JACOB'S PROPOSAL Page 2

  But that wasn't why she'd taken the job. Not the biggest reason, anyway. More important was that she would be living here. According to Sonia, the West mansion had an excellent security system.

  Things weren't normal now. Not since she'd gotten Ken's letter.

  Claire shivered and stuffed her brush back in her purse. To distract herself, she wandered over to the huge Christmas tree. It was impressive, a decorator's delight, covered in old-fashioned ornaments. Impressive and lovely … and rather cold, she thought.

  "Sorry I took so long." Ada's voice came from the arched entry to another hallway, startling Claire. "I made the mistake of checking on Cosmo. Never was a man yet who didn't think he was dying whenever he catches some little bug."

  "Cosmo—?" Claire started to ask who that was, but the little woman had already spun around.

  "Come on." Ada hurried briskly down the hall without looking to see if Claire was following. "He's probably finished talking to Rome by now. And if not, he should be."

  Bemused, Claire followed. The housekeeper stopped in front of the first door on the left, knocked once, then shoved it open. "She's here," Ada announced. "You owe me twenty."

  Claire reminded herself that she'd been Sonia's choice for the position, and Sonia knew her background. Probably she'd told Jacob West about it … and if not, no doubt he would recognize her. A lot of people did. Even after six years, people often took one look at her and remembered the gossip, the scandal and the trial.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, Claire stepped into Jacob West's office. She had a quick, vague impression of wood – an enormous wooden desk, carved wooden wainscoting, cabinets of some kind.

  Mostly, though, she noticed the man.

  Power. That was her first, overwhelming impression. The physical details filtered through that aura of power. Jacob West was a hard man, dark-haired and harsh-featured, with a lean, strong body clothed in custom-tailored trousers and a crisp dress shirt. He was also tall, she realized when he stood up behind his desk. She was five foot nine, and he stood at least six inches taller.

  He nodded at Claire, but spoke to his housekeeper. "The bet was for ten o'clock. It's twelve minutes after."

  "She got here before ten. Pulled up in the driveway at five minutes till, but you were on the phone." She held out her hand, wiggling the fingers. "Pay up."

  "Why don't we let it ride? Double or nothing that you won't follow the doctor's orders this afternoon and nap."

  Ada snorted. "You won't get me that easy. Pay up."

  The glimmer in those icy eyes might have been anger, or amusement, or even fondness. Impossible to tell. He pulled out a money clip and peeled off a bill. Ada took it, tucked it into her apron pocket and trotted for the door.

  She paused long enough to say, "Lunch is at one. Burritos. Don't let Jacob push you around. The boy has things too much his way, too much of the time."

  The door closed behind her with a firm click.

  "Well." Claire couldn't keep from smiling. "Sonia told me I would like Ada. I think she was right."

  The trace of emotion that had lived in his face when he spoke to his housekeeper left when she did. He looked directly at Claire.

  Such odd eyes, she thought. The color of a cloudy winter sky, neither blue nor gray, and very pale, fringed by lashes as dark as his hair. Pale, sexy, cold … at first.

  It wasn't recognition she saw in his eyes. It was heat, rich and dark and starkly sexual.

  He hid the reaction quickly, so she ignored it, crossing to him and holding out her hand. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Mr. West."

  His hand was hard and warm and slightly callused – and heat licked up her spine, followed by the quick, sharp bite of panic. Dammit, of all the times for her hormones to kick in—!" She'd handle it, she assured herself as she dropped his hand a little too quickly. She wasn't a wild kid anymore.

  "Sonia speaks highly of you." His voice was as cool and contained as his expression. "I'm glad you were able to accept my offer. I intend to make the fullest use of your talents."

  "Good. I hope to learn a lot from you while I'm here."

  "Perhaps you will," he murmured, and moved away from the desk. "I'll put you to work as soon as possible, but you'll need to familiarize yourself with some of my projects first."

  The file cabinet he went to was one of four lined up neatly against one wall. Instead of the usual gray or beige metal, though, these were made from the same rich cherry wood as his desk.

  All in all, West's office was more manor house than castle or mansion, she decided. Beautiful, expensive, with a restrained elegance.

  Rather like the man. Not that he was beautiful, not with those harsh features, but he did have a certain elegance. Funny. She hadn't thought power and elegance had much in common, but when she looked at him…

  Sternly Claire brought her thoughts back to business. "You want me to read up on your current projects before I tackle anything concrete?"

  "Yes." He brushed aside a dangling stem and unlocked the top drawer in one cabinet.

  The stem he'd pushed aside belonged to an ivy. Not any ordinary ivy, however. This one sprawled across the tops of all four file cabinets like an invading army. Having claimed its immediate territory, the plant now had designs on the floor, judging by the way tendrils snaked down here and there.

  A single red Christmas ball dangled from one of those tendrils. She smiled. "Don't look now, but I think your ivy has eaten your files."

  "The damned thing won't stop growing." He pulled out one file folder, closed that drawer and opened another one. "Two years ago, when Sonia gave it to me for Christmas, it was in a six-inch pot."

  "Have you considered feeding it less?"

  "I don't feed it. Sonia does, though I've never caught her at it. She won't let me get rid of it."

  The Iceman's assistant wouldn't let him get rid of a plant? Claire accepted the stack of files he held out. "I think it's massing for an assault. You'd better be careful. Your desk is only a few feet away."

