by Liz Ireland
She smiled now. She knew she’d never accept payment from them, just as she knew they’d never have an extra dime with which to pay her back. She sighed, thinking of how pride affected people.
Coming back into Queen’s Harbor, Jayde merrily waved at the guard who promptly raised the bar to allow her to pass. He saluted her and smiled. As if I belong here. Jayde felt like a queen as she drove past the fabulously manicured lawns, flower beds and towering palms, the golf course, the picturesque pond with a water-spouting fountain at its center—she’d have to paint it one day—and all the beautiful people out walking. She continued down the winding streets that boasted wealth and opulence, the palatial homes and elegant cars and…she turned onto her street, smiling and humming.
My street. She liked the sound of that. She caught sight of her home. Her grin widened. My home. She lived here. She belonged. What could be better?
Just then, as the sun was setting on a gloriously sunny day, Jayde slammed on the Jag’s brakes and sat there, staring…as her bubble burst and her dream became a nightmare. Gulping, she gripped the polished wood of the steering wheel with both suddenly sweaty hands. With the car’s powerful motor purring contentedly right there in the middle of the street, she just stared, her breathing shallow, her heart thumping.
She was a dead woman.
Because, apparently…her husband was home.
5
A FEW FRANTIC moments later, Jayde had left the Jag in the garage and, not thinking beyond her panic, had run inside, ignoring Lyle as he waved and drove off. Suspending common sense, Jayde charged up the spiraling stairs. Her sandaled feet slapped against the long hallway’s hardwood flooring. She stormed past a home theater, a fully equipped gym and an office. Finally, she swept into Mr. Hale’s carpeted bedroom—and stopped cold.
The opulence of the suite of rooms took her breath. The marble, the tile, the vaulted ceiling, the wood crown molding, the arched windows with fan transoms, the view of the bay beyond French doors. The only thing this room lacked were half-dressed men in turbans to stir the air with peacock-feather fans.
Jayde quickly recovered herself. Putting her hands on her hips, she spied Bradford Hale in his sheik-worthy den. There, over by a walk-in closet, which looked bigger than her folks’ living room, stood her boss. Jayde’s heart leaped. His magnificent, though clothed, back was to her. Looking him up and down, she exhaled an appreciative breath and tried to remember…What had she run up here to say? Oh, yes…Hello. Welcome home. Now, get out.
But now that she thought about it, she couldn’t say that, could she?
Hardly. Jayde blinked, realizing the man was not aware of her presence, which meant she shouldn’t continue to stand here unannounced. Especially since he was steadily shedding his clothes. Jayde swallowed, tempted to retreat. But maybe she was supposed to welcome him home. Hadn’t Lyle said something to that effect? So, not knowing what the protocol really was, she cleared her throat and smiled. “Mr. Hale, hello. Um, what are you doing here?”
She watched Bradford Hale jerk around, his hands undoing the knot of the maroon silk tie she’d seen him wearing only this morning. His gaze swept up and down her form. Well, he liked what he saw, that much was evident. Her face warmed with the memory of their kiss last night. But then he spoke, bringing her back to the moment. “I live here, Jayde. Remember?”
That certainly invited comment. “Right. You must be great at whatever it is you do.”
A look of surprise, almost of insult, flitted across his features.
Jayde flinched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I just…wondered. I mean, you’re so young. But, hey, if what you do is something for which you’d have to kill me because you told me, then, please don’t tell me. I am a firm believer in the blissfulness of ignorance.”
Mr. Hale gave her a considering stare. “It’s nothing as earth-shattering as all that,” he said quietly. “I’m an investment banker, on an international level. I would have thought that Lucinda Kingston would have told you that much.”
Impressions assaulted Jayde. Okay, Lucinda was Ms. Kingston’s first name? That was what he called her. So she’d been right—Ms. Kingston and Mr. Hale had something going on…or had had something going on at one time. And now he was grim about it. In an effort to match his seriousness, Jayde frowned and nodded. “Well, that’s…great. It really is. And no, Ms. Kingston didn’t tell me what you do for a living. I guess she thought it was none of my business.” She decided to change the subject. “So, Mr. Hale, what happened to England?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s still there. But my business isn’t. At least, not the meetings I’d set up. Some quasi-political disruption at their end caused them to be postponed.”
