Wife On Approval. Leigh Michaels

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      Paige hardly recognized the woman’s voice; it was a husky, sweet drawl which bore no resemblance to the clipped, irritable tones she’d heard in the office downstairs just a few hours ago.

      “My name is Jennifer,” said an insistent small voice, and like a magnet Paige’s gaze was drawn past the super to the child who was standing just inside the door, her hand tucked into her father’s.

      Jennifer Weaver was tall for five, Paige thought. She was wearing a red parka with fur trim around the hood. The coat wasn’t fastened, and beneath it, Paige could see jeans and sneakers and a sweater with a picture of a cat appliquéd on the front. The little girl’s dark hair was tied back in a pair of ponytails, and there was a watchful, almost mulish look on her face.

      Tricia chuckled and reached down to ruffle the child’s dark hair. “How formal you are, my dear. But I’m sure we’re going to be the greatest of friends.”

      The child sidestepped the touch and moved away from the door and into the entry hall, where she paused, halfway out of her parka. She made Paige think of a ruby-throated hummingbird—delicate and dainty and full of motion even though at the moment she wasn’t going anywhere.

      It took a moment before Paige realized what had stopped the child. Jennifer Weaver was staring at her. “Daddy,” she said, without taking her gaze off Paige. “Who’s that?”

      Paige squared her shoulders and stepped forward.

      The super turned to stare. “Oh, Ms. McDermott. You’re still here.” Her voice was full of disdain.

      “Just finishing up,” Paige said. She was proud of herself; her voice didn’t even tremble. She looked beyond Tricia to where Austin Weaver was standing in the shadow of the doorway.

      She’d caught just a glimpse of him a few weeks ago, when he’d been interviewing for the job at Tanner Electronics. Even that transitory glance had been enough to make her feel hollow. Still, with the first shock past, the worst was over, she’d told herself.

      And now she’d had weeks to get used to the idea of him living in Denver. To ready herself for the inevitable. To get her psyche in shape to meet him once more…

      But she had been wrong, she realized as she got her first good look at the man. That single fleeting sight hadn’t done a thing to prepare her for coming face-to-face with Austin Weaver. And a whole year of thinking about it wouldn’t have done the job, either.

      Paige could feel her heart slowing until each beat was like the pounding of a gong, echoing and reverberating through her body. It wasn’t fair, she thought. The only change in his face—the only sign that he might be startled—was the slight lift of one dark eyebrow. But then, she thought, Austin Weaver had always been a poker player at heart…

      His photographs didn’t do him justice, she thought. It wasn’t a matter of looks, though indeed the chiseled lines of his face were far more handsome in person than on paper, his dark hair softer-looking, his eyes almost silvery instead of the chilly gray they sometimes appeared in pictures.

      What was missing from the photographs was the force of his personality. No camera could begin to capture the magnetic field which seemed to surround him. At a glance, it was apparent that this man not only possessed power, but that he wielded it easily and without hesitation.

      It was no wonder the super was practically drooling, Paige thought. Power, money, and good looks all wrapped up in a package and practically delivered to her doorstep…she must have taken one glance and gone straight into vamp mode.

      Not that it appeared to be doing her any good. Without turning his head to look at the super, Austin said, “Thank you for bringing us up, Ms. Cade.”

      “Oh, call me Tricia.” The super laid a hand on the sleeve of his leather coat. “It’ll be so much more comfortable if you feel you can call on a friend for help.”

      More comfortable for whom? Paige wanted to ask.

      “Now I must show you through the apartment,” Tricia coaxed. “Every place has a few eccentricities, you know. Not that there’s anything wrong, because we’re very careful about maintenance here at Aspen Towers. But I’d be shirking my duties if I didn’t show you around.”

      Paige wanted to applaud. Not only had the super neatly circumvented Austin’s attempt to get rid of her, but she’d provided Paige with a line of retreat, as well. The moment the two of them were out of sight, Paige decided, she’d burn a path to the kitchen, jam the flowers into a drinking glass, and get the heck away from Aspen Towers and Austin Weaver….

      Coward, she told herself. Running away would only create questions that she didn’t want to answer. It would be far better to stay and act casual. As though this sort of encounter happened every day.

      Though of course, she reflected, she could always say—and honestly, too—that with her work done there had been no reason to stay longer.

      The child dropped her parka in the precise center of the hallway and started toward Paige.

      Austin said, “I don’t see a coat hook on the floor, Jennifer.”

      She grinned at him. “But it’s all new, so I don’t know where it goes.”

      “Perhaps you should try looking behind that door.” He pointed. Then, without checking to see whether she obeyed, he followed the super down the hall.

      Jennifer picked up her parka and opened the closet door. “There aren’t any hooks my size,” she complained and turned to Paige with wide-eyed helplessness.

      Unable to resist the appeal in those big brown eyes, Paige took the parka. The soft fur trim tickled her hands as she hung it up. “This is a very pretty coat.”

      “It’s new. I didn’t need a thick coat in Atlanta.”

      “I suppose not.”

      “I don’t like it here. It’s cold.”

      “Yes,” Paige said. “It is definitely cold at times. But there are good things about Denver, as well. The mountains, for one, and the wildflowers in the spring—”

      “We had a mountain in Georgia. Stone Mountain—with faces carved on it.”

      “It’s true,” Paige admitted, “that none of the Rocky Mountains have faces carved on them.”

      “Told you Atlanta’s better,” Jennifer said, as if there was nothing further to discuss. “What’s your name?”

      “Paige,” she said reluctantly.

      “You mean like in a book? That’s funny. Are you like a housekeeper?”

      “Not exactly. Aren’t you going to go look at the apartment?”

      Jennifer wrinkled her nose. “She’d just try to pat my head again.”

      Paige tried to smother a smile. “You don’t like Ms. Cade much, do you?”

      “She’s sticky.”

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