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“Say you’ll do it.”

He named a salary that was over twice what she’d been making before. Only a fool would turn down this opportunity, but then again, working with Devlyn Wolff would not be easy. He was charming and outrageously handsome and had a wicked sense of humor … All qualities that were destined to make a woman like Gillian fall into infatuation at the very least.

And she was pretty sure she wasn’t imagining the sexual vibe between them. What was alarming was that if she succumbed, not only did she endanger yet another good job, but she risked getting her heart broken.

“I’m a businessman. And despite your hang-ups, I’m not offering you this job because of something that happened when we were kids.”

He could deny it all he wanted, but she was almost one hundred percent sure that Devlyn was the kind of man who needed to even the scales. This was his way of assuaging his guilt over the past.

Still, who was she to turn down a boon because of his screwed-up motives?

“I’ll do it,” she said. “When do I start?”

Dear Reader,

Before I turned to writing full-time, I taught elementary school for about fifteen years … half of that time in kindergarten. I have wonderful memories of smiling faces and happy giggles. When you teach little children, you experience what it means to have someone hang on your every word and soak up knowledge with enthusiasm and eager interest.

But the job is not easy. Despite the challenges, frustrations and disappointments, most of the teachers I know go to work each day determined to do their best in circumstances that are not always ideal. To me, my friends are heroes … making a difference, changing lives in ways so immense the impact cannot be measured.

I hope you enjoy Gillian’s story … and Devlyn’s. Love really does conquer all. Just ask a teacher …

Happy reading,

Janice Maynard

About the Author

JANICE MAYNARD came to writing early in life. When her short story The Princess and the Robbers won a red ribbon in her third-grade school arts fair, Janice was hooked. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary teacher to pursue writing full-time. Her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance. She has written for Kensington and NAL, and now is so very happy to also be part of the Mills & Boon family—a lifelong dream, by the way!

Janice and her husband live in beautiful east Tennessee in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains. She loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books.

Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website at www.janicemaynard.com or e-mail her at JESM13@aol.com. And of course, don’t forget Facebook (www.facebook.com/JaniceMaynardReaderPage). Find her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/janicemaynard and visit all the men of Wolff Mountain at www.wolffmountain.com.

The Maid’s
Daughter
Janice Maynard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For all my teacher buddies in the Sevier County School System—you know who you are! It was an honor and a pleasure to work beside you year after year.

Thanks for your dedication in the trenches.:)

One

Wet yellow leaves clung to the rain-slick, winding road. Devlyn Wolff took the curves with confidence, his vintage Aston Martin hugging the pavement despite the windswept October day. Dusk had fallen. He switched on his headlights, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm to the hard-rock oldie blasting from his Bose speakers.

No matter how fast he drove, he couldn’t outrun his restlessness. He’d been on Wolff Mountain for a week, and already his father and his Uncle Vic were driving him batty. They had installed him as CEO of Wolff Enterprises two years ago, supposedly with their full trust at his back, but they loved playing Monday-morning quarterback.

It was easier when Devlyn was in Atlanta, ensconced in his fancy-ass office. Then the two Wolff patriarchs could only harass him via email and the phone. But giving up control of the company had been hard for them, and Devlyn did his best to make them feel connected, hence his frequent trips home.

His tires squealed as they spun slightly, seeking a connection with the rural highway. Devlyn knew these back roads intimately. He’d learned to drive here, had wrapped his first car around a tree not two miles up the road. For that reason alone, he eased off the gas.

At that instant, the glare of oncoming headlights blinded him as a car rounded the upcoming curve uncomfortably close to his lane. Devlyn tensed, gripping the wheel and wrestling his vehicle into submission. The other car wasn’t so lucky.

Devlyn cursed as the little navy Honda spun past him, its white-faced driver momentarily visible, before the small sedan slid off the road and smashed into a telephone pole. Devlyn eased to a halt on the narrow shoulder and bounded out of the car, his heart punching in his chest as he dialed 911. By the time he hung up and reached the car, the driver was already opening her door. Air bags had deployed in the crumpled vehicle. The woman staggered to her feet, wiping ineffectually at a trickle of blood on her cheek. Even in the waning light of day, he could see a reddish mark on her cheekbone.

