The Irresistible Mr. Sinclair

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  No, it wasn’t, Taylor thought glumly. Nor was his father’s enthusiasm for life even close to what it once had been.

  “Anyway,” Taylor began, “Brandon and Andrea are thinking of adding some specialty shops in the lobby of Hamilton House. We sat down and put some numbers together and it’s definitely feasible. The hotel is doing very well.”

  “I know. I did the income tax for that place. Brandon has done a helluva fine job. And now he’s married, probably giving thought to having a child.” Clem glared at his son. “Unlike some people I could mention.”

  “Don’t start.” Taylor chuckled, the deep, rumbly sound an exact echo of his father’s laugh. “You know my stand on the issue of marriage. And I’m not alone in wanting to remain a bachelor. Brandon, Ben Rizzoli and I agreed years ago that a single life was the way to go. Brandon obviously forgot the pact we made.

  “Me? I had an idyllic childhood in Prescott, complete with a mother who stayed home and made chocolate-chip cookies from scratch.

  “I had parents who were so much in love, they acted like newlyweds every day of their lives.”

  Taylor shook his head.

  “That’s my measuring stick for wedded bliss, Dad. What you and Mom had. I’ve witnessed perfection, and I won’t settle for less. In this day and age, what I want just isn’t obtainable.”

  “There’s an old-fashioned woman out there somewhere, Taylor,” Clem said. “The problem with you is, you’re no longer looking for her.”

  “Got it in one,” Taylor said. “I’m a swinging single bachelor and intend to remain one. How’s that?”

  “It stinks,” Clem said. “I want a grandbaby to bounce on my knee.”

  “Borrow one from a neighbor in this complex. There must be folks in here who have grandchildren who come to visit them.”

  “Borrow a grandbaby?” Clem said, raising his eyebrows. “Like a library book? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Taylor shrugged, then drained his mug. “The subject is closed.” He set the mug on the table with a thud. “Back to business. I’ve gone to every client you have here and in Prescott to say hello and introduce myself to those who don’t know me.

  “You held out one file because you said you needed to talk to me in-depth about that particular client before I made my little social call. Has he at least agreed to my handling his account?”

  “It’s a she and, yes, she’s receptive to your being her accountant with the understanding that the confidentiality she and I had remains firmly in place.”

  “That goes without saying. I’d never discuss a client’s finances with anyone else.”

  “No, no,” Clem said. “It encompasses much more than that, Taylor.”

  Taylor frowned. “You’re sounding very mysterious. What’s the big secret? Who is this woman?”

  “Her name is Janice Jennings, and she owns an extremely profitable boutique called Sleeping Beauty. When that old friend of mine retired right after I moved down here to the valley, he recommended me to Janice to be her new accountant.”

  Taylor nodded.

  “Shortly after that,” Clem went on, “Janice expanded her business from just women’s sleepwear to include bath accessories and fancy lingerie. Janice is a very savvy businesswoman, seems to have natural instincts as to what will sell to people with money to spare.”

  “So far there’s nothing unusual about what you’re telling me,” Taylor said.

  “I’m getting to it. Don’t rush me,” Clem said, frowning. “Let’s see, where was I? All right, the thing is, Taylor, that Janice insists no one know that she owns Sleeping Beauty.”

  “What?” Taylor said, his eyebrows shooting up. “That’s crazy. Why wouldn’t she want to bask in the glory of being highly successful?”

  Clem shrugged. “I have no idea. She never confided in me as to her reasoning. She passes herself off as the manager of the store, with a story that the owner lives out of town.”

  “Weird.”

  “She’s adamant about all this, Taylor. Whenever you’re speaking with her in the shop, you must be extremely careful not to say anything that would indicate that she owns the place. I’ve assured her that you’ll comply.”

  “Are you certain there’s nothing illegal going on with this Janice?”

  “Positive,” Clem said, nodding. “I did her books every month and prepared her income tax return. She’s obviously showing every penny of what is a very financially healthy enterprise. She’s single with no dependents, apparently has no one to answer to but herself.”

