Читать книгу Jacob's Proposal - Eileen Wilks - Страница 10

Claire couldn’t hear Jacob’s footsteps when he left. The Oriental carpet in his office was too thick. She did hear the creak of leather when he sat in his chair, followed by the quiet click of keys that indicated he was using his computer. She opened the top folder. Instead of reading the contents, though, she stared straight ahead.

He wanted to put her skills to use?

The look in his eyes…well, she wouldn’t call it obvious. Jacob West was not an obvious man. But it had been personal. And sexual.

The faint tapping of keys in the other room stopped. Claire found herself listening, wondering what he was doing now. He hadn’t said a word about her past. Did that mean he wasn’t aware of it? Or was he possessed of an extraordinary degree of tact?

Jacob West didn’t strike her as a man much interested in tact. But he was interested in her. And she…but it was her body that was interested, not her. She’d get over that.

It would have been simpler if her new boss had been old or fat or interested in men, though.

She’d handle it, she assured herself. Men hated rejection. Once she’d figured that out, it had made her life a lot easier. Most men tested the waters before risking rejection with an outright pass, and she’d learned to give the right signals to discourage them. Of course, a few were so blinded by youth, hormones or sheer conceit that the only signal they would notice involved a two-by-four.

Claire didn’t think Jacob West was blind. She thought he was unusually observant. That was the problem. The man made her hot, and he knew it.

This time it was his voice that distracted her. It was pitched low, as if he were talking on the phone.

I don’t yell, he’d said. No, she thought, a man with a voice like that—crisp and smooth at the same time, like good whiskey—wouldn’t have to raise his voice.

She huffed out an exasperated breath. Enough. West had seen her response to him, and in return he’d let her know he was interested. So, okay, that was nothing to get upset about. Eventually her lustful thoughts would die a natural death. In the meantime, she would keep them to herself.

It occurred to her that this was the man her cousin had advised her to have a screaming affair with. The thought was so absurd she chuckled. No way was she that foolish.

In the other room, he stopped speaking. Leather creaked, and she pictured him shifting in his chair, maybe stretching out those long legs of his, the thigh muscles taut beneath the pressed slacks…

There was a radio on her desk next to the yellow phone. Claire punched the power button, and some country singer started crooning about a fool-hearted man.

She listened for a moment, but couldn’t hear anything from the other room over the music. Satisfied, she leaned back in her own chair and started reading.

From his office, Jacob heard the radio come on and scowled. He had five things he needed to do right now, and another ten that should be handled promptly. And all he could think about was the woman in the room next to his.

What in the hell had Sonia been thinking of?

Claire McGuire. He’d thought the name sounded familiar, but he hadn’t made the connection. Not until he saw her.

He reached for the coffee he’d forgotten an hour ago. It was, of course, cold. Frustrated, he saved the data he’d been unable to concentrate on and leaned back in his chair.

Claire McGuire. The woman who had driven Ken Lawrence mad.

That was nonsense, of course. A sane man didn’t lose his grip on reality because of a woman. But the phrase had made a great sound bite, and the media had played up the femme fatale angle. They’d had help with that from Ken Lawrence’s parents, who had made Claire sound like a woman who could teach “fast” to a rabbit.

The Lawrences moved in the same circles Jacob did. He knew them socially, but they didn’t interest him. They were snobs—dull people who made up for what they lacked in imagination by owning the right things and knowing the right people.

Six years ago when the story broke, he’d felt sorry for the parents, contempt for the son and very little interest in the whole sordid story.

Yet he’d remembered her face, had known who she was within seconds of seeing her. No surprise there, he thought, opening his address book. That face was, quite simply, unforgettable. Add to that a body made for sin, and you had a combination that could make any man beg.

Almost any man, he amended mentally as he picked up the phone.

He punched in a number he used frequently in the course of business, but his mind wasn’t on what he did. Instead he saw a smooth curve of cheek and a full, unsubtle mouth. Eyes bright as the summer sky after a storm. The flare of a hip against pleated linen slacks, and a narrow waist mostly hidden by a blazer the color of those eyes.

She was nothing like Maggie. Maggie had suited him, made him relax. Claire McGuire was anything but relaxing.

“North Investigations,” a pleasant voice said into his ear.

“This is Jacob West. I need to speak to Adam North.”

“Just a moment, sir. He’s on another line.”