As he explained his business to her—business that Jayde realized he didn’t have to explain to her, since it was essentially none of her business—he pulled his tie through his collar and tossed it onto his large, four-poster bed. He then began tugging his dress shirt out of the waist of his pants. As he did, he eyed Jayde, much as if she were some creature whose next move he couldn’t figure out…but had better watch, nevertheless. “Tell me, Jayde, is there some reason why I shouldn’t be here now?”
She thought of the huge sum of money—taken from the household account since she wouldn’t be paid for another month—and of her note to her folks. Through her guilt, she managed a nonchalant shrug. “No, of course not. I just—’ she cast about for something to say. “—I just thought you were supposed to call and tell me you were coming home. So I could get the house ready.”
“That’s true. I am. But I only left this morning. So, how much preparation time could you need? But, still, I did call and I left you a message. But of course you weren’t here, so you didn’t get it.”
She rubbed agitatedly at her forehead. “Well…boy, that’ll teach me, huh?”
“No harm done. You’re free to come and go as you please.” He might have said that, but he was also staring intently at her…as if he believed his coming home unexpectedly had, no doubt, put a crimp in her plan to clean the place out.
If only it were that simple. But really, what were the chances of her folks showing up? It was too bad she couldn’t call them and tell them to ignore her note. After all, what reason could she give? She or her husband didn’t want them here? Tell them she’d lied to them? She just couldn’t do that to them—or to herself. For once, she wanted something to be good. Only, right now, it was bad…because she’d told lies in order to do a good thing. But then she had another thought. “So. How long do you think you’ll be home this time, Mr. Hale? A day? A night? You probably won’t even need to unpack, will you?”
He continued to stare steadily, and unnervingly, at her. “I’ll be staying a while. And unpacking.”
“I see.” Jayde nodded, smiled shakily. Her heart sank. “A while? That long? Well, good. That’s great. Just great.”
Mercifully, the man stopped undressing. As it was, he stood there in his bare feet, wearing only his dark slacks and his unbuttoned white shirt. He ran a hand through his sun-streaked sandy-colored hair. Jayde’s knees nearly gave out. He was so beautiful.
“Where’ve you been all afternoon, Jayde? Getting to know Sarasota?”
She blinked, thinking that sounded good. “Yes. It’s beautiful. Especially around St. Armand’s Circle. All those shops. Wow.” Then, for some reason, she felt compelled to add, “I stayed away mostly in an effort to stay out of JOCK’s hair. If he had any.”
A grin tugged at Mr. Hale’s mouth…and flirted with Jayde’s nerve endings. “Has he been behaving?”
The truth was, he hadn’t. But Jayde also knew he was listening. And she didn’t feel like ratting him out, only to suffer some hideously surprising form of retaliation later. So, she clearly and loudly said, “JOCK has been wonderful. We’re getting along just fine.”
Mr. Hale arched an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”
Jayde smiled. “I didn’t say that. You did.”
From
there, the conversation seemed to drag. The room seemed to heat up. Either JOCK was playing with the air-conditioning, or being in the same room—the same bedroom—with a semiclad Bradford Hale was causing a tropical heat wave all its own. Jayde didn’t know how to leave. And Mr. Hale didn’t ask her to go. The moments stretched out.
Finally, Jayde caved, bringing up a sore subject between them—literally. “Um, how’s your jaw? It looks like it hurts.”
Mr. Hale put his hand to his face, gingerly rubbing the spot where she’d decked him that morning. “It does. That’s some right hook you have there.”
Remorse ate at her. “I know. It’s all those brothers and sisters I have. But again, I’m sorry. I thought you were JOCK, as silly as that seems.”
“That’s what you said. And like I said, it’s okay.”
But Jayde couldn’t seem to let it go. “Well, you’re very nice to say so. But it’s not okay. You probably should have fired me, like you threatened to do this morning. I guess I’m just surprised you didn’t.”