  He smiled. And her knees went weak. "It's pretty fast as vegetation goes, but as a member in good standing of the animal kingdom, I'm faster. I think I can evade any sneak attacks."

  "Yes, of course." And she was an idiot, chattering about the man's plant and trying to keep from panting. Or grabbing him. What was wrong with her? She smoothed out her expression. "If you'll show me to my office, I'll start reading."

  "This way." He moved to the opposite wall, where a door was nearly hidden in the elaborate wainscoting. "Pay particular attention to everything relating to the Stellar Security deal. I'll be needing a report on one of the participants as soon as possible."

  She followed him into the adjoining office – and stopped dead.

  There was a bed in the room. Well, in one section of a very long room, the half that wasn't office. There was also a television, easy chairs and other furniture, with a tiny kitchenette tucked in one corner.

  The other corner held the bed.

  "Unfortunately my secretary is ill," he was saying. "So— What's wrong?"

  "I, ah, hadn't realized that my living quarters and my office were going to be one and the same."

  "I had this room converted when Sonia's arthritis made using the stairs difficult. Is there a problem with it?"

  "Oh, no. No problem. I was just surprised. It's a pleasant room, actually. In a green sort of way."

  And it was, on both sides of the divider. The ten-by-twelve-foot office area held an L-shaped desk with the usual computer paraphernalia, a bright green swivel chair, a visitor's chair, file cabinets, a bookcase and floor-to-ceiling shelves. And what looked like a couple hundred plants.

  African violets basked under a special light in the shelves; several varieties of ferns snuggled into one corner, nearly hiding the bookcase. A ficus competed with a small palm and some other tropical plant for space in front of the window, while more plants that she couldn't identify occupied every bare spot on the desk, shelves and bookcase.
A relative of the ivy in West's office was trying valiantly to cover the latticed screen that separated the office section from the bed/sitting room.

  Claire shook her head wonderingly. "Sonia asked me to look after her plants while I was here. She didn't mention that she lives in a jungle."

  "Sonia likes plants."

  "So I see. I suppose you have to count yourself lucky she's only given you one."

  "I threatened to spray her room with weed killer if she did it again."

  "That's a joke, right?" But there was no glimmer of amusement in those eyes … quite fascinating eyes, really, the sort that made a woman wonder what they looked like when—

  "Would you mind if I called you Claire? I prefer to be on a first-name basis with my staff."

  A cowardly part of her wanted to say "the more formality, the better." She suppressed it. "Of course – Jacob."

  He nodded. "Ada will give you a key to the front door and explain the security system. I prefer to leave the door connecting our offices open during the workday."

  She smiled. "So you can yell for me when you need me?"

  "I don't yell. When you've acquainted yourself with the basics in those files, I have some letters I need to get out."

  "Ah – letters?"

  "You are familiar with the term?"

  Her lips tightened. "I've heard of it. However, I'm an investment advisor. I prepare reports, in-depth summaries, financial evaluations. I don't do letters. Or windows. And now, I suppose, I'd better start reading."

  A phone rang. There were two of them on her desk, one yellow, one green.

  "The yellow phone is the office line. Answer it."

  She raised her eyebrows at his tone, but went ahead and picked up the banana-shaped receiver. "Jacob West's office. Mr. West is…" She looked a question at him.

  "Unavailable. Unless it's Michael or Luke."

  "…unavailable right now. If you'd like me to take a message – yes, just a moment." She took the message, hung up and swiveled. "Did you ever go to kindergarten?"

  She had the pleasure of seeing him startled. "No."

  "I didn't think so. The 'please and thank you' magic seems to have missed you." She held out the message. "That was Bill Prescott. He'd like you to call back as soon as possible."

  "Later. I don't want to talk to anyone today, unless one of my brothers calls."

  Claire had met Bill Prescott – William Prescott the Third, actually. He was the chairman of the board of a large electronics firm, among other things. He wasn't a man accustomed to being kept waiting. "Am I supposed to screen your calls, then? And handle your correspondence?"

  "Until my secretary is well, yes."

  "No doubt I can fit in any reports you'd like prepared in my spare time. Perhaps you want me to take dictation? Or get you a cup of coffee?"

  "Do you take dictation?" he asked politely.

  "It wasn't a requirement for my degree in Economics."

  "Pity." He studied her a moment. "I pay my staff well. In return I expect a great deal, even from temporary employees such as yourself. If your dignity won't allow you to depart from the strict letter of your duties, tell me now so I can make other arrangements."

  Tell him she wouldn't type his letters and she could go home, where she wouldn't have to compete for space with a jungle, or put up with a highhanded, irritatingly sexy man.

  And wait there for Ken to show up. "I will try to be flexible."

  "Good." He stopped in the doorway. "By the way, Ada supplies us with coffee, the windows are cleaned by a window-washing company and my secretary's name is Cosmo Penopolous."

  "Cosmo what?"

  "Penopolous. When he isn't suffering from a stomach virus, he's also my personal trainer and occasional sparring partner. I do expect a lot from my employees, but my expectations are based on their individual talents, not on stereotypes." He smiled that slow, killer smile. "I look forward to discovering where your particular skills lie, Ms. McGuire. And putting them to use."

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  «^»

  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…