He grabbed for her as her knees gave out. “Steady,” he said. The ground was the closest surface, unfortunately. She went down gracefully, like butter melting on a hot day. His arm was around her, but the gravel slope beneath their feet was uneven. It was all he could do to keep both of them from sliding down the embankment.

Crouching beside her, he pushed her hair from her face. “You okay?”

Her teeth were chattering. “You nearly killed me.”

“Me?” His brows shot up in sync with his temper. “Lady, you crossed the center line.”

Her chin lifted slightly. “I’m a very safe driver.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he cursed. “Not from where I’m standing.”

She shivered hard, and he realized with chagrin that this wasn’t the place for such a conversation. “Your car is toast,” he said. “The nearest ambulance service is forty-five minutes away at least. It will save time if we meet them in the next valley. I’ll take you.”

“So says the big bad wolf.”

“Excuse me?”

She managed a smile, though her lips were blue. “Devlyn Wolff. What brings you here from Atlanta?”

“Do I know you?” He was acquainted with most of the people in this small section of the Blue Ridge Mountains, but occasionally someone new moved into the area. Then again, something about this woman was familiar.

“Not really,” she said. Her nose wrinkled. “I’m getting wet.”

He’d been so caught up in worrying about her that he hadn’t noticed the rain. They were only half a mile from the driveway to Wolff Mountain, and thus his doctor cousin’s clinic, but Jacob was out of town.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Devlyn glanced at his watch. He had a late dinner meeting with a powerful, important investor in Charlottesville in less than two hours. But he couldn’t possibly walk away from a woman who might be seriously injured. Wolff Mountain was isolated for a reason, but at times like this, the remoteness of his childhood home was a curse.

“Let me carry you to my car. You may be hurt more badly than you realize.” Even as he said the words out loud, he winced inwardly. Saint Devlyn to the rescue. He wasn’t a saint—far from it—but he had an unfortunate penchant for rescuing strays, be they animal or human. A tendency that had bitten him in the ass more than once.

She stood up, wavering only slightly. “That’s very kind of you. But weren’t you headed somewhere?”

Shrugging, he rose to his feet, as well. “I can reschedule.” And potentially lose twenty million dollars. He’d been coaxing this particular venture capitalist into trusting him for almost a year. So the moment was likely lost. But money was just money, and he’d seen enough sports accidents in his college days to realize that head injuries were not to be taken lightly.

If he could meet up with the paramedics quickly enough, he might still be able to make his appointment. The woman clearly knew who he was, so presumably she trusted him not to be an ax murderer. He scooped her into his arms and carried her toward his car. Her token protest was feeble. The tremors that shook her slender body were undoubtedly a delayed reaction to the crash. She might have been killed.

His arms tightened around her, his breath hitching as for a split second he imagined what could have happened. Thank God she survived the impact. Her wet hair and clothing smelled of roses, an old-fashioned scent that suited her somehow.

Once, he stumbled slightly, and her hand gripped a fistful of his shirt, her fingernails digging into his skin. For a second he flashed on an entirely inappropriate scenario that involved him and her. Naked. In his bed.

He shook his head. Weird. Too weird.

He deposited her gently into the passenger seat and jogged back to retrieve her purse. When he slid behind the wheel and looked at her, she grimaced. “I’m not going to keel over, I promise. The air bags did their job.”

“Maybe so, but you look like hell.”

Her jaw dropped. “Well, it just goes to show …”

“What do you mean?” He eased the car out onto the road.

“All the tabloids call you a billionaire playboy, but if that’s your slick line with women, they’ve got it all wrong.”

“Very funny.” He peered through the windshield and upped the defroster. It was completely dark now. He turned off the music, not sure if his tastes would soothe a woman who had been knocked around in an accident. The car was silent except for the swish of the wipers.

His passenger ignored him, her body nestled into the soft leather seat. Though she seemed relaxed, her arms were wrapped tightly around her waist.

A memory kept nagging at his brain. Something to do with this slight, mousy female. But try as he might, it wouldn’t come into focus.

She sighed deeply. “I hate inconveniencing you. You could drop me at my mother’s house.”

