“Oh, well, that’s okay,” Mya said. “You can try them on when you feel like it. They’re yours now. And there are so many pretty things. I know you’ll fall in love with them. Oh, and I got you some sleepwear too. I figured you would need that.”
“And unmentionables,” Mark called. “We didn’t know if you preferred going au naturel or not.”
“Be assured there’s not one granny panty in the bunch,” Frankie said.
Greyson watched as Jenna’s thoughts reflected on her face. She was a very expressive person. He didn’t think she’d admit to it.
“I guess I do need pajamas and . . . the unmentionables,” Jenna said. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look at the rest.”
Greyson smiled as Mya raced out of the room to select a few bags for Jenna.
“I thought you were going to return everything,” Greyson said.
Jenna glared. “I do need some of these things.”
“Giving up?”
“No, just re-strategizing,” Jenna said. “I’ll find a way to pay you back.”
“Not necessary.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, gazing down at her suit, her lips pressing into a fine line before opening into an O. “How firm are you about selling your house as is?”
“The papers are signed.”
Her hand waived off the technicality. “You can get out of it.”
“For a hefty fee,” he said.
“But you’ll make it back plus more once we open the bed and breakfast. I’ll take care of everything for free in exchange for you buying the wardrobe.” Jenna’s hopeful eyes rested on Greyson.
Greyson leaned back in his chair, settling comfortably as he watched Jenna’s composure shift between uncertainty and hope. He let the seconds tick away.
“Well?” she finally asked.
“What’s in it for me?” he asked, his smile was internal.
“More money.”
He shrugged and glanced at his nails. He really needed to wear gloves in the garden. He had never thought much about his hands’ appearance, but the hard labor was taking its toll.
“I have enough money,” he finally said.
“You’ll finish your project,” she countered. “I know you don’t like to leave anything unfinished.”
“I think of it as a growing experience.”
Jenna’s lips pressed together again. He tried not to let his smile slip onto his lips, but the corners started tugging up. He rubbed his beard, wiping off any trace of a smile and looked up innocently at Jenna, who scowled back.
“It’ll keep me busy on-site,” she said. “Less of a chance for me to wander off.”
“I believe you already promised that you wouldn’t wander off,” he said, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.
She shrugged and glanced at her nails, mirroring the same move he had used.
The little tease.
Greyson slowly stood. He walked to stand directly in front of her, so close that she had to tilt her head up to look at him.
“If I agree to this, there will be conditions,” he said.
“Like what?”
“You agree to never leave the property unless we’re together.”
“Okay.”
“And —”
“And? Isn’t that one condition enough?” she asked.
“Hardly. You will also do everything I ask of you without question or complaint,” he said.
Her stance instantly became defensive. “What kind of condition is that? I could hardly agree to something like that when I don’t know what you’d ask of me.”
“It’s nothing sinister.”
“I wasn’t thinking sinister, but . . .” Her face flushed.
Greyson’s smile broke through. She swatted his chest, which only made him laugh.
“I wasn’t thinking of that either,” he said. “I just meant that if there’s work to be done or if we are in danger, you’ll follow my direction and not lock horns with me like usual. I already have a request that I know you’ll balk at.”
“Like what?” she questioned.
“You have to agree first.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life rarely is,” he said. “So, do we have a deal?”
Mya bustled into the bedroom with shopping bags. “What do you want to see first?” she asked, her radiant smile beaming at the couple.
At first, Greyson thought Jenna would argue the point, but as Mya began pulling out one article of clothing after another with such enthusiasm it was infectious, Jenna sighed, shoulders sagging. “I agree. What’s your first command, oh great one?” she drawled.
“You’re sleeping with me tonight.”
Chapter 16
Jenna knew her mouth was hanging open, wide and unflattering. But how could she react otherwise? He wanted her to sleep with him! For a heap of fabric! And the grin that was rapidly spreading across his mouth was not helping her situation. He couldn’t possibly believe she’d agree to something like this. But she had.
She had agreed.
Well, that just meant that she was going to have to un-agree. They hadn’t signed anything.
“I didn’t agree to sleep with you,” Jenna said, her words hissed in a whisper so as not to reach Mya’s ears. Mya was so absorbed in her purchases that she probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway.
“You said you agreed. I heard you,” Greyson said.
“Yes, but I didn’t know I was agreeing to take orders from a lunatic!”
“Sounds like you should’ve read the fine print,” he said.
“There was no fine print! It was a verbal agreement, which is now cancelled.”
“There’s always fine print. And your verbal agreement is your signature.”
“I’m erasing my signature.”
Greyson laughed. “You can’t do that.”
“Then I rip up the contract.”
“Rather impossible since it’s verbal. And binding.”
Jenna stomped her foot instead of what she wanted to do, throttle the man standing in front of her.
“You said there’d be no sex involved,” she gritted.
“I never said anything of the sort,” he said. “In fact, the word sex never even passed my lips.”
