The Irresistible Mr. Sinclair

by Joan Elliott Pickart

There was a single, white silk rose nestled on a satin scarf; another display had a silver framed photograph of a bride and groom, while yet another had sparkling crystal perfume bottles.

  The lady was good at this, Taylor thought. She knew how to make things ultra-classy, and the price tags he’d taken a peek at said she assumed that her customers were prepared to pay for the extra oomph.

  Yes, his father had been right when he’d said that Janice was a savvy businesswoman, and the file on Sleeping Beauty that he’d studied before coming here also verified that fact.

  The only thing off-kilter was Janice herself. Didn’t she look in the mirror when she got dressed in the morning? Couldn’t she see the beautiful swan beneath the ugly duckling duds she decked herself out in?

  Beautiful swan? his mind echoed. He was getting poetic in his thirty-sixth year, and more than a tad corny. But, cripe, the way Janice presented herself didn’t make any sense.

  Was she totally oblivious to her womanly attributes? Or...now there was an intriguing thought...was Janice purposely diminishing her beauty? If that was the case, then why? What was she afraid of? What was she hiding from?

  Taylor stopped at the counter, then leaned back against it, crossing one ankle over the other as he settled in to wait for Janice. His glance fell on a color brochure and he picked it up absently.

  Say now, he thought, reading the advertisement, this was right up his alley. He was always eager to see the work of a new artist with the hope of adding another piece of artwork to his growing collection.

  He made a mental note of the day, time and place of the exhibit, then put the brochure back on the counter.

  And waited.

  “That man is so handsome, he’s enough to make a woman weep,” one of the women said to Janice. “Is he yours?”

  “Mine?” Janice said, her eyes widening. “Heavens, no. He’s the accountant.”

  “He doesn’t fit the image of an accountant,” the woman said, then laughed. “I can think of lots of things to do with a hunk like that one instead of balancing the books.”

  “Ditto,” one of the other women said. “Is he married?”

  “No,” Janice said. “Have you selected the candles and bath accessories you prefer?”

  “Not married.” The woman sighed wistfully. “There was a time when men like that gave me second looks, but that was ten years and twenty pounds ago.”

  “You have a lovely figure,” Janice said. “If you lost twenty pounds, you’d be much too thin.”

  “You know the old saying,” the woman said, smiling. “You can’t be too rich or too thin.”

  “Our society places far too much emphasis on outward appearances,” Janice said, frowning.

  “Maybe so,” the woman said, shrugging. “But facts are facts, and they’re not going to change. Take our bride-to-be Mindy, for example. She never dated, never had a boyfriend. Then? She lost fifty pounds, learned how to apply makeup to her best advantage, and had her hair styled to flatter her face. Bingo. She’s getting married.”

  “Exactly,” the other woman said. “Mindy would still be lonely and miserable if she hadn’t made the changes in her appearance that she did.”

  “But that’s wrong, don’t you see?” Janice said.

  “No, dear,” the woman said. “That’s life.”

  What on earth was she doing? Janice thought. She was getting into a debate with customers, for heaven’s sake, climbing up on her soapbox.

  And it was all Taylor Sinclair’s fault.

  This whole topic of conversation had gotten started because Taylor was in the store, hanging around as though he owned the place.

  He should have telephoned for an appointment instead of just dropping in. Whatever mundane thing he wanted to talk to her about could have waited until after the store was closed for the day.

  Janice slid a glance at Taylor where he was propped against the counter.

  Look at him, she fumed. He was so relaxed, so obviously comfortable in the midst of women’s lingerie, he appeared as though he might nod off. He’d probably seen so much feminine finery being removed in his bedroom that it was no big deal to be surrounded by it.

  Why did Clem Sinclair have a son like Taylor? She was well and truly stuck with him, because she had no desire to find another accountant whom she could thoroughly trust.

  So, okay, fine. She’d conduct her financial affairs with Taylor, but that sure as heck didn’t mean that she had to like him. Not even close.

