A Match Made Under the Mistletoe

by Diana Palmer

  “Define it.”

  “Will there be more potentially life-threatening activities you’re going to want to do while I’m in this room with you?”

  He admitted, “Sometimes I clean my firearms. Handguns. Machine guns. Assault rifles. That kind of thing. I find cleaning weapons—”

  “Let me guess. Soothing.”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  Those fine dark eyes gleamed. “You find the strangest things soothing.”

  He almost allowed his gaze to stray downward to her breasts. “You have no idea.”

  “I’m going to assume that when you clean your guns, you make sure they aren’t loaded first.”

  “You assume correctly.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Anything else you find soothing while you work? Archery, maybe?”

  “I haven’t used a bow and arrow in years, but it’s a thought.”

  “So I should be prepared for that?”

  “No. Knife throwing is my impalement art of choice.”

  She hummed again, low in her throat. “That’s a real thing? Impalement art?”

  “It’s usually referred to in the plural. Impalement arts. Strictly defined, impalement arts entail throwing dangerously sharp objects at a human target.”

  She considered. He loved to watch her think. “Like at the circus.”

  “That’s right. A circus knife-thrower is in the impalement arts. A circus archer, too. Hatchet-and spear-throwers, as well.” She reached out and brushed her fingers over the stacked leather washer handle of a full-size USMC KA-BAR straight edge. “That’s the most famous fixed blade knife in the world,” he said. “It was first used by our troops in World War Two.”

  She slanted him a glance. He couldn’t tell if he’d amused her or she found the knives fascinating, or what. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He wasn’t big on extended eye contact as a rule. But he didn’t mind it so much with her.

  She broke the connection first, her gaze sliding away.

  He shook himself. “You ready, then?”

  By way of an answer, she went to her desk and fired up the computer.

  * * *

  Jed threw a lot of knives that day. And he wrote a lot of pages. It was good. Really good. Elise took his knives in stride. She never turned a hair when he sent one flying. She just kept right on filling those blank screen pages with his words.

  They worked until 1900, at which point he handed her a check for 2,832 dollars and told her she was officially hired.

  She frowned at the check. “I thought we said fifteen hundred for the first three days.”

  “I included payment for tomorrow and Saturday at your full rate. And after this week, I’ll pay you every Saturday at the end of the day.”

  She rose. “Works for me.” She headed for the door to the hallway.

  He caught himself with his mouth open, on the verge of calling her back and asking her to have dinner with him.

  Not a good idea. She had her life. He had his. They met each morning for work and went their separate ways when the workday was through. He found her far too attractive to start sharing meals with her.

  Fantasies involving her were fine—or rather, given that he was having them, he might as well roll with it. Fighting it too hard would only make him want her more.

  But hanging around with her after hours?

  Bad idea.

  She lived in his house. It would be so easy to get more than professional. That would be stupid. Because when the heat between them burned out, the work would get strained. She would end up leaving.

  And that couldn’t happen.

  He was keeping her. She just didn’t know it yet. She thought she was quitting when this book was through. But she was wrong.

  Before she had knocked on his door Monday, he’d been increasingly sure that his big-deal writing career was headed straight for the crapper. He’d spent way too many sleepless nights sweating bullets over his dawning realization that Anna had been a lucky fluke and he would never find the right assistant again. Now that he had found her, he would simply have to convince her to stay. So what if she seemed determined to go?

  One way or another, whatever he had to offer her to keep her happy, he was keeping her.

  And the best way to lose her was if they had a thing and then it ended—which it would. He’d never been any good at relationships. Sooner or later, most women wanted more than he knew how to give. Maybe Elise was different. Maybe she could have a good time and then have it be over and still sit down at the computer and type his words for him every day.

  But he couldn’t afford to take a chance on finding out.

  So he kept his damn mouth shut as she disappeared down the hall.

  * * *

  As they’d agreed when he hired her, Elise had Sunday off.

  That Sunday, she left the house at 0905 hours. Jed knew the time exactly because he was standing on the balcony outside the master suite when she backed her car out of the garage.

  Unlike the previous Monday, when she took off to get her cat and her clothes, he was okay with watching her go. Today, he felt zero anxiety as she drove away. They were getting on well together, after all, and he was paying her an arm and a leg. No reason she wouldn’t return.

  Plus, he hadn’t seen the cat in the car. And if the cat was still here, she would have to come back.

  An hour later, he headed for the shooting range, where he remained until lunchtime. He had a burger at a truck stop out on the state highway and got back to the house at 1400 hours.

  Elise was still gone.

  He put on workout gear and went down to the basement to use the StairMaster and then pump iron for a couple of hours. After his workout, he had a shower and found something to eat in the fridge. Then he went to his office and researched poisons until past 1900 hours. He had a lot of book left to write and that meant a lot of characters to kill.

  Elise still hadn’t returned.

