up his arm. There was a roar inside his head.

      “Temperance.” He gasped.

      “I am here, Duncan. I will always be here for you.”

      His eyes closed and he fell to the ground. In his mind, he saw a whole different place. A different time: Sunset. He was at the bottom of the cliff, near the rocks that stuck out into the waves.

      He moaned and tried to get up. Something very bad had happened in this place and time, something that had to do with the shell.…

      He saw a pretty lady with curly black hair. Sofia, her name was Sofia. She had on a long white dress, kind of like the one Temperance wore, and she was lying on the rocks. Duncan felt her fear. Inside his head, he heard her silent screams for help, but she was too weak to move. Couldn’t even lift a finger.

      Someone else chanted. In a low voice, he sang about the sea. The dangers of the sea. The curse of the sea.

      Duncan couldn’t see his face. But he knew. This man was very bad. Very strong. Very mean. He put a necklace of seashells over Sofia’s head.

      “No,” Duncan cried out. “Stop him. No.”

      The bad man pulled the necklace tighter and tighter. He twisted hard. Duncan felt the shells bite into his own throat. He couldn’t breathe.

      Lying on the wet grasses, he shook and shook. He was crying. He heard grunts and whimpers, and he knew the sounds were coming from him.

      His eyes opened.

      There was a lady kneeling beside him. She wore glasses. Her hair was pulled back, but some had got loose. It was black and curly. She looked kind of like Sofia. He whispered the name. “Sofia?”

      “My name is Madeline,” she said, reaching toward him. “Are you—”

      “Don’t,” he yelled. “Don’t touch me. Never touch.”

      She held up both hands. “Okay. Whatever you say. You’re Duncan, right?”

      He sat up and looked around for Temperance. She was gone. But he still held the shell in his hand. It was a warning. Temperance had warned him about the bad man.

      He scrambled to his feet. Where was Temperance? Where was his friend? “She sells seashells…”

      “By the seashore.” The lady smiled and stood beside him. She was tall for a girl. “She sells seashells.”

      “By the seashore,” he said.

      She pointed. “Do you see that light over there? I’ll bet that’s your father’s flashlight.”

      “He’s going to be mad. I was inappropriate.”

      Madeline looked down at the sopping-wet boy in his jeans and T-shirt. A terrible sadness emanated from this child. She longed to cuddle him in her arms and reassure him, but she’d promised not to touch.

      “There’s nothing wrong with being inappropriate,” she said. “I’ve often been that way myself.”

      He stared up at her. “Are you a freak?”

      “Absolutely.” She took off her glasses, tried wiping the lenses on her damp shirt and gave up, stowing them in the pocket of her skirt. “It takes someone courageous to be different. I think you’re very brave, Duncan.”

      The hint of a smile curved his mouth. “You do?”

      “Very brave indeed.” She bobbed her head. “Let’s find your father.”

      When the boy took off running toward the flashlight’s beacon, Madeline had a hard time keeping up. The two- inch heels on the beige leather pumps she’d worn to create a professional appearance for her interview made divots in the rain-soaked earth.

      The flashlight’s beam wavered, then charged in their direction. In seconds, a tall man in a hooded rain poncho was upon them. He held out his arms to Duncan, but the boy stopped a few yards away and folded his arms across his skinny torso. “I’m okay, Daddy.”

      “Thank God,” his father murmured. “I was worried.”

      “I’m okay,” Duncan shouted.

      Blake Monroe dropped to one knee. He reached toward his son. Without touching the boy, he caressed the air around him with such poignancy that Madeline’s heart ached.

      Before she’d set out on this journey, she’d taken a couple of minutes to check out Blake Monroe on the Internet. An internationally renowned architect and designer, he’d worked in Berlin, Paris and all over the United States, most notably on historic renovations and exclusive boutique hotels. His international fame was somewhat intimidating, but right now he was a frightened parent whose only concern was the safety of his child.

      Blake stood, whipped off his poncho and dropped it around his son’s shoulders.

      When he turned toward her, a flash of lightning illuminated his high cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw. Even without her glasses, she realized that he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen.

      The rain started up with renewed fury, lashing against his broad shoulders, but he didn’t cower the way she did. His powerful presence suggested a strength that could match the raging storm. His fiery gaze met her eyes, and a sizzle penetrated her cold, wet body.

      “Who are you?”

      “Madeline Douglas. I’m here about the teaching position.”

      “What were you doing out here with my son?”

      There was an unmistakable accusation in his question. He blamed her? Did he think she’d lured Duncan out of the house in this storm?

      Fumbling in her pocket, she found her glasses and stuck them onto her nose, wishing she had a ten-inch-thick shield of bulletproof glass to protect herself from his hostility. “I was driving along the road, just coming out of the forest. And I had a bit of an accident with Dr. Fisher.”

      “The owner of the Manor,” Blake said. “Nice move.”

      Though Madeline had done nothing wrong, she felt defensive. “We decided that the damage was too minor to report. Then we heard something from the forest. Voices.” With Duncan standing here, she decided not to mention Dr. Fisher’s gun. “I followed the sound of Duncan’s voice. Found him at the edge of the trees.”

      “She did,” Duncan said. “She’s pretty. I thought she was Sofia.”

      Blake tensed. He hunkered down so his eyes were level with his son’s. “What name did you say?”

      “Poor, poor Sofia. She’s with Mama and the angels.”

      “Did you see something, Duncan?”

      “No,” he shouted. “No, no, no.”

      “Let’s go inside,” Blake said.

      Duncan spun in a circle. “Where’s Temperance? She’s my friend.”

      “Time for bed, son. Back to the house. You can count the steps.”

      The boy walked toward the front door in a perfectly straight line, counting each step aloud.

      Without saying another word to her, Blake walked beside him.

      “Hey,” she called after them. “Should I bring my car around to the front?”

      “I don’t give a damn what you do.”

      A scream of sheer frustration crawled up the back of her throat. This trip was cursed. Every instinct warned her to give up, to turn back, find another