Beguiling the Boss(7)

       
           



       

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.

"I-" he began.

"It's all right." She cut him off, her voice as cool and calm as she could manage. "I know it wasn't deliberate."

"That's right, it wasn't, but still-"

Again she interrupted him. "Let's just get back to work. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he agreed, his tone rough-edged. "What was your question?"

Instead of reaching across him, she read the part she wasn't sure of.  The tension quivering between them still hovered as he explained.

They broke for lunch not much later. "I'm going to my office," he said,  starting for the room opposite hers. "I'll be with you in a few  minutes."

"I'll start lunch," she said. "Is a chef salad okay with you?"

His office door shut before he could give her an answer.

Jen went into the kitchen, threw the salad together and stood at the  counter eating while getting the ingredients together for Yankee pot  roast for dinner. She was peeling potatoes-trying to ignore the fact  that her body was still tingling from Marsh's touch-when he entered.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" he asked, digging into his salad.

"I'm about finished," Jen answered, popping the last forkful into her  mouth as she slid the roast pan into the oven. The last thing she needed  right now was to sit close to Marsh Grainger one second sooner than she  had to.

They were back at her desk fifteen minutes later, both making sure to  keep as much distance between them as possible. By midafternoon, Jen was  up to speed.