  He wasn’t concerned. No reason to be. As long as she showed up at her desk on time in the morning, he couldn’t care less where she went or how long she stayed there.

  But for some completely crazy reason, he was kind of worried about the damn cat. Had she taken the animal with her, after all? Or had she just left the poor thing alone in her room?

  Yeah, he hated cats. But she shouldn’t just leave it locked up like that all day. Wasn’t that cat abuse?

  Sure seemed like it to him.

  An hour after he left his office, he wandered down the hallway that led to her room. He stood there in front of her door for several minutes and debated the acceptability of trying the handle, maybe letting the fur ball out—if it was in there and if she’d left the door unlocked.

  But opening her door without her permission seemed like a really bad idea. She might get mad if he did that. And getting her mad was no way to keep her working for him.

  In the end, he settled on putting his ear to her door, just to listen for the possibility of plaintive meowing.

  “What are you doing, Jed?”

  Luckily he had nerves of steel. He didn’t so much as flinch at the sound of her voice—even though he felt like a bad child caught with his grubby hand in the candy box.

  Slowly, he pulled his ear away from her door and stood to his full height, turning to face her as he did it.

  She watched him from the far end of the hallway, a stack of boxes in her arms. “Well?”

  The best defense is always an offense. “Your damn cat. I was getting worried about it.” He strode toward her. “Here. Let me help you with those.”

  She allowed him to take the boxes. “But you hate cats.”

  “Open the door.”

  She eased around him and did just that. It wasn’t locked.

  The
cat was there waiting. It didn’t look any the worse for wear. “Mrow? Mrow-mrow?”

  “Wigs!” She scooped it up, scratched its big head and kissed it on its whiskered cheek. “How’s my big sweetie?”

  “Mrow-mrow.” It started purring, the sound very deep. Rumbly. Like an outboard motor heard from across a misty lake.

  Elise said…to Jed this time, “Just set those down inside the door. Thanks.”

  He set the boxes where she wanted them and then turned to leave, figuring he’d escape before she asked him any more questions about why she’d come home to find him with his ear pressed to her door.

  No such luck. “Why where you worried about Wigs?”

  Resigned, he stopped and faced her again. “You left the cat locked in there all day. That can’t be good.”

  “Well, that’s kind of sweet of you.” She seemed bemused.

  He hastened to disabuse her. “I am never sweet.”

  She actually giggled. He despised gigglers—or at least, he always had until this moment. She held up the cat. It hung from her hands, totally relaxed, and big enough that its rear paws dangled at the height of her knees. “See? He’s fine. I left him plenty of food and water. He doesn’t mind a little alone time.”

  “A little? You’ve been gone for eleven hours.”

  Her soft mouth pursed up. “It’s my day off. How is it any of your business how long I’ve been gone?”

  It wasn’t and they both knew it, which meant there was absolutely no point in answering her. So he didn’t.

  Eventually, she got tired of waiting for him to defend himself and informed him icily, “I have one day off a week and I had a lot to do.”

  Yeah, he felt like a jackass. But somehow, he couldn’t just apologize for invading her private space and move on. “That’s a big cat.”

  Her mouth got tighter. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

  He narrowed his eyes and flattened his lips. “That cat needs space.”

  “He’s fine in my room. My apartment is a studio, smaller than my room here. He was perfectly happy there.”

  Smaller than her room here? That was way too small. And she was a Bravo. He’d grown up in the area and he knew of her family. The Bravos had always had enough money to be comfortable, at least. The Bravos didn’t live in cramped one-room apartments. He wanted to ask her how she’d ended up in one.

  But that would be a personal question and they were not getting personal. “Next time leave your door open, that’s all I’m saying.”

  She blinked as that statement sank in. “You mean, let Wigs have the run of the house?”

  Suddenly, his throat had a tickle in it. What was that about? He never got a ticklish throat. He coughed impatiently into his hand. “Yeah. And come to think of it, don’t lock that cat up in there at all. Let it have the house to roam in.”

  A tiny gasp escaped her. “You mean, all the time?”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  “But what about how you hate cats?”

  “I’m making an exception in this case,” he growled at her. She looked at him with distinctly dewy eyes, so he commanded, “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

  “I…well, okay. I won’t.”

  “Good,” he said, scowling as hard as he could. And then he turned on his heel again and started walking away fast.

  “Jed?”

  He stopped. But he didn’t turn. “What?” he grumbled at the great room in front of him.

  “Thanks.”

  He almost said You’re welcome, but caught himself just in time.

  * * *

  In the next week, the work continued to go well. Very well. Elise just kept typing, never dropping a word or making a sound, no matter how loud and aggressive he became while acting out the voices of his characters.

  On Thursday, he cleaned three of his rifles and a couple of Glocks as they worked. She seemed to take that in stride—didn’t even bother to comment when she saw the weapons, gun oil, cleaning rags and brushes laid out that morning on a folding worktable.

