Page 1 of Temptation at His Door

One

Joa Jones ducked under the red-and-white portico covering the impressive doors to Murphy International, thankful to get out of the snow-tinged rain. She blew into her hands, thinking she was inadequately dressed for Boston in late January.

It had been summer when she left Auckland two days ago. Left what she knew would be her last au pair contract.

In New Zealand she’d been an integral part of the Wilson family, welcomed and loved. They’d suggested she move to London with them but she knew that it was one of those oh-God-what-if-she-says-yes? suggestions. No, moving to London with the Wilsons wasn’t an option; their kids were older now and no longer needed a nanny.

Sadly, Joa knew she needed to move on. She could’ve easily picked up another job in New Zealand but, for the last few months, she’d been unable to ignore the feeling that she was in the wrong country, and in the wrong career.

Returning to Boston was a scary but necessary option. Theonlyoption.

Joa pushed her fist into her sternum, trying to push her panic down.

Since Iz’s death she’d done a load of self-analysis and was now self-aware enough to know that by becoming an au pair, she’d been trying to find the family she’d never had growing up in the foster care system. She was twenty-nine years old and if she wanted a family, she’d have to make her own.

And she was done insinuating herself into other people’s lives only to have to say goodbye when the families moved on.

Returning to Boston was her new start, a reset.

She’d take the time to be with her foster sister, Keely, and with Keely’s help, Joa could figure out what came next.

Blowing into her hands, Joa looked up and down the street, not seeing Keely. On arriving at Logan International, Joa had received a text message asking her to come directly to Murphy International, the world-renowned auction house situated in central Boston. She and Keely had a meeting with the CEO to discuss the auction of Joa’s foster mother’s (and Keely’s great aunt’s) art collection. The collection was one of the best in the world and, on Isabel Mounton-Matthew’s death a little over a year ago, Joa and Keely inherited her art, along with a historic house in Boston’s moneyed Back Bay neighborhood, a stupendously healthy stock portfolio and various plump bank accounts.

Joa, a child of Boston’s foster care system and a teenage runaway, was now an heiress. The mind boggled.

Keely, adopted by Isabel after her parents’ deaths when she was little, could’ve just met with Carrick Murphy on her own; she knew the Murphy brothers from way back and Joa had given her power of attorney to act on her behalf a week after Iz died. She trusted Keely implicitly.

But Boston was where Joa needed to be, the place where she would—she hoped—figure out her future.

A taxi pulled up and then Joa found her arms full of her curvy, bubbly friend. Keely rained kisses on her face. “It’s so amazing to see you, Ju. FaceTime is just not the same.”

“It’s good to see you too, Keels,” Joa quietly told her. And it was.

This woman had welcomed Joa into her house, into her life, and treated her like a sister, a best friend. From the day she’d left the shelter and moved into Isabel’s mansion, Keely had shared her clothes, showed her how to apply makeup, coached her through her first date. It was Keely who’d helped her fill in college applications and choose her prom dress.

Most importantly, it was Keely who held her hand as they buried Isabel.

Impulsively and uncharacteristically, Joa reached for Keely again and pulled her into another hug. She was family; the only one she had.

Keely, always happy to hug, rocked her from side to side before pulling back and placing her hands on Joa’s cheeks. “You’re an ice block! For goodness’ sake, let’s go in. And what are you wearing?”

Joa looked down at her thin coat, jeans and now-wet trainers. “Not enough, apparently.” She followed Keely into an impressive hallway dominated by a wide marble staircase and the familiar smell of beeswax polish.

To the right of the staircase, a sleek woman sat behind an equally smooth desk, waiting for them to approach. Keely pulled off her cashmere coat and draped it over her arm. A security guard stood by the door, another two by the entrances of the viewing rooms. Paintings hung on the walls and massive, tumbling arrangements of flowers spilled from two crystal vases on two plinths on either side of that impressive marble-and-wrought-iron staircase.

Joa, in off-the-rack clothes and shoes and wearing a battered vintage jacket, was in no doubt she’d stepped into another world. In spite of her new inheritance, this was Isabel’s world, Keely’s world, not hers. Intellectually she knew that she was a now stupendously wealthy woman, but emotionally, she was still that fourteen-year-old runaway, scared and cynical, always looking for the stick behind the carrot. A large part of her was still waiting for someone, anyone, to tell her that Isabel’s bequest was a mistake, that a girl from the wrong side of the tracks wasn’t allowed to inherit a half share of one of the biggest fortunes in the country.

Joa felt Keely’s hand on her back, grounding her.

“It’s so good to have you back, darling. How long are you staying?”

“Not sure.” Joa moved her rucksack to her other shoulder and shrugged. “My contract in Auckland ended. I think I need to switch directions, find a new career. So I’m staying until I can figure stuff out. Is that okay?”

Keely pretended to think. “Well, I’m not sure if we have room for you at the inn. It’s only a turn-of-the-century, fifteen-bedroom house with too many reception rooms, libraries, a ballroom, two dining rooms, a media room and servants’ quarters. I’m not quite sure where we’ll find a place for you,” Keely joked. Looking at her rucksack, she frowned. “Where is your luggage?”

Joa pulled a face. “The airline lost it. I think it’s in Kuala Lumpur. I’ve been told it will be here the day after next.”

“Or never.”

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