His blue-eyed gaze intensified and seriously bored into hers. “So am I. Anyone else, I would have fired on the spot. And pressed charges.”
“Oh.” Her mouth went dry. “Then…why not me?”
For a long moment, he considered her…and then sharply exhaled. “I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself that all day.”
“Oh,” Jayde said again. Then it got really quiet between them. Again, she caved first. “Well, I’ll just—’
“Why don’t you—’ he said at the same time.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“No, you first. What were you going to say?”
“I wasn’t. I was just…” She gestured vaguely toward the open doorway to the hall behind her, indicating she’d thought to leave.
“Oh. Okay. Sure,” he said. “Go ahead. And I’ll…” He gestured just as vaguely behind himself toward his walk-in closet.
She got his drift. He meant to continue changing his clothes. But still Jayde stood there, as lost in her embarrassment as he appeared to be in his.
“So, good. That’s settled,” she said a bit too loudly. “I’ll just go downstairs and let you…” She wagged her hand at him, meaning he should carry on. “I’ll be downstairs…if you need my help.” She suddenly heard how that sounded. “I meant if you need me.”
Okay, that was worse.
NEED HER. Grinning, Brad pulled on his khaki shorts and then reached for a white knit golf shirt. He couldn’t get over how seeing Jayde in his bedroom had affected him, however innocent her presence had been. He thought about her again, looking to where she’d stood only a moment ago. It was as if he could see her there. Her dark hair swirling around her shoulders. Her even darker eyes wide. Her slender arms and legs. The way she looked in her shorts and T-shirt. She’d be magnificent on the deck of a yacht at sea. Or better yet, in his bed. He took a moment to fantasize about that before he beached his thoughts on solid ground. He remembered how her face had turned red with her last words. Then she’d fled, as if he’d been chasing her.
He hadn’t been, of course. Brad quirked his mouth, thinking maybe he should have. He sure as hell wanted to. Okay, what if he had? It was like when a dog chased a car. He’d always wondered what a mutt would do with one if he caught it. Not that Brad didn’t know what to do with a woman, but the point was…he hadn’t chased Jayde because he still didn’t know if he could trust her. But even if he did trust her implicitly, would she want him to chase her? He didn’t know.
So, right now, she was downstairs. Where she belonged. His expression severe, he reminded himself that she was his employee. And there was no playing around in that pool. That was his rule. And a good one, it was. Nothing got messy that way.
Except maybe his entire house. Brad sighed. How well aware he was that she was downstairs—and not only from her magnetic pull on him. As he buttoned up his shirt, he could hear her fussing with JOCK. He braced himself for the electronic butler’s retaliation. Sure enough, and right on cue, as if Brad had signaled it, an Italian tenor burst through the argument to perform, at an ear-piercing level, an angst-ridden solo over the built-in music system. Brad’s eyes began to water. He shook his head and gave up trying to corral his wayward emotions where Jayde was concerned. Instead, he thought to save his—and her—eardrums.
He stalked over to a control panel in his room and punched the volume control button until the tenor’s powerful voice was reduced to a pathetic warble. “Knock it off, JOCK,” Brad warned aloud. He then waited. Nothing happened—meaning, no further rebellion on JOCK’s part. Brad shook his head, fighting a grin. The hell of it was, through it all, including messes and noise, he liked knowing Jayde Greene was downstairs. And he liked being home here with her, just the two of them. Well, the four of them, counting JOCK and Pavarotti.
So what if his meetings—important meetings—in England hadn’t been canceled by any disruptions over there? He’d canceled them himself. What’s more, he’d done so because, dammit, he needed to know the truth about this Jayde Greene. He also just wanted to spend some time here in Florida. He’d told Lyle he was tired and the business meetings could wait. But that damned Lyle had been unbearable—grinning and winking—as he’d driven Brad home.