“Is she home?”

“Not at the moment. But she’ll be back in the morning. She drove down to Orlando to visit my Aunt Tina.” She paused and winced when the car hit a bump. “I’m sure I’m fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We Wolffs may have a reputation for being reclusive, but we’re pretty tame when it comes down to it.”

Her muttered retort was lost in the squeal of his brakes when he stopped short to avoid hitting a deer. The animal froze, peering at them through the windshield, before bounding into the woods.

Devlyn covered the remaining distance to the main highway and up over the small gap that led to a more populated area to the east, refusing to admit, even to himself, that he was rattled. “Not long now.”

“I’m surprised you drive your own car. I thought the Wolff entourage relied on limos.”

“I’m a control freak. I like taking the wheel.”

Maybe he was imagining it, but he was picking up on some mixed vibes from his damsel in distress. Hostility, perhaps … as if she really did blame him for the accident. But even more than that, an odd intimacy, as if she knew more about him than he did about her. Devlyn was disconcerted. He was accustomed to women tucking their phone numbers into his pocket, not looking down their noses at him.

With one last call to 911, he flagged down the approaching ambulance and pulled off the road. He set the parking brake with a jerk. Before he could come around to offer assistance, his mystery lady was out of the car and heading toward the man and woman in uniform.

Damn her stubborn hide. He loped after her. If the professionals decided she needed to go to the hospital, Devlyn was off the hook.

In deference to the worsening weather, the responders left the gurney inside and had the woman stretched out by the time Devlyn approached. “Do you think it’s serious?” he asked, speaking to the medic at the back of the vehicle.

She gave him that look reserved for clueless family members. “We’ll know in a little bit.”

The man inside bent over the patient, checking vitals. He began asking a string of questions. But one snagged Devlyn’s attention right off. Name?

The mystery woman’s eyes met Devlyn’s across the space of several feet. She hesitated.

The question came a second time, more forcefully as the man frowned. Name?

Devlyn saw her inner struggle, and her capitulation. “Gillian Carlyle,” she said clearly. Was that a glint of defiance Devlyn saw in her gaze?

Gillian Carlyle. Why did that sound so familiar? He didn’t know this woman, did he?

While the medical exam continued, Devlyn analyzed the puzzle. Gillian’s looks were unexceptional. Medium brown hair, darker brown eyes, pale skin, an angular figure. The cream angora sweater she wore along with a brown corduroy skirt and knee-length boots were not in any way provocative.

She wasn’t his type, not at all. So he knew they hadn’t dated in some far-distant adolescent past. Yet for some reason, he was intrigued.

Finally, she was allowed to sit up. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m feeling much better now.”

The ambulance driver began putting away all the equipment, addressing Devlyn over Gillian’s head. “She told me you were the Good Samaritan who stopped to help her. Can you drive her home? She’s gonna be okay. Lots of bumps and bruises, though. Make sure she’s not alone tonight in case anything crops up that we missed. She should see her doctor for a follow-up visit tomorrow.”

Devlyn groaned inwardly. Even if he dashed back up the mountain and took the chopper, he’d never make it now. “Sure,” he said, with a smile that felt like a grimace. “I’d be glad to.” In the boardroom, he had no trouble acting like a bastard. Not so much in real life.

He watched Gillian deal with the necessary evil of insurance info. Then he shepherded her back to the car, his arm around her narrow waist. Her bone structure was slender, though she was fairly tall. She fit against his shoulder as if she had been created for just that spot. In the flashing lights from the ambulance he could see that she was dangerously near the point of exhaustion.

How in God’s name could he simply drop her off at a deserted house in her condition? “Is there anyone you can call to stay with you tonight? A friend? A neighbor?”

“No. But I’ll be fine.” She turned her head away from him.

He tucked her into the car and kicked the heat on full blast. If his big body was chilled, she must be freezing. Consigning his last hope of making the business meeting to hell, he sighed. “I’m taking you to Wolff Mountain. We have enough guest rooms for a small army. No one will bother you, but you’ll have help close by if you need it. I’ll call a tow truck in the morning and we’ll see about your car.”