Jacob waited. And he saw, again, Claire’s smile. It was crooked, disturbing the symmetry of that perfect face and making her seem more human. Dangerously so. And he remembered the thought that had hit him the second he saw her, before he recognized her—before, even, the impact of her beauty had time to register.

Mine.

On her fifth morning at the West mansion, Claire awoke with her pulse throbbing between her legs and dreams sleeting off her, brightly colored images slipping away with each sleepy blink of her eyes.

Erotic images. Though she couldn’t remember the content of the dream, she knew it had been highly erotic. And she knew who had starred in it. Good grief. She stared up at the ceiling, throbbing and restless. Is this what men have to put up with every morning?

More to the point, was this what she would have to put up with every morning she stayed in this house?

Her real problem wasn’t her boss. Jacob had behaved himself. Oh, she’d caught him watching her sometimes. And sometimes, his pale eyes went from ice to white-hot for a second, before he realized he’d been spotted and promptly slammed the shutters closed again. But he never said or did anything objectionable. Aside from the occasional display of a sneaky sense of humor that a less observant woman might have missed altogether, Jacob had been a model of businesslike behavior—demanding, yes, but respectful. Distant, for the most part. Though he had begun to seem cautiously friendly the past couple of days…

She was vastly relieved that he’d picked up on her hands-off signals. And vastly aggravated, because relief wasn’t all she felt.

It was her own unruly imagination she had to watch out for. No surprise there, she thought, and grimaced. At least, it shouldn’t be. Hadn’t she always been the cause of her troubles? Her impulses, her lack of judgment, had snarled up more than just her own life.

Well, she wasn’t going to give in to any impulses with Jacob West. She was doing her damnedest not to have any impulses, but she couldn’t control her sneaky, hormone-prompted unconscious when she was asleep. Claire sighed and squinted at the clock. Time to get up. At least today was Friday. She could pick up Sheba this evening.

Claire was looking forward to having her cat with her again. She hummed as she popped under the shower—leaving the water cooler than usual, to discourage those wayward hormones and flush out the lingering traces of her dream.

Right now, her cat was at home with her cousin Danny, who was house-sitting. Sheba was a cat with attitude. She also possessed a worse set of impulses than Claire owned. The two traits had resulted in a serious disagreement with a neighbor’s German shepherd the day before Claire started working for Jacob, followed by a quick trip to the vet. The vet had stitched up Sheba and kept her a few days, but she was doing fine now.

Clean, dry, with her hair and makeup done, Claire stood in front of her open closet door and tried to find something to wear. It shouldn’t have been difficult. She liked clothes, and she’d brought a fair portion of her closet with her. But for some reason nothing looked right this morning.

Finally she settled on loosely shaped black slacks in a heavy silk that felt like pure sin against her skin, pairing them with a short yellow jacket. She slipped tiny gold hoops through her ears and glanced at the clock. She didn’t want to be late for her date this morning. With Ada.

She smiled. Ada was quite a character. So was Cosmo, though of a different stripe. Even the maid who came three days a week to help keep this huge old house clean was out of the ordinary. Maude was a grandmother with enough college credits for two degrees, and no intention of getting a “real” job. She just wanted enough money to keep taking courses in whatever interested her.

They said you could tell a lot about people by the company they kept. Claire wasn’t sure what Jacob’s odd household said about him, but it sure didn’t fit with his Iceman image.

Normally the inmates of the big old house fended for themselves at breakfast and on weekends, but during the week everyone gathered in the big kitchen for lunch and dinner. Often Jacob was there, sometimes not, depending on whether he was in town and remembered to stop working. Last night Ada had honored Claire with an invitation for breakfast. Blueberry pancakes. Claire’s stomach rumbled, but she paused on her way out, glancing at the door that joined her office to Jacob’s.

It was closed, of course. Every day when she shut off her computer she shut that door. And every morning when she opened it he was already in his office, already working. Sometimes she wondered if he slept there.

Acting on impulse, she snuck the door open and peeked inside. His office was dark, unoccupied. Of course it was. Jacob had a perfectly good bed in his bedroom on the second floor. Ada had pointed out his room when she gave Claire a tour of the house. Right now he was probably asleep in that king-size bed, stretched out beneath the silky black-and-brown comforter… Don’t go there, she ordered herself, and inched the door closed once more.

She was reaching for the other door—the one to the hall—when her phone rang.

Dang it. Well, the pancakes could wait one minute, but no more. She picked up the receiver. “This is Claire.”

“And this is your hardworking house-sitter with a good news, bad news report,” her cousin’s voice said cheerfully.

