Without A Clue. Trish Jensen

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      Make a fortune. Check.

      Start a family. No go.

      Not yet, anyway, although in truth he’d been awfully busy checking off all those other items to really begin an honest search for Ms. Right. He’d kept his eyes peeled over the years, just in case she popped into his life at any given moment. But so far, it was still a no go. He’d correct that now. He was taking time off from work to search in that systematic way he approached every challenge he tackled.

      And really, his standards weren’t out in left field, either. All he was asking for was an intelligent, funny, beautiful, sexy, orderly woman who was interested in settling down and making babies. Lots and lots of babies.

      He wanted a houseful of them. He’d grown up the only son of “Brick” and Maria Rossi, both of whom had worked tirelessly; his father as a bricklayer and his mother a cleaning lady. Consequently he’d been left alone much of the time. Too much of the time. What he wouldn’t have given for younger brothers and sisters to fill the void, to be companions. And his personal slaves.

      No kid of his was going to grow up an only child. Therefore his wife would have to agree to a houseful of them. Of course, he also enjoyed peace and solitude, so she’d have to be good at keeping them quiet, too. Noise and chaos drove him crazy.

      As he reached the outskirts of Charleston, he conjured a vision of a wife and kids filling the Charleston mansion he’d invested in at an auction three years ago. He’d originally checked it out as merely another good investment. But the first time he’d laid eyes on the Southern Georgian, he knew it was perfect for his future family. The mansion was huge, with seventeen bedrooms and two guest cottages out back. He could produce a whole passel of children without having everyone tripping over one another. It’d be big and peaceful and orderly.

      Smiling, he made the left onto Magnolia Lane, the mile-long drive that led to his, only his home. No pesky neighbors to contend with. Another plus.

      Whistling, he enjoyed the secluded solitude the huge live oaks dripping with Spanish moss afforded him. Yes, indeed, he’d chosen well. He certainly hoped the Realtor maintaining the place had made certain the cleaning service was doing their job. He wasn’t into dust.

      His whistling stopped in mid-toot when he emerged from the tunnel of foliage and passed through the brick gates, and into the mansion’s cul de sac. There had to be ten cars parked in his driveway! What the hell?

      Pulling in to the first available spot, he cut the engine and practically leapt from the car. A scowl tugged at his lips as he passed car after trespassing car. It grew even fiercer when he looked up the steps between the giant columns to find the oak double doors thrown wide open.

      Racing up the stairs two at a time, all kinds of thoughts were scrambling through his head. Especially the one of how he was about to murder a Realtor.

      He reached the door and stopped dead in his tracks. The sight that greeted him nearly made his eyes bug out.

      Chaos reigned.

      2

      MEG WAVED as best she could at their new arrival. He looked a little dumbfounded, which was probably natural, considering she was using an unconscious man’s hand to deliver the greeting. But her corpse was her only tool at the moment. The rest of his sprawled self had the rest of her sprawled self plastered to the marble floor.

      “I’ll be right with you,” she kind of grunted, as she heaved with all her might until Mr. Brogan rolled off her body and ended up spread-eagled on his back.

      Now another dilemma presented itself. How to gracefully rise from the floor in a skirt that wasn’t constructed to give much leeway unless she hiked it up around her thighs. So thinking quickly, she rolled onto her stomach pushed to her knees, then one leg at a time got to her feet.

      She ran a hand through her hair before turning around to face the newest guest. For some reason his lips were slightly parted and he was staring at her midsection. She had the feeling he’d just taken in an eyeful of her butt poked high in the air.

      She jumped over Terence, her hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Megan. Are you the butler?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “One of the paid guests?”

      “Excuse me?!”

      Meg dropped her hand, seeing as he looked too dumbfounded to shake it. He was really cute, but apparently a little dim. “Are you lost?” she suggested. That was a better option than an escapee from a mental institution. Last time she checked, they didn’t have any straitjackets on hand.

      His brown eyes cleared a little and he shook his head. “No, but you must be. I’m Matt Rossi and this is my property.”

      Meg took a step back, took a deep breath, then plastered a smile on her face. “Thank you so much for renting it to us.”

      “I didn’t rent it to you.”

      “Well, um, yes, you did.”

      “I think I would know, don’t you?”

      Okay, he wasn’t all that cute. Well, he was, but in a downer sort of way. “We signed a contract.”

      “Who are we? I know I didn’t sign anything.”

      Terence Brogan began to moan pitifully, and Meg glanced around to see all the witnesses frozen like statues, including Tina. This wasn’t good. “How about we go to my office and talk about this?”

      Both of his brows lifted. “Your office?”

      Nope, he wasn’t in the least bit cute. His hair was too black and his jaw was too square and his nose was crooked. Meg conceded that his mouth was sexy, but what came out of it wasn’t. “Yes, my office. At least for the duration of our…of the lease.”

      “Well, then, by all means, let’s go to your office.”

      MATT WAS FLOORED. It had been like walking into a Laurel and Hardy movie that was freeze-framed. Everybody who’d been in motion had gone still, and the one still person had arisen from the debris of the wreckage and taken charge.

      He needed to regroup fast. Except, the woman who had risen from the carnage had a smile that could scramble eggs. And his eggs needed to stay intact. As far as he could tell, his home had been invaded without his consent. And apparently this brain scrambler was claiming they had legal permission to invade. If she was right, there was going to be one hurtin’ Realtor in Charleston.

      “Follow me,” the woman said, as if he needed a guide.

      Gladly, he decided after catching the view.

      She led him down the maze of hallways to the study. His study. Which she had confiscated and turned into her office.

      He seemed to vaguely take in that she was chatting pleasantly the entire time. But scrambling did strange things to his brain because all he was digesting were words like “murder” and “guests.” He wasn’t into murder as a rule and he most definitely wasn’t into guests. Any guests.

      They СКАЧАТЬ