Emeralds, Rubies, and Camouflage
Military Moguls
Book Four
by
Olivia Jaymes
‡
EMERALDS, RUBIES, AND CAMOUFLAGE
EPUB Edition
Copyright © 2015 by Olivia Jaymes
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance
to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
To all the servicemen and women who leave behind loved ones to serve their country.
Myra Burke has lost her faith in men and love. When her ex-fiancé cleans out their bank account she needs a decent job to provide for her four year old daughter and she needs it yesterday.
Holt Winthrop has money, intelligence, and charm. He also has love to give but that isn’t an option anymore. Caught in a suicide bombing, he’s scarred inside and out. No one
would want what he’s become.
Against his better judgment, his matchmaking friends convince Holt to hire Myra as his personal assistant. When he finds out she’s down on her luck he simply can’t say no despite his instant attraction to the curvaceous redhead.
Myra thinks her new boss is not only wonderful but sexy as hell. If she isn’t careful she could find herself head over heels for a man like
him. Good thing she’s knows better. Billionaires don’t fall in love with their assistants.
Or do they? As each day passes their mutual attraction turns into a fiery passion that neither can ignore or deny. They’ll need all the courage they can find to take a chance on love…just one more time.
‡
M
yra Burke drove
her ancient economy hatchback up the long lane, lined on both sides with cypress trees. Her friend Lily Braxton hadn’t been lying when she said that Holt Winslow lived in a remote area of Pasco County. The nearest neighbor that she had seen was at least
five miles away and the nearest store was farther than that. Pizza delivery was out of the question this far away from civilization. Her cell phone was only picking up two bars.
Nervous and filled with trepidation, Myra wiped her sweaty palms on the black pencil skirt she’d paired with a conservative white blouse and two inch heels. Her hope was that she looked cool and professional and not like
the formerly stay-at-home mom who wore mostly shorts and t-shirts.
Now she was going to be a career woman. Never mind that the closest she’d ever had to a career was a stint in sales at an upscale clothing store that catered to people who had money. People like her friend Lily who had married a man with a major bankroll. Not that it had changed her in the least. Lily was the sweetest friend anyone
could ever ask for.
She’d really come through when Myra’s boyfriend and the father of her daughter left and sent the text equivalent of a Dear John letter. Three months ago while he’d been on a long haul to Nevada Bobby had told Myra that he wasn’t coming back. Despite the red flags Myra could see clearly now she had made a mistake and trusted Bobby.
Now here she was. Broke. Jobless. Forced
to stay with friends. And desperate for a break.
This job wasn’t just Myra’s best chance. It was her only chance.
A shape appeared on the horizon and grew larger and more imposing the closer she came to it. By the time her car pulled up in the circular drive it was clear this was more than just a house.
It was a home. The kind regular people such as herself dreamed about.
Reminiscent of the
homes she’d seen in magazines with large rambling floor plans and wraparound porches, Holt Winslow’s three-story mansion was charm personified. Every inch of the house invited a visitor to come in and sit a spell, maybe have a sweet tea.
Myra was no exception. Delighted by the large and beautiful residence nestled in a grove of trees, she ignored her nerves and marched up the front porch steps.
It was time to start her new – hopefully better – life.
For a moment she had an urge to run back to the car but she gathered her courage and pressed the doorbell. Her back damp with nervous perspiration, she stood on shaking legs waiting for someone to answer the door. Everything was riding on the next hour of her life.
The door swung open and an older woman with short blonde hair and light
blue eyes smiled in greeting. Dressed casually in jeans, t-shirt, and a chef’s apron the woman looked possibly in her forties, but then Myra had always been a bad judge of age.
“You must be Myra Burke. Please come in.” The woman stepped back. “I’m Fiona Dunlap, the housekeeper. Mrs. Braxton told me all about you.”
Mrs. Dunlap stepped back so Myra could enter a foyer area that was easily larger
than the kitchen in her last apartment.
“Thank you, I am Myra.” She shook hands with the friendly Mrs. Dunlap. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
The centerpiece of the room was a dark oak table in the middle of the entryway with a large crystal vase of flowers that somehow seemed to match the pale green paint on the walls and didn’t clash with the slightly lighter oak floors that gleamed in the
light of the chandelier overhead.
“Holt is just finishing up a phone call and then he’ll be able to talk to you. You can have a seat in the living room while you wait.”
“Thank you,” Myra said again and followed Mrs. Dunlap into an even more impressive room. Less formal than the foyer, the living room was decorated in blues and greens, the palette restful but not boring.
Myra sat down on the
comfortable sofa, sinking into the deep cushions and trying to keep her nerves under control. Lily had told her the job was basically a done deal and the interview with Mr. Winslow would be a mere formality. But Myra wasn’t sure she could believe that anything was that easy. Certainly nothing lately had been.
After murmuring her apologies Mrs. Dunlap disappeared into another part of the house,
leaving Myra alone. She crossed and uncrossed her legs not able to find a comfortable position, even on the overstuffed couch. It had been a long time since she’d been on a job interview and never one that had so much riding on it. There was no room for error.
Footsteps on the stairs captured Myra’s attention. A tall man with broad shoulders was descending the staircase, his long legs taking
them two at a time. It was only as he grew closer that she could see the mottled skin on the left side of his neck and on his hand and arm. Instead of tan like the rest of him the flesh was pale and smooth as if he’d been burned there.
His left cheek looked as if it had been cut in several places but it did nothing to detract from his devastatingly good looks. In fact, with his short-cropped
dark hair and eyes the scars gave him a rogue-like air that probably attracted women in droves. The broad shoulders and flat abdomen didn’t hurt either.
Holt Winslow was a good-looking man and she felt an unwelcome quiver of awareness run through her as their gazes met and held. His eyes narrowed and he looked up her up and down as he rolled down his shirt sleeves and fastened the cuffs. The
intensity of his gaze made her want to run and hide for some reason as if he could see right through her, which was of course impossible.
Holt Winslow held out his hand. “Myra Burke, I presume?”
She stood on shaking legs and placed her hand in his. A jolt of electricity zipped up her arm and then down her spine, almost knocking her off her feet in surprise. She’d never had a reaction this intense
to a man before and it was not good that he might end up being her boss.
“Yes,” she replied huskily, pulling her hand away in self-preservation. “Please call me Myra.”
“Myra it is, then,” he answered with a brusque tone. “Why don’t we go into my office where we can talk?”
It was a question, but not really. Clearly this was a man who was used to giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed.
Smoothing down her skirt, she slung her handbag over her shoulder.
“Of course, Mr. Winslow,” she said, trying to appear all business. It wasn’t easy when her stomach was doing acrobatic moves in her abdomen.
“You can call me Holt. If you’ll just follow me.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the back of the home, expecting her to do the same. She ended up almost jogging behind him, her
legs much shorter than his.
Myra couldn’t tell if things were off to a good or bad start with Holt Winslow but she prayed it was the former. She couldn’t continue living with Lily and her husband Dane, sponging off of them and she sure couldn’t move back in with her parents.
Straightening her shoulders, Myra took a deep, calming breath. It was time to dazzle her future boss with how amazing
she was.
Easy as pie.
*