“Danny! I didn’t expect to hear from you this early.” She resigned herself to being a few minutes late. “Sheba’s okay, isn’t she?”

“Oh, she’s fine. She got her medicine last night just like the vet ordered. And don’t worry about me—the bleeding stopped eventually. You are coming to get that hell-spawned beast tonight, aren’t you?”

She chuckled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Not as much as I am,” he said fervently.

“You’re earning stars in your crown, as Mom used to tell us. I take it that was the good news. What’s busted? Did the disposal spit up again?”

Danny paused. “A disposal, I could fix. This is a little more complicated. When I opened the door this morning to bring in the paper, there was something else on the stoop. A rose.”

Claire’s pulse began pounding in her ears. “Red,” she said, her voice flat. “It was red, wasn’t it, Danny?’

“I’m afraid so.”

A single rose. Bloodred, the petals barely unfurled. She could see it so clearly. Red for passion, Ken used to tell her. Only one rose, always just the one. Because they were meant to be one. Claire’s fingers tightened on the receiver. “You didn’t see him?”

“I wish I had. If I’d caught him—”

“Dammit, Danny, do not do anything macho and stupid!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let your cop buddy know if the son of a bitch comes sneaking around. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to catch him at it, just so we could prove he’s violating parole.”

The police wouldn’t consider a rose evidence of anything. She bit her lip and changed the subject, trying to push the fear down, where it wouldn’t show. To either of them. “Are you going to be home tonight, when I come get Sheba?”

“I’ve got a meeting at seven, but I’ll be here after that. No more wild Friday nights for me,” he said wryly.

His words warmed her. Danny just might make it work this time. She wasn’t fooling herself. He had a lot of hard work ahead, and he might fail and fall many times. But this time he was attending AA meetings because he wanted to, not because he needed to please or fool someone else. Like her. Or a judge.

“How about you?” he asked. “Going to have a wild time tonight with your new boss, maybe?”

“Hardly.”

“You do have that haughty, duchess tone down pat. How long has it been since you went out on a real date, Claire?”

“Come on, you know I don’t have the time or energy for much of a social life. I’m trying to get my consulting business off the ground.”

“Your career’s an excuse. No, listen to me for a minute. You enjoy the money game, and you’re good at it. But at heart, you aren’t an ambitious person. You just like playing the game.”

“Jut playing the game won’t pay the bills,” she said dryly. “And that, I do take seriously.”

“You’re hiding, Claire. Just look at your clothes.”

She bristled. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to dress. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Those power suits of yours are just as much camouflage as the bag lady clothes you wore for a while.”

“I realize you don’t get the whole dress-for-success concept, but take my word for it. I need to look professional. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, people do judge us on how we look.”

His voice was sad. “I understand why you think that. But—oh, hell, Claire. Sometimes I miss you. The person you used to be, the cousin who laughed all the time and did crazy stuff just for the hell of it. The one who didn’t plan her life on a blasted spreadsheet.”

Silence fell, trapping too much of the past between them. “That person made too many mistakes,” she said at last. Danny ought to know that. One of her impulses was partly responsible for the hell he’d been living in the past few years.

“Maybe, but she was human. I’m learning a whole lot about being human and making mistakes these days. Claire…I’m glad you got out of this house, where Ken Lawrence can’t find you. Just don’t keep running away from him in other ways, too.”

“Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

After she hung up, Claire took a deep, calming breath. Danny was wrong. He was one hundred percent wrong, and she was an idiot to let him upset her. She wasn’t running away. She was running to something—the future she’d been building and the person she was becoming: a woman who would never make the kind of mistakes that had wrecked more lives than just her own. No, she didn’t miss her old self at all.

She took another slow breath, opened the door to the hall and stepped out—right into a solid male body.

A startled shriek rose in her throat. She bit it back. Her head felt light and dizzy.

“Whoa!” Two strong hands gripped her arms, steadying her.

Not Jacob. That was her first thought, and she shook her head to rid herself of it. Not Jacob—and not Ken, either, of course. He couldn’t get to her here.

This was a stranger.

“Sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

His hands dropped and his eyes widened. “Surely you aren’t Claire McGuire.”

“I hate to disagree, but I am.”

“Feel free to disagree with me anytime.” A smile grew in his eyes until it reached his mouth. “Especially when I say something stupid. Of course you’re Claire McGuire. I’m Michael West.”

“Jacob’s brother?”

“Guilty.”

