He frowned, disgusted with his thoughts. She didn’t deserve that. She’d lost someone important to her, and all he could think about was getting in her pants.
Jake took a quick shower, shaved, and towel-dried his wash-and-wear hair. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he followed his nose downstairs.
She’d built a fire in the fireplace. While it didn’t come close to heating this big old house, it did take the chill out of the air.
“I hope you don’t mind me helping myself to your kitchen.” She stood in front of the old stove, watching over a sizzling frying pan.
“I’m surprised you’re worried. After all, you helped yourself to my house and my bed last night. The least you could have done was help yourself to my body when I was being hospitable and all.” Devil that he was, it was sorta fun to push her buttons.
Irritation flashed across her face. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Sorry about that. Jake. Jake Reynolds.” He craned his neck to check out what she was cooking. The top of her head didn’t clear his chin. “So what’s for breakfast?”
“Who says I’m cooking breakfast for you?”
“I do. It’s my house, my kitchen, and my food. It’s the least you can do when I’ve been so gracious.” Man, needling her was more fun than teasing a caged lioness and about as dangerous. Her eyes burned like the blue flame on a pilot light, ready to ignite any second. Refusing the bait, she turned her back on him and concentrated on the frying pan.
He appraised her in the morning light. Her clothes this morning weren’t any more stylish than last night’s, ragged jeans and a skin-tight sweater dotted with lint balls. Maybe she didn’t have much else. Her long, honey-blonde hair looked like she’d chopped it with a dull knife. She must cut it herself. Her big toe poked through a hole in her sock. Her makeup was as thick as frosting on a birthday cake; no wonder she didn’t have money left for new clothes. All that makeup couldn’t conceal the sweet face of pixie, which he found totally at odds with her porn-star body and trashy clothes.
Standing about five-two, she didn’t have a model’s leggy body. He preferred the sophisticated, willowy type. She was anything but. Yet, her other assets spoke to him. Or was that screamed? Yeah, screamed. Damn, he’d love to make her scream. That curvy body of hers was the sexiest thing he’d seen in a long time. It’d feel incredible, all naked, sweaty, and squirming beneath him. In fact, it had felt incredible. Too bad he hadn’t been—
He plopped down in a chair and rubbed his eyes, blocking his view of her. This had to stop, time to end his outrageous fantasy. She seemed like a nice, albeit overdone, girl. Goldie had just lost someone important. She didn’t need him ogling her.
These last few weeks with Jill, the daughter of his mother’s dearest friend, should’ve satisfied his cravings for a while, but the woman had turned out to be a master tease. All he’d gotten for his efforts were a few kisses and a lot of frustration.
“I’ll take you to the ferry after breakfast.”
She stiffened, but didn’t turn around. “Okay.”
“Is there somewhere else you’d rather go?”
“No, nowhere.”
“That smells great.”
“I was a short-order cook a lifetime ago.” She hesitated. “I still can’t believe Rose sold this property.”
“She didn’t.”
“What does that mean?” She turned to regard him. Her white teeth worried on her full lower lip, and his body responded.
“Huh?” He forced his eyes away from her lips and sought to remember the question. “Oh. The property. She left it to her niece.”
“Mariah Baker?”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s her name.”
“Rose and Mariah were the closest thing I had to family.”
Jake stiffened, all senses on alert. This could only mean trouble. One more reason to send Goldilocks down the road ASAP.
“Mariah sold the farm?” She swallowed and looked down.
“No, she lost it.”
“So you bought it from the bank?”
She was one nosy broad. “No, I didn’t. My cousin, Mariah’s former fiancé, held the contract on the property. He—uh—foreclosed.”
“On his own fiancée?” Harlee’s eyes narrowed with disgust.
At least they agreed on one thing. “Yeah, Warren’s a prince of a guy,” Jake couldn’t stop the sarcasm from seeping into his voice. “They’d broken up by then, though.”
“So where do you fit in?”
“He offered to make me a partner if I’d supply some capital and work on a plan to develop the place.”
Why he was telling her all this he hadn’t a clue. He’d jumped at the chance to take on this large, prestigious project when Warren made the offer, even though he didn’t care much for his cousin. In fact, Warren gave him the creeps. He was the type of guy Jake wouldn’t trust around his girlfriend, if he had one. Not because he was a flirt; it went deeper and darker than that. Something he couldn’t put his finger on and didn’t want to.
He suspected Warren had sold a major interest in the property to Reynolds Corporation, Jake’s family’s business, in order to finance his debts—most likely gambling. It couldn’t get worse than that.
“You’re going to develop this property?” Harlee turned on him, angry and indignant, as if she had a personal stake in the place. “You can’t do that.” She placed her hands on her hips and stood up straighter.
If she was trying to intimidate him, her attempt failed. He bit back a laugh. “I think I can, and I will. This place is a goldmine. Some of the best unspoiled view acreage in the San Juans.”
“What about the summer camp for poor and homeless kids that leases part of the property?”
“Oh, that.” He shrugged. Not his problem, and he wasn’t about to make it his problem.
“Yes, that. Rose’s grandfather founded it over fifty years ago. Rose had created an innovative equine therapy program that was nationally acclaimed for its success with abused children.”
