Reflected Pleasures

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

“T
ake it,” the old gypsy, Passionata Chagari, demanded. “The mirror is meant for no one else.”

She narrowed her eyes and watched as Tyson Steele glanced over his shoulder at the empty French Market square behind him. Passionata snickered as he looked for the cameras that would mean this was some kind of practical joke. She knew nothing but darkness would meet his gaze at this late hour.

The gypsy sensed Tyson setting his shoulders with determined skepticism. This young Steele heir had appeared tall and strong-willed as he'd swaggered to her corner. She was well aware that an hour ago he'd been at a meeting with his cousin, Nicholas Scoville, who'd claimed he had been given a gift of an antique book from a strange gypsy earlier in the evening at this very place.

She chuckled, knowing that pure curiosity was what had brought the young Texas native out into the quiet New Orleans night. This heir to the gypsy magic would not be so easily won over as was his cousin. But she knew her duty.

On her father's deathbed, she had given her word.

“I'm not accepting anything from you until I know the scam,” Tyson Steele told her with a scowl.

“I want nothing. I bring your legacy.”

“Legacy? I'm not in the mood for games. What the hell are you talking about?”

The gypsy spread her lips in an enigmatic smile. “I know the reason for your somber mood, young man. You spent the better part of the day at your great-aunt Lucille's funeral. And you have already been told that you were not mentioned in her will.”

“That doesn't matter,” he insisted. “I don't need her money now. She gave me everything I needed years ago, when it mattered the most. I could never have repaid that debt in a thousand lifetimes.”

“This gift comes not from Lucille Steele,” Passionata told him sharply. “But it is because of her kindnesses that you have been so honored by the wise and powerful gypsy king who was also in her debt.”

“Excuse me?” Tyson backed up and put his hands in his pockets, trying fruitlessly to keep her from placing the golden mirror into his hands. “What king?”

“My father, Karl Chagari, king of the gypsies, master tinker and magician.” She lowered her voice and took the proper deferential tone. “He has at long last gone ahead to the ancestors…as has Lucille. But he charged me with settling his debts.”

Tyson eyed the antique mirror in her hands and she could hear him wondering to himself if it was stolen property. “Sorry about your father, ma'am. But uh… I don't think so. Thanks anyway.

“I shouldn't have come here,” he argued. “But my cousin Nick said something so ridiculous that I just had to see for myself.”

“It
is
magic, Tyson Steele,” the gypsy hissed. “And it is your legacy…designed just for you. It will take you to your heart's desire.”

“The only thing I desire is someone to fill the vacant fund-raising assistant's position at my charitable foundation,” Tyson muttered. “And it isn't likely that a ‘magic' hand mirror will be helping me with an applicant.”

Passionata knew that at the exclusive personnel office where Tyson Steele had met his cousin earlier this evening, the young heir hadn't been able to find anyone who would agree to relocate to his remote town in deep south Texas. Tyson was frustrated. She'd planned it that way.

The gypsy shoved the mirror in his direction and concentrated her efforts on making him want a better look.

At last Tyson reached out and took the mirror from her hands, turned it over and inspected the back. Passionata saw his amazement when he spotted his name engraved in the gold-leaf scrollwork, adorning the sides and back.

“What the devil…?” he stammered.

“You see? It belongs to you, and you alone.”

Tyson flipped it over to inspect the mirror's front side, and Passionata nearly laughed aloud.

“I don't see my image,” he complained. “This isn't a mirror. It's simple glass. I don't understand.”

“The true nature of that which you seek will be reflected in the depths of the glass when the time is right,” she said. “It's made to reveal the truth, no more.”

Passionata took the easy opportunity to slip out of sight while Tyson Steele stared at the mirror and tried to comprehend what he held. When he finally glanced up with more questions, he was all alone.

“That's just creepy,” he mumbled to himself. “So far, I haven't managed to get any answers for my cousin. I haven't been able to locate an assistant fund-raiser. And now I have to worry about some old gypsy's magic mirror, too?”

