Beguiling the Boss(6)

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.