by Liz Ireland
Here we go. The beginning of the intimacies. Brad stared at her over the rim of his wineglass before setting it back on the table. “Thank you. I will.” He deliberately didn’t reciprocate by inviting her to call him Brad. For one thing, none of his employees, including Lyle, called him by his first name. And for another, he wanted to see what effect it would have on her. From what he could see, it had none. So he upped the stakes. “That’s an unusual name you have, Jayde. But a pretty one. Very pretty.”
And very fake. No one is named Jayde Greene, except maybe in a James Bond movie. That’s what he told himself, but to his mounting dismay, Brad secretly liked the way her name, real or not, felt on his tongue. Jayde. Jayde Greene. Surprisingly warm and rich, like a dessert.
“Why, thank you.” She shot him another one of those killer smiles, one full of openness and trust. Or was it?
Into the ensuing silence between them, punctuated only by gentle sounds of the night, another pang of wanting her and her smile to be real assailed Brad. Maybe his guard was down because he was tired of people being so artificial and cunning, which forced him to be the same way or to be taken every time. And maybe he just wanted to meet one real person in the world, one who didn’t give a damn about his money, but who gave every damn about him. What was wrong with that? Or with her being that one?
Just then, as if to further unnerve him, her dark eyes glinted, reflecting the lantern light in such a way that it appeared stars shone in their depths. Brad’s breath caught. Was he in danger of falling under her spell, calculated or not?
“You’re very kind to say so about my name, Mr. Hale. But I imagine to someone like you it sounds hokey or fake.”
Hadn’t he just thought that himself? Was this a ploy on her part, or innocent insecurity? The truth was, he was beginning to wonder if, in her case, he would finally be able to tell the difference. “To someone like me? What does that mean?”
Her expression fell. “I didn’t mean anything disrespectful.”
Brad shook his head. “I know you didn’t. It’s okay.” And it was. Because her comment, as well as her calling him Mr. Hale, reminded him of what he was trying to accomplish here. “And I really do like your name,” he added, now purposely flirting with her, trying to draw a suspicious reaction from her. “Although I would at least expect you to have the green eyes to go with it.”
“I get that a lot.” She looked down at her goblet, her motion causing her mahogany-colored hair to fall forward in a lustrous wave that caught Brad off guard and had him itching to run his fingers through it. But by the time she’d brushed her hair back and looked over at him, he’d picked up his wineglass, sipped at the fine Merlot…and his expression gave away nothing of the man who found himself suddenly and frighteningly yearning for her touch and her laughter, real or not.
“A pretty name was all my folks had to give each of us kids,” she added.
Aware of her every nuance, Brad nodded. Not that he understood. He was an only child, one born into a wealth he’d been managing before he’d inherited it outright when his parents had been killed five years ago in an avalanche at a Swiss ski chalet. Since then, he’d worked hard, sparing no one, not even himself, to increase his fortune. Wealth. It was very insulating—none of life’s ills could touch you. Or so he’d thought. But lately he hadn’t found his life fulfilling—not in the same way he suspected a family of his own would be.
A family, starting with a wife. Well, there was Lyle’s influence again. Brad fought a grin and counted himself lucky at least for JOCK’s unswerving support and efforts in weeding out the opportunistic females, as Brad called them. “So,” he said conversationally…and pointedly, trying to get at any holes in her story, “how many kids are there in your family?”
“Six.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Wow. That’s a lot nowadays.”
“It’s a lot every day. Just ask my mother.” She chuckled and, before he could stop himself, Brad joined her. Then she continued, “They live in Kentucky. My folks work hard, but there’s not a Greene who’s ever had much to lay a hand on. But that’s okay. Even in those times when there wasn’t quite enough food on everybody’s plate, we had plenty of love to go around.”
Oh, please. How saccharine. This was too much, this voluntary tale of poverty. True or false, it was not one Brad could relate to, either. But then again, came his sly thought, he wasn’t supposed to, was he? She had to know he’d never wanted for anything. He refused to feel guilty about that. Especially when he thought of the boarding schools and the infrequent visits home that had marked his adolescence. His parents had loved him, but they’d kept him at a distance. All of this Lucinda Kingston knew. What a perfect story for her and this Jayde Greene to come up with to tug at his heartstrings. Hell, the Greene family sounded like something out of a Rockwell painting.