  “Then why the secrecy?”

  “I don’t have a clue, but now you can surely understand why I wanted to fill you in on these details before you called on her. The file for Sleeping Beauty is on the coffee table in the living room.”

  Taylor got to his feet, causing Scamp to raise his head for a moment, then plop it back down on his paws.

  “All right,” Taylor said. “I’ll review the account, then pay Ms. Jennings a visit this afternoon. That’s all I need...an eccentric client. I don’t think I’ll say thank you for this one, Dad.”

  “Well, I suppose you could say she’s eccentric because of her insistence that she be recognized only as the manager of Sleeping Beauty.”

  “No joke.”

  “But Janice is also a very nice, very pleasant young woman. She’s attractive, but then again—” Clem shook his head “—she’s not.”

  Taylor laughed. “That statement didn’t make one bit of sense.”

  “No, I suppose it didn’t, but you’ll understand what I mean once you’ve met her.”

  “This is all beginning to sound very intriguing. The thing is, with all the new clients I inherited from you that I’ve yet to become familiar with as far as their accounts go, I really don’t need the hassle of playing cloak and dagger with your Janice Jennings.”

  “She’s your Janice Jennings now, son.”

  “Dandy,” Taylor said dryly.

  That afternoon the mailman entered Sleeping Beauty and handed Janice a stack of envelopes.

  “Thank you, Henry,” she said, smiling. “Has that grandbaby of yours arrived yet?”

  “Nope,” Henry said. “We’re all on pins and needles. My daughter is three days overdue now, my wife is a wreck and my son-in-law is coming unglued. My daughter is the only calm one among us.”

  “Well, keep me posted,” Janice said.

  “You bet. See you tomorrow.”

  “’Bye,” Janice said, then began to shuffle through the mail.

  A glossy, triple-folded, color brochure caught her eye and she set the other envelopes on the counter to examine the advertisement.

  “Oh,” she said, reading the information.

  She was definitely going to mark this event on her calendar, she thought. An artist was having his debut showing at a Scottsdale gallery. Maybe she’d find a picture for one of the walls of her house.

  She mentally shrugged. But if she didn’t, she didn’t. There was no rush to finish decorating the first home she’d ever owned. She was thoroughly enjoying taking her time, purchasing only what were the perfect additions when she found them.

  Besides, it wasn’t as though she was continually explaining her not-yet-completed projects to guests. The only people to enter her home, other than the men who had delivered the furniture, were her accountant, Clem, and her neighbor and friend, Shirley Henderson.

  Friend. Yes, Shirley was her friend, her only friend. The other people she knew were acquaintances. She didn’t date, so there was no escort-forthe-evening arriving at her door.

  Her life, Janice supposed, would appear rather bleak and lonely to someone examining it, but it suited her perfectly. It was just the way she wanted it.

  Janice’s musings were interrupted by three laughing and chattering women who came into the boutique.

  “Good afternoon,” Janice said pleasantly. “May I help you with something, or would you prefer to just browse?”

  One of the women w
alked over to the counter.

  “We’re shopping for gifts for Mindy Winterson’s bridal shower. One of our friends said that Mindy was registered here, and that you would be able to tell us what has already been purchased for our little bride-to-be.”

  “Certainly.” Janice reached beneath the counter for an oblong, puffy, white-covered ledger. She set it on the counter and flipped it open. “Winterson.” She lifted a tab witha W printed on it. “Yes, here she is. I see she’s having a June wedding.”

  The woman laughed. “With the reception inside an air-conditioned country club, thank goodness.”

  Janice turned the ledger around so the woman could read the neat writing on the lined page.

  “Oh, dear,” the woman said. “Look at all the goodies Mindy is already receiving. Could you help us find gifts that will be different from the others? This is Mindy’s favorite store, and we’d hate to go anywhere else for her presents.”

