“This is insane.”

“What’s insane about wanting a child?” Marsh stood, and came to lean against her side of the table. He was close—too close.

Jen had to raise her head to look at him. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s your way of going about it that’s strange.” Jen stared at him a moment, torn between wanting to shut him down—and wanting to go upstairs with him so she could have his mouth on hers again. Finally she asked, “Are you nuts?”

Rather than the anger she expected, Marsh treated her to his insides-melting laugh.

“I like you,” he said. “You’re as prickly as I am. I believe we could make a go of it.”

“Of what? A marriage of convenience?” Jen somehow managed to keep her voice calm.

“Yes.” He nodded.

“Whose?”

“What do you mean, whose?” He appeared perplexed.

“My convenience … or yours?”

Dear Reader,

Hi friends. It seems like forever since last I wrote to you. I’ve been on a sabbatical for some time (actually, I tell myself and everyone else who might ask, that I’m semi-retired). But it only works for a period of time before ideas for another story—or stories—begin knocking on my mind, demanding my attention.

The book you are holding in your hand is the first to tickle my interest. It began innocently enough with a title … Beguiling the Boss. Big deal, I mocked. I should have known better. Before too long I had characters vying for attention. Hmm, I mused … maybe. I started writing and, as always, ever since the first book I wrote, the characters led the way, telling me their story as I soon, and again as always, followed along. As I’m a hunt-and-pick typist, many times I simply could not keep up. Then, piqued, I would walk away until they—the hero or heroine—allowed me breathing room by slowing up a bit.

But all things considered, I supposed the characters must be right, because you, dear readers, appear to like the tales they tell me. I hope you will enjoy this particular story, as these two characters are both strong-willed and independent. Matter of fact, I found them to be rather beguiling.

Yeah, I know, I’m shameless, but the idea here is to catch your attention so you’ll buy the book!

Thank you for all the years we’ve spent together through the pages of my books.

Yours always,

Joan Hohl

About the Author

JOAN HOHL is a bestselling author of more than sixty books. She has received numerous awards for her work, including a Romance Writers of America Golden Medallion award. In addition to contemporary romance, this prolific author also writes historical and time-travel romances. Joan lives in eastern Pennsylvania with her husband, Marv, and their family consisting of: two daughters, Lori and Amy, two grandchildren, Erica and Cammeron, and three great-grandsons, Jaden, Kieran and Sorin.

Beguiling the Boss

Joan Hohl

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my own “Gang” … six writers from various parts of the country, all of us different in interests and politics, yet close no matter the distance in miles … because we love one another and we are all a little wacky! We stay connected by email and refer to each other as the gang.

They are as follows:

Kasey Michaels. Leslie Lafoy. Mary McBride.

Karen Katz and myself.

Yes, I know, that is only five.

Marcia Evanick was number six.

Marcie, as we called her, was warm and kind and compassionate. At our occasional meetings, when she smiled or laughed, we had to smile and laugh with her.

Last July, after a valiant, courageous fight, our beloved Marcie lost the battle of her life to ALS.

May she rest in peace.

I will miss you forever, Marce.

Joan

One

Jennifer Dunning had always been indulged and she knew it. How could she not? From the day of her birth she had been pampered and cooed over, not only by her parents but by anyone and everyone who saw her. And yet, as far as she could recall, she had never acted out or thrown temper tantrums when she didn’t get her way. She accepted a “no” as final and quietly moved on.

But now she sat on her bed in her room, where she had been hiding for the better part of the past two weeks, searching desperately on her electric-blue laptop for her new life. It was time to leave her parents’ home in the exclusive gated community on the outskirts of Dallas. It was time to leave her parents, period.

Jennifer was stunningly beautiful—she had been as a baby, and was even more so at the age of twenty-eight. Tall and willowy with curves in all the right places, she was blessed with long honey-blond hair, dark brown eyes and classic features.

Jennifer was also restless, frustrated and edgy. She had quit her high-paying job as a personal assistant to the CEO of a large company two weeks ago. She was simply sick and tired of listening to the endless daily pep rallies given by her boss—the son of the company owner—who Jennifer considered unfit for the position he held. She was also tired of him eyeing her up and down every time they happened to be in the same room. He was a creep. So, deciding she had had enough, she had resigned.

Jennifer didn’t actually need to work. Her parents were wealthy and she was their only child. She also had a large trust fund from her departed fraternal grandmother, and a smaller one from her maternal grandfather, who was still alive. But she liked working. She was intelligent, had a bachelor’s degree in science and an MBA, and she enjoyed keeping busy, doing something useful. As a personal assistant, she’d been on her way up the career ladder.

Besides, working was much more interesting than the Dallas social scene. She found the scene boring, as well as pointless. As a youngster she had enjoyed the dancing lessons her mother insisted upon, and she also loved riding, after getting over the initial fear of her horse, which was huge compared to her six-year-old frame. No small ponies for her daughter, her mother had declared. Jennifer would attain her seat while on the back of a full-size Thoroughbred. And she had. Her seat was as elegant by the time she was eleven as that of any expert equestrian.

It was later, as she grew into her late teens, that Jennifer had become tired of the social scene. Lunch with the girls every Wednesday, listening to gossip she couldn’t care less about—it had all started to feel so frivolous, and Jennifer had big plans for herself. She’d been preparing to go east, to the University of Pennsylvania and the Wharton School of Business. Her friends all had plans to attend the same college right there in Texas. In short, they were parting ways. But Jennifer decided she’d bear the lunches and the silly talk, as she thought of it, until the end of summer. Then she’d be on her own.

In contrast, her parents had been immersed in the social whirl all her life, unfortunately. It wasn’t that they were uncaring—Jennifer knew her parents loved her. It was simply that they weren’t there all that much. As a kid, she spent most of her free time with the housekeeper, Ida, who taught her how to clean, or with the cook, Tony, who practically made her a professional chef. As it turned out, Jennifer loved doing hard, honest work with her hands. It filled her with a purpose she hadn’t known she’d needed.

After Jennifer finished school, she came back to Dallas and lived in her own apartment with a private entrance in her parents’ house. She could have invited anyone she wanted to her place, but she had never had a man stay over. Not that her parents would have minded or objected. She was an adult, after all. It was just that none of the men she knew affected her that way.

Maybe because of what had happened during her junior year of high school.

She had never told her parents—or anyone else—about being caught alone on campus by a boy. She’d been leaving school later than most of the students following a meeting with her math teacher. It was January and almost dark, and she was distracted by thoughts of her conversation with the teacher. She wasn’t fully alert while weaving through the rows of vehicles in the parking lot as she headed for her car.