He hated talking about that camp. If he could afford to relocate it, he would, but he couldn’t. “I guess it’ll have to be shut down, and the buildings demolished.”
“You can’t do that.” She looked like a pint-sized Nordic goddess ready to do battle.
“Lady, it’s none of your business what I can and can’t do.” His warning expression shut her up. Right after breakfast, he’d deliver Goldilocks to the ferry. He didn’t need her conscience interfering with his plans.
His own gave him enough trouble.
* * * *
She wasn’t getting on that ferry.
Harlee settled into the seat of Jake’s large pickup, her mind racing to come up with an alternative plan. She stared out the window at the view stretched before her. The storm of the past night has passed. The sun poked its head through the gray clouds, casting a surreal effect on the surroundings. Across the rough, gray-blue waters, small and larger islands dotted the horizon. Old Madrona trees with their distinctive red bark clung precariously to the bank. Their trunks twisted and turned at impossible angles in search of maximum sunlight.
The place gave her peace; the man beside her didn’t.
She looked around the interior of the truck, seeking a way to ease the tension between them. This metallic symbol of a man’s ego resembled a Cadillac more than a working truck, right down to the leather seats and kick-butt stereo system. The men she knew couldn’t afford trucks like this. She listened with appreciation as the powerful diesel engine purred to life. “I love your Chevy.”
A slow smile illuminated his gorgeous face. “Most women don’t understand a good truck. Usually, they prefer a hot sports car.”
“I’d prefer a truck over a car any day.” She meant it.
“Seriously?” He glanced at her with new appreciation.
“I’m a horsewoman. Horsewomen appreciate good trucks and sexy cowboys.”
“I have cowboy boots. Does that count?” He wink
ed at her.
Oh, yeah, and he definitely qualified as sexy. She cast a sideways glance at him and indulged in a little harmless flirting. “Boots are a start. A good start.” Her bruised confidence soared under this man’s attention. What a charmer when the mood struck him. The trail of broken hearts behind Jake had to be longer than the train of Princess Diana’s wedding gown.
A lock of his short black hair fell over his forehead. She resisted the urge to push it back in place. Anchored by high cheekbones, his expressive eyes sparkled with devilment and humor. If she touched his face, would those eyes darken with desire? What if she ran her fingers over that little bump on the ridge of his nose? Or rubbed her index finger over the cleft in his chin?
Jake laughed from deep down in his belly and drew her back to reality. His eyes glittered with amusement. “Baby, you might be too hot to handle.”
She contemplated being hot enough for him to handle.
He turned off the county road and drove through the entrance to a small resort. His teasing expression faded, replaced by seriousness. “The next ferry doesn’t leave Orcas Island for a couple more hours. I need to stop by my office to catch up on some work. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. I’ll read a magazine or something.” Maybe she’d take a nap. She certainly hadn’t slept more than a few hours the night before. Curling up on the plush leather backseat of this truck sounded appealing. It sure beat the hard plastic seats on the state ferry.
Jake parked the truck near a construction site. Much to her surprise, he circled to the passenger side and opened her door. She couldn’t recall the last time that had happened or if it had it ever happened. This guy was way too good to be believed. No, not true. She’d be wise to remember how obnoxious he’d been last night when he’d been straddling her body. Jake looked like a guy and acted like a guy. He was a guy. Guys were good for a little fun but not to be trusted or taken seriously.
Shoring up her resolve to resist his charms, Harlee followed him. Jake’s office wasn’t what she expected. The single-wide trailer brought back memories of all the dumps she’d lived in with her mother and Mom’s boyfriend of the week.
“Sorry it’s such a mess. My assistant quit about a month ago. I haven’t had time to find a replacement,” he apologized as he led the way inside.
His trailer housed a small reception area with a metal desk and a computer. A couple plastic chairs provided seating around a Formica table. A cheap wood door led to a private office, obviously Jake’s domain since he disappeared into it.
The place was your typical construction office with linoleum floors, dinky windows, and stuff stacked everywhere. Behind another door, she found a small bathroom. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. It needed a good cleaning. Men.
Harlee did find a thermostat. At least the shack had heat. She cranked it and was rewarded by the welcoming hum of the electric furnace.
She flipped through the magazines on the table. Nothing but various construction journals. Boring. No girlie magazines or the prerequisite naked woman calendar on the wall. Maybe Jake was gay. That’d figure. All the gorgeous men she met were either gay or married. You’d think a construction office would have some sports magazines, too. Harlee loved football, all those tight buns and hard-packed muscles. Not to mention the sheer physical contact and degree of strategy required to play the game. Just like sex.
Harlee took a seat behind the desk. Waiting until she heard Jake on the phone, she opened the top drawer. Rummaging through the contents, she found no clues as to his intentions for the camp and the timeline for the demolition.
The phone rang, startling her. She almost flipped over backward in the chair.
“Hey, I’m on the other line. Would you mind answering that and taking a message?” Jake called from his office. Her heart did calisthenics at the rumble of his deep voice. It had to be nerves and guilt. Right?