Passionata nodded as she watched him in her crystal. “Just until you accept the gift of sight and use the magic, young Steele.”

S
erve his coffee?
Sheesh.
Served her right.

Merri Davis clamped down on her smart mouth, turned around and stalked out of the office to go get her new boss his cup of coffee. Tyson Steele had only been back from his New Orleans trip for a couple of hours and already in the first few minutes of their acquaintance the two of them were testing each other.

He
apparently wanted to see how far he could push her—she was a fund-raising assistant, not a gopher after all. And
she
wanted to find out if he was truly the macho chauvinist that he appeared to be. Well, duh. The coffee request put him right there in the proper category.

She'd initially been wary of Mr. Tyson Steele anyway, wondering if he would recognize her from the tab
loids. But her model's training had apparently worked a miracle in the disguise-makeup department. Good enough, so that he never really used those startling blue eyes to look at her twice.

She swallowed hard at her silent slip of the tongue about his eyes. Merri Davis was not interested in men's eyes. Startling or otherwise. That was simply not her mission or her concern.

At least not since Merrill Davis-Ross, high-fashion and jet-setting model, had effectively become Merri Davis, quiet and plain-looking fund-raiser's assistant.

Now she could only pray that the tabloid reporters, who normally snooped on her every move, would not be able to pick up the scent of where she had disappeared to this time.

So far, so good,
she congratulated herself. This nowhere hick town in Texas should be the perfect hiding place. And the perfect place to find the simple life she had always dreamed of too.

But Merri cautioned herself to keep walking on eggshells around her new boss and to save any of her regular snappy comebacks. If she was going to maintain the charade, he would have to believe she was just the person she was now claiming to be.

Tyson's attorney, Franklin Jarvis, might suspect the truth, or at least a version of the truth. But he'd gotten her this job as a favor to
his
old friend—her own attorney from back in L.A.

To keep Mr. Jarvis from asking too many questions, she'd made up a story about who she was with her attorney and had vowed to keep her mouth shut and stick to the story. Part of her story was that she was a shy,
quiet woman who would be happy living and working in this small town.

Actually, that wasn't too far from the truth. Despite what the tabloids wrote about her. She
was
shy and had been desperate to live in this small town. Her parents had sheltered her and, no matter where in the world they were living at the time, they surrounded her with bodyguards.

Merri had hated every minute of it. The last couple of years, since she'd been out of college and had worked on a few modeling jobs in Paris, were also not indicative of the person she really was deep inside—or who she wanted to be. She wasn't the person they wrote about in all those tabloid articles.

The reporters had taken the place of most of the bodyguards, and they were much more difficult to deal with. So…she would get Tyson Steele's damn coffee and run his errands if that's what it took to stay hidden in her brand-new world.

Drawing on all her old drama classes, Merri straightened the tight bun of mousey brown hair on the top of her head and headed back to her new boss's office with a mug full of dark sludge that would have to pass as coffee.

She had to play the part exactly right if she was going to turn this new life into her own.

“Thanks,” he said absently when she placed the mug on the corner of his desk. “Sit.” He waved her toward one of the vacant metal fold-up chairs next to his desk.

Damned man couldn't even bother to ask?
Merri backed up and sat down as ordered, waiting for him to finish his phone conversation. As she sat, she took the
pose of supposedly inspecting her unpolished fingernails. But she was surreptitiously studying her new boss from behind her thick, fake glasses.

And he was definitely the picture of masculinity, she could see that quite clearly. Tight, well-worn jeans, sleeves rolled halfway up muscular arms and intelligent but slightly dangerous blue eyes. Whew. A smidgen of heat budded deep in her gut, but she tried to ignore it.

She'd been in his office many times without him over the last two days, learning the surroundings of her new job and getting accustomed to the names on the Foundation's many donor files. That part of her job would be easy enough.