The boy was a senior—a clean-cut, all-American star football player. Most of Jennifer’s friends had crushes on him. Jennifer didn’t, thinking him too cocky and into himself. Perhaps that was the reason he had accosted her that afternoon.

Trapping her between two parked cars, he fumbled with his pants zipper, exposing himself to her. At first, she was too shocked to think. But she came to her senses when he shoved his other hand up her skirt, attempting to yank her panties off.

Frantic, Jennifer had let out an earsplitting scream. Although the parking lot had appeared deserted, a male voice responded with a shouted, “Hey, what the hell?”

Mr. All-American let loose a savage curse, snarling, “You better keep your mouth shut about this, bitch.” He sprinted away in the opposite direction.

Without thinking, Jennifer ran to her car, even as she could hear the man who had shouted running toward her. Her parents weren’t home when she arrived there, shaken and teary-eyed. Hearing the boy’s snarled threat echo in her mind, she had never told anyone of the incident.

Though Jennifer had been physically uninjured, the experience had left her wary of the opposite sex. Over time her anxiety had faded as she realized all males were not like Mr. All-American. She had even indulged her curiosity one time while in college. Although she liked the young man, the act was disappointing, leaving her feeling empty. And so, she had never invited a man to spend the night.

Not that her parents would have noticed even if their daughter was having a mad, passionate affair. They were busy socializing in Dallas and in the exclusive gated community where they resided, changing partners with their closest friends.

Yes, changing partners.

Jennifer had only recently found out about her parents’ game. She hadn’t a clue how many friends there had been or how many years they had been experimenting. In truth, she didn’t want to know. She could barely look at her parents’ faces or be in their company for more than a few minutes. Even though she knew her parents’ lifestyle was their business, she felt betrayed, as if they had been lying to her for years about who they really were underneath the façade of “social appropriateness” and their picture-perfect marriage. It made her want to do something to shock them right back.

So she had resigned from her job the day after coming home from work and catching a glimpse of her father and his best friend’s wife, Annette Terrell, in a compromising position in one room, and her mother and the woman’s husband, William, in a similar position in another.

Now, two weeks later, Jennifer knew she had to leave home, to take a break until the hurt subsided. She could barely look at her parents without feeling ill, and wanting to cry. She loved them, but what she had witnessed had deeply shocked her. Perhaps someday, she would be able to be in the company of her parents without that awful image tormenting her. But that day had not yet arrived.

Alone in her bedroom, Jennifer sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop balanced on her knees. She was searching for escape, and employment, to keep her mind occupied. In effect, she was intent on running away from home … and her memories. It was time to stop living in a house of lies.

One week later, Jen left her parents a note. It read: I’m off to see the Wizard—Marsh Grainger, that is, the famously elusive business wizard of Dallas. It’s about a new job. I’ll be in touch.

She also emailed her best friends, whom she had met her first year in college. They had remained close ever since, staying in touch mostly by email, phone and texts. Although they all lived within driving distance, they led busy lives—three of the women were married with children, and the other two were busy chasing careers. Even so, “the gang” managed to get together every couple of months.

Hi, all, she wrote them. I’m taking off for a while, will be in touch soon.

Jennifer knew the next time she checked her email, there would be long messages from her friends, demanding to know exactly where she was and what she was up to, but she just wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened. And she wasn’t ready to tell them that she was interviewing with Marshall Grainger, whom they knew had a reputation as a womanizer.

Her mother probably knew, too. She fully expected her mother to start calling her cell phone as soon as she discovered that Jennifer was gone. That was okay—her parents could call all they wanted. It didn’t mean she had to answer. After all, even she couldn’t entirely explain why Marsh Grainger’s ad for an office assistant had appealed to her. But she needed space and distance—and she was pretty sure the wizard, who was rumored to prefer his hill country ranch to the craziness of high society in Dallas, could help her with that.

Marshall Grainger needed help. He needed an office assistant as well as a cook who would also clean the sprawling Texas hill country home that doubled as his workplace.

A cousin in the wealthy Grainger family of Wyoming, South Dakota and Montana, Marsh was, in a word, loaded. He owned a huge cattle ranch in Colorado, run by an excellent manager and former Marine buddy, Matt Hayes. The ranch had been in Marsh’s family for generations. Growing up, he had spent most of his summers there and he knew the ranching business inside and out.

But Marsh was not a cattleman at heart. He was a businessman, considered a force to be reckoned with in more ways than one. He was six foot four inches tall, slim and rangy with rugged features defined by high cheekbones and a strong, square, rock-hard jaw. A thick mane of gleaming hair the exact shade of rich dark chocolate matched the slightly arched brows above slate-gray eyes.

While Marsh owned the building that housed his company, nestled among many other tall buildings in Dallas, he rarely traveled into the city. He avoided the scene in Dallas like the plague, preferring to work at home in the large house set dead center on more than fifty acres.

At present, Marsh was desperately trying not to allow himself to be hopeful. After weeks of using all avenues of advertisements available to him, there was a chance he’d soon be able to hand the ranch books, the household bills and several duties of his main business over to a new assistant.

Someone who was actually qualified had applied for the job. So what if she was a she?

Finished paying his current household and ranch bills, he picked up his coffee mug and glanced at his watch as he walked out of the assistant’s office, hoping he wouldn’t have to spend any time there again in the near future.

It was 1:36 p.m. The appointment with the applicant was at 2. Rinsing his mug, he proceeded to make a fresh pot of coffee. Then again, he mused, after her long drive, the woman might appreciate a cold drink. He checked the fridge; there was cola as well as bottled water. The beer was his. Now all he had to do was wait, which was not Marsh’s strong suit. He got busy scouring the sink and wiping down the long countertop.

His former assistant had up and quit on him three months ago, and he hadn’t been able to sleep since then—until last night. Just the thought of interviewing someone who was actually qualified and could lighten his load had allowed him to enjoy his first full night’s sleep in a long time. Hopefully she would take to the place. At that thought, he grimaced as he sent a quick look around. While tidy, the kitchen needed a thorough cleaning. The same went for the rest of the house. He had done his best to keep up with everything, but the majority of his time was consumed by the myriad details of his businesses. At the end of the day he was only one man.

Marsh had never dreamed finding help would be so hard. After his assistant left, he had received many responses to his ads, but only a few were qualified, and even fewer of those were willing to relocate to “the sticks,” as one respondent called it.

The sticks? Marsh had thought with amazement. Didn’t these city dwellers know how popular the hill country was with tourists? Apparently not. They hadn’t a clue what they were missing.

But now, hopefully, things would return to normal.

If he could just replace his assistant—and the housekeeper that the man had taken with him to Vegas, to marry—life would be good again.