Wrong. He turned her ignition and started her motor, pure and simple. What would he be like in bed? Gorgeous men were usually selfish lovers in her experience, which at one time was pretty vast. In her younger days, she’d used sex as a tool to gain something. She’d enjoyed it—most of the time—but it never lived up to her expectations. She theorized that it never lived up to any woman’s, yet no one admitted it. Harlee blamed it on Eve, along with several other things.
The phone interrupted her musing again. She gathered her composure, answered it, and took a message.
Her eyes surveyed the room. What a pigsty. The barns she’d worked in had been cleaner than this. In fact, they’d been immaculate. The inbox overflowed with mail, bills, messages, and other stuff. You couldn’t see the desktop. This place needed organization, and she knew just the woman for the job. Never one to sit around and do nothing, the compulsion to tackle this mess overwhelmed her. In fact, the poor trailer almost begged to be liberated from the chaos and disarray.
Harlee believed in taking advantage of opportunities whenever they presented themselves. In her mind, fate had just dealt her a second chance. All her life, she’d transformed her setbacks and failures into something positive. She credited Rose with that gift. Without Rose, she would have been lost, a disposable teenager with nothing to offer and no future. In fact, Rose had convinced Harlee to tone down her make-up while she’d lived in her home. But once Harlee left, she donned her mask once again, disguising the real her under the makeup. People never looked beyond it. They sized her up in seconds and made their judgments based on what they saw, which was fine with her. If they never really knew her then their inevitable rejection didn’t hurt as much. Rose had understood, unlike anyone else in her life.
Scooting the chair near Jake’s office door, Harlee peeked inside. He sat behind a massive, battered oak desk, talking in short, clipped tones on the phone. She wasn’t sure who dominated the room more—the desk or the man. They were both impressive. Not that it mattered to her. She didn’t need a man to have a fulfilling life. In fact, her life would be a hell of a lot more fulfilling without one.
Yet, Jake unsettled her. He was dangerous. A burn-up-the-sheets, break-your-heart kind of danger. Still she might consider a little—
Harlee shook herself. Here she was teetering on the edge of being homeless and facing the most important mission in her life. Not the proper time to fantasize about men with hard hats, tool belts, and bare, bulging muscles.
Certain he was preoccupied, she focused her attention on the smothered desk. A huge stack of papers lazed on its surface, daring anyone to disturb their slumber. Harlee rolled up her sleeves and went to work. It didn’t take long to figure out the filing system. Someone had been organized at one time. She began the tedious task of tucking each paper into the proper folder after she scanned it for useful information.
She needed a job, and he needed an assistant. This was perfect. Absolutely perfect. She’d make herself indispensable, while she waged an underground campaign to save Rosehill Camp.
By the time Jake emerged from his hole two hours later, she’d filed the paperwork, sorted the mail, cleaned off the desk, taken several messages, dusted every surface in sight, swept the floors, and tidied everything. It looked like a different room.
Jake stopped in the doorway and stared. The look of absolute shock on his face was a picture she’d carry with her forever. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m paying for my room and board.”
“I see. You didn’t need to do that.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Was he always this distrustful?
“Oh, but I did.” She did. She really did. He was about to hire her as his assistant even though he didn’t know it yet.
“Are you ready to go?”
“No.” She settled back in the chair.
“No?”
“I’m not done here.”
“The ferry leaves in twenty minutes. It’ll take ten minutes to get there.”
“I’m not going. You need me.”
“Really?” He looked intrigued as he lounged against the corner of
the desk and stared down at her. His dark eyes danced with anticipation and mischief. He eyed her up and down, making it blatantly obvious what he needed from her. Men were so transparent when they thought they were being clever.
“Yes, you need an assistant, and I need a job.” She smiled up at him, brimming with false confidence.
“What makes you think that?”
“I can’t believe you asked that question. Isn’t it obvious?” She swept her gaze around the room then came back to his face.
“I’ve been busy and out of town. I was going to get to all that.”
“Now you don’t have to. I’ve taken care of it. By the way, I took some messages. Mr. Diego called. He said your lumber couldn’t be delivered until next Monday. I told him to have it here this Wednesday, or we’d find another supplier. He agreed. Mr. Parsons wanted to discuss some plans with you, and Mr. Sharma needed…”
“Okay, okay. I get the picture.” He held up his hands in surrender. “You really convinced Diego to deliver that lumber on Wednesday? He’s been a thorn in my side from day one. Yet this island doesn’t have too many choices for lumber. The man must be a sucker for a persuasive female voice.”
“Spoken like a true male.” She shuffled some papers and opened some envelopes.
“What kind of experience do you have running an office?”
“I managed a barn full of show horses for the past four years in Europe and Florida. This can’t be much different. I’m persuasive, efficient, and organized.” She waved her hand about the transformed room to prove her point.
“Horses, you say?” A calculating gleam lit up his chocolate eyes. Jake rubbed his chin. His brow furrowed as he considered her words. “Can you type?”
“Sure.” She was pretty fast with one or two fingers.
“How about make coffee?”
“I don’t do coffee.”
“Oh.” He considered that for a moment. “Do you even know what I’m doing here?”
Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed? Page 3
