Her Man Friday(30)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

"Look," he said softly, a bit wearily, "I’ll grant you that Chloe is brighter than the average child, but—"

"Her IQ is off the charts, Mr. Kimball," Caroline interrupted him. "Higher, I’ll wager, than even yours."

He thrust his chin up defensively at that, and Caroline realized with no small degree of surprise that she’d just inflicted the first blow of battle. So Schuyler Kimball’s own armor wasn’t quite as impenetrable as he let on. The recognition that he wasn’t, in fact, omnipotent, as everyone seemed to think he was, offered her some small measure of reassurance.

"She’s nothing at all like the average child," Caroline continued, taking advantage of his silence. "In fact, Chloe’s nothing like anyone. If you could put Einstein, Mozart, and Da Vinci in one person, Mr. Kimball, you would end up with Chloe Sandusky. It’s that simple. And believe me, she’s smart enough to know it. Can you imagine what that must be like? To be fourteen years old—fourteen years old—and to be as brilliant as she is, and to look the way she looks, and to have no idea—no idea—where you fit into the scheme of things?"

Mr. Kimball’s chest expanded with the silent and lengthy breath he inhaled. His eyes grew turbulent, his mouth hard when he replied, "Yes, Mrs. Beecham. Believe it or not, I can, to some extent, imagine what that must be like."

She shook her head. "No, I don’t think you can." She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to object. "I’m familiar with what kind of man you are," she told him. "Everyone is. A brilliant, analytical mind, a child misunderstood and all that. But that’s the point—you’re a man. Even when you were a boy, your potential was still seen as a man’s potential."

"When I was a boy, Mrs. Beecham," he interrupted her, "no one saw any potential in me at all."

He didn’t even try to disguise the bitterness in his voice, and for the first time, Caroline realized that perhaps he and Chloe had something more in common than she’d initially surmised. Still, she thought, Chloe was at a far greater risk than Mr. Kimball ever had been. There was no question about that.

"Chloe obviously isn’t male," she continued, dropping her voice to a quieter, gentler pitch. "Nor is she even an unattractive female," she added with a soft, sad chuckle, "which is what most people expect to find when a female person is vastly intelligent.

"Chloe matured early in as many ways as there were," Caroline went on intently. "She should have started receiving the proper attention the moment she was born to prepare her for what lay ahead. And once she entered puberty, she should have had a strong female role model to guide her through the hazardous waters. Yet prior to coming here, the only influence she ever had in her life was her mother, who, I don’t think I need to remind you, made her living as a stripper."

"An exotic dancer," the billionaire corrected her halfheartedly.

Caroline surrendered to a little sound of derision. "Chloe doesn’t talk a lot about what her life was like then, but her mother, quite frankly, didn’t seem to give a damn about her."

"Yes, well, she’s not living with her mother anymore, is she?" Mr. Kimball pointed out.

"No, that’s true," Caroline agreed. "Now she’s moved into a big, beautiful estate, and her guardian is a hugely successful, very wealthy, very prominent businessman. Who," she added pointedly, "doesn’t seem to give a damn about her."

His eyes turned absolutely stormy at that, and for a moment, Caroline honestly feared he would lunge at her, in much the same way that she had gone after him at dinner that night a week ago. Quickly, she steeled herself for the press of roughly one hundred and seventy-five pounds and nearly six feet of solid flesh. And, oddly, for just the briefest of moments, she almost found herself looking forward to it.

But Schuyler Kimball evidently had better control over his own emotions and reactions than she did her own, because, although a muscle twitched once in his jaw, he didn’t move an inch.

"I don’t have to give a damn about her," he said coolly. "I have people to do that for me, and they get paid a pretty penny for it."

Caroline was so taken aback by his response that she had no idea what to say. She’d never met anyone who could be so heartless, who could be so clearly proud of his inhumanity. As rigid and distant as Mr. Kimball had come across, she hadn’t expected him to be like this when grilled about his feelings for his… ward. Startled by the discovery that he was, in fact, a cold-hearted son of a bitch, the only thing she could manage by way of a reply was, "You bastard. You cold, selfish, stupid bastard. You have no idea what you’ve just thrown away."

Immediately, she regretted the words. Although the accusation was perfectly understandable coming from a woman who was concerned about the welfare of a child, it was anything but appropriate coming from the headmistress—or, rather, the director, she decided to call herself now—of the exclusive and conservative Van Meter Academy.

That wasn’t the main reason why she regretted the statement, however. The main reason she regretted it was because, the split second after she uttered it, that lunge she had been expecting earlier on Mr. Kimball’s part did in fact materialize.

Before she even realized what had happened, he had her pinned against the bookcase behind her, his entire body pressed into hers, his face a scant inch from her own. One of his forearms was braced against a fat leather volume beside her face, his hand fisted tight just above her head, while his other hand gripped fiercely the shelf at her shoulder level. When she tipped her head back to look at his face—frankly amazed by her ability to do so—she saw that a single lock of jet-black hair had fallen over his forehead, giving him the look of a very dangerous man.

But his eyes were what jolted Caroline the most. Because a dark and angry storm roared rampant within them, one she suspected had been raging unchecked for a very long time.

The shelves behind her bit into her back, and instinctively, she arched forward to alleviate the discomfort. Instinctively, too, she opened her palms over his shoulders, as if that meager show of objection might honestly stop him from doing whatever he intended to do. His breathing was ragged and uncontrolled, pushing and shoving his chest against her br**sts, and every time their bodies made contact, she felt the rapid-fire beating of his heart that mirrored her own exactly.

His heat, his energy, his very soul, seemed to surround her, enveloping her, drawing her closer to him, even though the two of them were already as close as they could physically be. Somehow, she felt as if he were reeling her inside him, absorbing her, joining her to him, and it was with no small effort that she struggled to keep herself independent of his command.