Marsh thought about what his assistant and the housekeeper had said to him when they’d quit. They had said they were in love.

Love. Yeah. Right.

And if that hadn’t been bad enough, the teenage daughter of his nearest neighbor, who had been coming to the house once a week to help the housekeeper, had been ordered to quit. Her parents thought her being alone with him was a bad idea.

Marsh knew precisely what they meant by “bad idea.” So he had a reputation with women. So what? He was a healthy male, and the key word was women. He was not interested in teenagers. He’d have laughed at the thought if he hadn’t been so ticked off.

At the ripe old age of thirty-four, Marsh was bitter and he knew it. He hugged the truth to him like a heating pad, keeping the bitterness alive so he’d never forget.

He had been betrayed—twice. The first time was when he was six years old, by his mother, who had left his father to seek fun in the bright lights, taking a hefty chunk of his father’s money with her. Marsh had doubled down on the pain of betrayal at age twenty-four by marrying in a haze of lust only to be told by his young wife that she wasn’t about to waste her youth and beauty stuck in the hill country of Texas, popping out babies and ruining her figure. In hindsight, Marsh knew he should have discussed his desire for children before they were married. It would have saved him a lot of trouble and money—especially since he had known deep down inside that he wasn’t in love with her. In his estimation, love was an illusion dreamed up by poets and romance writers. But he still would have had children with her, because he truly felt as if he was meant to be a father. He wanted an heir, someone to lavish love on—the only love he truly believed in—who would take over when he was gone.

In some ways, he got lucky. Though his ex took an even larger chunk of his money than his mother had taken of his father’s, Marsh gladly wrote the check, happy to get the selfish woman who had clearly married him just for his wealth out of his life and his home.

Then, to top it all off, a couple years later his father had retired, retreating to the ranch where he completed his slow decline toward death, thus also deserting Marsh.

It had been a tough time.

The coffeemaker drew Marsh from his unpleasant reverie with one last gurgle as it finished brewing. Marsh filled his mug and took a careful test sip. The brew was scalding hot but good just the same, even though the carafe, too, needed a thorough washing.

Marsh sighed. As much as he cringed at the very thought of having another female in the house, he hoped this young woman took the job. Jennifer Dunning was her name, and on paper she seemed like a mature, intelligent adult. Her credentials were excellent, almost unbelievably so. Every reference she had listed had come up aces and the investigator’s report gave her a clean slate. She was from a wealthy family but apparently enjoyed working. He had even met her prominent parents on one or two occasions but he had never met her. One report he had received said she was not a part of the Dallas social scene, which seemed strange, given her family circumstances.

Basically, he had no idea what to expect.

He had requested an interview at his home. As she was located in Dallas, he was certain she would refuse to travel the considerable distance to his house merely for an interview and that would be the end of it. But she had agreed. Against his better judgment, Marsh set a date and time. Well, today was the day, and it was almost the time … if she showed up.

As a rule, Marsh usually worked in his office until late into the evening hours after dinner. For the past three months, he’d had no choice but to do the work of his assistant and housekeeper as well, which included keeping current on the cattle breeding information and managing the finances for the ranch and the payroll for the men. He barely had time to clean, although he did manage to keep his own bedroom spotless. And forget about cooking—his cooking skills were limited to slapping a sandwich together and heating a can of soup. He did brew a damn good cup of coffee, though.

He shot another look at his watch. Three minutes until two. Carrying his cup, he strolled along the wide slate-covered walkway to the front of the smooth white adobe house. Narrowing his eyes he stared at the black-topped road that turned off the highway to wind its way to the main house. After a long, dry summer, the driveway was coated by a layer of dust.

The beginnings of a frown nudged his eyebrows together as he looked again at his watch. Never late himself, he expected punctuality from others—especially someone applying for employment.

A low beep sounded from a small device attached to his belt. Security was alerting him that someone had driven onto the property. At that moment, he noticed a plume of dust rising from the back of a vehicle moving at a speed that would have made Richard Petty grin. No way was it Jennifer Dunning—he’d never met a woman who drove like that in all his life. It was Matt, or a special delivery, which was probably for the best anyway.

Marsh slashed another glance at his watch. It was exactly two when the old white Cadillac came to a screeching stop directly in front of the flagstone entranceway. The driver’s-side door was thrown open and a woman stepped out, slamming the door behind her.

Oh, hell.

She was absolutely gorgeous. A bit above average height, maybe five-eight or so, she had a long mass of honey-blond hair, dark brown eyes, a lovely face with well-defined features, a lush mouth and a curvaceous body. She was basically a man’s fantasy come to life.

Dammit, Marsh thought as every muscle in his body grew taut. Jennifer Dunning was the last thing he needed within a hundred miles, let alone inside his home. It had been over two weeks since he had forced himself to leave the ranch and go to his office in Dallas … and as long since he’d been with a woman. How was he going to manage this?

“Mr. Grainger?” Her voice was both cool and seductive. She extended a slim-fingered hand and smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. What else? “I’m Jennifer Dunning.”

I was afraid you’d say that. Marsh kept the thought to himself and offered a faint smile in return. He took her hand, surprised by her strong grip.

Something too close to awareness caused an itch in his palm. He released her hand and gestured for her to precede him along the walkway.

“This will lead to the kitchen,” he said, trying to ignore the enticing movement of her rounded hips as she walked ahead of him. “I thought you might like something to drink after your long drive. We can talk there.”

“That’s fine with me. I’d love a cup of coffee.” She turned to offer him another one of those heart-stopping smiles that set off every alarm bell in Marsh’s head.

The interview didn’t last long. Her intelligent answers exceeded his expectations. Marsh hired her before she had finished her coffee. He was immediately sorry he’d done so, but dammit, he needed the help. He was a grown man—he could keep things under control.

Couldn’t he?

Jennifer Dunning was walking, talking temptation. And Marsh certainly wasn’t immune to women. Every man needed R & R now and then. But he was confident he could handle the situation—and her. Hell, they’d be in two separate offices located in two separate rooms.

He sighed. He’d be fine … if she turned out to be a nice, quiet assistant who did her job and stayed out of his way.

A woman who drives like that? Not a chance. “So, when can you start?” he asked, holding out hope she would say as soon as next week.

As if she hadn’t heard, Jennifer glanced around the room. “Have you found someone for the housekeeping position?”

Marsh frowned. “No, why do you ask? Does the place look that messy?”

She smiled. “Not at all. The ad online mentioned living quarters for the housekeeper attached to the house.”

He nodded, curious. What was she getting at? “Yes … why?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I can start tomorrow, if I can move into those quarters until you hire a housekeeper. I have my stuff in my car.”