She half turned to face him, her body visibly shaking. Moisture glittered in her eyes. “You don’t even remember who I am, do you? Even after you heard me say my name. Take me home, Devlyn. I don’t belong on your mountain.”

And just like that, a memory clicked …

Devlyn recalled the day with painful clarity. It was the first anniversary of the terrible tragedy that had torn the Wolff family apart. On that particular sunny afternoon, Devlyn’s father and uncle had insisted that their six combined children help scatter two urns of ashes over a newly planted rose garden on the side of the mountain.

For Devlyn, the process was gruesome and confusing. As soon as he was able, he fled to the secret cave that had become solace at his new home. A girl appeared from nowhere it seemed, staring at him with pity, pity he loathed.

“I’m sorry your mother died,” she said. Her long, caramel-brown hair had been plaited into two identical braids that hung forward over her narrow shoulders.

Devlyn was embarrassed and humiliated. Boys didn’t cry, especially not in front of girls. He ran a hand across his nose and was further mortified to see a smear of snot. “I hated her,” he said abruptly. “I’m glad she’s gone.”

The girl’s long-lashed eyes widened. “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “You can’t hate your mother. She was beautiful. Like a princess. My mother lets me go into Mr. Wolff’s bedroom sometimes when she’s cleaning … if I’m really good. I love to look at Mrs. Wolff’s picture on the wall.” She held out her hand. “Here … I made you a card.”

Devlyn’s desperate anger swelled, determined to end this encounter. “You’re not allowed,” he shouted, knocking the small folded construction paper out of her hand. “Not anymore. This is my mountain, and you don’t belong here. Go home.”

Her face crumpled. He felt as if he had kicked one of the new puppies that lived down at the stables. The silent misery on her delicate features only made him madder. “Go,” he screamed. “Go away.”

Devlyn felt anew the weight of guilt and remorse. For over two decades, he had carried the burden of knowing he had hurt a young girl with his hateful words. Now here she was. As if fate had given him a second chance.

He could pretend he didn’t know her … could text a late arrival to his much-anticipated appointment and drop Gillian as quickly as possible. But his own cruelty stared him in the face. “Gillian,” he said slowly. “Gillian Carlyle. It’s been a long time.”

Two

A quarter of a century had passed since Gillian had tried, in her own clumsy way, to extend sympathy to a hurting boy. But the passage of time had in no way dulled the memory of how she felt that day when the little rich kid kicked metaphorical sand in her face.

What made it worse was that she knew, even then, that he was right. Gillian’s mother scrubbed toilets for a living. The Wolffs were richer than God. It was the first time Gillian had fully understood a difficult truth about the haves and the have-nots.

“It took you long enough,” she said. The snarky retort was unfair, but she wasn’t in a mood to be conciliatory. Though she no longer carried a chip on her shoulder, it had taken time and maturity to help her see that the Carlyles were every bit as happy as the wealthy Wolff clan in their fortress on the mountain. Maybe more so.

As a child, she had been tormented. She begged her mother not to make Gillian go to work with her. But Doreen Carlyle had few options. Child care was not only expensive, but in a little wide-place-in-the-road like Burton, it was nonexistent.

Gillian was forced to see Devlyn occasionally, though each of them tried to ignore the other. Things were better when school started. Doreen put her young daughter on a bus before sunup for the long ride to the nearest consolidated school. And by the time Gillian returned home, her mother was finished with her shift at Wolff Castle, as the locals called it.

Gillian jerked herself out of the past, glad of the darkness that hid her turbulent emotions. She straightened in her seat. “It’s really okay to take me to my mother’s house. I promise I’ll call someone if I start to feel worse.”

It was the presence of a Wolff in the car, not her accident, that was responsible for the rapid pace of her heartbeat. Devlyn was a big man, broad through the shoulders and tall. The scent of his aftershave made her think of thick fir-tree forests and lumberjacks in flannel shirts, though the comparison was ludicrous.

Devlyn was an astute businessman, a shark in the turbulent world of financial greed. Despite the fact that her wits had been partially addled after the accident, she’d still been aware of his sartorial perfection, though he was perhaps a tad rumpled and sported a five-o’clock shadow.