“They sound like wonderful people. So, what are their names, these six kids with the pretty names as a legacy?”
He’d be willing to bet she couldn’t name them all without stumbling.
But she did. “Well, there’s me. I’m the oldest. And then there’re my sisters. Opal, Pearl and Ruby. And my brothers. Garnet and Gem. G-E-M.” She slanted him a shy, self-conscious glance. “That’s silly, isn’t it?”
Yes, it was. And so she had a good memory, so what? Still, he figured if he was going to play the game, he’d best rush in here with reassurances. “No, not at all. I think it’s…” He searched for a suitable adjective.
“Just too precious, maybe?” Jayde’s lips formed a humorous smirk. “Like they’re not even real?”
Was she testing him? Brad couldn’t believe it. Perhaps she was a lot more cunning than he’d given her credit for. He narrowed his eyes and agreed with her. “Afraid so.” Then, capturing her gaze, he heard himself boldly saying, “But let’s talk about precious. Precious doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I’d bet you’re precious to someone.”
Shy and beguiling, that was her innocent expression. “No. Just to my family.” Then, not looking away from him—not even when sudden awareness sparked in her dark eyes like an electric charge—she all but purred. “But I’d like to be. Someday. To someone. Wouldn’t you? Don’t you think that’s the best thing of all? To have someone to love?”
And there it was. Finally. The playing field was leveled. Something hardened around Brad’s heart…before disappointment could clutch at it. She’d just upped the stakes sexually. Brad sobered. He knew how to play this game from here on out. He refused to give in to the surge of emotion between them. Because it wasn’t genuine. It was dangerous. Big league. He set his wineglass down on the table, knowing full well what he was getting ready to do. Exactly what Jayde Greene wanted him to do.
He was going to kiss her.
3
JAYDE HAD NO IDEA what to expect when her handsome, worldly employer casually stood up and rounded the table. She thought he meant to refill her wineglass. But no. He gripped the table to her right and the chair arm to her left, effectively capturing her in the middle as he leaned over her. Jayde’s breath left her. Her eyes widened, her heart thumped. He’s going to kiss me. She couldn’t believe—
His mouth lowered to hers. He covered her lips, his own warm and firm, hers yielding and hungry. Passion shot through her and all but welded her to her seat. She was powerless to resist the urgency of his mouth, even if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t. She then felt his hand at the back of her head. His fingers slipped through her hair and gently cradled her neck, drawing her up and closer to him. In only an instant, she was on her feet, her hands planted against his chest. He held her to him. Somewhere in her mind, she registered that he smelled fresh and clean and of citrus, like from an expensive cologne.
And his mouth tasted of the wine they’d shared. And his body against hers felt—
He pulled away abruptly, letting her go. Jayde nearly fell forward. He had to catch her and hold her steady. The look on his face, despite its heightened color and his lips being moist wi
th her kiss, suggested that he regretted what he’d done. Instantly uncomfortable, if not slightly insulted—and disappointed—Jayde didn’t know what to say, what to do, where to look. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. She didn’t mean the kiss. She wasn’t an innocent, by any means. She just…well, she’d never before had a man look so sorry for having kissed her.
“I’m sorry, Jayde,” he said, letting go of her and staring into her eyes. His own looked hard…and his words sounded rehearsed. “I had no right to do that. I took advantage of you.”
Jayde swallowed, as off balance emotionally as she was physically. She couldn’t seem to stop nervously knotting her fingers together. Nor could she catch her breath…or stop the fluttery feeling in her stomach. “I don’t feel taken advantage of. I mean…wow. That was some kiss. But I am sorry you’re sorry. Because I thought it was nice. I did. I liked it. I just—”
“No. I had no right. You’re my employee. And as such, you deserve to be treated with the respect due—”
“Whoa.” Jayde’s raised hand stalled his words. “I already got the speech from Lyle. It’s okay.”
