“So you’re saying you’ll call the shots?” She didn’t like it, but she’d have to agree if she wanted to stay.
“Pretty much.” He smiled. Not a nice smile. “One thing I need to know. Where’d you get your opinion of me?”
She drew in a deep breath. He deserved the truth. “I went to school with you, remember? You always had some wild scheme that never panned out. And as far as I can see, you’ve drifted from one thing to another since you graduated. This house is great, but it could be gone tomorrow.” So could you. She’d never give her heart to someone she couldn’t depend on. “I know you, Sloan Mitello.”
For the first time, she glimpsed anger in his eyes. “You don’t have a clue who I am, who I really am. You’re too busy with your preconceptions to find out.” He turned from her. “See you tomorrow, Flame.” He was gone.
Jenny lay down and closed her eyes. What a mess. But things would look better after a good night’s sleep.
She fell asleep on her side, one hand clenched between her thighs. Protection or invitation? Her last thought left things open to discussion.
The decorations were falling off the tree. She refused to open her eyes when the first one bounced off her chest, then crawled to the side of her neck and curled up against her. Even when the second one landed on her head, then tangled itself in her hair, she didn’t open her eyes. It was the third one, the one that landed on her feet, then bit her big toe, that did it.
She forced her lids open. Three pairs of big eyes in little fuzzy faces peered at her. None was Toby. One was orange, one was gray, the last was calico. If the old tale of each color standing for a different daddy was true, then mama cat had been a very busy lady. No virginity issues there. “Go away and leave me alone, fuzzies.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, madam.”
“What?” She bounced to a sitting position and came face to face with the Ghost-of-Christmas-Best-Forgotten.
“Mr. Mitello called this morning and employed me to take care of you during your stay here. I’ve cooked breakfast. Eat it.” His nose gave new meaning to patrician, and his eyes were almost crossed from looking down it at her.
“I don’t eat breakfast, and who’re you?” She hugged her jammies tightly to her and slipped a tentative toe to the floor.
“You do now, and I’m Ridley.” He was a caricature of all the uppercrust servants that ever lived. Or died, in Ridley’s case.
She glanced at the tray he’d set down on her bedside table. Ugh. Oatmeal. “I don’t like oatmeal.”
“You will drink the orange juice and eat some of the oatmeal before you set one tootsie out of this bedroom.” He glared at her. “Madam.”
“Now just a minute…Ridley. I don’t have to—”
“Mr. Mitello won’t be pleased to learn I made something you don’t like. He might even fire me. I have twelve grandchildren.” He paused to let the number sink in. “All expecting gifts for Christmas.”
“Oh.” Emotional blackmail. She was a sucker for it. No matter how she felt about her own dreams, she didn’t have the heart to stomp on Ridley’s. “Well, maybe just a bite.”
She was on her fifth spoonful of sticky oatmeal, trying for six, when Sloan appeared. He filled the doorway, bringing with him the scent of snow and woodsmoke, and the memory of what they’d said to each other last night.
Dressed in white T-shirt and worn jeans, he was every woman’s fantasy of a bad man who’d make it good for her.
And he would be her fling. He’d promised. When she was ready. Of course, she was ready now. She was sure of it.
“How’s it taste, Flame?”
“It’ll be delicious.” Position ten on Carole’s video. She could hardly wait.
“Ridley, make sure you cook oatmeal every morning for Jenny.” Sloan smiled, his gaze cool and knowing.
“I live to cook, sir.” Ridley cast Jenny an innocent glance, picked up her abandoned tray, then made a dignified exit.
Sloan walked over to Jenny’s bed and sat beside her. After depositing the three kittens on the floor, he cast her an amused glance. “So…you love oatmeal, do you?”
When would he mention her fling? “I hate oatmeal. I was eating for Ridley’s twelve grandchildren.”
“Ridley doesn’t have any children, or grandchildren.” He glanced at the kittens, who were making a determined effort to scale the comforter.
She couldn’t see his expression. Should she apologize for what she’d said last night? When would he mention her fling? “He lied to me? I can’t believe he lied to me. Why did you hire someone who lies like that?”