Dead silence, for a moment. “You brought all your things with you on the basis of an interview?” Marsh asked. “What if I hadn’t hired you?”

Jennifer shrugged. “I’d have found something else, somewhere else. I’m not in a hurry. But no, I didn’t bring all my things.” She flashed a brilliant smile at him, and this one Marsh felt from his hairline to his … never mind. “I would have needed an 18-wheeler for that.”

Uh-huh, he thought, aching in all the wrong places and wondering if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. “Miss Dunning, are you certain you want this job?”

“Jen,” she said.

“What?”

“I prefer Jen,” she answered. “And yes, I am certain. I wouldn’t have bothered interviewing if I didn’t want it.” She gave him a strange look. “Why, have you changed your mind?”

“No.” Marsh gave a quick shake of his head, ignoring the voice inside himself that was telling him to take the out she’d just offered. “I haven’t changed my mind … Jen.”

“Okay, then can I use the housekeeper’s living quarters temporarily?”

“Yeah, sure, why not,” he said. “Considering the kind of responses I’ve had, it might be a while.”

She frowned. “Exactly what kind of responses have you received?”

He shrugged. “Oh, things like, ‘it’s too isolated,’ ‘too far from Dallas or any other decent-size city,’ and on and on.”

“Too isolated?” Jen repeated in a tone of disbelief. “There are a lot of towns in this area. From what I gather, the entire hill country is overrun with tourists.” She paused, and seemed to size him up for a moment, as if suddenly questioning the wisdom of what she’d just done. “That was one of the reasons I asked if I could have the housekeeper’s quarters. I wasn’t certain I could find accommodations anywhere close by.”

Marsh ignored the way she was looking at him. “Well, glad to be of help,” he said, as neutrally as possible.

She relaxed and flashed that smile. “I think the location is perfect.”

Marsh felt as if a cool finger had just trailed his spine. Ignoring it, he said the first thing that jumped into his rattled mind.

“Would you like to look at the apartment now?”

“Yes, please.” Finishing off her coffee, she stood and started for the door. “I’ll go get my stuff.”

“I’ll help you,” Marsh said. “Drive your car around to the garages at the side. There’s a private entrance to the apartment there.”

To Marsh’s surprise, Jen didn’t have all that much. He had expected to find her car packed solid with all the “necessities” most of the women he knew needed for a week away. But Jen had two suitcases, a canvas carry-on bag, a computer case and a midsize carton, which drew a mild grunt from him when he hoisted it from the trunk.

“Books,” she said, smiling at him.

“No kidding,” Marsh said, sliding the heavy carton under one arm. “And I was just about to tell you how light you were traveling.”

“A girl’s got to have her books,” Jen said as she headed off in the direction he indicated, giving him a luscious view that made him sure he was going to regret the day Jennifer Dunning came into his life.

As they walked through the garage to the apartment, Jen took note of the four very expensive cars parked in each bay and the workhorse truck in the fifth one. The cars—and the garage itself—were cleaner than the interior of the house. Jen smiled to herself as Marsh crossed the spotless cement floor to a side door.

“Will you get the door, please? It’s unlocked.”

“Of course,” she said, skirting around him to open it and stepping back for him to precede her. Nodding in thanks, he started up a flight of stairs. To her surprise, the stairway led into a long hallway inside the house, not above the garage, as she had assumed. So, the quarters weren’t attached to the house, they were inside the house.

Mmm, she mused, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. That thought was immediately followed by, Oh, grow up, Jennifer, surely Mr. Grainger wouldn’t try anything with his assistant, would he? At the thought, Jen felt a strange twinge in the pit of her stomach that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

She ignored the sensation and decided she was being ridiculous. The door would have a lock … or so she hoped.

Dropping the suitcase, Marsh dug a ring of keys from his pocket and removed one, unlocking and opening the door. “After you,” he said, standing back to let her pass.

“Thank you.” Jen entered, pleasantly surprised by the cozy living room. She heard him sigh behind her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, following her into the room. “The place needs a good cleaning. If I’d have known …”

“It’s fine,” she said, cutting him off. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Possibly I could get the young woman who used to help out once a week before the housekeeper …”

“It’s all right. Really.” She smiled. “I learned how to clean from the best.” Jen was on the move as she spoke, checking out the bedroom, the bathroom, the small dining area and lastly the kitchen. He trailed behind her.

Making a quick turn, she almost crashed into him.

“Sorry.” They spoke in unison.

Jen laughed.

Marsh smiled. “So, what do you think?”

“I like it,” she said. “This kitchen is fabulous.”

“You can cook?”

She swung a wicked grin at him. “I’m a damn good cook. I practically grew up with the chef in my mother’s kitchen.”

“Uh-huh.” He hesitated before saying, “I’m a disaster in the kitchen. The last decent meal I had was in a restaurant two weeks ago.”

“Too bad,” she commiserated with him. “I love to cook.”

“Wanna get paid for it?”

Jen frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll up your salary by half if you’ll take over the cooking in the main kitchen downstairs.”

Jen extended her hand to him. “You’ve got yourself a cook.” Her palm tingled at the touch of his rough, callused skin against hers. It wasn’t the first time—she had felt the same sensation when they had shaken hands before, only then she had put it down to nervousness over the interview. Then there was that funny twist in her midsection a short time ago.

She didn’t know what it all was exactly, but she didn’t like it.

Fortunately, the contact lasted only a moment. He released her hand and moved to the door, pausing again to glance back at her.

“You don’t have to start your administrative duties tomorrow, as you offered. Take the next three days to get set up in here. I’ll be in my office. If you need anything—” he nodded at the slim phone on the countertop “—just hit number one. Any questions?”

“Yes,” Jen said. “Since I assume there is no food here, where is the nearest grocery store?”

He frowned.

Jen had the distinct impression he frowned a lot.

“I thought you were going to cook in the kitchen downstairs.”

Men. Squashing an urge to roll her eyes, Jen made do with a silent sigh. “I will need a few things in here, as well. You know, coffee, milk, other staples.” Straight-faced, she admitted, “I’m a night snacker.”

A shade of a smile crossed his lips. Jen had another distinct impression: that he didn’t smile all that often. Shame. It was quite an attractive smile.

“Look, leave the grocery shopping until tomorrow. There is stuff in the downstairs kitchen—in the pantry, fridge and freezer. If you’ll come along now, you can take things for tonight and make a shopping list for tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Jen followed him from the room. Getting to the kitchen was simple. They walked to the end of the hallway to a large landing, where a broad open staircase curved down to an equally broad foyer at the front of the house.

