Their Soul Mate [The Hot Millionaires #5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (2 page)

Justine almost leapt out of her skin but made do with straightening up and bashing her head on the car’s open hood.

“Ouch, shit!”

She rubbed her scalp and glanced at the man who’d caused her to almost knock herself out. Then she glanced for a second time. Even with a dented head, aching feet, and dirty water splattered all over her, she still recognized a hunk when she saw one. How come she hadn’t heard him? She’d been looking out for approaching cars, but the moment she got distracted, one obviously came along. A shiny BMW sat just behind Malcolm, engine running smoothly and quietly, as though to highlight Malcolm’s shortcomings.

“Sorry,” the man said. “Didn’t mean to creep up on you and scare you.”

“It’s okay.”

He could scare her any time he liked. She might have sworn off men whilst she nursed a broken heart, but there was nothing to say she couldn’t window-shop. Over six foot of hard muscle, wearing jeans that looked as though they’d been sculpted on, and an open-necked denim shirt, this guy had a smile that was as sexy as get-go. Sparkling blue eyes assessed her from beneath a thick fringe of brown hair, as though he found what he saw amusing. She could only imagine what she must look like, so she couldn’t really take exception.

“Know what the problem is?”

She wanted to say that the damned engine had conked out, but curbed her tongue. She needed his help, and sarcasm probably wouldn’t cut it.

“Lots of steam,” she said vaguely, putting on the helpless female bit. Whatever it took. Besides, she
was
helpless. “I thought the radiator.”

“Let’s have a look.”

His head disappeared beneath the hood, and Justine got treated to an up-close view of a very neat butt. Suddenly, her day had just gotten a whole lot better.

“Yep,” he said, reemerging and catching her eyeing his ass. She was furious when she felt colour flood her cheeks. “It’s the radiator hose. Got any duct tape?”

“Er…no, sorry.”

“Not to worry.” He strode toward the Beemer. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said, flashing a grin over his shoulder.

Like she could!

He came back clutching a roll of tape and a bottle of water. He made the repair, filled the radiator with the water, and shut the hood.

“Try it now,” he said.

Justine slid behind the wheel, turned the key, and the engine sprang to life. She could have wept with gratitude. Now, if she really hurried, she would hardly be late at all.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said to her saviour.

He treated her to another sexy smile. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of a way.”

Justine froze. She’d been so uptight about the car that she only just realized the guy had an American accent.

“Please tell me your name’s not Wendell.”

He shot her a strange look. “No, actually it’s Cody. Cody Stowell.” He offered her his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Justine Trent,” she supplied. “And trust me, the pleasure’s all mine.”

“Where you headed?”

“A big house called Grantham Park. Apparently, it’s a bit further along this road and I can’t miss it. Do you know where it is?”

“I’m passing that way myself. Shall I lead?”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

She was sorry he hadn’t wanted to take it further. He did say he’d think of a way for her to thank him, but he obviously didn’t mean it. He pulled out ahead of her and a short time later indicated right. She followed him and called yet again on her endless supply of swear words. He’d swung into the driveway of what looked like a mansion. Iron gates in need of a coat of paint stood open, and she followed Cody’s car up an unkempt gravel driveway. The house loomed in the distance like something out of a horror movie—all gables, windows in impossible places, peeling paintwork, and atmosphere.

Yes, definitely atmosphere.

All it needed was a bit of curling mist rising from the ground and it could have come straight from a Hollywood set. Even so, there was something strangely peaceful about its state of neglect. Justine was a city girl through and through, but even she could appreciate the serenity of this place.

Cody needn’t have driven in. She could have found her own way from the gates, but he seemed to want to make sure that his temporary repair held. Well, at least he cared about Malcolm, she thought, trying not to feel too miffed that she didn’t qualify for the same level of concern.

“Thanks so much,” she said, climbing out of the car at the front steps and buttoning her jacket so that it hid the worst of the stains on her blouse. “I really appreciate this.”

“No problem. You need to get that hose fixed properly soon, though. It won’t hold like that for long.”

“Yes, I know. Malcolm’s a man, so he needs a lot of TLC.”

“Malcolm?”

“My Mini,” she said, indicating her ancient car with an affectionate wave, having forgiven him for blowing…well, whatever it was that he’d blown. She glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes late. It could have been worse.”

“You here for an interview?”

“Yes.” She was too preoccupied to wonder how he knew. “Wish me luck.”

He leaned against his shiny car and flashed a slow, lazy grin. “Something tells me you won’t need it.” He levered himself off the hood and strolled toward her. “You might wanna clean up a bit, though.” He removed a handkerchief from his pocket—a man who still carried a handkerchief?—moistened the material with his tongue and gently rubbed it against her cheek and over her nose. She froze, reacting all the way to her pussy, which began to leak. His cocky grin told her that he knew it. “Engine dirt,” he said succinctly, returning the handkerchief to his pocket. “Knock ’em dead,” he added, blowing her a kiss.

Justine waved to Cody, climbed the crumbling steps, and tugged her jacket into place. This was it—do or die.

The first person she saw was a stunning woman who looked as though she’d stepped off the pages of
Vogue
. This paragon of style was perfectly made-up, wore a designer suit, exuded confidence and, unlike Justine, didn’t have a hair out of place. Justine self-consciously tucked a few errant strands of her own crowning glory behind her ears. She’d managed to persuade her rebellious hair to behave itself for once and had styled it in a simple yet elegant chignon. Well, it had been elegant until the hood of her car joined the party.

