In that instant he was not only hot and sweaty, he was rock hard and hurting. He wanted her so badly his back teeth ached...along with the rest of him.
It was during the days following that encounter that Marsh began thinking about bargaining with Jen, offering her his name, his home, his bed in exchange for a child. Finally, he had decided to take a chance-and for him to take a chance with a woman, even a woman such as Jen, was a huge step for him.
Had he botched his chances with his abrupt actions and suggestions? A "test kiss"? Another "test" to see if they would be good together in bed? He grimaced. Not the most romantic approach. But he had never had any trouble romancing a woman before.
Of course, Jen wasn't just any woman. She was different, special.
Dammit.
He couldn't blame her if she had left for good.
Had she taken all her things? She had had ample time as she hadn't brought very many with her. Hell, she wouldn't need to take anything but herself-she could send for her belongings, or have someone else come for them.
He'd really made a mess of things.
Sighing, he picked up the phone and made a few work calls. Then he sat in front of his computer, watching the cursor blink, as if impatient for him to decide what he was going to do. He put it to sleep.
Just then, the phone on his desk rang. He slid a glance at the caller ID, and eased back into his chair.
"Yes, Jen?" Marsh was pleased at the casual note he had managed.
"Can you handle dinner on your own?"
"Why?" he asked, heaving a put-upon sigh.
"I'm going to run into San Antonio and have dinner there, along the River Walk," she explained.
"Why don't I join you for dinner?" Marsh said. "I think maybe I need to explain a few things to you." He actually held his breath while waiting for her answer-that had never before happened to him with any woman.
"Well..."
Before she had a chance to say no he rushed on. "We could have dinner and then stroll along the River Walk or take a boat ride." The moments crawled by. He was holding his breath again.
"Okay," she said. "What time should I meet you?"
"Would six-thirty or seven work?"
"Seven would be fine. I'll see you then." Her voice came over the line hurried, a bit rough. "Bye."
Marsh's breathing slowly returned to normal. Could their having dinner together away from the house be considered a date? Marsh thought about it for a moment. He supposed it definitely could-if he hadn't just scared her out of the house with his proposition.
Hell, he mused, what was he getting all worked up about? He knew how to go about charming a woman-he had charmed his share, maybe more than his share. So why sweat it? He could begin over dinner, and probably have Jen eating from his hand by...
No. He couldn't, wouldn't approach Jen as if she were any other woman. She wasn't.
So no seduction, unless it happened completely naturally, he told himself. This date was simply a way for him to back up and make amends to the employee he was so desperate to hold on to.
Of course it was.
* * *
Jen slipped the cell phone into the side pocket of her shoulder bag as she walked out into the golden sunlight from the cool, soothing interior of the Mission Alamo.
No matter how many times she visited San Antonio, the first thing she did was head for the old mission. Although traffic was busy on the broad street so close to the complex, inside it was always quiet, and on the hottest days, it seemed cool. There was a sense of peace and calm inside the Alamo Jen had never experienced anywhere else. And she had always thought how lovely it would be to be married inside that quiet and serene old shrine.
It could happen if she agreed to Marsh's proposal.
Jen shook her head. The thought of wearing his ring, sharing his bed, bearing his child-it was so very tempting. But she couldn't stand the idea of living with him knowing he didn't love her, and not knowing if she could love him.
It was absurd to even be thinking about Marsh in that way.
Wasn't it?
Waiting for the light to change so she could cross the street, she glanced down, frowning slightly at the tremor in her hands. Speaking to Marsh, agreeing to meet him for dinner had shaken that inner peace, ruffled her sense of calm.
Why had she called him in the first place?
Wait a minute, she thought, trying to get control of her thoughts. Why in the world should I feel nervous about having agreed to meet Marsh for dinner? We not only have dinner but every meal together in the house-his house-three times a day, every day.
But this wasn't the house, she mused. And there was the small matter of the fact that he had proposed to her.
This was a date. A Saturday-night date. And on this particular Saturday he had kissed her, and asked her to go to his bed...and have his child!
All of it gave Jen pause. A date with Marsh? A marriage with him? A life with him? She'd barely let herself want him, or imagine a future beyond right now. Was a long-term relationship something she wanted?
Maybe.
She couldn't suppress the thrill of anticipation that skidded the length of her spine just thinking about the possibilities.
Oh, yes, he was what she wanted, she finally conceded, and he wanted her. The thought lodged in her mind as she crossed the bridge to the River Walk.
He had admitted as much, she thought, ambling along, unconscious of the throngs of people around her. Well, he didn't actually say he wanted her. He said he wanted a child-an heir, maybe two.
Not quite the words a woman wants to hear when receiving a marriage proposal. Hell, she mused, she had once received a fervent proposal from a young man who had actually dropped onto one knee to pledge his undying love for her.
Marsh's proposal was a far cry from that.
Jen strolled into the Rivercenter Mall and headed straight for Victoria's Secret without even realizing what she was doing. She was looking through the sales tables when she glanced up, her gaze caught by a mannequin. The nightgown was barely there and what was there was flame-red.
On the spot, Jen motioned to a nearby smiling sales clerk and bought the sinful-looking gown.
She wouldn't admit that she was thinking about Marsh as she did so.
Jen left the mall and made her way to the restaurant. She started when a hand touched hers, taking her bag from her.
"Hey-" she began, turning to glare at the person.
"You're late," Marsh drawled.
Jen somehow managed to keep from rolling her eyes. "I was shopping and lost sight of the time."
"Obviously," he said.
"Oh, lighten up," Jen retorted.
While imperiously arching a brow he gave way to a smile. He shot a cuff to look at his watch. "We're five minutes late."
"How very sophisticated of us," she murmured. "I hope they are duly impressed."
"Nah," Marsh said, shaking his head. "They probably expect us to be late."
Surprised and amused by his casual tone, Jen gave a soft laugh. "What if we aren't late enough and we have to wait for a table?"
Marsh slanted a positively wicked look at her. "It ain't gonna happen, kid. The name's Grainger, remember?" He opened the door for her. "Besides, I know the owner and chef."
The place was medium-size, the décor blending with the River Walk theme. The food was superb, the service outstanding.
Jen barely noticed.
It occurred to her that it was strikingly different being out with Marsh than sitting opposite him at his kitchen table. Here, tonight, Marsh captivated her. He was...everything she had ever thought a man should be.
Handsome, urbane, but most importantly, intelligent. His intelligence shone from his silvery eyes, along with a keen sense of humor she had never heard mentioned about him before. Had most people missed it? Jen didn't see how it was possible for anyone to miss what was right there in front of them. At times, his eyes fairly danced with the light of devilish humor.
Why did he have to turn out to be a womanizer? Or was he? If the gossipmongers had missed Marsh's sense of humor, had they misread other things about him, as well?
Beware of wishful thinking, she told herself.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
Marsh was sitting with his forearms on the table, cradling his after-dinner brandy. His hands moved slowly, warming the potent liquid. She wondered if this was the moment when he was going to explain himself to her.
"About you," she admitted.
One dark eyebrow arched. "What about me?"
He lowered his head. His lips parted to sip the brandy. Jen felt she could actually taste his lips, the tang of the brandy on them.
"Oh," she said with a delicate shrug, "I'm just wondering exactly what it is you wanted to talk about tonight."