Cynthia took in the flow of conversation. She realized she wasn’t actually expected to comment on any of it, which made her feel better. She wasn’t sure she would know where to start.
“Yes, I’m Cynthia Morgan,” she managed to inject. “This is Colton, Jonathan’s nephew. Isn’t he a charmer?”
“So handsome,” Lucinda said. “May I hold him?”
“Of course. He’s not the least bit shy around new people. In fact I suspect he likes a crowd. More attention for him.”
Lucinda took the baby and cradled him in her arms. “Oh, little one. You look like your uncle. The same dark hair and blue eyes.”
The baby smiled up at her and Lucinda smiled in return. “You’re going to be a heartbreaker. I can see it already. You’re going to twist me around your finger, aren’t you?” She returned her attention to Cynthia and the truck that had stopped in the driveway.
“Mr. Jonathan said you would be buying the little one what he needs.” Reluctantly she handed the baby back to Cynthia. “After I show you around I’ll go tell the men where to put everything. They’re going to track mud all over my floors. I just know it.” She glanced at the boxes and cartons of furniture being unloaded, then sighed. “It will be worth it, I think. To have a baby after all this time.”
Lucinda motioned for Cynthia to follow her into the house. “Let me take you to the room I picked for the little one. Mr. Jonathan said I could just go ahead and choose what I think is best. I have a room for you, too. We had painters through last spring, so the rooms are nice. The baby’s room is plain. Cream walls. But maybe we’ll pick some wallpaper.” She clucked Colton under his chin. “You like race cars? Or maybe sports?”
Lucinda continued to talk as she headed for a curved staircase at the far end of the foyer but Cynthia couldn’t answer. She was too busy trying to keep her mouth from falling open as she took in her surroundings.
Of course she’d known that Jonathan Steele was a successful, wealthy man. Everyone in Grand Springs knew that. But reading about it in a newspaper article and seeing the proof in person were two very different things. She was sure she’d never seen a house as wonderful as this. Not even in a magazine spread.
The foyer was about the size of her mother’s house, but oval instead of square. Above was an incredibly beautiful crystal chandelier and above that, a domed ceiling. The walls were white, the floor black-and-white marble. Gilded chairs that looked English and very old hugged the sides of the curved room. Molding added elegance to an already impressive entryway. There were a half-dozen doors leading to who knows what other wonderful rooms and a curved staircase that stretched up the far wall.
Cynthia continued to look around as she hurried after Lucinda.
“The bedrooms are all on this floor,” Lucinda was saying when they reached the landing for the second story. “Mr. Jonathan’s suite is at the back of the house. It’s more private and quiet there. You and the little one are up here.”
She turned right and walked along a long, carpeted corridor. Cynthia looked at the narrow occasional tables and the fresh flowers. There were paintings and mirrors and more doors leading to different rooms.
Lucinda walked through an open door on the left. Cynthia followed. “I had the furniture moved out yesterday and everything is clean,” Lucinda said motioning to the impressive space. “There’s a smaller room next door. I thought maybe for play now, and later as a place to study.”
Cynthia slowly turned in a circle. The bedroom was huge, maybe fifteen-by-twenty, and on a corner of the house. There were windows on two walls, giving the area plenty of light. Hardwood floors gleamed underfoot. An arched doorway led to an alcove—the play or study area Lucinda had mentioned. There was also a private bath complete with a tub big enough to swim in.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed.
Colton gurgled his agreement, but his eyelids were drifting closed and she knew he would be dozing in a matter of seconds.
Lucinda smoothed her apron and smiled. “You like? It’s big, but I thought as the baby grows, he will want the room. You’re across the hall.” She frowned. “The walls and doors in this house are solid. I don’t think you’ll be able to hear the baby. Did you buy one of those walkie-talkies for baby?”
Cynthia shifted Colton to her other arm and nodded. “A baby monitor? Yes. So I’ll be able to hear him if he cries at night.”
“I would help,” Lucinda said, “but I don’t live with Mr. Jonathan. I have a house of my own a few miles from here. Mr. Jonathan gave it to me when his father died and he moved back to the house. He said it was a gift for years of loyal service.” She paused as the sound of a bell drifted through the house. “The men from the truck. I’ll be right back.”
She started to leave, then pointed to a closed door across the hall. “That’s your room. See if you like it.”
Cynthia did as she suggested. She crossed the carpeted hallway and pushed open the door. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw a feminine vision in pale blue and white.
Delicate French furniture filled the space that was only a little smaller than Colton’s new room. The queen-size bed had been covered by a lacy spread. A triple mirror sat on top of a vanity table. Tall windows faced the front of the house and light poured through the lace curtains. There were two blue-and-cream striped wing chairs with a reading lamp between them and a small fireplace in the corner. The bathroom was just as lovely, with a tub as big as Colton’s and an entire collection of bath products. She fingered the gold topped jars and figured the scented goodies cost as much as her mother spent on groceries in a month.
“What do you think?”
She turned at the sound of a male voice. Jonathan stood in the doorway of her bedroom. He wore a dark navy suit and red tie. The tailoring was perfect enough to emphasize his lean strength.
