Beauty And The...Man Who’ll Never Let Her Go

Elise Bravo needed a job, desperately. And soldier turned thriller writer Jed Walsh burned through—almost literally, it turned out—assistants like hellfire through brimstone. Turned out he had some...unusual work habits to go along with his giant talent and ego. He threw knives to relax. He cleaned his guns as he acted out scenes. And more than anything, he hated cats...

Enter Elise, crack typist, master plotter and perfect for the live-in job in every way but one...two if you counted Mr. Wiggles, her furry companion. For though Jed had sworn he would never get “involved” with a woman who worked for him, it took only a day or two with the perfectly professional, pencil skirt–wearing Bravo beauty to realize that his interest in Elise broke all the rules. He had to make her his—even if he had to win over her kitty to do it...

“What are you staring at?”

“You.” He thought of the feel of Elise in his arms, the scent of her that he would know anywhere—and it hit him like the proverbial bolt from the blue.

He was going about this all wrong. Staying away from her in order to keep her made no sense at all.

He needed to get closer.

Closer. Dear God. He would love that.

Too bad he was no good at all that love and romance crap. And if he went for it with Elise and it blew up in his face, where would he be then? Zero and two—and minus the assistant who made it all hang together.

“Jed.” She’d reached the table and now stood over him, watching him, her smile indulgent, her eyes so bright. “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

“Not a thing.”

“Liar. You’ve got your scary face on—give me your plate. I’ll warm it up.”

He handed it over. He watched her walk away. Always a pleasure, watching Elise walk away.

What would it be like, him and Elise, living together, working together, sleeping in the same bed night after night? He was starting to think he really needed to find out.

* * *

The Bravos of Justice Creek:

Where bold hearts collide under Western skies

Ms. Bravo and the Boss

Christine Rimmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at www.christinerimmer.com.

For Nalria Wisdom Gaddy, who knows the names of all the flowers and never fails to brighten my day. Nalria, this one’s for you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Elise Bravo wanted a bath. A long, relaxing one. With lots of bubbles. She longed to shed every stitch and pile her hair up on her head. To grab a juicy paperback romance and sink into her slipper tub, the one she’d had specially installed in the big master bath of her two-bedroom apartment above her catering shop in the gorgeous old brick building she co-owned with her best friend, Tracy.

Unfortunately, Elise’s beautiful slipper tub was no more. Neither was her apartment. Her business? Gone, too. Three months ago, the historic building on Central Street in her hometown of Justice Creek, Colorado, had burned to the ground.

As for her lifelong best friend? Tracy had moved to Seattle to start a whole new life.

Now, Elise lived in a tiny rented studio apartment over Deeliteful Donuts on the less attractive end of Creekside Drive. The studio had a postage stamp of a bathroom—with a shower, no tub.

And sometimes lately, as she raced through the lunch rush at her sister Clara’s café, or manned the counter at her half sister Jody’s flower shop, Elise could almost lose heart. She was deeply disappointed in herself.

Because it wasn’t the fire that had ruined her life. She’d been in trouble long before the idiot tenants who leased a shop on the ground floor had disabled the fire alarms and then left a hot plate turned on in the back room when they slipped out to run errands. By then, bad choices had already brought Elise to the brink of ruin. The fire had only slathered a thick helping of frosting on her own personal disaster cake.

Elise was one of four siblings. She had five half siblings. Of the nine children of Franklin Bravo, Elise was the only one who’d blown through her very generous inheritance. Shame dogged her for every one of her stupid choices in life, in love and in business. She was circling the drain and she didn’t really know what to do about it.

Except to hold her head high, work hard and keep moving forward.

* * *

After the lunch rush at the Library Café on that fateful day in June, Elise took off her waitress apron and transferred her tips to her purse. Her sister Clara waved at her as she went out the back door.

It was a warm, sunny day. Elise had walked to the café. Now, she set out on foot along Central Street headed for Jody’s shop, Bloom. It was good exercise, walking. Not to mention, it saved on gas. Walking fast, she could reach Bloom in six minutes and be right on time to give Jody a break at two o’clock.

She made it with a minute to spare. Jody, at the counter with a customer, glanced over at the sound of the bell. “There you are.”

“What? Am I late? I thought we said—”

“You’re not late,” said a voice to Elise’s left. She whipped her head around in surprise as her other half sister popped out from behind a ficus tree and grabbed Elise’s arm. “We need to talk.”

