Beguiling the Boss. Joan Hohl

and slid from the seat.

      Marsh never liked disappointing a lady—even one who seemed to have given him a line about not going to bed with a man hours after meeting him—but his mind was clearly elsewhere this evening. He’d put the Jag he kept in Houston into Drive before she’d reached the doorway, and Jen was back on his mind by the time he pulled into traffic.

      Why the hell had he hired her?

      Marsh sighed. He had hired Jen because he was getting desperate. She was intelligent, personable, fully qualified, friendly and willing to do the cooking.

      Yet, he had to admit, she was the reason he had come to Houston. After meeting her, when the touch of her hand made his palm—and parts south—itch, and when that itch had swiftly turned into a familiar warmth that spread through his body, he knew he was in trouble.

      He wanted her. He had wanted her within minutes of meeting her, and it had played hell with his normally sound judgment. So, afraid he’d do or say something unacceptable, he manufactured a business trip to put some distance between them, calling his friend Scott to set up a meeting in Houston. To his confused embarrassment, after sitting across the breakfast table from Jen that morning, he couldn’t get to the airstrip soon enough. He had arrived forty-five minutes earlier than he had asked his pilot to be there.

      Marsh kept the plane primarily to get from his house in Dallas to the ranch in Colorado in a hurry if he needed to, but used it himself for quick trips like this one. Except that this trip had been unnecessary. He felt like an idiot, getting all hot and sweaty over a woman he had just met. Sure he had been all hot and sweaty over women before, like his previous wife, but he had been a lot younger then. And look where that had gotten him.

      Well, the heat was gone now and so was the sweat. Marsh was resolved to revert to form—cool and aloof. He just had to remember that Jen was an employee, nothing more.

      Cool and aloof, that would be his mantra.

      Marsh could only hope.

      Satisfyingly tired from the day spent cleaning the house, Jen lay curled up in bed, floating in the in-between world of wakefulness and sleep.

      The growling sound of a vehicle jerked her awake. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand—it read 1:30 a.m. She heard the automatic garage door open, then slide shut again. Moments later she heard the kitchen door. She rolled onto her back, listening.

      Although she would never have admitted it, Jen had not slept easily the previous two nights. She had wakened often, listening. She told herself it was just her new surroundings, that she wasn’t used to sleeping in the quiet hill country yet.

      Yeah. Right.

      A sigh whispered through her lips. Her eyelids grew heavy, slowly closing. Marsh was home. Too fuzzy-minded to question the comfort she drew from that thought, Jen drifted into a deep, restful sleep within seconds.

      She woke the next morning feeling rested, and had breakfast ready when Marsh entered the kitchen at precisely six-thirty. She had wondered if he would make it after returning to the house so late, but there he was, wide-awake, alert and handsome as the rugged devil.

      “Good morning.” She greeted him with a smile and a large plate in hand. He did not return her smile.

      “Morning,” he said as he sat down and drew his napkin over his jean-clad knees. “Smells good.”

      “Thanks,” she said, setting the plate of eggs, potatoes and a large steak in front of him. She turned back to the counter to get her own plate.

      “Have a seat.” It wasn’t so much an invitation as an order.

      But today, Jen didn’t mind. He was the boss, after all. They ate in silence again. Marsh didn’t say a word until after she had removed the plates and served the coffee.

      “You cleaned the house.” His tone was hard.

      “Yes.” She held his gaze, slowly arching one questioning brow.

      “Why?”

      Her other brow went up in surprise. “Because it needed cleaning.”

      “Yes, it did. But you weren’t hired to clean.”

      “I cleaned the kitchen,” Jen shot back at him. “You didn’t object to that.”

      “I hired you to cook,” he said, returning fire. “So of course I wouldn’t object to you cleaning the kitchen. That has nothing to do with the rest of the house.” He frowned, perplexed. “I don’t get it. Why would a woman like you even consider cooking and cleaning in any house?”

      “What do you mean, a woman like me?”

      “You’re from a rich family, dammit. And I didn’t mean ‘a woman like you’ as a slur, if that’s what you’re thinking. You don’t need to work at all, never mind cook and clean. It doesn’t make sense.”

      Jen sighed, fully aware she should have expected this reaction from him. Before she could begin to explain, he tossed more at her.

      “You come from a well-known, wealthy family, grew up in the lap of luxury in the highest social circles—”

      “Hold it right there.” Jen cut him off. She shoved her chair back, scraping it over the floor tiles as she slapped her hands on her hips. He opened his mouth. “First and foremost, Mr. Grainger, I am not a member of any social circle. I am not a social butterfly. My parents are the socialites. I was practically raised by my parents’ housekeeper and chef, Ida and Tony.”

      She paused for breath but rushed on before he could get a word out.

      “They gave me a sense of being loved for myself, and taught me the value of honest work. Ida taught me how to take care of a beautiful house. Tony taught me how to prepare delicious meals. This is a beautiful house,” she continued. “It deserves to be kept that way. And yes, I’m used to well-prepared meals.”

      Marsh was quiet for a moment, as if waiting to see if she was finished. When she didn’t speak, he said, “It will only get dusty again.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll clean it again.”

      “And what about the work you were hired to do?”

      Jen made a quick study of his closed expression, trying to decide if he was about to fire her from a job she hadn’t yet begun. At any other time in her life, she wouldn’t have cared. Now, for some strange reason she didn’t want to examine too closely, she did care. She wanted this job, cleaning and all.

      She wanted to stay here with him.

      “I’ll clean on Saturdays.” She again arched one brow. “Or were you thinking to have me work in the office on weekends, too?”

      “No, of course not.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll pay you for the cleaning.”

      “Thank you.” She smiled at her victory. “I’ll get the breakfast things away so I can get started in the office.” To her surprise, he began clearing the table.

      “I’ll help here,” he said, carrying dishes to the dishwasher. “The sooner we can get started, the better. I have a lot of work to do.” His voice was rough, as if he were embarrassed about helping with anything domestic.

      Jen fought against a laugh. “Yes, sir.”

      He sighed again. “I asked you not to call me ‘sir’.”

      She nodded. “I know.”

      She was really beginning to enjoy being with him. Was she nuts? He had barely been civil to her since she’d arrived at the house. How could she even think she was beginning to like the man?

      Maybe she had been fawned over for too long, by her parents, and Ida and Tony.

      Possibly, a man like Marshall Grainger was just what she needed. A no-nonsense, straight-talking man with a perfect smile and silver eyes.

      No