  “Well, I believe we’re finally set,” one of the women said, bringing Janice back to attention. “Get your charge cards out, my friends. It’s time to pay up for our shopping spree.”

  Taylor moved out of the way as the group approached the counter. He watched from a distance, noting the efficient manner in which Janice rang up the sales, tended to the charge cards, then began to pack the multitude of items the women had purchased.

  There were the classy touches again, he thought. The tissue paper Janice used was pale pink. The boxes and the bags with twine handles were one shade darker, all bearing the name of the store in embossed letters in the same flowing script as the sign outside.

  Yes, indeed, Janice Jennings knew her stuff, and the profit figures he’d studied in the file were proof of that puddin’.

  The women collected their packages, thanked Janice for her wonderful assistance and left the store, managing to direct smiles at Taylor as they went. He smiled and nodded at them politely as they exited, then a sudden silence fell over the boutique.

  Taylor looked at Janice for a long moment, then started slowly toward the counter.

  Dear heaven, Janice thought as another shiver coursed through her. Taylor Sinclair moved with a lazy grace that reminded her of a sleek cat advancing on its prey. And at the moment, that prey was her!

  Get a grip, she admonished herself. The man was an accountant, not a panther, or whatever. She was being ridiculous.

  She tugged on the hem of her jacket, lifted her chin and met Taylor’s gaze directly when he stopped in front of her on the other side of the counter.

  “Now then, Mr. Sinclair,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “just what is it that I can do for you?”

  For starters, Taylor thought, she could allow him to pull the pins from her hair, freeing that golden halo from the matronly bun she wore it in to discover how long her silky, blond hair was.

  Taylor cleared his throat as a coil of heat tightened low in his body.

  “It’s Taylor, remember?” he said.

  “Yes, fine,” Janice said with an exasperated little sigh. “What do you want...Taylor?”

  What a question to ask, he thought as heat rocketed through him. Hell, this was crazy. Why on earth would a woman who looked as if she was playing dress-up in her grandmother’s clothes be capable of pushing his libido buttons?

  To say that Janice Jennings wasn’t his type was putting it very mildly. He dated women who knew they were beautiful and enjoyed every minute of it.

  If he mentally placed those women on the North Pole, Janice would be so removed from them he’d have to invent a location farther away than the South Pole.

  Granted, Janice had incredible eyes behind those heavy-framed glasses. And her face was lovely, really exquisite, her skin reminding him of a fresh peach. And the length of her legs visible to his perusal were shapely and—damn it, Sinclair. This was insane.

  “Taylor?” Janice said, frowning. “Are you asleep with your eyes open?”

  “What?” he said. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was thinking about something.” He cleared his throat and ran one hand down his tie. “I’ve reviewed your file, Janice, and I’d like to sit down with you and discuss it.”

  “Why?” she said, still frowning. She glanced around quickly to be certain no one was in the store. “What could there possibly be to discuss? I assume that all the information about Sleeping Beauty was in that file, clear as a bell...my profit and loss, the number of employees I have, how much I pay in income taxes, and
on and on.”

  “Taxes,” Taylor said. “You’re paying far more than is necessary.”

  Janice’s eyes widened slightly. “Are you insinuating that your father miscalculated my tax figurges?”

  “No, no, of course not,” he said quickly, raising both hands. “My father is...was a top-notch accountant.” He dragged a hand through his hair.

  My, my, Janice thought. Taylor’s hair was so thick and styled so perfectly that it fell right back into place after his long fingers burrowed through it. He really did have very nice hair. Oh, for Pete’s sake, why was she wasting her mental energies thinking about Taylor’s hair?

  “My taxes?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

  “Yes. My dad did an excellent job for you. The thing is, I’m a bit more aggressive, shall we say, than my father.”

  The sudden image of dear, sweet Clem swooping down on the female populace with a knock-’em-dead smile and a sexier-than-all-get-out way of walking like his son struck Janice as hysterically funny.

