The Maid's Daughter

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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

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 [email protected]. 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.

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.:)

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.