Michael was a good-looking man, but his features were even, not harsh, and rather Latin. His eyes were as dark as Jacob’s were pale—no resemblance there. His body, now…yes, physically he had something in common with his brother. Power. And control. “So you’re one of the two people Jacob was willing to talk to on my first day. Glad to meet you, Mr. West.”

“Make it Michael, please. Or Mick. That way I won’t have to call you Ms. McGuire. Has Jacob been difficult?”

“It varies. On a scale of teddy bear to grizzly, he usually hits somewhere between rattlesnake and wolverine.”

Amusement deepened in his eyes. “Sounds as if you’re getting to know him quickly. Are you on your way to breakfast?”

“Yes, Ada asked me to join her. And you?” She shouldn’t pump him for information about his brother, but if he happened to volunteer something…

“Unfortunately I’ve already eaten. I’ve got a ten o’clock flight.”

“Oh.” Looked like her curiosity was doomed to disappointment. “Well, it was nice meeting you.” She smiled. “I almost said ‘running into you,’ but that’s precisely what I did do, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t mind that part.”

She chuckled. “I’ll bet you were a hell-raiser as a kid.”

“As a matter of fact, I was. I didn’t think I gave that impression these days, though.”

“Oh, you don’t. But it takes one to know one.”

He lifted his eyebrow. With that subtle shift, the resemblance she hadn’t seen before snapped into focus, and he looked very much like his brother. “Are you a hell-raiser?”

“Not anymore, but when I was younger—well, who has any sense at eighteen? You remind me of my ‘making up for it’ period, when I was terribly serious about everything.”

He studied her so gravely that she wondered if she’d offended him. “You know, I think I do have time for a quick cup of coffee before I leave. If you wouldn’t mind some company—?”

“I’d love it.” She started down the hall with him, slanting him a mischievous glance. “I’ll bet Ada knows all sorts of stories about you and Jacob when you were boys.”

“Just don’t mention the apple pie incident. Or anything from when I was a teenager. Or—hmm. Maybe it would be better if I left without a last cup of coffee, after all.”

She laughed. “I think I’m going to like you, Michael. And there is no way I’ll let you duck out of that cup of coffee now.” Claire thrust aside all thought of the rose that had been left on her doorstep. She was safe for the moment. Ken had no way of finding her here.

And if her haven was only temporary, then, like Scarlet, she’d worry about it tomorrow. Because there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it today.

The kitchen was Michael’s favorite room, maybe because it had changed so little over the years. The window box in the corner, with its crop of herbs adding a sweet whiff of oregano and mint to the air, was a recent addition. Sonia’s doing, most likely. Michael sipped his coffee and enjoyed the steam and the mingling of scents. It always smelled good here.

None of his father’s wives had been allowed to tamper with Ada’s domain. That window box was the only tangible evidence that any woman other than Ada had ever lived in this house…that, and the woman who sat next to Ada at the big, scarred table.

Claire McGuire was a surprise. Especially after the talk he’d had with his brother last night.

Michael enjoyed watching her. What man wouldn’t? But her beauty wasn’t as interesting as the way she obviously enjoyed Ada, who was taking shameless advantage of the opportunity to embarrass Michael.

When Ada finished her latest story, Claire’s smile broke into a laugh. “He didn’t. Really? A smoke bomb?” She shook her head. “Michael, you’re worse than I was. At least I never blew anything up.”

“Can I help it if I like things that go boom?”

Ada shot him a darkling look. She didn’t approve of Michael’s frequent, lengthy absences. “The boy always did like making a commotion. That hasn’t changed.”

“Sounds like you had your hands full when they were younger.”

“Hellions, all three of them,” Ada said proudly. “Now, Jacob has always been sneakier about it than the other two, but he got into his share of trouble. There was this girl he was crazy about when he was fourteen. She was sixteen, so he—”

“Not the one about my first driving experience,” Jacob said dryly from the doorway. “Please.”

“It’s your turn,” Michael said. “Claire has already heard about the smoke bomb I set off at St. Vincent’s.”

“I’m the eldest. I should go last.” He poured a cup of coffee, turned and leaned against the counter. “I vote that we tell her about Luke’s gambling career next.”

Claire hadn’t precisely stiffened when Jacob entered the room. It was more subtle than that—a loss of ease, as if she were suddenly conscious of her expression, her body, in a way she hadn’t been before. As if she were intensely conscious of Jacob’s presence.

Interesting, Michael thought.

