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Chapter One
Lyssa Spencer had flown in sumptuous private jets before. But this was by far the nicest plane she’d ever been in. The carpet was plush, the seating was upholstered in the softest leather, and the onboard bathroom was so large and luxuriously appointed that she could have quite happily lived in it.
“Did one of my brothers get a new plane?” she asked Cal Danniger as she settled into a leather armchair, making herself comfortable for the long flight to London.
Across the cabin table, Cal shook his head. “No.”
“I didn’t realize any companies rented private jets this nice.”
“As far as I know,” he said in that deep voice that made all of her nerve endings come alive despite knowing he was off-limits, “none do.”
It finally dawned on her. “You own this jet?”
He nodded.
She felt all kinds of embarrassed. As if she’d implied that Cal was nothing more than an administrative lackey for her brothers, rather than an incredibly successful businessman in his own right. Especially when she knew exactly how it felt to be undervalued in the shadow of her amazingly successful family.
Her whole life, she’d been seen as nothing more than an extension of the Mavericks. Most people didn’t realize that, apart from Daniel, the Mavericks were actually her foster brothers. But blood ties didn’t matter—they had grown up as family, which meant that she had five big brothers. Six, if you counted Gideon, who, upon entering the fray, had immediately treated her like a little sister he needed to protect.
“I didn’t mean—”
She would have continued her apology, but the flight attendant stepped into the cabin. “Would you like coffee, Mr. Danniger?” The woman had zeroed in the entirety of her attention on Cal, and her gaze on him was like a caress.
And why not? Cal was an extremely attractive man. In his mid-forties, with a few strands of gray streaking his chestnut hair, he was tall and fit, his eyes a penetrating silvery shade that made Lyssa feel like he could see all of her secret hopes and dreams and longings.
This summer at Ari and Matt’s wedding, Lyssa had drunk just enough wine to let her guard down with her girlfriends and voiced her appreciation of Cal’s taut muscles and toned body. Unfortunately, Daniel had overheard and gone Neanderthal on her. Her brother’s words still rankled: He’s not for you.
It was precisely how the Mavericks had always taken care of her—by trying to make all of her big decisions for her while also dictating everything she could and couldn’t do. She knew they loved her to pieces and would do anything for her. They had already done so much. They’d looked out for her growing up in Chicago and supported her in her choice of majors at college and then in her career as an accountant. And she loved them without reservation. Even if they too often treated her like she was still fourteen years old, rather than a twenty-six-year-old woman who was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and making her own decisions, big and small.
Cal smiled at the flight attendant. “I’d love some coffee. Thank you, Delilah.”
“I’d love a cup, as well,” Lyssa said, even as she wondered if he had any idea how sexy his smile was. Delilah had certainly noticed.
“It will be my pleasure,” the flight attendant said to Cal with absolutely no subtlety—and not even the slightest glance toward Lyssa—before she headed back to the galley, her hips swaying.
To Cal’s credit, his eyes didn’t follow the woman’s movements, nor did he seem to be counting down the minutes until he could sneak away with her to make use of the onboard bedroom.
His behavior was consistent with what Lyssa knew of him. While he definitely didn’t lack for female company—some might even use the word playboy to describe him—at his core, he was an upstanding guy who would never take advantage of his wealth or position of power.
Cal had been her boss for six weeks. In September, she’d quit her job in Chicago, moved to San Francisco, and taken on the accounting activities for Gideon Jones’s Lean on Us Foundation.
For years, Gideon had owned a painting given to him by Karmen Sanchez, a fellow comrade-in-arms who had been killed overseas. Little had Gideon known that the painting was worth sixty million dollars until his fiancée, Rosie, who had knowledge of the art world, had done some research and realized he was in possession of a rare masterpiece by famed eighteenth-century artist Miguel Fernando Correa. Instead of using the money on a lavish new lifestyle, he’d started a foundation to benefit foster children, returning veterans, and military families. As a veteran himself, Gideon understood the difficulties of assimilating back into civilian life. Rosie had gone through the foster care system along with his sister, Ari, so it was only natural for him to want to help. However, given that Gideon had neither the time nor the expertise to run a nonprofit foundation, Cal had offered to step in to manage it.