  “We’ll put together a lovely ensemble for her,” Janice said. “There’s a great deal left to choose from, and we can coordinate it if we use our imaginations.”

  “Excellent. Oh, this is going to be such fun.”

  Janice left the ledger open so the women could refer to it, then slid the mail into a wire basket on the top shelf beneath the counter, not aware that the gallery brochure slipped free and landed next to the cash register. She emerged from behind the counter to assist the women in their shopping spree.

  Fifteen minutes later a vast array of items sat next to the ledger, with the women declaring they were far from finished selecting gifts for their darling Mindy.

  “We’ve just added scented candles to the inventory,” Janice said. “We have aromas that match the soaps, oils and bath beads.”

  “Marvelous,” one of the women said, then laughed. “I’m going to buy two of whatever I like. I’m due for some delicious pampering myself.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Janice said, smiling. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you what we have.”

  Outside of Sleeping Beauty, Taylor gave the window display a thorough perusal.

  Classy stuff, he thought. The high quality of the feminine garments was evident even through a panel of glass. Nice variety, too. A couple of the whatever-they-were—teddies?—were sexy as hell; another was more sedate. That white satin nightgown with the matching robe would cling to every enticing, feminine curve of a woman’s body.

  This was not a store that a man would feel comfortable in, Taylor thought, frowning. Did guys really march inside to shop for their lady, just as bold as you please?

  “Not me,” he mumbled. “Not in this lifetime.”

  Enough stalling, Sinclair, he told himself. Standing on the sidewalk wasn’t going to accomplish his mission of introducing himself to the mysterious Janice Jennings.

  With a resigned sigh, he strode to the door and entered Sleeping Beauty.

  Chapter Two

  Janice looked up when she heard the door to the shop open. She did a double take when she saw that the new arrival was a man.

  She would rather deal with the most hard-toplease female customer, she thought, frowning, than a member of the male species.

  During the five years that Sleeping Beauty had existed, she had yet to have a man come into the boutique who was totally at ease in the femininity-personified environment.

  They either fidgeted and mumbled, anxious for the moment when they could make their escape, or they covered their embarrassment with sexual innuendos regarding the offered apparel.

  Then there were those who attempted to give the impression that they shopped for women’s lingerie every day of the week. They whipped out charge cards and grabbed hangers off the rack willy-nilly, with no thought to size or color coordination.

  Which category would this male customer fall into? Janice wondered. He was certainly goodlooking, she’d give him that. He was, in fact, the most ruggedly handsome man to step foot into her frilly domain.

  He was tall, at least six feet, and he had thick, light brown hair that was sun-streaked to nearly blond in places. His dark suit, complemented by a crisp white shirt and dark tie, was obviously custom-tailored, accentuating his broad shoulders and long, muscular legs. His features were chiseled enough to keep him from being tagged a pretty boy.

  He was the type of man who had to beat women off with a stick, the kind who could pick and choose his companion for an evening from the most beautiful women available in the swinging singles scene.

  He could be married, Janice mused, but she seriously doubted it. Experience had taught her that men like this one weren’t interested in settling down for a lifetime with one woman.

  Why should they, when there was an endless stream of glamorous females willing and able to keep them company and warm their beds?

  As he stood, sweeping his gaze over the store, she realized he was not going to disappear simply because she wished he would.

  “Would you excuse me a moment?” Janice said to the women, who were examining the scented candles.

  “Yes, certainly,” one of them said. “Take your time. These candles are wonderful, and we can select our own bath accessories to go with the ones we like.”

  “Fine,” Janice said, smiling. “I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.”

  She turned and started toward the man, who was still perched just inside the door.

  So here she was, the mysterious Janice Jennings, Taylor thought as he watched the woman approach him. She was tall, and moved with a gracefulness that was either natural, or had been practiced for many years.

  Her face was very, very pretty, with delicate features, big blue eyes and kiss-me-right-now lips.

  But...