Her heart fluttered at the sight of him and her mouth went dry. She was grateful to be holding Colton. At least the baby gave her something to do with her hands.
“You have a beautiful house,” she said sincerely. “It’s big enough to serve as a shelter if there’s a local emergency, but I’m not complaining.”
Humor crinkled the corners of his blue-gray eyes. “I want you to be comfortable here.”
“I think that’s a given.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Behind him Cynthia saw three men all carrying large boxes.
“It’s an invasion,” Jonathan said.
“I’m not sure about your choice of words, but there is a lot of stuff. Babies might be small but they have big needs. There’s a crib and changing table, not to mention a dresser and playpen. You did say to start from scratch and get everything.”
“I’m not complaining, Cynthia. I’ve never had any experience with a small child. I appreciate your expertise.”
She nodded. “I was happy to help. I’ll admit that I enjoyed the shopping, but I can’t help wondering if it was all necessary. I don’t mean to be insensitive, but your brother and his wife would have had a full nursery at their home. Didn’t you want to use any of that furniture?”
His expression tightened and she knew she’d overstepped her bounds. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s not my business.”
“No need to apologize,” he told her. “However I would prefer that my nephew had a fresh start here.”
Which told her precisely nothing. Cynthia had the feeling that there was much she didn’t know about Jonathan’s relationship with his late brother. She wanted to ask, but then she reminded herself that she was just the hired help. It wasn’t her job to get personally involved with the family.
“He’ll need a few things from the house,” she said, pressing the point because she knew it was important. “Favorite toys and some photos of his parents. Colton won’t remember them but it’s important for him to have a connection with his past.”
Jonathan looked at the little boy dozing in her arms. “That’s an excellent point. I’ll make a note of it.” He glanced at his wat
ch. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve heard from the police that the bodies will be released Thursday. I came home from the office because I need to make arrangements for the funeral.”
He spoke so matter-of-factly—as if he were simply working his way down a to-do list. But she didn’t believe that for a second. Cynthia remembered the pain of having to make arrangements for her stepfather. Her heart went out to Jonathan. She took a step toward him.
“I know this is all difficult for you. If there’s anything I can do, I’ll be happy to help. It doesn’t matter what you need. I mean that.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “One or two things come to mind, but I doubt that is what you were thinking. So no, Cynthia. I’m fine. But I appreciate the offer.”
She stared at him, not sure what he was talking about. What could he want from her that she wouldn’t be willing to do? If there were phone calls to make or details to be arranged, she would be happy to—
“How old are you?” he asked abruptly.
She frowned. “Twenty-six. Why on earth would you ask me that?”
“Because I could tell that my comment confused you. Which goes to prove my theory that you are much too innocent.” His gaze traveled up and down her body. “And too young for me.”
Now she was really lost. “Too young? Are you concerned about my abilities to take care of Colton?”
“Not at all.”
“Then what…” Her voice trailed off. Realization came slowly but with great conviction. Sex? Were they talking about sex?
Even as heat flared on her face, she replayed the last bits of their conversation. Then she had to fight off a very clear visual of her and Jonathan stretched out in the bed not five feet from where they were standing. After that her imagination lost the ability to fill in the pieces, mostly because she’d never gone that far.
“Oh,” she murmured, not able to meet his gaze. “I see.”
“Don’t worry,” Jonathan told her. “You are now an employee of mine and I have a strict policy against sexual harassment. If I have to, I will fire myself.”
That made her smile. She risked looking at him.
His expression was intense. “I mean it,” he said. “I want you to feel safe here.”
“I’m not worried.” She wasn’t. If anything she was intrigued. Did he really find her attractive in that way? He might think there was too much of an age difference between them but she didn’t believe it for one second. “And I understand what you’re saying.”
“Are you sure?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Not really. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
“I’m aware of that.” He raised his eyebrows. “You keep wanting to make me one of the good guys and I keep telling you that I’m not. You would do well to remember that, Cynthia. Heed my warning and you won’t get hurt.”
Jonathan had planned to spend the afternoon making arrangements for David and Lisa’s funerals. However he found he couldn’t concentrate with all the activity in the house. After the baby furniture was delivered, it had to be assembled. There were clothes to unpack and supplies to be put away. Lucinda interrupted him three times in less than fifteen minutes, the last time to show him a mobile of fuzzy jungle animals that spun gently to the music of a lullaby. Obviously the smell of baby powder had affected his housekeeper’s brain.
So he returned to his office in downtown Grand Springs. At least he had more control in the steel-and-glass structure. He could inform his assistant that he didn’t want to be disturbed and she would make sure no one interrupted him.
He walked into his office with the intention of telling her just that, but he didn’t get the chance. Because when he pushed open the heavy glass doors that led to the Steele Enterprises executive suite, a tall, sultry brunette rose to her feet and smiled at him.
“Ms. Porter is here to see you,” the receptionist behind the cherry wood desk said unnecessarily.
Martha Jean Porter glided across the thickly carpeted floor and smiled at him. “Hello, Jonathan.”
