Up and down like a rollercoaster ride, he ran ice cold, then lukewarm, then ice cold again. She wondered what it would be like if he ever ran hot. She wondered what it would feel like to touch his hair and run her finger across the open vee of his shirt.
She shook her head. Obviously, she needed to get out more. Her hormones were out of control. Not only was Rand McNeill a stranger, he was way out of her league.
This house must have cost over a million dollars.
She glanced around the room. The newspapers always referred to him as a “Boise millionaire”. Haley was just a simple girl from Oklahoma.
Don’t even think it,
she cautioned herself.
He’d returned to the recliner and sat with his head back and eyes closed. She again noted the grooves etched beside his mouth, and the dark shadows under his eyes that gave him a tired, haggard look. Long narrow fingers, capable looking hands. She shivered, imagining those fingers stroking her hair, touching her more intimately. Warning bells clanged in her head as it occurred to Haley that their unusual relationship might be too complicated for her to handle.
As prickly and unfriendly as Rand acted, Haley was attracted to him. Very attracted. It would be ironic if they both ended up with broken hearts.
Echoing in her head, his warning not to make up fantasies about him seemed almost prophetic. It wouldn’t be healthy or smart for her to become emotionally involved with Rand McNeill. This was a temporary job, nothing more.
Chapter Three
Haley stared at the length of his lashes for five minutes before clearing her throat. “Do you think we’d better get started with whatever…?”
Rand’s eyes popped open and he struggled to sit up. “What time is it? They’ll be here around seven.”
She glanced at her watch. “It’s only one-fifteen. I have plenty of time to go home and change. Before I leave, I’m going to take a quick tour of your house so I don’t end up in a broom closet instead of the bathroom.”
“I’ll take you.” Pushing up out of the chair, he bypassed the crutches and reached for the cane leaning against the wall. Haley wanted to tell him she was perfectly capable of showing herself around.
Maybe he thinks I’ll steal the silverware.
They slowly made their way up the wide stairway to the second floor level. Three large bedrooms, including the master bedroom, occupied the floor, each with its own bathroom. All were decorated with pervasive darker hues of blue, green, and brown. The rooms screamed for lighter accessories, but Haley bit her tongue, remembering Rand’s nearly horrified reaction to her comment about the need for flowers.
A tall bank of windows in the hallway presented a beautiful view of the mountains and the perfectly landscaped lawn and garden areas at the back of the house. A small brick house stood in the far corner of the lot. It looked like a private guesthouse. A gray Nissan was parked in the driveway.
“Who lives there?” Haley asked.
“My sister and her little girl. She’s separated from her husband. They’re getting a divorce.”
“That’s too bad. Was she a victim of spousal abuse?” She knew from the way his shoulders stiffened it was the wrong question.
“That’s none of your business! Do you leap to weird conclusions about everything?” He threw her a warning look. “You’d better keep comments and questions like that to yourself when the Blakelys are here. The whole situation is bad enough without them wondering if I’m marrying a fruitcake.”
She’d already made up her mind not to get her feelings hurt by anything he said, so she chuckled. “Who cares what they think? Lots of people marry fruitcakes.”
He shook his head. “If I didn’t care what they think, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”
Haley pounced. “Which brings up the question of why you even…?”
“Haley!”
She backed away. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to yell.” She headed down the hall into the master bedroom, the brown room. A king size sleigh bed covered in a brown and gold jungle print quilt dominated the room.
Glancing over her shoulder as her new employer limped through the doorway, she commented about the height of the bed. “It must be difficult to get in and out with a broken leg,” she said. “I would need a step stool.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said dryly. “I’m sure the problem won’t come up.”
She felt her face go hot. “I didn’t mean...”
He held up a hand. “I know what you meant.” With an assessing look, he asked, “Do you think we could get away with telling the Blakelys you’re mute?”
“Pompous iceberg!” Haley muttered, forgetting her vow to stay unmoved by his comments, as she stalked toward a closed door at the far end of the bedroom and pulled it open with unnecessary force.
