Beguiling the Boss

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.

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