  What had his father said? Oh, yes, now he remembered. Clem had remarked that Janice Jennings was attractive, but then again she wasn’t.

  That strange statement hadn’t made one bit of sense at the time, but now it did. There was something not quite....right about Ms. Jennings.

  The woman stopped several feet in front of Taylor and produced a small smile.

  “May I help you find a particular item,” she said. “Or would you prefer to browse?”

  There was definitely something wrong here, Taylor thought. Up close, Janice was even more beautiful than she’d appeared from across the room.

  Long, dark lashes emphasized sapphire eyes despite the heavy, dark-framed glasses she wore. Her skin was peaches and cream, dewy, absolutely lovely. Her voice had caressed him like plush velvet and caused an instantaneous coil of heat to tighten low in his body.

  The sun was cascading directly over her blond hair, turning it into a shiny golden halo that made his fingers tingle with the urge to pull the pins from her matronly bun and allow the tresses to fall free.

  As far as he could tell, Janice wore no makeup, not even a touch of lipstick. And that suit she had on? What a horrendous outfit.

  His father was right. Janice Jennings was very attractive, but then again...she wasn’t. It didn’t add up. How could a woman who was highly successful selling extremely feminine apparel be so oblivious to her own femininity?

  “Sir?”

  “What?” Taylor said, jerked back from his rambling thoughts. “Oh. I’m Taylor Sinclair, Ms. Jennings. Your new accountant. I’d like to speak with you, if I may? You’re obviously busy and I’m in no rush. I’ll just wait until you’re free.”

  “You’re Clem’s son?” Janice said, her frown deepening. Taylor was single, she remembered, because she’d asked Clem if his son would be moving a family to Phoenix from San Francisco, providing grandchildren to fill some of Clem’s retirement hours.

  Taylor smiled. “In the flesh.”

  Good grief, Janice thought, feeling an unwelcome shiver course down her spine. Taylor Sinclair’s smile was deadly.

  Well, she wasn’t impressed by the oh-somasculine and gorgeous Mr. Sinclair. He was the love-‘em-and-leave-’em type. She knew how they operated, and she didn’t like them one iota.

 
; Taylor Sinclair was the last kind of man she’d choose to do business with.

  Janice sighed.

  She did not want Taylor to be her accountant, but the idea of finding a new one held little appeal. She had been secure in the knowledge that Clem would never divulge that she was the owner of Sleeping Beauty. Clem had been adamant that his son would be equally discreet.

  Well, so be it. It was the “bird in the hand” theory. Her secret was safe with a Sinclair, and the peace of mind that brought her was worth a great deal. She didn’t have to like Taylor to be his client, and it wasn’t as though she’d have that much contact with him, anyway.

  “All right,” Janice said, nodding. “If you don’t mind waiting until I’m free, that’s fine with me. Make yourself at home, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “It’s Taylor...Janice,” he said, producing another hundred-watt smile. “I like to be on a firstname basis with my clients. I realize that you’re the manager of Sleeping Beauty and not the owner, but my father explained that I would be dealing directly with you.”

  “That’s correct,” she said, lifting her chin. “The owner lives out of state.”

  “Mmm,” he said.

  “Yes...mmm.”

  Janice narrowed her eyes, then spun around on her clunky shoes to rejoin the women who were still examining the bath products.

  Taylor watched her go, noting the perfection of her shapely calves and delicate ankles. But her feet sported a somebody’s-grandmother style of shoes.

  Yes, indeed, he thought, Ms. Sleeping Beauty was a mysterious woman, a puzzle to be solved. There were so many questions surrounding the enigmatic Janice.

  And finding the answers could prove to be challenging and very, very interesting.

  Curbing a smile, Taylor began to wander aimlessly around the store, at times nodding in approval at the manner in which Janice had displayed the merchandise.

  Mounted on the many racks of hanger-held apparel were gleaming, oval glass stands where color-coordinated items were displayed. Janice had added extra touches to the array that made it far from the ordinary.