She was beginning to get mad—from sheer embarrassment. Had her kiss been all that awful? She didn’t think so. Still, she did know about sexual harassment, what her rights were, all of that. But this man’s kiss hadn’t felt as if she was being harassed—not the way it had felt when Mr. Homestead back in Kansas City had tried to catch her alone. Instead, Mr. Hale’s touch had seemed warm and real and heartfelt. Until now.
Jayde forced her gaze to capture his and to hold it. She noted again that his eyes were blue. Like the sky. And his hair was a sun-streaked sandy color. Like the beaches. This man was part and parcel of his surroundings. He belonged here…in ways she believed she never would. No doubt, that was what was wrong with him now. The prince had just realized he’d kissed a peasant girl, who might feel he owed her something as a result. Disheartened and disillusioned, Jayde shrugged, affecting a bravado she didn’t feel. “Seriously. It’s okay. I’m not going to file a complaint. Or even quit. Unless you want me to, that is.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want you to quit. But I really do apologize, Jayde. Sincerely.”
She just couldn’t take it any more. Putting a hand on her waist, she quipped, “Well, I wish you wouldn’t keep doing it. I’m beginning to think you didn’t like my kiss.” She had no idea where her sudden brashness had come from. The man was, after all, her employer. And he was one of the wealthiest men on the planet, which also meant he was probably one of the most powerful. A man who could have any woman he chose. A man who—
Realization dawned. That was it. Underneath it all, he was a man. A warm, living, breathing man with needs and fears and hopes and dreams. Just like her—well, except for the fact that she was a woman. Jayde saw him now as a person, as a man who had kissed her. He had wanted to, and then he had. Something about her had stirred him enough to make him get up and kiss her. What a revelation.
A chuckle escaped Jayde. “You did like it, didn’t you? You liked kissing me. And you don’t like that you did. That’s it, isn’t it? And now you’re afraid—because of who you are and who I am—that I’m going to want something from you, right? Something more than my job, I mean. Well, you can rest easy, Mr. Hale. My job’s enough for me. I need this job very much. And I want to stay. So, if you would, please, in the future, keep your hands—and your lips—to yourself, I’ll do the same with mine.”
Mr. Hale’s blue eyes widened, registering…something. Jayde knew she’d certainly taken him by surprise. Probably no one in his Little Lord of the Manor life had ever talked to him like that. Most likely, he was getting ready to fire her. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, Jayde decided, her sudden bout of bravado leaving her just as Mr. Hale opened his mouth to, no doubt, seal her steadily miserable fate.
But all he said was, “I’m going to go upstairs now, if you’ll excuse me. I think the jet lag and the wine have gone to my head.”
Jet lag? Wine? How about mutual attraction? But no, she didn’t suppose he could admit to something like that. How insulting. And demoralizing. “So I’m not fired?”
His gaze searched hers. Then he shook his head. “No. You’re not fired. Why would you be? You’re not the one who did something wrong.”
Great. Feeling cheapened somehow, Jayde still exhaled gratefully. “Thank you. Well, then, um, good night, Mr. Hale. I’ll clean this up. And the kitchen.”
As if he were in a trance, he looked at the remains of their supper…the hollow lobster tails, the empty wine bottle. Then his gaze met hers. “I’ll help you.”
“No.” Jayde managed a quick and, she feared, wounded smile. “No. I would prefer to do it by myself. Anyway, I understand this is one of my duties.”
He stood there, nodding, looking trapped by his own situation. He rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck. “Okay, then. Um, good night.”
Jayde didn’t move. Like a proud Cinderella, smudged with the ashes of this man’s fireplace, she refused to allow him to see her cleaning up after him. “Good night. It was nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Same here…Ms. Greene.”
ABOUT THIRTY minutes after saying good-night, Brad lay in bed, propped up on pillows, his hands behind his head. Overhead, the lazy turning of the fan blades held his wide-awake gaze. The room, with the lights out and the curtains open, was shot through with moonlight. And yet, even in this peaceful setting, in his favorite home, he couldn’t sleep. His emotions were a mishmash. One second he was thinking he’d been unfair to Jayde, that she’d taken the blame for everything Lucinda had done to him. Then, he couldn’t stop himself from wishing she had followed him up here. If she had, he would have been disappointed in her. On the other hand, he wouldn’t be feeling so frustrated right now.