He was the de facto ruler of the kingdom and, in that moment, Gillian hated him. When had he ever had to work for anything? When had he ever had to worry about money? Other than his mother’s death years ago, admittedly a terrible loss, when had he ever known true hardship?

That wasn’t fair perhaps. The Wolffs generously supported many worthy charities. Perhaps that chip on her shoulder still lingered as a splinter in her heart. And maybe she was manufacturing grievances in order to avoid admitting how much she was attracted to him.

Even as a teenager, on the few occasions she actually saw him, he had been breathtakingly handsome. Blunt, masculine features. Thick black hair with the sheen of a raven’s wing. A white smile that flashed often. And a tough, honed body that exuded strength and confidence.

Little had changed except that now he was a man and not a boy. He had filled out, lost the slightly clumsy awkwardness of puberty. His gait was strong and sure, his movements sleek as the panthers that once roamed these hills.

He shot her a glance as he once again turned onto the road that led up to the entrance to Wolff Mountain. “I’m not arguing about this, Gillian. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right off. But you have to admit that you’ve changed.”

Did his gaze linger on her chest? Or was that her imagination? Surely not. She might be all tingly with perfectly natural feminine longing for a man who exuded an earthy sex appeal, but to think he had any interest in her was ridiculous.

Her instinct was to shoot back with a smart-ass comment about kidnapping, but she bit her tongue. Devlyn’s mother and aunt had been snatched off a busy Charlottesville street, held for ransom and later killed. Kidnapping was not something to be joked about.

She shifted restlessly. Already her battered body bloomed with myriad aches and throbs. The paramedics had recommended an anti-inflammatory, but though she had some ibuprofen in her purse, she had nothing with which to wash them down. Suddenly, the idea of staying alone overnight held little appeal.

At the guardhouse Devlyn sketched a wave and waited for the huge mechanized metal gate to retract. Soon they were heading up the winding drive that served to isolate the Wolff clan from intruders.

She sighed deeply. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. I don’t want to intrude on your family.”

“They won’t even know you’re around … unless you want company.”

“Why don’t you have your own place here?”

He must have picked up on the faint, unintended criticism in her tone. “As you’ve already mentioned, I live in Atlanta,” he said stiffly. “When I visit, I usually stay up in the big house with my dad and uncle.” He paused. “If it would make you more comfortable, we can stay at Jacob’s place. He and his wife won’t care.”

“He’s the one married to the movie star, right? Ariel Dane?”

“Yep. She’s a sweetheart.”

Gillian’s spirits plunged to a new low. The gorgeous, sexy Wolff men had their pick of models, heiresses and celebrities. It wasn’t simply a matter of money. It was a lifestyle.

“I don’t think it would be appropriate for the two of us to spend the night alone,” she said, regretting the prim stuffiness in her words as soon as they left her mouth.

Devlyn snorted, and tried to pretend it was a cough. “I promise to be on my best behavior,” he said, irony in every syllable. “But if it makes you feel more comfortable, we’ll stay at the big house.”

“Thank you.”

By the time they pulled up in front of the massive structure that looked like Cinderella’s castle on steroids, Gillian had trouble getting out of the car. Devlyn took her arms and gently pulled her to her feet. “Poor Gillian,” he said.

The soft croon in his deep voice made her tremble. She was unable to protest when he scooped her up and carried her into the house. Striding through darkened hallways, he set a course for a back staircase that led to the second floor. Thankfully, they met no one on the way.

Devlyn paused before a half-open doorway. “This is my room. There’s an adjoining suite with a door you can lock. But if you need assistance during the night, you can text me or call me and I’ll get you anything you need.”

How about you, Devlyn Wolff? In the buff. Sliding on top of me and …

Her breath caught in her throat. She was suffering the effects of a long dry spell in the sex department. That’s why she wanted to nibble his throat despite the fact that she felt as if she’d been run over by the proverbial truck. Proximity and deprivation. Simple explanations for the electric connection she felt to a man who was in no way an appropriate object of her fantasies.

Well, yes … for fantasy … in the abstract. But not at all healthy or practical to imagine him … and her … together … Oh, Lord. Her thighs clenched and her nipples tightened. She prayed he didn’t notice.