“But you said you weren’t thinking of it.”
“Correct,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking of it at the time. But now . . .”
Jenna swatted his arm and turned to storm away. He caught her before she could leave.
“Jenna,” he said with laughter in his voice. “I wasn’t serious. I just meant that we should sleep in the same room until we’re certain it’s safe to do otherwise. If you sleep a floor above me, we wouldn’t be able to hear if the other needed help. It’d be safer and easier if we’re together. You can have the bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Jenna resisted the strong urge to smack him again. He deserved it. But sadly, the only emotion she felt right now was indignation that he didn’t want to sleep with her. She went from anger that he had the audacity to order her to have sex with him to anger that he didn’t want her at all.
Ludicrous.
She didn’t even know how to respond. Her tongue was stuck in suspended animation.
“Ice cream.”
“What?” Greyson asked, tilting his head.
Jenna shook Greyson’s hand off her. “I need ice cream. Maybe some wine.”
“Do you mean Mr. Miller’s wine?”
“Shut it!” Jenna barked and stalked downstairs.
“Bring me a glass,” Greyson’s voice followed her.
She snorted. Like she was going to bring him anything! He didn’t even like her enough to want to sleep with her.
It didn’t matter.
It wasn’t like she wanted to sleep with him either.
He had a way of getting under her collar. Somehow the rude, unattractive gardener became . . . Greyson. Just Greyson. Rude, strong, opinionated, commanding, controlling, and utterly
handsome even-with-an-ugly-beard-especially-when-he-smiled Greyson.
Jenna stormed into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and spoon. She dug through the freezer to find death by chocolate ice cream. She then trolled the wine for a dry red. When she had her bowl heaped with ice cream in front of her, she drowned it in red wine.
She had the presence of mind to drape a dishcloth over herself before she dug in. No matter how upset, she didn’t want to ruin her beautiful new suit that cost a giant chunk of her ego.
Jenna sometimes made ice cream concoctions, but this one was a first. And she didn’t even care how it tasted. She wanted ice cream, and she needed the numbing effects of wine before she made a fool out of herself . . . yet again.
It didn’t taste foul like she had suspected. The sweet competed with the dry wine for a unique flavor. Ten minutes later, she was licking the bowl clean.
Unfortunately, that’s how Greyson found her.
Another chunk of ego bit the dust.
His eyes traveled from her dishtowel bib to her empty bowl and then to her mouth. “You have a bit of ice cream,” he said, gesturing to the corner of his upturned lip.
Jenna wiped her mouth off with the dishtowel and then discarded it on the counter. “I want to be alone.”
“I have to make tea for Mya,” Greyson said. “I think she overexerted herself today, and now she’s on the couch moaning over a nauseated stomach.”
“Oh.”
Greyson filled the kettle and set it on the stove. He then picked up a wine glass and poured a generous amount from the bottle still sitting on the counter before settling next to Jenna. She inched away.
“I owe you an apology,” he said, sipping the wine. “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me want to taunt you. As crazy as it sounds, I enjoy our spars.”
“You do?” she asked, realizing that it didn’t sound all that crazy. She might bristle with hostility at the time of their skirmishes, but she never shied away. She charged in with the same level of bullheaded tenacity that he did.
He nodded. “At first I didn’t. But I keep finding ways to engage you. It’s become almost a game. I’m sorry I didn’t clear up the confusion right away.”
“Which time?” she asked. If he apologized for everything, she’d know he was lying. And she didn’t want him to be sorry. It meant that everything they’d fought about had been a mistake. Nothing about these past days had been a mistake. Not really.
His smile was instant. “I’m only sorry for the latest error.”
She returned the smile, feeling it down to the tips of her toes. “Then I’m only sorry for hitting you when I should have known you were teasing.”
“You hit me?” His question mocked.
“At least twice.”
“Didn’t feel a thing.”
She swatted him again, only this time he caught her hand against his chest. She tried to tug it away, but he kept it solid against him. She looked up to find his eyes on her, the laughter that had been there before was gone.
Perhaps he wasn’t teasing after all. Maybe he did want more.
Her?
Jenna’s pulse raced as he drew her closer, his head dipping just slightly as his eyes continued to hold her in a trance.
The tea kettle shrilled.
Jenna jumped at the sound, ripping her hand away from Greyson. He stood to walk over to the stove and remove the kettle from the burner.
“Would you like some?” he asked.
Jenna shook her head, wondering if she had imagined everything. How could he casually make tea when she swore he was just about to kiss her? Her hands were sweating, her heart was lodged in her throat, and her head had floated into the atmosphere.
He was his normal in-control self.
For once, she wanted to see him out of control. Not in temper, she had seen that. But in passion.
Could he be passionate? She had a feeling he could, if he allowed himself. What if he had no choice in the matter? What if he just let go for once?
They were questions that she wanted the answers to. And she was going to get them, but it required planning.
A full-scale battle strategy.
She wanted this. She wanted Greyson.