He finally looked at her, and the wicked slant of his grin made her almost believe in the possibility of dreams. Almost.
“He told me he had to support his old and sickly parents.”
“And?” She noted that his gaze had shifted to the top button of her pajamas.
“His parents died thirty years ago.”
“And you still hired him?” Why were they talking about Ridley, and when would he mention last night?
“What can I say, his references were great.” His gaze slid over her. “A person might lie to me, but if they have good references I could be persuaded to give them a second chance.”
Come on, Sloan, get to the point. Jenny frowned. “Employers probably gave him good references so they wouldn’t have to eat any more of his oatmeal.” She cast him a suspicious glance. “He said you hired him to take care of me. Why?”
He loved it. The way she pushed out her lower lip when she frowned. The way she’d tried to be kind to Ridley. The way she thought she’d have her fling and walk away from him. “Since you don’t have any dreams of your own, I thought I’d fulfill a few you would have if you believed—”
“Okay, okay.” She put her hands over her ears. “Here’s a dream you can fulfill. Get Ridley to order take-out for dinner.”
“Done.” He gently pulled her hands from her ears. “So, you think you’re ready to have sex with a stranger.”
“No.” She averted her gaze, staring at the twinkling lights by her bed. “I mean, yes. You’re not a stranger.”
“Sure I am. It’s been ten years, Flame. Do you know all the places I’ve been, all the things I’ve done? Or do you only know what Carole told you, what I told you the few times we communicated? Maybe you should run back to Lenny and his bagels. He’d be a lot safer.”
“No.” Her gaze never wavered from the lights. “Does Brinks deliver your electricity bill payment?”
“Let me worry about the electricity bill. Are you ready to do it right now?” Those pj’s had to go. Since he’d done the naked-in-the-snow desire last night, he needed something new to replace it. How about a Jenny-hot-and-naked-in-my-bed desire? No, that wasn’t new.
“Pretty blunt, aren’t you, Sloan?” She finally looked at him.
“And you weren’t? Could’ve fooled me.”
“Okay, I’m sorry for some of the things I said, and I shouldn’t have plotted behind your back. So consider yourself apologized to.” She cast him a disgruntled look. “This is hard for me. You could be a little more subtle.”
“Well hell, afraid I’m not a subtle kind of guy. If I’m going to be part of your fling, maybe you should tell me what kind of man I’m supposed to pretend to be.” He probably shouldn’t have given her that opening. He didn’t like the glitter in her eyes.
“You have to be sensitive. I’m into sensitive.” Her gaze turned thoughtful. “I like poetry. Maybe you could send me poems.”
Cripes. She wanted a man who sent her poems? He’d never gotten past the “Mary Had a Little Lamb” stage in poetry. He’d thought a lot about Mary. Without her lamb.
“And you have to be a good dancer. I’d definitely want that.”
Great. Some of the women he’d danced with had ended up needing foot surgery.
Her expression brightened. “Oh, and I’d like you to be thin and ascetic-looking with big soulful brown eyes.”
Hmmph.
A dead-ringer for the old hound dog he’d rescued when he was a kid. Sloan could starve himself for months and never qualify as thin and ascetic-looking. “Sounds like I’m a real fun guy.”
“Yeah, and we could listen to chamber music on cold winter nights.” She pursed her lips. “Do you like chamber music?”
“Depends on whose chamber we’re doing it in.” So he was a rhythmically and musically challenged, insensitive, over-muscled jerk. He’d deal with it. “Of course, as Mr. Perfect I won’t have any dreams.”
She didn’t even blink. “None.”
“Right.” He watched her climb from bed, walk to the closet, then pull some clothes out. “Look, I have a few things to do. I won’t be tied up long. Hope you won’t be bored.”
She shook her head and smiled, the first natural smile he’d seen this morning. “I have to check my e-mail, then I’m going to do a little redecorating here.” She cast him an impish grin. “You did say you wanted some help with color schemes, didn’t you?”
