Trading Places. Ruth Dale Jean

that there was light spilling underneath. Pushing open the door, she stopped short.

      And stared.

      Jed stood in front of the huge industrial refrigerator, his back to her. His bare back: he wore nothing but a pair of jeans. No shoes, no shirt, no kiddin’. The sleek lines of his well-muscled back caused her eyes to widen even more.

      At her soft gasp, he turned to face her.

      She said, “Oh, it’s you. You scared me.”

      “Sorry.” He closed the refrigerator door without taking anything out. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to my room.”

      “Didn’t you come here looking for something to eat? Don’t leave until you’ve found what you want.” She moved farther into the room.

      He said, “Bad idea.”

      “No, really, it’s all right. I’m looking for a carton of yogurt myself.” She brushed past him to open the refrigerator.

      “It’s not all right,” he said. “I’ll go.”

      “I say it’s all right and I’m in charge here.” She darted him an annoyed glance but couldn’t help adding, “Why isn’t it all right?”

      “Because you’re nearly naked, Ms. Kenyon. I’m here to protect your person and your reputation, not compromise either. Or both.”

      Caught flatfooted, she glanced down at herself.

      She was wearing a diaphanous shorty nightgown and matching negligee, if you could call it that, since it left nearly nothing to the imagination. She’d put it on hours ago because it was the most modest thing in the drawer.

      But even as mortification heated her cheeks, she reminded herself that Alice Wynn had no reason to be embarrassed by anything Sharlayne Kenyon might do. Watching him over her shoulder, she said, “Don’t be a prude, Jed—and don’t call me Ms. Kenyon. My n-name is Sharlayne.”

      He didn’t appear to notice her stutter. “I know your name, Ms. Kenyon.” He cocked his head and gazed at her, fists planted on his hips just above the low-slung waist band of his jeans. “It occurs to me that this is as good a time as any to get a couple of things straight.”

      “Do tell?” she purred.

      “There’s a rule at my agency, which I intend to honor.”

      “Rules are often made to be broken.” By Sharlayne, not by Alice, who always followed the rules. Maybe it was time to change that.

      “Not this one. It goes, Thou shalt not get involved with thy client. You’re my client. That’s it. You can’t be my friend or my…anything of a personal nature. It’s not that I want to seem unfriendly, but…” He was stumbling around, not nearly as decisive as he’d been earlier.

      “That’s ridiculous.” Alice laughed lightly. “We can’t live across the hall from each other day after day and not be…something.” She put all kinds of subtext in that last word.

      He was squirming, really uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. “Yeah,” he insisted doggedly, “we can. We will. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

      “I won’t.” She couldn’t believe she’d said that, and with Sharlayne’s familiar petulance. She softened her refusal with a smile. “We’re both hungry. Stay and have a snack with me.”

      “I’m sorry, I—”

      “Look, here’s the chicken we had for dinner tonight. Have a sandwich.”

      “I don’t think that’s a good—”

      “Jed,” she teased, “you’re supposed to be guarding me. You can’t spend the next month running out of the room every time I walk into it. Am I that scary?”

      His face was stone. “You think you scare me?”

      She shrugged, the negligee sliding artfully off one shoulder. “Something’s scaring you. I’m the only other person in the room.”

      “Give me that chicken.” He took it from her hands. “You’ve totally misunderstood my position—deliberately, maybe. Whatever. If you want to run around half-naked, that’s your business. I’m just here to do a job.”

      “I see.” She looked around, located a bread box and pulled out a home baked loaf. “You really are a prude, Jed. I’m covered. Hey, in the old days Greta Garbo used to wander through her garden totally nude.”

      He paused, a carving knife poised over the chicken. “Great who?”

      She laughed incredulously. “Not a big movie fan, I see.”

      “Only of gratuitous violence and car chases.” He sliced easily and precisely through the tender chicken. “Like some of this?”

      “I shouldn’t.” But she did. Suddenly, the thought of yogurt was not very appealing.

      “Suit yourself.”

      How annoying. He could at least try to convince her. She slammed the refrigerator closed. “I find my appetite’s suddenly gone,” she announced. “I’m off to bed. See you tomorrow, Jed.”

      He mumbled something around the sandwich.

      “We work out at nine.”

      “Work out?”

      “Shar—I’ve got a minigym and I expect you to work out with me. Whatever else happens, I don’t want it said that anyone in my employ went to pot while doing it.”

      Like there was a chance of him doing that. With a last, lingering look at his beautifully muscled chest, she headed back upstairs, wondering who had gotten the best of that exchange.

      JED CHEWED methodically on a chunk of chicken and watched the bewitching Ms. Kenyon sweep through the doorway in her sexy nightwear. Talk about a handful! Any man who’d get mixed up with her would have to have a death wish.

      Regardless of that, she apparently found plenty of takers. Frowning, he slapped more chicken on a thick piece of bread, slathered on the mustard, topped that with cheese and another slice of bread and sat down on a stool to eat it.

      She was both the same as and different from what he’d expected.

      He’d expected beautiful and she was, but he’d never expected her to look so young. Even allowing for retouched photographs, she still appeared at least ten years younger in person. Maybe she’d had a face-lift, he thought; maybe she’d found the fountain of youth.

      He’d expected her to be charming and she was that, too, but he hadn’t expected the vulnerability he sensed beneath the surface. One minute she seemed supremely confident and the next almost…bewildered by the situation in which she found herself.

      He’d expected her to be flirtatious, but not with him. He was the hired help, after all. Didn’t she realize that if he was distracted by her attractions, he wouldn’t be able to keep his mind on business? Maybe she was the kind of woman who had to flirt with every man she met.

      Which wasn’t the kind of woman who’d interest him under any circumstances.

      Famished, he finished the second sandwich in a few bites. Rabbit food didn’t do it for him. He could starve on what he’d had for dinner.

      On her, however, it looked good. She was both slender and curvy, strong and supple and sexy—real sexy. Obviously, she worked at it, and she expected him to work, too.

      Okay, he would. He’d jog with her, swim with her, play tennis with her, eat crummy little meals with her, fetch and carry and do whatever she wanted him to do with her…except embark on any kind of personal relationship. Samantha Spade was watching. He didn’t intend to screw up this assignment.

      Let Ms. Kenyon give him her best shot. He was ready.

      Or would be, as soon as he took a cold