Without A Clue. Trish Jensen

up his hands, Matt assured her. “Ms. Renshaw, I have no designs on you. But whatever I do, I want it to be done right. And if I’m dying up there and clues will be planted up there, I want to talk them through.” When she still continued to look skeptical, he said, “You’re welcome to bring a bodyguard. How about Tina?”

      Meg stared at him and laughed. “It’s a deal, Mr….”

      “De Wynter. Just call me Lionel De Wynter.”

      VIOLIN STRINGS had nothing on Meg’s nerves. Her career depended on the success of this weekend, and so far everything was shaping up about as well as her wedding day to Mike.

      A disaster in the making is what it was. Her dead guy was gone, and in his place she had an overbearing, angry homeowner who was trying to call his own shots on her project.

      So she’d spent all day feverishly rewriting much of the script to incorporate the fact that the man didn’t look all that sinister. Sinfully sexy, maybe, but turning him into the twenty-first century Genghis Khan wasn’t going to be easy, given he wanted to play the part sans makeup.

      And it was hard to conceive of anyone wanting to rid the world of this particular male specimen. Climb into bed with him, maybe. But shoot him in bed? No.

      He wanted to talk over the script. He’d had to cancel the supper meeting—which gave her a vague sense of disappointment—because an important business call had come through. So she’d had to write one herself, fast. And she wasn’t a writer, she was a party planner for a travel agency.

      Was it only six hours ago she’d loved her job? Right now she’d happily flip flapjacks at the local diner. At least those people would appreciate her efforts.

      She blew a strand of hair off of her forehead, just as there was a knock on her door. “It’s open,” she said, with not much conviction.

      Tina walked in. Just who she wanted to see. The voice of doom and gloom.

      “We have a problem.”

      “This is news? What now?”

      “Lionel De Wynter’s personal assistant has just run off with the pool boy.”

      “They’re supposed to run off together. It’s in the script. Maybe they’re rehearsing?”

      “If they are, they’re really into their roles. They just called from Las Vegas.”

      “Oh, boy.”

      “Let’s do the same thing. Blow this pop stand and head to Vegas.”

      Meg tsked. “You have no imagination. We can get through this.”

      “Tell me how.”

      Meg looked at Tina speculatively. “Feel like playing the part of a personal assistant?”

      Tina’s hands raised defensively, and she began backing up slowly toward the door. “Not a chance, boss. I’m the behind-the-scenes person, remember?”

      Sighing, Meg closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. There had to be a solution. One just wasn’t popping into her head at this very moment.

      Tina squeaked, and Meg glanced up sharply. Apparently an obstacle at the threshold to the office had blocked Tina’s escape.

      That obstacle had gorgeous brown eyes and dark hair and a mouth that screamed “kiss me.” Especially when he had that lazy smile tugging at his lips.

      “Excuse me,” Tina managed, then ducked under Mr. Rossi’s arm and skedaddled. That was kind of a strange, skittish reaction from fairly bold and stoic Tina. And it kind of irritated Meg that this man could intimidate her assistant like no one—not even Meg—could.

      Rossi glanced to his left, watching Tina make good her escape, then turned back to Meg. With a barely concealed smirk, he strolled toward the desk. Raising his eyebrows at all of the pages littering the desktop, he drawled, “Problems?”

      “Nothing we can’t handle,” she said, trying to keep a defensive, hysterical tone from her voice.

      “I hear my personal assistant jumped ship.”

      “Are you always into eavesdropping, Mr. Rossi?”

      “Only when I happen to be standing at an open door, trying to get your attention.”

      Meg sighed. “Yes, we lost a couple more to the whims of passion.” She snorted. “Never have seen the merit in that, but what can you do?”

      “I know what you can do.”

      Meg’s heart tripped a little, because the instantaneous list of things she’d like to do were a little scandalous. And shocking to even herself.

      She swallowed and tried for bland. “Really? What would that be?” She picked up her water glass and sipped.

      “Why don’t you play my personal assistant?”

      Water splooshed all over her desk, and she choked.

      The man moved quickly around the desk and began thumping her back. “You all right?”

      Meg grabbed tissues from a box and wiped her watering eyes, then mouth, then the surface of the desk. “Sure. Fine. Really.”

      He stopped thumping her, but began stroking her back in what should have been a soothing manner, but was failing miserably at soothing her.

      His huge hands were warm and gentle and whispered seduction, even in such an innocent act.

      Meg didn’t even like this guy. Even though he’d agreed to step in and help out when he didn’t even want them here, he was just an additional monkey wrench in what was turning out to be a disastrous venture. He wasn’t the enemy—Meg didn’t believe in having enemies—but he wasn’t a friend, either.

      So why was his touch so electrifying?

      Meg wasn’t into being electrocuted, either.

      Finally she stood to get away from the current. “You’re joking, right?”

      “Why not? You have to be around all the time to oversee things anyway. If you’re not part of the action, you’re merely a distraction. Do it.”

      “Mr. Rossi—”

      “My name is Matt. Call me Mr. Rossi one more time, and I’m tossing all of your butts out of here.”

      She’d be mad, but she couldn’t quite get there when he was smiling. “Fine. Call me Ms. Renshaw one more time and I’ll personally rewrite this so that it’s your personal secretary who gets to kill you off.”

      “Does that mean you’ll do it…Meg?”

      She chewed on her lower lip. “Fine. Actually, it does make some sort of sense.”

      His smile grew wider, and his eyes sparkled. “Great. This should be fun.”

      Meg clamped her jaw shut to keep it from dropping. He actually sounded like he meant it. “I sure hope so,” she finally managed.

      He leaned toward her, and she had to drop her head back. That’s when she noticed just how tall he really was. She was not a short woman.

      “So tell me, Meg, am I sleeping with my personal assistant?”

      4

      “SINCE WHEN is the personal assistant sleeping with De Wynter?” Tina asked Meg, reading through the player profiles.

      Meg never blushed. She prided herself on that. So she was certain the heat in her cheeks was simply from the heat in the room.

      “You’re blushing, Meg.”

      “I, umm, just thought I’d add a twist to the, umm, dynamics.”

      “Right.”

      Until this moment, Meg had been happily deluding herself into