“Redecorate away.” He rescued the kittens, who were stranded halfway up their own personal Mt. Everest, then turned and made his escape.
Jenny watched him close the door behind him. Why had she fed him that nonsense about what she’d want him to be? Because you didn’t have the guts to tell him he’s perfect just like he is. Wow, was she into self-honesty or what?
Fine. Three seconds of painful introspection were enough for one morning. She gazed around the room. Beautiful but busy. Sort of took after its owner.
She’d have to create her own island of serenity in this room if she expected to survive the week. Besides, calming down the bedroom would take all her concentration. Wouldn’t give her time to draw mental pictures. Like his bare legs tangled with hers on the bed, his bare body covering hers.
Passion led to dreams of more passion, and she had a suspicion that Sloan Mitello’s lovemaking wouldn’t be like a library book that you could renew if you weren’t done with it.
Jenny glanced around the room. She’d worked her buns off, but it was worth it. Much better. She felt calmer already. She gazed at her laptop. No interesting e-mail.
She was about to shut everything down, but then she decided to take just one peek at Sloan’s site. What damage could just one peek do?
Fascinated, she stared at the empty box on her screen. Let us fulfill your desire. No discussion of money, of contracts, just type in your desire. Made it sound so easy.
Of course, she wouldn’t get sucked into something like that. Only a fool would believe you could make dreams come true so easily. Her fingers moved on the keys.
Surprised, she realized she’d typed something. “I remember the mud puddle.” She felt a little embarrassed, and she hadn’t a clue why. There was no reason to be embarrassed. Defiantly, she hit enter. She hadn’t really voiced a desire, she’d just reminded him of old times. “So what’s the big deal?”
There was no one to answer her question.
Leaving her room, she spent time scoping out the rest of the house. Wow. She’d never realized there were that many holiday decorations in the world.
And why did he need an indoor garden room complete with mini-pond and waterfall? Sloan wasn’t a sit-by-the-pond-and-ponder-life’s-secrets kind of guy.
What did she expect? The Sloan she’d known ten years ago had been an ordinary guy.…Okay, so Sloan had never been quite ordinary. But this Sloan was larger than life, so she shouldn’t be surprised when his house was over the top.
Where was he, anyway? Maybe she’d go back to her room and read for a while, get her mind off of where and when it would happen.
Deep in her book, she was startled by a knock. Dragging herself from the chair where she’d curled up, she pulled open the door.
“Hi, Flame. I thought you might…” He glanced into the room. “Sonovagun.” Striding past her, he stopped and stared. “Who needs the Grinch when you have Jenny Saunders, Terminator-of-Holiday-Cheer?”
Maybe she’d gone too far. This might call for some soothing. A neck rub? It’d always worked on Mom when Dad had come home with a new scheme for making a million. Besides, she needed to get used to touching him in an impersonal way before…Just do it.
“Sit down, Sloan.” She pushed him to a sitting position on her bed, then knelt behind him. Placing her hands on both sides of his neck, she gently massaged. Tight, very tight. And those were her muscles. His were even tighter.
“Relax and feel the calmness, the peace of this room,” she murmured against his neck. “I didn’t really change that much. The comforter is reversible. The ivory is much more calming than red and green. And I got rid of the tree and lights and Santa and—”
“Right. No big change.” He moaned as she massaged down his back to the base of his spine. “Damn that feels good.”
No joking. Her hands were doing some serious shaking as she stroked his body, felt the bunch of muscles beneath her fingers. “I can feel you relaxing already.”
“Sure. Relaxing.” His breathing didn’t sound relaxed. “I’m so relaxed, I think I’ll lie down.”
She moved out of his way as he lay down on his back. What to do?
He watched her out of half-closed eyes. He smiled. “Keep going. I can feel those muscles tightening again. All this white stiffens me right up.”
She huffed. “All that white snow didn’t stiffen you up last night,” She considered her statement. “Okay, maybe it stiffened you a little.” Foot-in-mouth disease strikes again.
His smile broadened, grew wicked. “What’re you afraid of, Flame? I thought you said you were ready.”