So he lay there…wide awake. And the truth was, he had no more answers than he’d had before their shared dinner. Usually by now, by employing the same calculating instincts he’d honed in his successful business dealings, he would understand a situation. But he didn’t. She had him completely bamboozled. Brad exhaled, tired of his own machinations, not liking one bit the adverse ways his innate wariness toward women was affecting him. He tried to tell himself he was overthinking this. Maybe he was so damned jaded—No pun intended, he told himself—that he wouldn’t know a breath of fresh air if it blew him down like a tornado. Maybe he needed to let his guard down and simply enjoy the moment.
As if he had a chance of doing that. Not only was the memory of Jayde’s kiss still frittering his nerve endings, but so was JOCK and the noise downstairs. Brad exhaled sharply. Another, though lesser, reason why he couldn’t sleep was because Jayde was still in the kitchen, arguing with JOCK. From the sounds of her raised voice and the noise caused by various appliances whirring, she was giving it all she had…but was losing badly. But maybe not for long.
Brad heard her voice again, raised in anger. “I said turn the kitchen lights on, JOCK. Not the dishwasher. The kitchen lights. Because I’m standing here in the dark, that’s why, you big bag of bolts. What? Because I don’t want the dishwasher on. It’s not full. Turn it off, please. And the lights on.” Then she raised her voice again. “Not all of them at once!” Then there was a dull thud—and a vile curse, followed by a threat of physical violence to JOCK’s…main mechanism.
Dammit.
More enervated than angry, Brad sat up, ripping the sheet off his legs. Clad only in boxer shorts, he snatched up a silk pajama bottom and tugged it on. In another minute or two, he feared JOCK would retaliate…no doubt by draining the pool and sounding a general fire alarm. And they’d be lucky if that was all he did. No doubt, he’d picked up on Brad’s signals, through his and Jayde’s earlier conversations, that she was an unwanted presence. And now, true to form and his programming, JOCK was doing everything he could to get rid of her. Again…dammit.
Brad tried a light switch. Nothing happened. He muttered a curse. JOCK had turned all t
he lights off again. If it was the last thing he did before he left for England, Brad promised himself, it would be to disable JOCK—or at least to reprogram him to be easier to get along with. Now that…well, he couldn’t even imagine it. But quickly now, able to see his way courtesy of the moonlight and the wall of windows that faced the water, Brad exited his room and jogged down the circular stairway to the first floor. There was no doubting that he needed to save the house itself from this Jayde-versus-JOCK battle of wills. But there was also no doubting the fact that he just plain wanted to see and interact with Jayde again.
No, Brad argued. He just couldn’t let his guard down this quickly. Because it just couldn’t be true—Lucinda would not have sent him someone like Jayde without a reason. Lucinda was too jealous and too calculating. Once downstairs, Brad strode purposefully toward the kitchen and he ordered—in a level, no-nonsense voice— “Turn the lights on, JOCK. Now.”
The lights came on.
“Thank you, JOCK.” Brad’s tone lay somewhere between exasperation and sarcasm. And titillation…Jayde was close by.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Hale,” JOCK replied…. smugly, in Brad’s opinion.
Then he rounded the corner into the kitchen. Or what used to be the kitchen. Shock glued him to the spot. But if it hadn’t, the sticky goo covering the floor would have done the trick. He couldn’t believe the sight that greeted him. The beautiful, gleaming kitchen with its butcher-block island, its hanging copper pots and pans, its restaurant-quality stove, the built-in refrigerator that matched the woodwork. And his lovely house sitter. All of them. Splattered with…food.
Sure enough, there she was, standing across the way…blinking, breathing rapidly, bits of food clinging to her hair. And her dress was caked with, well, cake. In her hand was a wooden spoon, which even now she held up, as if ready to smack at anything that might dart out at her. Far from endearing and genuine, at this moment, anyway, she looked like a cooking experiment gone horribly awry: the creature from the Betty Crocker kitchen.