Bridegroom On Her Doorstep. Renee Roszel

into her career, reestablishing it as supremely important in her life, and she’d risen rapidly through the ranks at D.A.A. Any desire to attract a man with physical trappings, like sexy clothes or makeup, was gone, crushed with her naiveté.

      The presidency of D.A.A. would be hers, this time, or she would die trying! She knew from unhappy experience the company was severely conservative. The presidency had always gone to, and would always go to, a settled, married man. Though she could do nothing about her gender, Jennifer Sancroft was determined to mold herself into the perfect presidential candidate—which required an immediate and respectable mate.

      This husband hunt she’d hurriedly put into motion would be conducted on a strictly analytical basis. She would not let emotions blind her and open her up to pain.

      Never again.

      She would play it safe, be in total control. She would secure for herself a mate who was not only successful in his own right, but who shared her interests and beliefs. Finding a life’s partner with intellect instead of insubstantial and untrustworthy hormone-induced emotion was certainly possible. Her own parents were the perfect example of a well-oiled team with like minds who had never been slobbery over each other. Jen simply needed a plan, a few good candidates, and some privacy—which at the moment was the subject at hand.

      She marched down the sloping lawn, her attention riveted on the man painting the fence. When she was within stone-throwing distance, he startled her by glancing in her direction. His features were as grim as hers, as though her approach had not been a surprise.

      Before she reached him, he laid his brush across the paint can and straightened, bracing his hands on his hips. His unfriendly expression suggested she was the one intruding. Well! He had some nerve! Just who was the executive and who was the hireling?

      She thought she detected the flare of his nostrils. “So you’re the tenant.” He sounded as though he’d expected her but would not have grieved extravagantly if she’d driven off a cliff.

      “Yes, I am.” Her aggravated tone matched his. “When will you be finished with your chores? This weekend, I trust, because Monday morning I begin some very important —meetings, and I can’t have a lot of banging and—and—whatever…” She waved away the rest of the sentence. Of all people, a maintenance man would know what noises a maintenance man made.

      He remained silent, his skeptical examination giving off insolent vibes. Even as annoyed as his cheeky impudence made her, a corner of her brain whispered that he had an amazing face. His eyes were an otherworldly pale, spectacular, almost hypnotic. Though she assumed their color was a very light blue, in the bright June sun, they exhibited an iridescence reminding her of fire opals. Staring into them she lost her train of thought as well as a fraction of her animosity.

      His striking eyes narrowed, masked by a dark frill of lashes. He pursed his lips for a beat, then shrugged. The movement caused a sinewy ripple across his chest. “I can’t do much about the banging, but I’ll try to keep the whatever down.”

      She scowled, confused. What was he talking about? She met his eyes, not realizing until that moment that her gaze had strayed lower. Her cheeks grew hot and she feared she might be blushing. “Excuse me?” The snapped inquiry came out breathier than she would have preferred.

      He inhaled, nostrils flaring again, drawing her attention to the symmetry of his straight patrician nose and how nicely it fitted above a handsome, if cynically twisted, mouth. Her gaze traveled down again, and she took conspicuous notice of his square chin, bisected by a sexy cleft.

      “Look, Miss…” As he paused, she shook off her odd preoccupation, mentally scrambling to regain focus on why she’d confronted him.

      Before continuing his thought, he leaned slightly forward. If he were anyone else Jen wouldn’t have noticed, but he was so—so big. The move unsettled her and she took a step backward. “Whether you like it or not,” he said, “I’m here for the month of June. The leasing agent made a mistake.” He gave her a curt but brazen once-over. “Since you’re a woman who, by your own admission, has an aversion to banging, I suggest you make other arrangements.”

      She stared at him, hoping his remark had no underlying sexual content. Surely not. He couldn’t have the mental dexterity to juggle a double entendre. “What do you mean by mistake?” she asked.

      His brow wrinkled at her question. “I mean the usual—error, blunder, oversight, slip—”

      “I understand the word!” she cut in. “I mean, what mistake?”

      “The corporation never rents this property in June.”

      “Of course it does,” she said. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

      “That was the mistake.”

      She had a sinking feeling, but didn’t respond.

      “Your being allowed to rent the place was a mistake,” he said.

      Refusing to take his word, she demanded, “Why should I believe you?”

      “Call and ask.”

      Not one to be bullied, she whipped her cell phone from her shoulder bag and punched in the corporate headquarters’ number.

      “It’s Saturday,” he said.

      She realized what he meant, scowled at him and snapped her cell phone shut. “Right.” Disconcerted, she slipped the phone into the bag, working to regain her self-assurance. “Look, I don’t care what day it is. I’ve leased this place for the next three weeks, so that’s that.”

      His dark, lustrous hair fluttered appealingly, ruffled by the fingertips of a sea breeze. An ebony curl fell across his creased brow, cavorted there for a few heartbeats, then dashed up to rejoin the dark waves of his hair. Troubled by the way that dancing wisp affected her, she shifted her attention to his scintillating gaze and experienced a jolt when their eyes met.

      “For years, June has been set aside for m…” His jaw bunched. “…maintenance. Apparently the new leasing manager isn’t on the ball.”

      His revelation penetrated. From the hostile conviction glittering in his eyes, she felt renewed misgivings.

      “This isn’t going to work,” he said.

      “It has to work,” she countered. “I’ve made arrangements. I have appointments scheduled all next week. Some of the—my applicants are coming from out of state. My advertisement runs through next week and gives this address. I can’t possibly change my plans!”

      “Neither can I.”

      Jen detected no hint of concern or apology in the statement. If anything there had been a knife edge of resentment in his tone. If his sparking stare was any indicator, he was far from sympathetic to her predicament.

      She adjusted her shoulders to make sure she stood as erect as her five-foot-six frame would muster. The difference in their dimensions was still laughably one-sided. If he took it in his head, he could squash her like a jelly doughnut. Judging by his expression, he was poised on the verge.

      Unwilling to let his hostility cow her, she met him scowl for scowl. This guy had never come up against Jennifer Sancroft when she had set a goal. “Then…” she said, keeping her voice composed, “it looks like we’re at an impasse.”

      He glared for a long moment, then surprising her, he nodded. “That’s how it looks.”

      Jen didn’t like compromise, especially with someone who should have been easy to deal with. She’d misjudged this hunky hulk. She’d thought he’d fold, groveling and begging her pardon. Apparently he took his time schedule as seriously as she took hers. Maybe reshuffling this job to a later date would mean having to cancel something else, which would take a bite out of his livelihood. Being a logical person, she could understand his obstinacy, if allowing her to force him off the property would steal bread from his family’s table.

      Jen’s turn had come to shrug. Maybe she was being paranoid. It wasn’t