Martha Jean was in her mid-thirties, with the perfect skin and wide green eyes of a classic beauty. She’d been turning men’s heads since she was thirteen. Years of dance had given an already perfect body amazing posture and grace. She had the face of an angel, the body of a centerfold and the heart of a snake. She was his kind of woman.
“Martha Jean.” He studied her simple black dress. It clung in all the right places, exposing enough cleavage to tempt a saint and legs long enough to be the envy of a racehorse. “I’m surprised to see you,” he said ushering her into his private office. “You must be between husbands.”
Her hips swayed as she walked. He found himself watching the movement with less interest than usual.
Martha Jean tossed her small leopard print handbag onto his desk, then sank onto the leather sofa in the corner. She patted the cushion next to her and smiled.
“Come sit next to me and I’ll tell you all about the pitiful state of my marriage.”
“So you’re leaving Frederick?”
He put his briefcase next to her purse and joined her. She angled herself toward him and tucked a silky raven curl behind one shell-shaped ear.
“He’s boring. Rich, but boring.” She slid toward him and placed her hand on his thigh. “Why are you the only interesting, wealthy man I know?”
Her fingers had a familiar warmth. He and Martha Jean had played this game many times before. He picked up her hand and placed it on her own lap. “You know I don’t want to get married. Not even for the privilege of being husband number four.”
Full lips pouted. “I don’t want to get married, either. I’ve learned my lesson.” She paused to smile coyly. “At least until my money runs out. But that’s far in the future. Frederick is going to be very generous. He had some very interesting…needs and he doesn’t want me talking about them.”
“You’re blackmailing him.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m advising him that I can be persuaded to keep quiet, but only under the right circumstances.” She waved a manicured hand. “But that’s not why I’m here.” She gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows. “It’s almost winter. I thought we might discuss the possibility of keeping each other warm.”
“A temporary liaison?”
“Exactly.” She slid close. “You know how good we are together.”
He couldn’t dispute her comment. He and Martha Jean had been lovers on and off for several years. She knew more ways to keep a man happy in bed than any other woman he’d met. When she was between husbands, he found her a convenient diversion. She was beautiful, undemanding and knew how to behave in business and social situations. Best of all, she didn’t pressure him for a commitment.
Talk about a perfect situation. He’d been celibate for far too long and there weren’t any other likely candidates around. Jonathan preferred women who understood he wasn’t interested in permanent anything. His recent attraction to the very innocent and inappropriate Cynthia Morgan warned him that he needed to do something to take care of his needs. Martha Jean was his answer.
Except…he couldn’t seem to get excited about the thought of being with her. Even conjuring up memories of all the things they’d done in bed didn’t help. When he looked into her perfect face, he saw a different pair of green eyes, ones that were more hazel. Instead of gleaming raven curls, he saw a blond braid.
Hell, she was haunting him. No woman haunted him. He didn’t believe in it. “Why don’t we meet to discuss terms,” he said. “I can’t do anything next weekend. I’ll have to deal with my brother’s funeral. Does the following Saturday work for you?”
Catlike eyes regarded him thoughtfully. “I’d hoped it could be sooner, but I suppose I can wait.” She pressed her full, red lips together. “I heard about your brother, Jonathan. It’s very sad, although you weren’t close, so you can’t be all that broken up about it.”
She leaned forward, kissed him and rose to her feet. “I’ll be in tou
ch to work out the details.”
He watched her leave. Nothing about her presence had aroused him. Which was unfortunate. He needed a distraction and Martha Jean was the safest one he knew. Her casual attitude about David’s death matched his feelings on the subject but he couldn’t help contrasting her pragmatic dismissal to Cynthia’s heartfelt sympathy and pain.
She was a child, he told himself. All of twenty-six, with no experience in the world. He couldn’t possibly be interested in her. There were too many years and miles between them. What would there be to talk about?
Yet it was her face, not Martha Jean’s, that filled his mind when he tried to work, and her voice that kept drifting through his head. He vowed he would get his secretary right to work on finding a permanent nanny. Someone who would not be the least bit intriguing to him. Someone completely unlike Cynthia. In the meantime, he would simply avoid temptation by keeping as far away from her as possible.
Several days later Jonathan arrived home late. His first meeting of the day had been a working breakfast and the last had been a working dinner, with people in and out of his office all day long. Now, as he walked through the quiet house, he wondered how long he was going to have to stay away from his own home.
His plan wasn’t turning out the way he’d thought. Even though he didn’t see Cynthia, he still thought about her. If he didn’t know it was physically impossible, he would swear that he could smell her light perfume drifting through the house.
Grumbling to himself, he made his way down the hall, stopping when he saw a light in the study. He crossed to the room and glanced inside.
Cynthia sat curled up in one of the leather chairs. A book lay open on her lap and she seemed genuinely caught up in the story. Jonathan took advantage of the moment to study her. She wore a sweatshirt over jeans, and white socks but no shoes. Her hair had started the day in a fancy braid, but now most of it had come loose and fluttered around her face. A faint frown pulled her eyebrows together and she nibbled on her bottom lip as she read.
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