Trading Places. Ruth Dale Jean

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      “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 shower.

      ALICE QUICKLY REALIZED that this was a wonderful life indeed.

      Every morning for the next several days, a maid delivered coffee and orange juice and whole wheat toast on a tray. At nine she met Jed at the gym for a hard, fast workout, the same one she’d devised for Sharlayne. Lunch on the terrace usually included Tabitha, unfortunately, but was otherwise enjoyable. In the afternoon, Alice swam, and when she swam Jed swam. He looked even better in a swimsuit than he did in the gym in shorts and T-shirt.

      Intermixed with this in coming weeks would be appointments. But instead of her going out, everyone would come to her: masseuse, hairdresser, nail technician—name it and someone would be there in a flash to polish or paint.

      This was easy! She could do this.

      Sharlayne, Alice decided, was little more than a canvas upon which professionals worked their magic. The basic canvas was good, but what those magicians achieved was true art.

      This existence was pure luxury, but nearing the end of the first week, Alice was already wondering if life in a gilded case was life at all.

      Rolling over on a canvas lounge next to the pool, she opened one eye. Jed sat on a nearby chair, writing on a clipboard balanced on one bare golden thigh. In repose, his face reminded her of a statue of a Greek god. In repose was the only way she’d seen it since their kitchen encounter.

      “What are you doing?” she asked.

      Without looking up, he said, “Working on the specifications for a new security system.”

      “Oh.” Bor-ring. “Would you mind rubbing a little more sunscreen on my shoulders? I feel like I’m burning.”

      He didn’t move. “You could get out of the sun.”

      “Too much trouble.” She wiggled deeper into her lounge. “Please? Pretty please with sugar on it?”

      “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

      He rose, towering over her, and she closed her eyes. “The sunscreen’s right there.”

      “I see it.” A moment’s silence and then his hands settled over the curve of her shoulders.

      She groaned. “That feels great,” she murmured, reveling in the firm manipulations of his hands on her bare skin. “Ummm…don’t miss anything. I don’t want to get burned.”

      “Seems unlikely.” He withdrew his touch and her eyes snapped open. “If anyone gets burned,” he muttered, “it’ll be me.” He squeezed a glob of sunscreen onto his hand and slapped it on his upper body.

      Then he grinned.

      She was certain she’d never seen a smile on his face before. Surely she’d remember it, for it carried more sheer star power than she was ready to handle. Lips parted, she watched him turn back to the clipboard.

      “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I need to make a few calls to fill in the blanks on this.” He waved the clipboard. “If you need me, just sing out. Otherwise, I’ll see you at dinner.”

      He moved outside her field of vision with the stride of a lion. He looked so good, so self-contained and in control, that it made her short of breath. Pushing up, she scooted around to plant her feet securely on the redwood deck.

      Light reflected off the glittering emerald pool nearly blinded her. Letting her head fall back, she closed her eyes. She was playing with dynamite and she knew it.

      Sure, it was fun to flirt with such an attractive and uptight specimen of male pulchritude, especially knowing that whatever she did would be on Sharlayne’s head and not her own…so to speak. It kind of freed up the old libido.

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