Staring into the huge bathroom, Haley blinked twice. It was nearly as large as her entire apartment. The sunken tub with its built-in Jacuzzi looked as if it could hold a soccer team. A separate glassed-in shower looked so inviting, Haley felt like stripping off her clothes. The pile of thick, fluffy towels on a stand close to the tub, attested to the fact that Rand McNeil had some sybaritic tendencies he probably wasn’t ready to reveal.
The luxury of the master bath had her reevaluating the master. Was Rand McNeil as rigid and controlling as he appeared? Probably so. His whole house was psycho-neat. Nothing was out of place. Even the towels were stacked symmetrically. Remembering her unmade bed and the piles of cookbooks stacked haphazardly all over her apartment, Haley silently vowed that Rand McNeil would never see the inside of her place.
Haley was staring into the mirrored wall over the sink, when Rand’s reflection suddenly appeared over her right shoulder. He had followed her. She stared into his hooded eyes and square jaw, and that uncomfortable tingly feeling she got whenever they made eye contact once again rippled down her spine.
Unconsciously she shook her head. She
was not
attracted to him. He was arrogant, conceited, cynical...her list of negative adjectives ran out as he tilted his head and appeared to study her. He really did have incredible eyes.
“Do you ever, ah...entertain guests up here?” she asked just to break the uneasy silence. She hadn’t seen signs of shared occupancy—no hairpins or stray earrings.
He shook his head then backed out of the bathroom as he answered. “If you mean women, no. It took me over a year and a half get it built, and I’ve only been in the house for six months.”
With an incredulous look, she turned to face him, the words leaping out of her mouth of their own volition. “Angela and you didn’t...” She paused, unsure how to continue.
He frowned. “You just can’t help it, can you? I’ve told you I don’t want to discuss my relationship with Angela, especially with you, yet you just keep on pushing.”
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m curious about relationships and what happens to them. That’s why I asked about your sister.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you develop a relationship of your own? Then you won’t have to keep poking your nose in other people’s business.”
“I am in a relationship. I’m engaged.” She smiled ingenuously.
The surprise on his face was not flattering. “You are? Why didn’t you say something? Who are you engaged to?”
She waved the emerald ring on her left hand. “You. Remember?”
“Cute,” His smile again was so fleeting she almost missed it.
She wondered if he ever laughed out loud or did anything spontaneous. Everything about him was restrained—his surroundings, his reactions. What would it take to make him break out?
Obviously more than what you
’
ve got, Munchkin woman.
Suddenly he poked a finger at one of her curls. “Can you do something about these? They make you look too young. Maybe if you smoothed them somehow.” He raised both hands to her head and tried to flatten the springy curls with his palms.
Haley stopped breathing, allowing the warmth of his hands to seep into her brain. It was the first time he had voluntarily touched her except for their brief handshake. She shifted away when she realized his fingers were wreaking havoc on her nerve endings. Even her toes tingled. She flicked her eyes to his, but he was studying her hair as if it were a science project.
“Straightener,” she gulped. “I’ll use a straightener and lots of hair spray.”
For the rest of the tour, she took care to stay out of touching range. Not that he gave any indication he was interested in touching her again.
In the kitchen she marveled at the large gleaming appliances and countertops. “Does anyone cook in here?”
He shook his head. “I usually eat out. I have a housekeeper, but she doesn’t live in, she doesn’t cook, and she has the flu.”
“Otherwise you could have hired her to be your fiancée,” Haley teased.
“She’s sixty and a doting grandmother. I wouldn’t even have considered asking her.”
Haley rolled her eyes. “I was kidding. Don’t you ever lighten up?”
“That’s the second time you’ve asked me that. So let me ask you, are you ever serious? I do not want a playmate. I need someone to help me out of a jam. Someone who can stay focused on the problem.”
Haley flushed. “You’d be better off with a playmate. At least you’d have some fun.”
He shook his head. “You just don’t get it. I don’t want to have fun. I want this merger to go through smoothly. I have over four hundred employees counting on it. And I want Angela out of my life.”