  And so she laughed.

  “A bit more aggressive?” she managed to say. “That’s a tad understated.” She continued to laugh, shaking her head.

  Lord, Taylor thought, listen to that musical sound. And Janice’s eyes were sparkling, actually sparkling, like blue diamonds. Her smile lit up that beautiful face and her lips... Man, those lips were begging to be kissed.

  The heat, that damnable heat, low in his body was pulsing, tightening to the point of pain. Enough of this nonsense.

  “Are you finished?” he said, glaring at Janice.

  “I think so,” she said, then drew a wobbly breath. “Oh, my, that was funny.” She paused. “There. Yes, I’m fine now.”

  “I missed the joke,” Taylor said dryly. “Would you care to explain what set you off?”

  “No,” she said, another bubble of laughter escaping. “Just forget it. You have my full attention.”

  “Yes, well, as I said, I’d like to sit down and discuss Sleeping Beauty with you, including what might be feasible for the future.”

  “The future?” she said thoughtfully, cocking her head slightly to one side. “I’ve done all that I can at this location. I took over the place next door and doubled my square footage. By signing a five-year lease, I was able to get the owner of the complex to punch a hole through the adjoining wall, meeting my design specifications.”

  “And the lease holds him to the same rent for five years,” Taylor said, nodding, “which was very smart on your part.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “I was rather pleased with myself about that negotiation.”

  Janice, please don’t smile, Taylor begged silently. Not right now. Not when the coiled heat low in his body was driving him up the wall.

  “So,” Janice said, shrugging. “The future of the boutique is set. I’ve added the bath accessories and they’re selling extremely well.

  “The woman of today is more self-assured than ever before. She knows her own worth and pampers herself when she feels the need. She doesn’t rely on others to validate her existence. She does it herself. Sleeping Beauty is reaping the rewards of the modern woman’s mind-set.”

  “That sounded like an outtake from a speech.”

  “It was,” she said, laughing. “I was the speaker at a Women in Business meeting last month. That was part of my spiel.”

  And don’t laugh, either, Taylor thought. Damn it, this woman was tying him up in knots, which was so asinine it was a crime.

  “Therefore,” Janice said breezily, “we have nothing to discuss regarding the future of Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Wrong,” Taylor said. “Your profits are such that you’re paying exorbitant taxes. There are ways to solve that problem.” He paused. “I’d like to suggest that we have a business dinner, talk things over in a relaxed atmosphere while enjoying a good meal.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “My father and I have both found that a pleasant environment is much more conducive to fresh ideas and open minds than an appointment in an office. It’s true. Trust me.”

  Trust Taylor Sinclair? Janice thought incredulously. Oh, ha. Not a chance. Trust Mr.Dynamite Smile, Nonstop Body and Practiced Charisma? No way.

  Oh, wait a minute. She was off and running on the wrong track. Taylor wasn’t viewing her as a woman. He saw her as nothing more than a client. The hours they would spend together would be strictly business.

  Trust him? Yes, she would, because she had total confidence in Clem, and knew the dear man had seen to it that she was in expert financial hands.

  “Tomorrow night?” Taylor said. “Seven o’clock? I have your address on file, so I’ll pick you up.”

  “That’s not necessary. Why don’t we just meet at a restaurant?” Janice said.

  “My father would skin me alive,” Taylor said, smiling. “He made it a practice to pick up and deliver clients for lunch and dinner meetings. He’d expect me to do the same, especially for someone I’ve inherited from him.”

  “Well, I just think it would be simpler if I met you at—”

  The door to the shop abruptly opened and two women entered.

  “Hello, hello, Janice,” one of the women said. “Did the scented candles arrive yet?”

  “They certainly did,” Janice said, smiling. “And they’re lovely.”

  “Wonderful,” the woman said. “Betty and I are here to splurge.”