At the bottom of the stairs, Marsh turned left and strode along another hallway that led to the kitchen at the back of the house. By Jen’s calculations, her new living quarters were directly above the kitchen and formal dining room. From the dining room’s sliding glass doors, she caught a glimpse of a large patio and a swimming pool.

Gorgeous property, nicer than the too-formal look of her parents’ home, she was thinking. What will it feel like to live in a place like this as the hired help?

“Okay, the kitchen’s all yours,” Marsh said. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Wait,” Jen said.

He frowned again but this time, impatience flashed across his features, making them look severe. Slowly, he raised one eyebrow.

If he meant to intimidate, he succeeded.

But Jen was not about to let him know it. “Jot down a few of your food preferences,” she said, fully aware that her request sounded like an order. “Meanwhile, I’ll start a list of the things we’ll need.” She raised an eyebrow right back at him. “Okay?”

He sighed, gave her a terse nod and left the room.

When he was gone, Jen exhaled. Working for Marshall Grainger was going to be a challenge, in a number of ways, not the least of which was remaining professional and not losing her temper right along with him.

Finding a notebook and pencils in a drawer, she began opening cabinets. None of them contained foodstuffs; a few were completely empty. Then she discovered the double pantry next to the fridge. Now she was getting somewhere. There were plenty of dried foods: flour, sugar, cereals and canned goods, except for soup. There were only two cans in an otherwise empty area.

She stared at the shelf for a moment, wondering whether her new employer didn’t like soup, or loved it so much it was a regular for him.

Recalling his words, she shook her head. He had admitted to being a lousy cook. Conclusion? The man had been practically living on soup. After checking out the fridge, she added sandwiches to the list of things he’d been living on. Other than two slices of cheese wrapped in plastic, a nearly empty carton of eggs, a small package of bacon, a half-empty carton of milk and a couple of slices of bread, along with some beer and soda, the fridge was empty.

Jen opened the freezer door on the side-by-side. Now, this looked better. The freezer was packed and everything was dated. Maybe there was hope for Marsh Grainger after all, she thought with a smile.

Her shopping list completed, she sent a slow look around the room. The countertop looked spotless, as if very recently cleaned. Hmm, she mused. Had her boss given it a quick cleaning before she arrived?

Had he done that for her benefit?

Giving herself a mental get-with-it shake, she glanced at the clock.

It was eight minutes after three. Jen figured she had time enough to clean the kitchen. But first, dinner. She rummaged around in the freezer and grabbed a package of ground turkey and a bag of mixed veggies with an herb sauce. Within minutes she had a turkey stew cooking in the slow cooker on the counter.

Turkey stew would have to do. Smiling at her silly rhyme, she pulled out some cleaning supplies, slipped on a pair of plastic gloves and got down to the business at hand.

A couple hours later, her skin moist with perspiration from her efforts, Jen stood in the kitchen doorway admiring the results. The room was spotless. A sense of satisfaction brought a small smile to her lips—Ida would be proud.

After touching the floor tiles to see if they were dry, Jen walked to the phone and hit the 1 button.

“What is it, Ms. Dunning?”

Jen didn’t miss the exasperated note in Marshall’s voice. Keeping her own voice carefree and chipper, she said, “Dinner is ready whenever you are.” She paused, then deliberately added, “sir.”

“Thank you. But don’t call me that.”

His tone had lightened a bit. Jen smirked. “You’re welcome.”

“I’ll be there in a little while.”

“Take your time, it will keep. I’m going up to my place now.”

“What about you?”

She couldn’t quite read his meaning. Was he worried she wanted to dine with him? Or did he want her to? “I’ve eaten, thank you. What time would you like breakfast?”

“Is six-thirty okay with you?”

Good grief, was he actually asking her instead of telling her? “Yes,” she briskly answered, “six-thirty will be fine.” She waited a heartbeat before saying, “Good night, sir.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, Jen hit the off button, leaving the room with a jaunty step.

Two

Jen sat in a comfortable chair, sipping hot coffee while gazing around the living room in her new quarters. Though not very large, the room was cozy and would be even better with a bit of decorating.

She’d get at the cleaning tomorrow. Since she had the next three days off, she could take her time, she thought. But as she tried to make a mental list of everything she wanted to do, her mind kept drifting … to her new employer.

What was his deal, anyway? She mused, hearing an echo of his hard voice, seeing again the sharpness of his steel-gray eyes.

Tough man, Marshall Grainger. Though she had never seen him in person before, Jen had seen him in the paper and had heard about him. And there was plenty to hear—good and bad, but never indifferent.

He had married young, and divorced soon after—a sticky affair from what Jen had heard. She gathered that the young woman, a genuine beauty, had expected Marsh to introduce her into the highest social circles in Texas. But apparently Mr. Marshall Grainger wasn’t into the social scene, and never had been. So, goodbye wife—and goodbye to a large slice from his money pie.

But, rumor had it, his mother had done the same deal to his father, and Marsh was one bitter man. He disdained women, while not above using them for his own convenience.

Luckily for her she was only here to work. She had no interest in Marsh Grainger, and she intended to keep it that way. So what if he was as handsome as the day was long? Jen had never had a problem keeping her cool around good-looking men—she wasn’t about to start now.

She rose from the comfy chair and walked to the kitchen to rinse her cup. It was time to put clean sheets on the bed, have a shower and hit the sack. Breakfast for my steely-eyed boss at six-thirty, she reminded herself.

Jen had a full breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast and fresh coffee ready when Marsh strode into the kitchen at precisely six-thirty the next morning. Unlike most CEOs going to work, he was dressed in faded jeans, a chambray shirt and well-worn running shoes.

He looked terrific.

“Good morning,” she greeted him cheerily, dishing up the meal onto two plates.

“Urmph,” he responded as he seated himself at the solid-oak table.

Jen stifled a smile and placed his breakfast in front of him, then put her plate on a tray and started to head upstairs.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his forkful of eggs in midair between his plate and his mouth.

Gritting her teeth at his imperious tone, while reminding herself that this grouchy man was her employer, Jen managed to dredge up a pleasant reply. “I’m going upstairs.”

He motioned at the chair opposite. “Have a seat. There are a few things I want to go over with you.”

Offloading her food from the tray to the table, Jen sat and patiently watched him enjoying her culinary efforts.

“Eat,” he said, snapping off a bite of crisp bacon with his strong white teeth. “We can talk over coffee.”

They ate the meal in dead silence. Jen was tempted to speak, but she squashed the urge, determined to make him start the conversation.