“I am ready.” And Little Red Riding Hood thought she had problems with wolves in beds. But he’d given her the opening she’d been hoping for, permission to work her wiles on him.
Fine, so she didn’t have any wiles, but she could learn. She straddled his hips. His growing interest in her relaxation technique was obvious, and she slid back and forth over it to make sure she was right.
Yep. Very interested. She must be working harder than she’d thought because she was gasping for air.
He closed his eyes, and his grin vanished.
Reaching under his shirt, she worked her fingers over his stomach, his chest, then paused when she reached his nipples. Gee, couldn’t forget his nipples. Had to relax them too. Rolling them between thumb and forefinger, she clenched her thighs at his groan of pleasure.
She didn’t know how much more relaxation she could stand before she ripped his jeans off and planted herself on top of his—
“Dinner is served, sir.”
No, no, no! She collapsed onto Sloan’s heaving chest and completely agreed with his grunted four-letter appraisal of the situation.
She started to climb off, but he held her in place. “Get out, Ridley.”
“As you say, sir.”
She twisted her head so she could see Ridley. A Ridley who was the picture of expressionless calm. A Ridley who had a dirt smudge on his nose. She took courage from this small sign of human weakness.
Ridley backed from the room. “I’ll see you in the morning, sir. And madam, your oatmeal will be ready at precisely eight o’clock.” He closed the door on her reaction.
Arrgh. “If that man tries to con me into one more bowl of oatmeal, I’ll—”
“Shh.” Sloan put a finger to her lips, effectively silencing her.
Amazing, but any part of him touching her resulted in a complete loss of rational thought patterns. Now, what had she been saying?
“Guess the oatmeal killed the mood, huh?” He allowed her to climb off him, then stood.
She couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Umm…” Think. She knew thousands of words. So why couldn’t she remember even one?
“Hope you like hoagies.” He pulled down his shirt, then strode to the bedroom door.
“Hoagies?” Good. One word was better than none.
“Yeah. I had Ridley order them from Mario’s. I told him to put everything on them. That okay?”
>
“Sure.” Whoopie! She’d remembered another one.
“Then guess what, Flame?” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door.
Oh, no. She’d forgotten about the mud puddle. Please don’t let him say anything about the mud puddle.
“After we eat, you’re going with me to make someone’s desire come true.”
Thank you, God.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Ready to go, Flame?”
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes as she savored the last bite of her hoagie. Not much on earth could compete with one of Mario’s hoagies. The salami, the cheese, the peppers, the—
“Here’s your coat.” Sloan stood behind her chair.
“Hmm.” She felt sort of guilty. Sloan had wolfed down his dinner, then gone off to change while her taste buds had wallowed in unrepentant gluttony.
“We can walk to Mary Kelly’s place. Great exercise.”
She swallowed, then narrowed her gaze as she turned to confront him. “Are you suggesting that…”
Her voice trailed off for lack of oxygen. Santa Claus. He was dressed as Santa. A very sexy Santa, pillow-enhanced stomach and all. If he crawled down her chimney she wouldn’t be waiting with just milk and cookies. “Why are you dressed—”
“I’ll explain while we’re walking.” He bundled her into her coat, then carefully buttoned her up. One button at a time.
His knuckles grazed between her breasts. Lingered. She felt the pressure as though there was no flesh, no bone separating her heart from his touch. Her heart’s pounding seemed to grow with each second his warm hand remained against her.
And when his fingers slid down to the button over her stomach, she almost gasped with relief. For a moment she’d thought she’d have to put her hand over her heart to keep it in.
Her stomach wasn’t much better though. He slid his fingers under her blouse and laid his palm flat against her skin. She knew the sensation, had felt it this summer when her roller coaster car had hovered for what seemed like eternity above an endless drop. It was excitement, frightened anticipation, the need to scramble from the car before the plunge, the knowledge there was no escape. And as his fingers glided lower, scraping the top of her jeans, sliding between skin and cloth, she felt the earth drop from beneath her.