  “I’m gone,” Taylor said, rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Tomorrow night, Janice. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “But...”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jennings,” he said, then turned and strode toward the door. “Ladies,” he said, smiling at the two women as he passed them.

  “But...” Janice said again, then sighed.

  So much for meeting Taylor at a restaurant. Tomorrow night the first eligible gentleman caller would step over the threshold of her safe haven.

  Well, no, not really. Taylor wasn’t a man, he was an accountant. If the meeting would benefit Sleeping Beauty, then so be it. The boutique was her raison d’être, the focal point of her entire existence.

  So, yes, she’d go out to dinner with Taylor Sinclair and simply pretend he was Clem with different packaging.

  No problem.

  Janice frowned.

  Then why had a flock of butterflies suddenly taken up residence in her stomach as she thought about tomorrow night at seven o’clock?

  Chapter Three

  Taylor sat in the high-backed, soft leather chair behind the desk in his office, his legs crossed at the ankle on the edge of the corner of the desk.

  He’d removed his jacket and tie, and undone the two top buttons of his shirt. His hands were linked behind his head as he cradled the telephone receiver between his ear and shoulder.

  “And there you have it, Brandon,” he said into the receiver. “I truly believe Sleeping Beauty is an excellent candidate for one of the specialty shops you’re planning to put in the lobby of Hamilton House.”

  “Sounds promising,” Brandon said. “I’ll talk to Andrea about it. Do you think Janice Jennings would be interested in a small outlet up here in Prescott?”

  “No telling. I wasn’t in a position to discuss it with her today. Besides, I wouldn’t have broached the subject with her until I’d spoken with you. I’m having a business dinner with Janice tomorrow night so I could bring it up then, if I get a go-ahead from you.”

  “All right,” Brandon said. “I’ll be back to you sometime tomorrow. We want top-of-the-line for those shops. One hundred percent classy.”

  “The merchandise Janice carries in her boutique would give you that...big time,” Taylor said. “It’s expensive as hell, too, but the women I saw in there today didn’t blink an eye at the prices.” He paused. “Where do you stand with the architect who’s drawing up the plans for the shops?”

  “He’s bringing some ideas over here tonight for Andrea and me to look at. We gave him the money figures
we worked out with you, and he said he was certain we’d get the effect we want with what he has to play with. We’re moving forward very quickly on this, Taylor, because we’d like the shops up and running before we miss out entirely on the summer visitors.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Hamilton House is booked solid through the summer already, and those folksies have money to spend. So far we have a local florist who is very interested in coming into one of the shops. Andrea is also talking to a representative from a megabucks candy outfit.”

  “I’m impressed,” Taylor said. “You’re hustling, Hamilton.”

  “You bet we are. Listen, when you’re talking to Janice, remember to tell her that even though she may have an advertising contract for her Phoenix store, the shops in Hamilton House become the clients of Andrea’s advertising firm.”

  “Got it. I must say that you and Andrea are a good team.”

  “In more ways than one. I’m telling you, Taylor, Andrea is the best thing that ever happened to me. Lord, I love that woman. I didn’t realize how empty my existence was until she came along. You’d do well to take a close look at your life-style, old buddy.”

  Taylor laughed. “You sound like my father. He wants a grandbaby to bounce on his knee. I told him to take up golf, which got my head handed to me. I’m delighted that you’re a happily married man, Brandon, but I’ll pass. I don’t want any part of that scene.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Brandon said, “until I fell in love with Andrea. Humor me, okay? Project how you’re living now into the far future. There’s nothing comforting about the picture of growing old alone. Hell, man, you could be lonely even as we speak and not even know it. That sure was true about me. Will you think about what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure. I’ll pencil it in on my calendar. I’ll schedule a ‘getting in touch with my inner self,’ or whatever.”

  “You’re dusting me off, Sinclair,” Brandon said.

  “In spades, Hamilton. Marriage isn’t right for everyone, Brandon. I know who I am, and the hearth and home, wife and babies number is not where I’m at. Never has been. Never will be.”