As soon as he sat back and laid his napkin beside his plate, Jen was on her feet, clearing. Deliberately making him wait, she stashed the dishes in the dishwasher before pouring the coffee and then sitting down again. Wrapping her hands around the mug, she looked directly into his eyes, and was startled to find herself fascinated by the odd silvery color. She again felt that funny tingling sensation inside, deep inside, and again she didn’t like it. The feeling was too … too out of her control. She quickly looked away.

“I’ll be leaving later this morning,” he said. “I have a few business appointments. You’ll have the place to yourself for the entire weekend as I won’t be back until Monday.”

A strange relief washed through her at the thought that she wouldn’t have to see Marsh for a few days. It was mixed with a sense of disappointment that she chose to ignore. “Great,” she said. “It’ll give me plenty of time to get settled in.”

“You have no reason to be concerned about being alone here. I have—”

Jen frowned, interrupting. “Actually, I like being alone.”

Marsh leveled a cool look at her; apparently he didn’t appreciate being interrupted. “Any woman should be afraid of being alone on a property this size,” he growled. “I’m a wealthy man. That, plus the size of the place, makes it a target. In addition to a man who takes care of the horses, I have security all over the grounds.”

“I didn’t notice any security when I drove up,” she said, taking a sip of the coffee.

He gave her a wry look. “That’s the idea—you’re not supposed to notice them. But trust me, they were there, and I was notified of your arrival.”

“You have horses?” she asked, ignoring his tone.

“Yes, I have horses.”

When he didn’t add anything further, she asked, “What about the office work?”

“That can wait until Monday. I brought everything up to date before you arrived.” He lifted a hand to a breast pocket and withdrew a white bank envelope and a small black leather case. “That should be enough cash to purchase whatever you need,” he said. “The case is an alarm. If you hear or see anything that doesn’t seem right to you, press the button. There will be security here in minutes. It will also open the garage. I’m going to pull the truck out so you can park your car.”

Sighing, she reluctantly took the case.

He frowned at her. “Keep it with you at all times. And that’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes narrowed. “Oh, and I also listed a few of my favorite meals … as you asked,” he added in a dry-as-dust tone.

“Thank you.” Jen pushed back her chair and stood. “If you’ll excuse me now, I’m going up to clean the apartment … unless you have other instructions for me?” She raised her brows.

He nodded his head, also standing. “There is one more thing.” He sent a slow glance around the room. “You did a good job on the kitchen. It’s spotless.”

A tiny smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Not quite,” she said. “The curtains need laundering.”

For a moment Marsh simply stared at her, then, with a shake of his head, he started for the hallway. “I’ll see you sometime Monday.” With that he strode from the room.

Jen watched him go, wondering just what kind of power struggle she had gotten herself into with Marsh Grainger.

She spent the rest of the day giving the apartment a thorough cleaning. By the time she looked up, it was time for supper. Yet as busy as she was, there were moments—too many, to Jen’s way of thinking—when thoughts of Marsh pushed past her guard to tease her imagination.

Jen didn’t appreciate his intrusion. He was her employer. Period. Nothing more. Who was he, really, other than a tough and bitter man? In all truth, he had a right to his bitterness, but it was none of her concern.

Still, the thoughts persisted. Why? In a word, Marshall Grainger was all male. A ruggedly handsome, sexy-as-hell male at that.

Startled by her last thought, Jen gave herself a mental shake. Get it together, woman, she told herself. Marsh may be all those things, but he uses women, and you don’t want any part of that.

Forget him and get back to work.

When she had finished cleaning, Jen took a long, soothing shower, slipped into a nightshirt, then sat down with her laptop to contact her friends. Naturally there were emails from every one of them, demanding more information. She sent them a group email back, saying she had gotten a new job and would get back to them later, after she had settled into the position and had more complete information to offer.

The fact of the matter was, Jen was not quite ready to tell her friends what had happened to send her running from her home. Nor was she ready to tell them that she was living under Marsh Grainger’s roof. Tired, muscles aching from the unusual flurry of physical activity, Jen was then content to drop into bed early. With any luck, she’d fall asleep quickly before she had time for more thoughts of Marshall Grainger.

Saturday morning Jen woke refreshed if still a bit achy, proof of the fact that she had been idle too long. She had stayed in shape playing tennis and horseback riding whenever she could, but while musing on her future options during the past several weeks she had barely left her apartment. The cleaning exercise had done her good.

She dressed in designer jeans, a pin-tucked white shirt and flat-heeled boots. Deciding to grab breakfast in town, she left the house for her shopping spree.

She looked inside the envelope Marsh had given her. Along with the short list of his favorite meals and directions to the nearest mall, Marsh had left her a ridiculous amount of money. Jen rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face.

Either Marsh Grainger had no idea what things actually cost, or he was an extremely generous man underneath that gruff exterior.

It was a lovely, warm autumn day, perfect for shopping. As she headed down the driveway, Jen kept an eye out for signs of the security he had told her about. She didn’t see hide nor hair until she neared the stone pillars flanking the entranceway. A short distance off the road, barely visible, an all-terrain vehicle was parked next to a low hanging tree. As she drove through the entranceway, she thrust her arm out the window and waved as she hit the horn. She laughed as she received a wave and toot in return.

Well, at least the security is friendly, Jen thought, applying a little pressure to the gas pedal. She drove first to the mall Marsh had mentioned, and went into the first shop she came to displaying home decorations.

Not into knick-knacks, Jen chose three pictures in three different sizes. The smaller pictures she chose were pastoral scenes, one of a field covered with Texas bluebonnets, the other of a basket of wildflowers set on one end of a long library table. But the largest one, for the living room, was a rendering in black-and-white of a ship, alone on a wide sea. For some reason, it reminded her of Marsh, alone in that big, remote house.

The thought sent a little shiver through her. Now, that’s simply ridiculous, she chided herself, trying and failing to ignore the feeling. There’s no reason to be thinking of Marsh as a lonely man—in fact, that’s just plain dangerous. Pushing away her thoughts, Jen left the mall and headed for the supermarket.

The sun was beginning to set as Jen drove back onto the property. Her glance automatically shifted to the tree. There was a vehicle there, but a different one. Again she hit the horn and waved, and again she was greeted in kind.

In high spirits, satisfied with her selection of decorations for the apartment, Jen unloaded the car and set to work stashing the food in cabinets, fridge and freezer. As she worked, a curiosity set in about the rest of the house—and, if she was honest with herself, Marsh. It wouldn’t exactly be snooping, she decided. Just … investigating. After all, she’d be working here—she might as well familiarize herself with the place. She quietly slipped into the main part of the house and found herself peeking into six bedrooms and five bathrooms, all of which were long past due for a good dusting and vacuuming. Stepping into the last room at the end of the hallway, Jen felt her breath catch when she opened the door to the huge room that obviously belonged to Marsh.