But his attorney had also asked for her special help “civilizing” Tyson Steele. She hadn't originally thought that would be a big part of her job—Steele was a well-known billionaire after all. However, Mr. Jarvis was convinced that his client needed some major polish.

He'd said that since Merri came from sophisticated L.A. and seemed professional, perhaps she could encourage Ty to drop some of his Texas cowboy image. Apparently, Merri would never entirely be rid of her damned boarding school background—no matter how hard she'd tried to disguise herself.

She had reluctantly agreed to Mr. Jarvis's suggestion, thinking her new boss must be some kind of ogre. But now all of a sudden Tyson Steele was here in the flesh. And instead of trying to think of how to change him, his presence made her feel too warm and the room suddenly felt too closed-in to breathe.

He hung up the phone and reached for the coffee mug. “Mmm. Steaming and strong.” He took a swig and
made a face. “Yeah, just like always. Strong enough to stand by itself and hot enough to melt the plastic off the cup. Those are the only good things about the coffee here.”

“Maybe you should enter the twenty-first century and buy a decent coffeemaker?” Damn. She'd managed to make a smart remark after all.
Keep your mouth shut, Merri.

Tyson Steele narrowed his eyes at her, but he made no comment. He set the mug back down on the desk and picked up a stack of papers. “Now then, Miss…” Hesitating over her name, he glanced up and pinned her with another hard glare.

Oh, man. She didn't like her body noticing what he did to the atmosphere in the room. What was up with that? She'd thought that it had been steamy in here before he turned those piercing blue eyes her way.

“Davis,” she supplied quickly to fill up the dangerous silence. “But please call me Merri, Mr. Steele.” Feeling the sweat beginning to form at her temples, she ran a hand over her hair and tried to breathe quietly through her nose.

Merri didn't want to give her true self away. If she either told him to shove it—or did what her body wanted and flirted with him—he might figure out her charade.

And if he caught her in the lie, she had no doubt he wouldn't hesitate a second to pick up the phone and give her whereabouts over to the tabloids. A shiver ran down her spine at just the thought of having to face those horrible paparazzi bastards right now. Then not only would her own new life be ruined, but she would
never be able to help Steele's orphans or his foundation at all.

“Merri, then,” he said casually. “And you can call me Ty. Most everyone does. Except maybe my aunt Jewel, who always uses Tyson…unless she's mad enough to call me by my full name, Tyson Adams Steele. That's when I know it's time to disappear.”

His face relaxed into a wide grin and Merri felt her whole body jump in response. Sonofa… She'd been hit on and propositioned by some of the wealthiest and most beautiful men in the universe. And she hadn't been interested or tempted by any of them.

So why was it that gruff Tyson Steele had been just a rather interesting man—right up until he laid that smile on her?

She'd been doing a credible job of ignoring his long, lean body encased in jeans and beat-up work boots. But there was no way to ignore that grin. It ran electric currents along her skin and shot hot, wet bullets of sensitivity down her spine.

“Your aunt is Jewel Adams?” Merri managed to sound steady and more in charge of her senses than she felt. “She's my new landlady.”

Ty cocked his head and studied her for the first time. “You rented that old broken-down cottage on Jackson Street from Jewel? She was my mother's sister and she raised me after my parents were killed.”

“You're an orphan?” Her heart had taken a little detour all of a sudden.

“I don't think of it that way anymore,” he growled. “You may have noticed that I'm all grown up now.”
His face held a scowl but his eyes were laughing at her. Oh, man.

He had to know the effect he was having on her. With eyes that startling periwinkle blue color, women just had to fall all over themselves to get him to pay attention—even if his outward clothing left something to be desired.

It wouldn't be possible for him not to know what that sexy look could do—was doing—to her. She had to find some steady ground here. Her whole future in this town depended on it.

“The house might be old but it's not really broken-down,” Merri told him with a croaky voice. “Someone has recently remodeled the inside. It's quite cozy.” There. Didn't she sound just like she was in charge of the situation and in control of her own bodily responses?