  Jed had never been a happy man. He found the concept of happiness more than a little silly. A man did what he had to do in life and what he had to do was rarely that much fun.

  But with Elise working out so well, the pressure was off in terms of his deadline and hopefully his career. He was getting more work done, faster, than when he had Anna. It was a hell of a relief. Maybe this was happiness.

  If it was, it wasn’t half bad.

  The damn cat had free rein of the house. The animal talked too much and had a tendency to climb up on tall cabinets and drape its giant body on the wide-beam staircase railings and along the backs of couches. But so what?

  Jed had told Elise that the cat could roam free and he wasn’t a man who reneged on his word. He ignored the creature. It wasn’t that hard.

  Another week went by, as smooth and productive as the previous one. Jed dared to feel confident that he was out of the woods at last. He was going to make it. He would have the book turned in by the final deadline—or maybe even before, at the rate they were going. Elise was a damn treasure.

  His only concern now was her plan to leave once this project was finished. He really needed to do something to keep that from happening.

  Fortunately, he had until November 1 to figure out what.

  * * *

  Two and a half weeks after he hired Elise, Jed woke at 0200 to a rumbling sound.

  He’d been dreaming of a misty lake and the soft roar of a motorboat coming toward him through the fog. Shaking off sleep, he pulled himself to a sitting position and peered blearily into the darkness.

  Gold eyes gleamed at him from down by his feet and the strange rumbling sound continued. The motorboat had followed him right out of his dream.

  But it wasn’t a motorboat.

  It was the damn cat.

  “Out!” he commanded, sweeping an arm toward the door for good measure.

  But the cat was not impressed. It just watched him and continued to purr.

  He stared it down for several seconds and then ordered, “Get!” good and loud.

  No effect whatsoever. In time with the purring, it kneaded his comforter with its big paws.

  Jed gave up glaring and growling and took action. Shoving back the covers, he scooped up the animal into his arms. Unconcerned, the cat kept purring as Jed carried it to the upper hallway, set it on the floor and firmly shut the door on it.

  * * *

  The next morning, he purposely went down to the kitchen early, when he knew Elise would be there.

  And she was. He found her at the counter near the six-burner range with eggs, butter, a golden loaf of homemade bread, milk and several spices spread out in front of her.

  The staircase met the ground floor just beyond the open-plan kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted him as he descended the last few steps. That wide mouth bloomed in a smile of greeting.

  Strange. It was only a smile, yet it caused a distinct and disorienting stab of pleasure right to his chest.

  “Jed. What a surprise.” She turned to face him fully. She looked good, fresh and well rested in curve-hugging jeans and a big, white shirt of some silky material that clung to her tasty breasts.

  He kept the corners of his mouth turned down and spoke with great severity. “I need a word.”

  Her smile vanished. He missed it the second it was gone and regretted being the reason it went away.

  What was she doing to him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He entered the kitchen area. Her dark brown eyes were wary now. “Of course,” she said. “Coffee?”

  Why not? He grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup. She waited for him to say what was on his mind, her breakfast preparations suspended. “Your cat was in
my room last night. I woke up and found the thing purring on the end of my bed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Get control of it.”

  “No problem. I’ll go back to keeping him in my room.”

  “No.” He turned to lean against the counter. “I didn’t ask you to lock the thing up. I just want you to keep it out of my room when I’m sleeping. I like leaving my door open at night, but I don’t like waking up to a giant purring cat on my bed.”

  “I understand. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Fair enough, then.” He started for the stairs.

  He’d taken a single step when she offered, “Care to join me? I’m making French toast.”

  Something good happened in his chest right then, a warm feeling. Kind of…cozy.

  He did want to join her, he realized.

  He really did.

  But he should refuse her. Sharing meals was getting too friendly, stepping over the line.

  But then again, maybe he was going about this all wrong. Maybe he didn’t need to stay away from her to keep her.

  Maybe he needed to get closer—no, not in a man-woman way. He had sense enough to see that getting into a sexual relationship with her was too risky in the long run.

  But what about buddying up to her? That should be safer. And if they were friends, he’d have a better chance of convincing her to stay.

  Then again, buddying up? Who was he kidding? He wasn’t one of those guys that women made friends with. He got that, knew that he would never win any prizes in the personality department.

  But she seemed a social sort of creature. If she had to be alone with him in his house day after day, shouldn’t he put a little effort into making the experience a positive one for her?

  “Stay,” she said again, and she did seem to mean it. “Let me give you a delicious breakfast to make up for Mr. Wiggles messing with your sleep.”

  She was being nice to him. Come to think of it, she’d been nice to him often lately. Because of the cat? Probably. After that first Sunday, when he’d told her she should let the cat free in the house, she’d seemed to loosen up around him.

  He’d come to like it when she was nice to him. He wouldn’t mind if she was nice to him all the time.