The room was the complete opposite of opulent—it was Spartan, and it was spotless, not a speck of dust anywhere. A tiny smile feathered her lips. It seemed Mr. Marshall Grainger liked a clean room just as much as she did.

The furniture was plain, straight lines, solid oak. The bed—his bed—was enormous. His color scheme consisted primarily of black, white and red, stark but effective, somehow perfect for him.

Feeling more like a snoop by the minute but unable to resist, Jen moved into the room, going to the row of sliding mirrored closet doors along one wall. One entire section was full of tailored suits, one of them a tuxedo. Another section held nothing but dress shirts in every color imaginable, including white with black stripes. She liked that one, imagining how sexy he’d look in it.

Sexy? she thought. What am I doing in here?

But Jen kept going—she couldn’t seem to make herself stop. There was something too enticing about being this close to Marsh. The next section held jeans, some faded, some brand-new. They were the longest jeans she’d ever seen in her life, perfect for a tall drink of water like Marsh. The last section held casual shirts of every style and hue. On the floor beneath each area were shoes—dress shoes, work boots, riding boots, running shoes. Jen laughed. And she thought she was a shoe maniac!

Closing the sliding doors, she opened another door in the bedroom to find a good-size dressing room and a spacious bathroom. The bathtub was huge, with water jets set into the sides. A compact shower stall sat next to the tub. The black-and-white marble vanity top looked much like the surface of his dresser—sparse and neat. A toothbrush was set in a marble brush holder, and a woven metal basket contained a hairbrush, and several unopened bars of soap. Spartan indeed, she thought, slowly stepping back into the hallway.

She ignored the little twinge of guilt she felt about her “investigation,” thinking that in the short time she was in his room, she had learned much about him.

Marshall Grainger was wealthy beyond belief—that was a given. He was also a man who lived life stripped to the bone, despite all the clothing. His bathroom vanity held nothing but the bare essentials, including what Jen knew was a very expensive bottle of cologne. She hadn’t smelled it on him so far. She wondered if he’d been wearing it when he’d left for Houston. Perhaps he didn’t have any meetings or appointments to attend—maybe there was a woman there, waiting for him.

The very idea caused a strange twist in Jen’s chest, a twist that felt like jealousy. What would the woman be like? Beautiful? Of course. Sophisticated? Naturally. The strange jealousy she felt grew stronger. Was this woman his lover?

Bringing herself up abruptly, Jen quickly turned and went roaming through the rest of the house. It was absolutely gorgeous. Open rooms, one flowing into another. She stepped into one and somehow knew she had entered her office. It was roomy yet utilitarian, containing everything she would need. It even had two club chairs, one in front of the large desk, the other to one side. She liked it at once.

Exiting that room, Jen went to the next one: Marsh’s office. It was locked.

Walking back toward her apartment, Jen contemplated the situation. The beautiful house needed some care. She hadn’t been hired to clean, but damn, such a house should shine.

She sighed. She had all day tomorrow to herself with nothing pressing to do. A smile touched her lips as she made a decision. Tomorrow, she would clean the big house, just to see if the boss noticed anything different.

Of course, Jen assured herself as she mounted the stairs to her apartment, her decision had nothing to do with pleasing him. Why should it? She had nothing to prove except her ability as his assistant. It didn’t matter what Marshall Grainger thought of her.

Did it?

She suddenly imagined herself back in Marsh’s bedroom, tidying it up, making it perfect for his return. When she remembered that his room was already spotless and that there was no need for her to go back in there, she blushed, hot and fierce, and promised to push all thoughts of Marsh from her mind for the rest of the night.

Marsh sat across the table from the beautiful woman his business acquaintance had introduced him to mere hours ago. Admittedly, Marsh was on the prowl, itchier than usual for a woman. Without a twinge of conscience, he had invited the woman—Chandra was her name—to have dinner with him that evening. But now, after several hours, her appeal had faded, through no real fault of her own. She couldn’t help it if she wasn’t Miss Jennifer Dunning.

When Chandra looked at him expectantly, he realized she was waiting for some kind of response. He hadn’t a clue what she was talking about; he hadn’t exactly been paying attention. He took a chance and nodded, and that appeared to satisfy her.

Being inattentive, his conscience kicked into action.

What in hell am I doing here?

Marsh knew the answer—he simply didn’t want to look at it too closely. He had been hoping for a bed partner later in the evening, and Chandra had seemed a good choice. Now all he wanted was a bed to himself.

That wasn’t quite true, either.

In truth, he ached for one woman: Jennifer Dunning.

He had been in her company … how long? Not much more than an hour or so, total? It was ridiculous. Plus, she was now an employee, and he never fooled around with employees. Of course, other than the previous housekeeper, who was pushing fifty, he had never had an employee living in his home, either. What was it about her that got to him so strongly?

“… and I told him he could just go to hell.”

Marsh blinked himself back into the moment. “You did?” he asked, because Chandra had paused again and he knew he had to say something.

“Certainly,” Chandra declared. “The man insulted me by assuming I’d go to bed with him a few hours after meeting him.”

Marsh gave her a wry smile. “Yes, of course,” he agreed. “I don’t blame you in the least.” He almost added “the cad” but thought that might be a bit over the top.

“Ah, here’s dinner now,” she said, satisfaction curving her lips as the server placed their meals before them.

After dinner, Marsh drove Chandra straight home to her condo on the outskirts of the city. “You don’t need to get out,” she said, even though he hadn’t made a move to do so. “It’s perfectly safe.”

“Yes, I see the doorman,” he said, eyeing the burly uniformed man standing sentinel by the entrance.

“Thank you for a lovely dinner,” she said, as the doorman strolled forward to open the door for her.

“Thank you for joining me,” he answered, hoping his tone didn’t reveal his relief. He politely added, “I’m glad you were free for the evening.”

“And I.” She smiled with a tinge of disappointment, and slid from the seat.

Marsh never liked disappointing a lady—even one who seemed to have given him a line about not going to bed with a man hours after meeting him—but his mind was clearly elsewhere this evening. He’d put the Jag he kept in Houston into Drive before she’d reached the doorway, and Jen was back on his mind by the time he pulled into traffic.

Why the hell had he hired her?

Marsh sighed. He had hired Jen because he was getting desperate. She was intelligent, personable, fully qualified, friendly and willing to do the cooking.

Yet, he had to admit, she was the reason he had come to Houston. After meeting her, when the touch of her hand made his palm—and parts south—itch, and when that itch had swiftly turned into a familiar warmth that spread through his body, he knew he was in trouble.

