Bridegroom On Her Doorstep. Renee Roszel

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ one to be bullied, she whipped her cell phone from her shoulder bag and punched in the corporate headquarters’ number.

      “It’s Saturday,” he said.

      She realized what he meant, scowled at him and snapped her cell phone shut. “Right.” Disconcerted, she slipped the phone into the bag, working to regain her self-assurance. “Look, I don’t care what day it is. I’ve leased this place for the next three weeks, so that’s that.”

      His dark, lustrous hair fluttered appealingly, ruffled by the fingertips of a sea breeze. An ebony curl fell across his creased brow, cavorted there for a few heartbeats, then dashed up to rejoin the dark waves of his hair. Troubled by the way that dancing wisp affected her, she shifted her attention to his scintillating gaze and experienced a jolt when their eyes met.

      “For years, June has been set aside for m…” His jaw bunched. “…maintenance. Apparently the new leasing manager isn’t on the ball.”

      His revelation penetrated. From the hostile conviction glittering in his eyes, she felt renewed misgivings.

      “This isn’t going to work,” he said.

      “It has to work,” she countered. “I’ve made arrangements. I have appointments scheduled all next week. Some of the—my applicants are coming from out of state. My advertisement runs through next week and gives this address. I can’t possibly change my plans!”

      “Neither can I.”

      Jen detected no hint of concern or apology in the statement. If anything there had been a knife edge of resentment in his tone. If his sparking stare was any indicator, he was far from sympathetic to her predicament.

      She adjusted her shoulders to make sure she stood as erect as her five-foot-six frame would muster. The difference in their dimensions was still laughably one-sided. If he took it in his head, he could squash her like a jelly doughnut. Judging by his expression, he was poised on the verge.

      Unwilling to let his hostility cow her, she met him scowl for scowl. This guy had never come up against Jennifer Sancroft when she had set a goal. “Then…” she said, keeping her voice composed, “it looks like we’re at an impasse.”

      He glared for a long moment, then surprising her, he nodded. “That’s how it looks.”

      Jen didn’t like compromise, especially with someone who should have been easy to deal with. She’d misjudged this hunky hulk. She’d thought he’d fold, groveling and begging her pardon. Apparently he took his time schedule as seriously as she took hers. Maybe reshuffling this job to a later date would mean having to cancel something else, which would take a bite out of his livelihood. Being a logical person, she could understand his obstinacy, if allowing her to force him off the property would steal bread from his family’s table.

      Jen’s turn had come to shrug. Maybe she was being paranoid. It wasn’t likely that a Texas coast handyman’s gossiping would get all the way to a Dallas accounting firm. Besides, looking at that set jaw, she sensed he wasn’t the gossipy type. She had enough to worry about without getting overly mistrustful. “Well, I suppose…” The sentence died from lack of enthusiasm. With effort, she forged on, facing the fact she didn’t have a choice. “I guess—you can stay. I only ask that you don’t bang around inside the house while I’m—I’m interviewing.” She met his hard, pale gaze. “You’ll keep your distance. Agreed?”

      Even filled with animosity his brilliant, fire-opal eyes were awe-inspiring. After a silent interlude that seemed like a year, his head dipped in a slow, begrudging half nod.

      Cole glowered at the woman standing before him, stunned to realize he’d actually agreed to any concession. His plan had been to grab whoever showed up by the scruff of the neck and haul him bodily out to the highway. What had it been about this female that made him change his mind? Or more correctly, lose it?

      Frowning at her, he took in the tailored suit. The muddy cotton broadcloth, cut to make her look like she wore two cardboard boxes, thoroughly hid any evidence of her femininity. And that hair. Parted in the center, she’d slicked it back into a tight twist at her nape. She might as well wear a sign that read I Am A Dowdy, Finicky Virgin. Approach At Your Own Risk.

      Unfortunately for his plans, her glistening eyes told a different story. They were large, shiny. The lids rode low over the most vibrant green he’d ever seen. Her slumberous lids and a sweep of sooty-brown lashes whispered sly seductiveness. The come-hither sensation, however unwittingly given, was impossible to ignore. Then there was her mouth. Those lips had a pouty way about them that, even amid all that muddy-brown fabric and skinned-back hair, gave off a stirring eroticism.

      He had the strong sense the sexiness of those cupid’s bow lips was unintentional, unlike most of the women he’d brushed up against in his life—designing femme fatales angling for personal gain. But not this one. She hadn’t come on to him. Far from it. That fact alone—the “I’m sexy but I’ll never tell” vibe—so intrigued Cole it addled his brain to the point of this crazy compromise.

      Suddenly the quiet month of June he always looked forward to, vacationing in his family summer home on the Gulf, was to be shared by a quarrelsome little Puritan with sultry lips and wide-set, bedroom eyes that spoke bewitching volumes, but not a syllable they spoke was a conscious come-on.

      Muttering a curse, he turned away and grabbed up his paintbrush, furious with himself for caving in. This was his month, blast it! He’d looked forward to this vacation as a balm to help ease his grief over the recent death of his father. Not to mention his need for an escape from business stress, which up to yesterday had been brutal, battling a hostile takeover bid for the largest of his holdings, Quad-State Oil and Gas. The pressure had been incessant and deadly. The poison pill he devised to hold on to the company had been a successful tactic, making the purchase unpalatably expensive for the challenger. He was weary from eighteen-hour days, mentally and emotionally drained. He needed the escape he found here to do nothing but relax, listen to the surf or take on some welcome, physical exertion.

      He loved this house and the childhood memories it brought with it, of happy times with his doting father. The man who, at fifty-five years of age, took in a newborn child, gave him a name, raised him, nurtured him and passed on his wisdom. Seeing to the property’s upkeep restored Cole, made him happy. Because of his care, year by year, he kept the beloved place whole and beautiful.

      Working with his hands in solitude by the sea, Cole could quietly reflect, spend time getting reacquainted with his imagination. Through unaccompanied toil and thought, he connected with men of bygone ages who helped steer his hands. These reclusive vacations exercised his mind and his soul as well as his body. Each year he looked forward to June, to this place, coming away from it energized, revived, ready for the rat race again.

      He began to brush white paint on the fence, his failure to handle the intrusion as he’d planned affecting him in deep, disturbing ways. What was his problem? What was it about this female that had the power to short circuit his intentions?

      “Maybe we should—exchange names?”

      He shot her a perturbed look and she stared at him. Her annoyance was so evident from her pinkened cheeks and sparking eyes, he experienced a surprise prickle of appreciation. Damn, she was stubborn. He wondered what her meetings were all about. What her applicants might apply for. Nothing kinky, he suspected. She was too prim and punctilious to be up to any pornographic shenanigans.

      “Call me Cole,” he muttered. “Cole—Noone.” Though he was “Cole” to his friends, СКАЧАТЬ