Brad couldn’t believe this. What was happening to him? He ran a hand over his mouth and turned his back on his full-length reflection in the mirror behind him. He knew that if he looked, he wouldn’t like what he saw. A lonely man acting like a love-struck high school kid. One who didn’t care if Jayde turned out to be the biggest gold digger on the face of the planet. So what if she was? He wanted her—
Brad’s knees stiffened. Why did Jayde have this effect on him? He felt raw and edgy and restless. Why? Because he was attracted to her. Strongly. Fatally. Even worse, he felt that he was supposed to hold her and kiss her forever.
For some reason, he thought of his other house sitters. Well, maybe not the family butler, the thousand-year-old Crittenden, who held down the Kansas City fort, as Brad thought of the Hale property there. But the house sitters at his villa in Rome and the chateau outside Paris. They’d never affected him like this. Okay, so those dear women were grandmotherly—Brad caught himself. He looked around. Why was he standing here thinking about all this? He took in the opulence, the richness, the beauty of his surroundings. And looked right through it all, for the first time. It no longer satisfied him. It no longer insulated him against his life alone.
Brad put a hand to his temple and rubbed, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He had friends. He had a social life and women he kept company with. And there it was again—his original conclusion.
None of them was Jayde Greene. The inescapable truth was, he felt as if he’d known her all his life. He’d never felt that way about anyone before. Not even Lucinda Kingston, whom he had actually known all his life. And whom he’d come damned close to marrying recently…until he’d finally realized she loved his money a lot more than she did him. What an ugly breakup that had been. He could still hear her saying she’d get even with him for embarrassing her by canceling their wedding last spring. As a gesture of goodwill and in an effort to smooth ruffled feathers, he’d told her he’d still use her agency—and continue to pay her handsome fees—when he needed an employee. And here Jayde was, a first test of that gesture of his that, he was now willing to admit, was really more of a payoff to Lucinda than goodwill.
And how had she, Lucinda, repaid his generosity? Oh, by getting even with him, just as she’d said. But now he realized—and what a revelation it was—that there was no devious plot between Lucinda and Jayde. No, he’d just bet that Lucinda believed that she’d done him a worse turn by sending him an innocent. Because Lucinda knew that he hated incompetence, that it drove him mad. And so she’d sent Jayde. Unbelievable. It was now so obvious.
Jayde was truly in over her head here, what with the technology and the responsibilities of the place. In some respects, it was akin to running a private resort. But
all that aside, she’d riled JOCK to the point of Brad’s having to reformat the butler. She’d punched him in the jaw. And she’d gotten herself locked out. She’d even won Lyle over. And now, all he—Brad—could do was stand here laughing at her antics, which he should be terming offenses. She should already be gone. And yet, she wasn’t.
So why wasn’t she? Well, for one thing, Brad reflected as he rubbed his sore jaw, damn it, he respected her because JOCK hadn’t been able—yet—to send her packing. Brad liked Jayde because JOCK had met his match in her. And to Brad that meant that he, as JOCK’s creator, had met his, too. An interesting concept, Brad decided, continuing to rub his chin. And an exciting one, too, if his body’s reaction to her nearness was any indicator. Wouldn’t Lucinda be surprised when he sent her a thank-you note for finding such a jewel—pun intended—as Jayde Greene?
Brad almost laughed out loud as he tried to picture Lucinda’s face. No doubt, she expected him to already be on the phone, giving her hell…to her delight. Good old Lucinda. Brad shook his head. He didn’t hate her, in fact, he didn’t even dislike her. She couldn’t help how she was…any more than he could help how he felt…about Jayde.
Suddenly Brad realized that he had a lot to make up for. She had no idea of the dark things he’d suspected her of, and he wasn’t about to go apologizing. But he was going to be nicer. A lot nicer. His masculine hormones kicked in, reassuring him that he was on the right track now. And that felt good.
Well, there it was. Grinning, wanting to relish this good feeling for just a moment more before he joined the fray downstairs, Brad strolled over to the French doors across the room from his bed. He threw them open. A gentle breeze, still warm even though this was January, caressed his body. Further heartened by the bloodred colors of the setting sun, he stepped out onto the balcony and gripped the railing. He looked out over the bay, which glittered as if it were awash with sparkling jewels. Then, Brad actually felt, for the first time, deep inside himself, the calm and the beauty of the sunset. It was amazing.