The Boss and the Plain Jayne Bride. HEATHER MACALLISTER

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      Turning to the man, Garrett presented his perfect profile to Jayne. “And what business are you in, Mr....?”

      “Name’s Monty. My mother-in-law is coming from Italy to live with the wife and me. She likes to cook.” He shrugged. “Friend of mine, he’s got a restaurant down in Montrose and he’s ready to retire. I got a mother-in-law who needs something to do. I figured, let her cook.” Monty spread his hands. “So I bought the place.”

      “And then you found out about the paperwork, right?” Garrett’s eyebrows arched.

      Monty made a disgusted sound. “You ain’t kiddin’.”

      Garrett had deflected Monty’s heckling and Jayne fell a little bit in love with him for it. However, this was her class and she could handle herself.

      “Most of you are probably feeling overwhelmed by the financial records you must keep for the government.” There was murmured agreement. “That’s exactly why Pace Waterman recommends that you take this overview. Then afterward, when you meet with one of our account executives, you’ll be able to make an informed decision about whether or not you need further assistance.” And naturally, Pace Waterman was standing by to offer that assistance, which an average of thirty-seven percent of the people finishing the seminar accepted—and paid for. The rest either dropped out, decided that owning their own business wasn’t such a good idea after all or actually did their own bookkeeping. Rarely did they contact another accounting firm, a fact Pace Waterman used to justify subsidizing the courses.

      Jayne removed a stack of papers from the table and passed them out. “This is a schedule of the subjects we’ll discuss. If you miss a topic, you may come to that session during another seminar.”

      While the class rustled the papers, Jayne distributed the course notebooks, vinyl binders with the Pace Waterman logo prominently featured. Jayne’s distaste for the relentless self-promotion was offset by the valuable information contained in the binders. Informed clients were satisfied clients was the Pace Waterman philosophy, to which Jayne heartily subscribed.

      The binders were on a small cart that Jayne wheeled around the room.

      She was going to see Garrett Charles up close. Would he be just as devastatingly attractive? Would there be some minute flaw in his appearance? Jayne refused to look his way until she was actually handing him his notebook.

      He glanced up to smile his thanks and Jayne’s gaze collided with his. Her breath caught. She couldn’t move. She barely felt him slide the binder out of her nerveless fingers. The Pace Waterman mint-green and burgundy conference room ceased to exist as Jayne lost herself in the marvel that was Garret Charles.

      He had beautiful skin the color of buttery leather with the slightest darkening above his upper lip. She inhaled and was pleased to discover that he wore no scent.

      “Thank you.” His deep voice broke the spell that paralyzed her.

      Flushing, Jayne lurched toward the next student.

      And bashed the cart into Garrett’s knee.

      She knew it the instant she felt the bump. “I’m so sorry!” she gasped as he grimaced.

      But it was an elegant, manly grimace, quickly smoothed.

      “No.” He waved away her apology and briefly massaged his leg. “I should have moved my foot out of the aisle.”

      “But it must hurt!” Jayne knelt to inspect the damage, brushing at the place on his khaki-clad thigh where the cart had left a dark smudge.

      “It’s fine now. Really.” He placed his hand directly over hers.

      Jayne stared at the well-shaped hand with its ringless fingers covering hers. She felt the muscles of his leg tense under her fingers and in that instant, became fully aware of her position. His waist and points south were directly in her line of sight and her hand was on the hard muscles of his thigh.

      Meeting his faintly amused blue eyes, Jayne gasped a horrified, “Ohmigosh!”, shot to her feet and blindly pushed the cart.

      There was a shuffling sound as the rest of the students drew in their legs. Behind her, Jayne knew at least three feet separated the cart from the next row of desks. Plenty of room, unless one were trying to get as close as possible to Garrett Charles, which she had been.

      Parking the cart in the front, Jayne gathered her tattered composure and faced the class. “If any of you had concerns about your personal safety during the class, I believe I’ve sufficiently demonstrated my proficiency with the rolling cart—” she gave it a pat “—a vastly underrated weapon.”

      Soft laughter broke the tension, but Jayne didn’t know how she got through the next two hours, or even what she said. Every time she looked at Garrett, she was in danger of losing her place in the lesson, so she had to concentrate more than usual. By the time she dismissed class, she had a headache.

      Resting her forehead against the dry erase board prior to cleaning it, Jayne didn’t realize at first that she had company.

      “Are you all right?” asked a deep male voice behind her.

      She whirled around, then jammed the heel of her hand against her head as the pain speared through it. “Uh, I’ve got a headache,” she managed to say even though voices in her poor abused head were shouting at her to say something witty.

      His brow furrowed in attractive wrinkles. Attractive wrinkles for Pete’s sake. “I’m sorry.” He sounded as though he meant it. Good trick. “I noticed that you seemed distracted this evening,” he began diplomatically, “and I hope it wasn’t because you felt awkward about bumping me with the cart.”

      Bumping. How kind he was. “I am so sorry about that. How’s your leg? It’s bruised, isn’t it?” she asked, when he hesitated.

      “Don’t worry about it.” A corner of his mouth tilted upward, deepening a dimple. “Accidents happen.”

      “That’s very generous of you.”

      “Why? You’re telling me it wasn’t an accident?”

      Jayne’s eyes widened. “Of course it was!” she spluttered, horrified.

      Garrett laughed lightly and touched her briefly on the shoulder. “Relax. I’m kidding. I only wanted you to know that I’m not the kind of person who’ll have his lawyer camping on your doorstep within twentyfour hours, in case you were worried.”

      Jayne’s mouth opened. She’d never even considered that he might sue. Her financial life flashed before her.

      He raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

      Jayne shut her mouth and, having lost the power of speech, nodded.

      “See you on Thursday, then.” He turned and walked out of the conference room, footsteps muffled by the industrial carpeting.

      Jayne stared after him. He was coming back! She was going to get a second chance!

      So what was she going to do with it?

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