“Jewel painted it and refinished the wood floors,” he agreed. “But the roof still leaks, the plumbing is shaky and the electric needs a total overhaul. I was going to help her out with the heavy work, but I haven't had time.”

“Oh. I'm sure it will be fine. It's all I could afford until I can save up some money from this job,” she lied. Money was not a problem. But she wanted desperately to make her own way for once, and make it in a small and completely plain way at that.

“I've already put in a few personal touches,” she added. “It's beginning to feel like home.” Well, maybe not exactly like any of her parents' many homes. Thirty-room mansions didn't usually qualify as cozy. And not one of them had ever felt like her home.

But Merri was determined to start a new life without any of the pretensions of all that wealth. She was ready for a home to call her own and for honest contacts with real live human beings. She'd turned her back for good on fictional family life and plastic feelings.

So why did she have to be drooling over the one man who could end it all with just one phone call? Why was he so different?

Okay, so he was probably the most real man she'd ever come across in her whole life. There was not one single thing about Tyson Steele that was plastic or phony. But she simply had to remember that the man was her boss, and she had no business thinking about him in any other way.

“Yeah?” he said with a half smile. “Well, it won't seem so homey when the rain starts falling into the kitchen or the septic tank backs up.” Ty stood and stepped away from his desk. “Tell you what. If you can honestly help take the responsibility of fund-raising off my shoulders, I'll spend the extra time fixing up that old cottage.”

“You wouldn't hire it done? I mean, you'd do it yourself…with real hammers and tools and stuff? Don't you have other businesses to run?”

He really chuckled this time and moved to the credenza. “Yes, I'd do it with real tools and
stuff
. Most of my other ventures run quite well without me now. I have excellent help. I only need to check up on them occasionally. That's why I've had the time to devote to getting this charitable foundation up and running.”

Hesitating, he picked up a stack of pre-opened let
ters before he continued. “Fixing up old properties for resale was the way I made my first million. And I still like to be pretty hands-on when it comes to residential real estate. It relaxes me. Besides, I promised my aunt I'd help.”

Ty frowned down at the letters in his hand. “But as good as I am with tools and
stuff,
I'm absolutely terrible at acknowledging donations.”

He looked up then, staring at her as if trying to judge her capabilities. “The Lost Children Foundation is one of the most important things in my life, Merri. I've made more money in real estate and oil than fifty people could spend over a lifetime, but it will all be a waste if I can't make a difference in abused or exploited children's lives.”

She saw the honesty shining in his eyes, and suddenly noticed something else that looked a lot like pain buried deep within them, too. And her heart skipped another beat.

“Your foundation has already saved children…made a difference,” she said softly. “Mr. Jarvis, your attorney, explained it all when he hired me. What you've done, all that you've built for children. It's quite impressive.”

Ty continued to stare at her for a moment, then nodded once and shoved the thick stack of letters into her hands. “Yes, well… Frank Jarvis told
me
you had some experience in nonprofit development. I hope that means you know how to send out thank-you letters, because a few of these donation letters date from six months ago.”

“Donors don't feel appreciated when their generos
ity isn't acknowledged,” she said with a disdainful frown. “How did you manage to fall so far behind?”

The smile that spread across his face this time was a wry one. “You aren't the first person I've hired to fill this position.”

He raised an eyebrow and sighed in a self-deprecating way. “You're the fourth…no fifth…young woman who has agreed to be my assistant. I was hoping one of them would eventually work into the Director of Development position I've been wanting to create. And take the burden of the everyday administration off my shoulders.

“Unfortunately, none of them lasted more than a few weeks—as you can probably tell by the state of things around here.”

“But why didn't they last? The pay is fair and these offices are really plush. What made them all quit so fast?”

He started to shrug a shoulder but stopped midway and scowled. “I thought it was because this town is so out of the way and…backward. I mean, the nearest fashion mall is a three-hour drive away.”