She felt chastened. “Okay. No more levity. I’ll be as serious as an undertaker. I can stay focused,” she assured him. “No one has ever complained of my work. Although you may find this hard to believe, most people like me.”
“I’m sure they do,” he said without an ounce of conviction.
His deadpan answer made her laugh. Even if he was determined not to have fun, she counted on her own sense of humor to keep her stabilized.
Again, she looked around his kitchen. Everything was neatly organized and obviously unused. Opening the refrigerator, she grinned at the near empty shelves. Milk, a half head of lettuce, two oranges, three cans of beer, a package of deli ham, and various condiments rested in state in the gleaming vastness of his side-by-side. The freezer section contained two small packages of wrapped meat and a stack of frozen dinners. Haley thought of her own tiny freezer, stuffed with useable leftovers.
“Hey, why don’t I buy groceries and cook dinner for Angela and her father? That ought to make a good impression.”
“Only if you can cook.”
“I can cook. In fact, I’m a terrific cook. I won the Future Homemakers of America cooking scholarship in high school. I spent two years at a culinary arts college before getting my business degree at Boise State, and if I win the…”
He interrupted before she could tell him about the recipe contest. “I’ve already made reservations at Simone’s for tonight.”
She hesitated. Simone’s was considered the best and most elegant restaurant in downtown Boise, but her culinary capabilities were every bit as good as those of a professional chef.
“Cancel them. If we have a nice intimate dinner for four it might convince the Blakelys I’m firmly entrenched in your life,” she said, then added, “It’s either the kitchen or the bedroom, and I thought you might prefer the kitchen.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can either show off in the kitchen or the bedroom. If I’m bustling around in your kitchen, it’ll seem like I’m comfortable here because it’s going to be my kitchen when we get married.”
“Exactly how would you be showing off in the bedroom if the kitchen weren’t an option?”
The sexual overtones in his question unnerved her. She glanced up to see if he was teasing, if there was even a faint hint of innuendo. Only a bland look of inquiry showed on his face. She had never known a man who had such tight control of his facial muscles.
“I could drape a sexy nightgown across the bed, put some of my things in the bathroom, stuff like that.”
He arched a brow. “Sexy nightgown? I would have bet you slept in those oversized t-shirts with the ridiculous sayings on them.”
She laughed. “I do. But I have one silk nightgown that might do. It’s short and has spaghetti straps.”
“We’ll stick to the kitchen,” he said.
Damn. She’d probably need a shrink when this job was over. She was going to charge him triple-time and a half just for putting up with his ego-bruising comments.
Then he added, “But bring the nightgown just in case Angela gets suspicious.”
“If you didn’t sleep with her, what makes you think she’ll believe you’re sleeping with me?”
This time he did laugh. The bitter corrosive sound sent chills down her spine. “I didn’t say we never slept together. I said she never slept here.”
Rand grimaced, as if the thought of sleeping with Angela left a bad taste in his mouth. Haley hoped it did. Sight unseen, she was beginning to detest the women who caused him such pain. Impulsively, she reached over and clasped his hand in both of hers.
“Why don’t you tell me about it? I can see that this whole Angela thing is eating at you.”
He wavered. She could tell he was wavering, but then a hard light entered his eyes, and he withdrew his hand from hers. She braced herself. The look on his face was not friendly.
“You have a Mother Theresa complex, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a compulsive do-gooder. Feed it, bandage it, talk it out, or kiss it and make it better. You’re one of those naive people who think everything can be fixed.”
She straightened to her full height and glared at him. “And I suppose you, Mr. Cynical, are always sure that most things can’t be fixed.”
Just as suddenly as it appeared, his anger disappeared, and he grinned. A real grin, full of humor. “Mr. Cynical?”
Rand McNeil was truly the most exasperating man she’d ever met. She had wanted to clobber him for his crack about her being naive, but now she was helplessly grinning back at him.
“I couldn’t think of anything really evil to call you. After all, you compared me to Mother Theresa. There are worse comparisons.”