“Luke is your other brother, right?” she asked Jacob.

He nodded. He looked entirely at ease, but Michael knew better. The hunter had his prey in sight, and didn’t want to spook it. “Technically,” Michael said, “if we go by years rather than maturity level, Luke is my older brother. Not as ancient as the graybeard leering at you now, but—”

“Watch it,” Jacob said lazily. “I can still take you, as long as you don’t try any of those sudden-death tricks the army taught you.”

“Not in my kitchen, you can’t.” Ada pushed her chair back and stood. “Jacob, you sit down instead of perching there like a vulture checking out the remains, and I’ll fix you some pancakes.”

A phone rang. Not the one in the kitchen, but nearby.

“That’s your line, Ada,” Jacob said helpfully, sipping his coffee.

“Don’t you think I know that? But since I’m busy and you’re not, you might offer to get it for me.”

“I’d rather stay here and leer at Ms. McGuire.”

Ada smirked at him. “I guess you would.” She turned and trotted for the hall door, calling over her shoulder, “Claire, you keep these boys from tearing up my kitchen while I’m gone.”

“I hope the two of you aren’t feeling violent this morning,” Claire said as Ada vanished down the hall. “I’d hate to let Ada down.”

“I’m a gentle soul,” Michael assured her. “Unlike my rowdy brother.”

Jacob raised one eyebrow in that cool, mocking way that used to make Michael want to smash him when he was a teenager. Of course, he’d wanted to smash a lot of things back then.

Claire was amused. “Yes, I can see how rowdy Jacob is. A real troublemaker. You’re in the army, Michael?”

“Special Forces. My brothers treat me with much more respect now that I know how to kill a man in thirteen seconds.”

Her eyebrows went up. “At least I can tell when you’re joking. I think.”

“Jacob was born with a poker face. When the doctor slapped his bottom, he didn’t cry—he slapped him back. Then he bought the man’s practice.”

“It was my first buyout,” Jacob said seriously. “The man had excellent labor relations, but he’d dabbled too heavily in futures.”

“That,” Claire said, her lips twitching, “was a joke. A bad one, but definitely a joke.”

Jacob continued to lean against the counter, sipping his coffee and talking casually with his new employee. He didn’t fool Michael for one minute. Jacob had always gone after what he wanted with the single-minded focus of a lion stalking a gazelle—no nerves, no mercy and the great patience that is possible only in the absence of doubt. His big brother wasn’t so much unaware of the chance of failure as he was impervious to it. A lion whose prey escaped didn’t slink off and moan about his failure, or decide he wasn’t really cut out for this hunting business. He went out and found another gazelle.

But had Jacob ever gone on the hunt for a woman—one particular woman? Michael didn’t think so. Maggie had been—well, handy. Not prey.

“If you have any brothers,” Jacob was saying, “you’ll know you can’t believe half of what Michael tells you about me.”

“No brothers or sisters, I’m afraid, though I do have a cousin I’m close to.” Her eyes softened with memory and affection. “We were hell-raisers together, way back when.”

“Were you?” Jacob set his coffee cup down. “I have trouble picturing you raising hell. Raising temperatures, yes.” He smiled slowly, all sorts of suggestions in his eyes. “That, you do very well.”

Her eyebrows lifted in a wonderfully haughty way. “If that’s supposed to be a compliment, please don’t bother.”

“A statement of fact, rather.” He straightened, moving away from the counter. “It’s not eight o’clock yet.”

She glanced at her watch—a pretty, but inexpensive piece, Michael noted. “If you’d like me to get to the office early—”

“No. I was pointing out that we aren’t on the clock yet. If we were, it would be inappropriate for me to tell you how desirable I find you.”

“You’re out of line.”

“Even in these days of political correctness,” Jacob said, “surely a man can indicate his interest in a beautiful woman, as long as he’s willing to accept a refusal. You don’t look like a woman who would have trouble saying no…if that’s what you want to say.”

There was a tiny crease between Claire’s eyebrows. “I’m not. And ‘no’ is definitely the answer.”

She didn’t look as if she believed it would be that simple. Michael knew it wouldn’t. He pushed his chair back, letting it scrape loudly enough to interrupt the staring match the other two were engaged in. “I’d better be going if I don’t want to risk a speeding ticket. Walk with me to my car, Jacob?”

Jacob’s eyes met his. For a moment, Michael thought his big brother would refuse—and he knew why. He grinned.

Jacob sighed. “All right. At least the damned rain has stopped.”