Sighing, Justine turned away from the woman, feeling unequal to facing such glamorous opposition. And, as she’d rightly feared, she was the opposition. She knew because a deep American voice rang out from the room behind the woman, thanking her for coming and saying he’d be in touch.

“I might as well have stayed and flirted with Cody,” she mumbled to herself. “It would have been a damned sight more fun.”

The woman spared Justine a pitying glance and left. Justine wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now. She stood in a draughty yet spacious entrance hall, but there was nowhere to sit and no one knew she was here. Perhaps she should go out and ring the doorbell this time. It was just that the door had been open and she’d assumed… What had she assumed? Well, that this was some sort of a business enterprise, she supposed, and there would be a receptionist at the very least.

Several minutes elapsed as Justine stood there, feeling conspicuous and unsure of herself. She could hear a murmured conversation coming from the room where the Yank was. Did he have another applicant ahead of Justine? She was starting to get annoyed now. She’d broken her neck, and Malcolm’s radiator hose, to get here, and now
he
was keeping
her
waiting.

“Okay,” she said, doing what she always did when she was nervous, and speaking aloud. “I’m going to make a more dramatic entrance.”

Before she could do so, that same voice boomed out again.

“Ms. Trent, come in please.”

“Oh hell, here goes.”

Fortunately, along with the lack of furniture, there were no mirrors for her to avoid looking in. Her confidence was at an all-time low, and she really didn’t need to make matters worse by confirming that she looked a wreck. She held her document case a little tighter. It contained little other than a copy of her résumé, but she thought it made her look professional. Throwing back her shoulders and reminding herself that she could do this, she entered the lion’s den.

The moment she stepped over the threshold she did a double take. Cody was ruggedly good-looking but was nothing compared to the Greek god who stood to greet her. A good six-two, she thought, with deep, intelligent eyes that appeared to be almost as black as his hair. Hell, she’d thought her American would be an aging tycoon who’d settled to a life of reclusive academia.

So much for that theory.

She realized she was gaping and pulled herself together. It was a moment before she saw the second person in the room, standing at Wendell’s shoulder, looking decided amused.

“Hello,” Cody said amiably. “We meet again.”

“You!” Justine glared at Cody. “What are you doing here?”

Cody shrugged. “I live here, kinda.”

“But you said your name was Stowell.”

“This is my partner, Zac Wendell. Zac, meet Malcolm’s mom.”

“Malcolm?”

Zac scratched his head. He’d just listened to a garbled explanation of how Cody had rescued his last interviewee of the day and that she was quite something. He hadn’t said anything about her having a son called Malcolm. Not that he cared at that point if she had a dozen kids. He just couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. She appeared to be hot and bothered,
hot
being the operative word. The last woman he’d interviewed had been a real babe, and knew it. She had an impressive résumé and would probably be efficient at the job on offer. But Zac had known almost at once that he wouldn’t be able to work with her. Besides, she’d gotten that predatory look in her eye the moment she saw him. It was a look he’d seen way too often in the past, and it always spelt trouble.

Ms. Trent, on the other hand, was a few pounds overweight but carried it in all the right places. Her tits were definitely genuine, and she had legs that went on forever. She didn’t appear to know it, but she exuded sex appeal by the bucket load simply because she didn’t try to.

She wasn’t a knockout in the beauty stakes, but she had the sort of face that became more interesting the longer one looked at it. A light dusting of freckles joined up across her nose, along with the remnants of what looked like engine oil. Zac was filled with a fierce desire to wipe it away but disciplined himself to resist. Her hair was several different shades of dark blonde and, judging by the lack of dark roots, also genuine. A couple of long strands had escaped from the severe style she’d gone for, and she kept tucking them behind her ears. She had large hazel eyes—arguably her finest feature—and right now those eyes were fixed with displeasure on Cody.

Zac tried not to laugh as he continued to sum her up. Her clothes were good-quality designer knock-offs, but she wore expensive and highly impractical shoes. What was it about women and shoes? Her body was all hollows and curves, and Zac couldn’t help liking what he saw. He’d had more than his share of women who lived on rabbit food and revelled in being skin and bone. Females with character and a bit of substance to them ticked all his boxes, and his first impressions of Ms. Trent didn’t disappoint.

Cool it, Zac. She’s here for an interview, and that sure ain’t what you’re thinking about right now.

“You told me you didn’t know Mr. Wendell,” she said to Cody accusingly.

“No, I said I wasn’t him.”

“I’m him,” Zac said, tired of being treated as though he wasn’t there, and taking control by offering Justine his hand. “And you, I take it, are Cody’s good deed for the day.”

She shook his hand but still glowered at Cody. “You could have said you were his partner.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a chance, did you now.” Cody grinned at her. “You were in too much of a hurry to get here.”

“Even so.”

“And I got you here.” Cody’s grin broadened. “Right on time.”

“Malcolm’s my car,” she said to Zac, still not looking at him.

He raised both brows. “You give your car a name?”

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

Zac was highly amused. He’d already interviewed five women this morning. Bored with the way they’d all tried to impress him, it hadn’t left him in the best of moods. This one seemed more intent upon berating Cody, which was hardly the best way to get the job, but at least it gave Zac something to smile about. None of the applicants he’d seen today would suit. Why was it so fucking hard to get decent help in this country?

“Have a seat,” Zac said, plonking himself down behind his desk.

“Well, at least there’s somewhere to sit in here,” she said, finally turning her attention to him.

“We just moved in.”

He watched her as she glanced round his makeshift office. The rest of the place might still be a wreck, but his office was state-of-the-art. It had to be. It was his way of keeping in touch with his empire and was the first thing he established, no matter where he happened to be in the world.