Jenna smiled.
He’d never know what hit him.
* * *
The tea must have worked to soothe Mya’s stomach because she bounded off the couch with her usual peppiness and cajoled Jenna to try on nearly every outfit purchased. Greyson watched as the fashion show commenced, with added commentary from both Frankie and Mark.
Even Gus had waddled upstairs to watch the show. Although, Greyson suspected it was for the hot dogs Mark had hidden in his handmade kitty care bag that looked exactly like princess Gus.
Poor Gus.
Greyson knew Mya would purchase bright, skimpy outfits, but nothing could prepare him for how Jenna looked in them. What little self control he had before the tea kettle whistled was nearly tapped out seeing her in little shorts with a shirt that hugged every curve, the neckline dipping low.
Her hair was still down, tossed over to one side as if it was in the way. She had no idea how sexy it was, draped over her shoulder, swaying along her breast as she moved.
He’d have to sleep on the couch in the same room with her and not touch her.
Torture.
Greyson wasn’t sure if she’d accept advances from him. In the kitchen, he almost thought she’d let him kiss her, but then the whistle blew and she returned to his little commander, not the soft, kissable woman he’d had just moments before.
He wasn’t going to make another move unless he was certain. He didn’t want to ignite her temper.
He needed a plan.
A strategy.
This was nothing more than a struggle between them. He had felt her desire even if it was momentary.
He’d keep her safe and win the war.
Greyson smiled. To the victor go the spoils.
And it came in such a lovely package.
* * *
Jenna dug through the clothes heap, frantically searching for pajamas. Greyson had already made his bed on the sofa and was settled in. She, on the other hand, wasn’t remotely prepared. Mya had said she bought pajamas, so where were they? Was there a bag missing?
“Is everything okay?” Greyson asked, peering over a book.
“I think a bag is missing.”
“How can you tell?” he asked, eyeing the knee-high debris pile she was wading through.
“I can’t find pajamas, and Mya said she bought them.”
“They might still be downstairs. I’ll go check,” he said, setting his book down.
“Thank you. I still haven’t reached the bottom yet. I’ll keep searching here.”
Greyson, clad only in pajama bottoms, stretched as he rose and wandered out to the hallway.
This was never going to work. Never. Never. Never.
If he wanted them to stay together, they should’ve at least moved to a different room. She didn’t want to sleep in his bed.
On the other hand, she didn’t feel as alone as before. She always felt safe in this house, but she had still felt alone in her trouble. Now she had three seemingly capable men helping her. It lifted the burden. She could already feel the tension that was constantly gripping her shoulders starting to melt away.
Now if only she could find the dang pajamas so she could will herself to fall asleep instantly and not toss and turn.
With a sigh, she gave up her hunt. She had reached the bottom and couldn’t find anything.
“I think Mya might’ve exaggerated,” Greyson said.
Jenna turned to find Greyson standing in the door, holding a pink boutique bag. Their eyes met, and Jenna knew instantly what was in that bag.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Did you find anything else?” he asked, motioning to the pile.
“No, but Mya wouldn’t call those pajamas, would she?” Jenna asked, pointing to the offending bag.
>
“Yes, she would. Care to look at them? There might be something in here that’d work . . . or not.” Greyson smiled.
Jenna took the bag from his outstretched hand. It was a large bag, so there could be something inside that wouldn’t be revealing. But still, the thought of wearing something considered lingerie while sleeping in a room with a man that she wasn’t intimate with was a little disconcerting.
With Mya, Frankie, and Mark visiting the whole night, she hadn’t had time to plan her strategy for her next battle with Greyson. The contents of this pink bag, however, might be the weapon she needed.
Jenna took the bag into the bathroom and closed the door. She pulled out item after item. As sheer, lacy numbers kept coming, she realized her thrown-together plan was quickly disintegrating. She’d never be able to wear these things. She doubted she could wear them even for a future husband. How Mya could pick these . . . Oh, dear. This is what Mya must wear to bed. With David.
Oh, brother.
How would she look them in the eye after this little tidbit?
Jenna neared the bottom of the bag, hope smothered, until she discovered a silky nightie. It was slinky but covered the necessary parts. The red silk number was just what she needed.
She slipped it on, feeling the light fabric slide down her body until it reached mid-thigh.
Even though it wasn’t see-through, the nightie was so thin that it felt like she was wearing nothing at all. Jenna glanced in the mirror, half expecting to see a monster in red silk. But what she found was something pretty.
It was perfect.
And at this moment she didn’t care if Greyson agreed or if he ran screaming into the night.
She’d prefer it if he didn’t run, though.
Well, here goes nothing, she thought, opening the door.
Chapter 17
Greyson settled onto the couch, arranging himself as comfortably as possible, which was difficult since he was taller than the couch was long. Finally, after a few failed attempts, he managed to find a position that was decent enough not to have limbs stuck out at awkward angles.
Last Tailored Suit Page 13