His bed was neatly made. But a pair of jeans hung haphazardly over the back of an armchair, and a paperback crime novel lay upside down on the mahogany nightstand.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she croaked.

Without acknowledging her comment, he took her, still in his arms, through the doorway into a room that was almost as large as his but was decorated in more feminine tones. Ever so gently, he set her on her feet. “Bathroom’s through there. I’ll see if I can round you up some clean clothes, and I’ll call Jacob to see what medicine you can take.”

Before she could catch her breath, he was gone.

She hobbled into the luxurious bathroom and stared in the mirror. If she’d had any illusions about her comparison to the female companionship usually enjoyed by Wolff men, they were shattered decisively by her reflection. Even on a good day, she didn’t stand out in a crowd. Right now, she looked ghastly.

Stripping out of her rain-damp clothes, she adjusted the water and stepped into the shower. The hot pelting spray hurt in a good way, the steamy warmth penetrating her bones. Already, bruises were showing up on her too-pale skin. She’d taught a summer-school session instead of going to the beach with her girlfriends, and look where that had gotten her.

Knowing she didn’t have the strength or the will to blow-dry her hair, and since she’d shampooed it the night before, she was careful to keep it from getting wet. As she stepped out of the shower and was drying off, a knock on the door startled her so much that she dropped her towel. “Don’t come in,” she cried, scrambling to cover her indecent bits.

A chuckle was her only answer. The door eased open a scant foot. One long-fingered, tanned hand reached in holding soft, clean clothes. The items landed on the counter with a muted plop, and the hand withdrew.

Gillian scurried forward and locked the knob with what sounded like a gunshot-loud click. She was pretty sure she heard Devlyn laugh again. The bounty he had provided included a set of lounging pj’s … the kind you see in the Neiman Marcus catalog, the kind only rich women owned and wore.

The fabric was incredibly soft and warm, though not thick … some sort of cashmere blend. The cinnamon shade flattered her hair and added a snippet of color to her washed-out complexion.

She put on naughty silk panties that most likely belonged to Devlyn’s sister, Annalise, then slipped into the top and pants. Devlyn hadn’t added a bra. Gillian’s own underwear tended toward cotton practicality. The new undies made her aware of the place between her thighs that throbbed as insistently as her injuries. And her breasts rubbed sensuously against the velvetlike fabric.

When she exited the bathroom, barefooted, she stopped short. Devlyn stood by the fireplace where a fire crackled with blissful heat. He had dragged a small table near the hearth, and it was set with an array of dishes. Her stomach growled audibly.

He held out a hand. “Come eat. And Jacob said you can double the usual dose of over-the-counter pain meds. If he were here, he could give you something stronger.”

Shyness engulfed her. She had to force herself to approach him. “That will be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He held out her chair, his arm brushing her shoulder as she sat down. “I can’t seem to help it,” he said wryly.

The carpet beneath her feet was soft as a cloud. She curled her toes into it and took a deep breath. “I know you didn’t cause my accident,” she said, looking up at him through downcast lashes. “I was just in a bad mood. I’m sorry.”

He sat down as well, and poured each of them a cup of tea. The juxtaposition of his big, manly hands against the wafer-thin china teapot was incongruous and alarming. How could she keep him at arm’s length if he didn’t remain in the box she had labeled “spoiled rich philanderer.”

She didn’t want to like Devlyn Wolff. Not at all.

He took her lack of enthusiasm the wrong way. “It’s herbal tea,” he said. “No caffeine. But I can get you coffee if you’d rather have it.”

Picking up the lovely ivory cup scattered with blue forget-me-nots, she shook her head. “I prefer the tea. Thank you.”

He had fixed a tray of sandwiches as well—tiny, slightly ragged squares of white bread with the crusts removed. Peanut butter and honey.

Her whole body tensed. “Why did you make these?” she asked, her insides in a knot.

Devlyn shrugged, his expression moody. “As a penance, I guess. I remember watching you eat them in the kitchen when your mother was on her lunch break. I was jealous, you know. My mother never cooked anything.”

Gillian didn’t know what to say to that. No one cooked peanut butter. But she understood what he was telling her.

He waved a hand. “You need to eat something so the medicine won’t upset your stomach.”