He wanted her. He had wanted her within minutes of meeting her, and it had played hell with his normally sound judgment. So, afraid he’d do or say something unacceptable, he manufactured a business trip to put some distance between them, calling his friend Scott to set up a meeting in Houston. To his confused embarrassment, after sitting across the breakfast table from Jen that morning, he couldn’t get to the airstrip soon enough. He had arrived forty-five minutes earlier than he had asked his pilot to be there.

Marsh kept the plane primarily to get from his house in Dallas to the ranch in Colorado in a hurry if he needed to, but used it himself for quick trips like this one. Except that this trip had been unnecessary. He felt like an idiot, getting all hot and sweaty over a woman he had just met. Sure he had been all hot and sweaty over women before, like his previous wife, but he had been a lot younger then. And look where that had gotten him.

Well, the heat was gone now and so was the sweat. Marsh was resolved to revert to form—cool and aloof. He just had to remember that Jen was an employee, nothing more.

Cool and aloof, that would be his mantra.

Marsh could only hope.

Satisfyingly tired from the day spent cleaning the house, Jen lay curled up in bed, floating in the in-between world of wakefulness and sleep.

The growling sound of a vehicle jerked her awake. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand—it read 1:30 a.m. She heard the automatic garage door open, then slide shut again. Moments later she heard the kitchen door. She rolled onto her back, listening.

Although she would never have admitted it, Jen had not slept easily the previous two nights. She had wakened often, listening. She told herself it was just her new surroundings, that she wasn’t used to sleeping in the quiet hill country yet.

Yeah. Right.

A sigh whispered through her lips. Her eyelids grew heavy, slowly closing. Marsh was home. Too fuzzy-minded to question the comfort she drew from that thought, Jen drifted into a deep, restful sleep within seconds.

She woke the next morning feeling rested, and had breakfast ready when Marsh entered the kitchen at precisely six-thirty. She had wondered if he would make it after returning to the house so late, but there he was, wide-awake, alert and handsome as the rugged devil.

“Good morning.” She greeted him with a smile and a large plate in hand. He did not return her smile.

“Morning,” he said as he sat down and drew his napkin over his jean-clad knees. “Smells good.”

“Thanks,” she said, setting the plate of eggs, potatoes and a large steak in front of him. She turned back to the counter to get her own plate.

“Have a seat.” It wasn’t so much an invitation as an order.

But today, Jen didn’t mind. He was the boss, after all. They ate in silence again. Marsh didn’t say a word until after she had removed the plates and served the coffee.

“You cleaned the house.” His tone was hard.

“Yes.” She held his gaze, slowly arching one questioning brow.

“Why?”

Her other brow went up in surprise. “Because it needed cleaning.”

“Yes, it did. But you weren’t hired to clean.”

“I cleaned the kitchen,” Jen shot back at him. “You didn’t object to that.”

“I hired you to cook,” he said, returning fire. “So of course I wouldn’t object to you cleaning the kitchen. That has nothing to do with the rest of the house.” He frowned, perplexed. “I don’t get it. Why would a woman like you even consider cooking and cleaning in any house?”

“What do you mean, a woman like me?”

“You’re from a rich family, dammit. And I didn’t mean ‘a woman like you’ as a slur, if that’s what you’re thinking. You don’t need to work at all, never mind cook and clean. It doesn’t make sense.”

Jen sighed, fully aware she should have expected this reaction from him. Before she could begin to explain, he tossed more at her.

“You come from a well-known, wealthy family, grew up in the lap of luxury in the highest social circles—”

“Hold it right there.” Jen cut him off. She shoved her chair back, scraping it over the floor tiles as she slapped her hands on her hips. He opened his mouth. “First and foremost, Mr. Grainger, I am not a member of any social circle. I am not a social butterfly. My parents are the socialites. I was practically raised by my parents’ housekeeper and chef, Ida and Tony.”

She paused for breath but rushed on before he could get a word out.

“They gave me a sense of being loved for myself, and taught me the value of honest work. Ida taught me how to take care of a beautiful house. Tony taught me how to prepare delicious meals. This is a beautiful house,” she continued. “It deserves to be kept that way. And yes, I’m used to well-prepared meals.”

Marsh was quiet for a moment, as if waiting to see if she was finished. When she didn’t speak, he said, “It will only get dusty again.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll clean it again.”

“And what about the work you were hired to do?”

Jen made a quick study of his closed expression, trying to decide if he was about to fire her from a job she hadn’t yet begun. At any other time in her life, she wouldn’t have cared. Now, for some strange reason she didn’t want to examine too closely, she did care. She wanted this job, cleaning and all.

She wanted to stay here with him.

“I’ll clean on Saturdays.” She again arched one brow. “Or were you thinking to have me work in the office on weekends, too?”

“No, of course not.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll pay you for the cleaning.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at her victory. “I’ll get the breakfast things away so I can get started in the office.” To her surprise, he began clearing the table.

“I’ll help here,” he said, carrying dishes to the dishwasher. “The sooner we can get started, the better. I have a lot of work to do.” His voice was rough, as if he were embarrassed about helping with anything domestic.

Jen fought against a laugh. “Yes, sir.”

He sighed again. “I asked you not to call me ‘sir’.”

She nodded. “I know.”

She was really beginning to enjoy being with him. Was she nuts? He had barely been civil to her since she’d arrived at the house. How could she even think she was beginning to like the man?

Maybe she had been fawned over for too long, by her parents, and Ida and Tony.

Possibly, a man like Marshall Grainger was just what she needed. A no-nonsense, straight-talking man with a perfect smile and silver eyes.

No doubt about it, she thought. I am nuts.

Three

Marsh sat in front of the computer, a newer model than the one Jen had used at her previous job. She told him the machine was new to her, so he began with the basics. He had drawn another chair up to the desk next to him. They were so close that whenever he turned to explain something to her, or she leaned in to get a closer look at the data on the screen, their thighs briefly brushed against each other.

It was purely accidental and yet Jen felt a quiver of awareness when his hard thigh touched her soft one.

He smelled good, and not of the cologne she’d seen in his bedroom. Jen wished she had noticed the smell of his woodsy soap and his natural musky male scent earlier while they’d cleared away the breakfast things, so she could have been prepared. Now, here, sitting so close to him, his scent enveloped her. And it wasn’t a bad thing—not at all.

Yanking her mind away from Marsh and back to the business at hand, she reached across him with her right arm to point at data on the screen she didn’t understand. At the same time, he lifted his hand, his forearm brushing over her breast.

For an instant they both froze. She pulled her arm back, he dropped his hand. Jen tingled all the way down to her toenails.