“What the...?” Elise tried to jerk free. “Nell! Let me go.”

But Nell, who worked in construction, had a grip like a sumo wrestler. “Come on in back.”

Elise sent Jody a pleading look as Nell dragged her toward the swinging café doors on the far side of the counter. “Jody, will you tell her to let go of—”

“Hear her out,” Jody interrupted. She was tucking a stunning arrangement of succulents and red anthuriums into one of Bloom’s trademark green-and-pink boxes. “This could be good for you.”

“This? What?” Elise huffed in frustration as Nell knocked the doors wide and dragged Elise into the back room. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“This way.” Nell pulled her into Jody’s office and shut the door. “Sit.”

Elise plunked her purse on Jody’s desk. “This is ridiculous.”

“Just sit down and listen.”

“Fine.” Elise dropped into the guest chair. “But Jody has errands to run and she needs me out front.”

“Don’t worry about Jody. She’ll manage without you.” Nell braced a hip against the desk and crossed her arms over her spectacular breasts.

Actually, Nell was spectacular all over. She had legs for days and long, thick auburn hair and lips like Angelina Jolie. A half sleeve of gorgeous ink accentuated her shapely left arm. Elise, on the other hand, possessed neither the style nor the courage to get a tattoo. She had dark brown hair, ordinary lips and a body that was heavier than it used to be due to some serious stress eating since the fire. Really, how could she and the gorgeous creature in front of her possibly share half of the same genes?

Elise and Nell had a difficult history. Recently, they’d healed the old wounds. But Elise still felt guilty about the way she’d treated Nell when Nell’s mother married their father. And lately, with all that had gone wrong in Elise’s life, the guilt was worse than ever. Now, she looked back on her earlier sense of entitlement and verging-on-mean-girl behavior and couldn’t help wondering if she deserved the hard knocks she kept taking.

Still. Nellie had no right to go dragging her all over the place.

Elise folded her own arms tight and hard to match her sister’s pose and demanded, “All right, I’m listening. What do you just have to talk to me about?”

Nell tossed her glorious hair. “A job, that’s what. A lot better job than busting your butt waiting tables for Clara and running the register for Jody.”

“What job?” Elise tried to stay pissed off, mostly in order not to get her hopes up. But still, she could feel it. A sudden pulse of optimism, a lifting sensation under her ribs. She used to love it when she got that feeling. Not anymore. Lately, hope only led to disappointment. She’d had way more than enough of that already, thank you very much.

Nell uncrossed her arms and hitched a long jean-clad leg up on the desk. “This is the deal. Jed Walsh is in need of another assistant.” Jed Walsh, so the story went, had grown up in a one-room cabin on a mountain not far from Justice Creek. He’d moved away right out of high school, eventually becoming the world-famous author of a series of bestselling adventure novels. Several months ago, he’d come back to town.

And yep. There it was. The sinking sensation that came when each new hope was dashed. “Of course Jed Walsh needs a new assistant. He always needs a new assistant. How many has he been through now?” Since his return to town, Walsh’s inability to keep an assistant had become downright legendary.

“Don’t be negative,” her sister muttered.

“Nellie. They run away screaming. He’s that bad.”

“Let me finish. I was at Walsh’s house an hour ago switching out custom hardware and—”

“What are you doing switching out hardware?”

“Stop changing the subject.” Nell worked with their brother Garrett running Bravo Construction. They’d built Walsh’s new house.

“But switching out hardware is way below your pay grade.”

“If you must know, when Jed Walsh wants a tweak or an upgrade, I handle it. He can be annoying and I don’t want him giving our people any crap. And because I was just there at his house, I heard him fire the woman he hired a few days ago.” She leaned toward Elise. “I know you can type, Leesie. I remember you took keyboarding class back in high school and Mrs. Clemo kissed your ass because you were so good at it.”

“So what? I hate typing.”

“Yeah, maybe. But you can do it and do it well. And that’s what Jed Walsh needs. Someone to type his book while he dictates it. The man pays big bucks.”

“Come on. No one ever lasts. They all say he’s a slave driver. And just possibly borderline insane. I’ve heard the stories. He terrorizes them. Seriously, why would I last when no one else has?”

“Because it’s a lot of money.”

“Not if I run away screaming, it’s not.”

“You’re not running anywhere. You’ll be the one who lasts.”

“And you say that because...?”

“You’re motivated. And deep down, where it counts, you’re as tough as they come.”

“Thanks. But no thanks.” Elise reached for her purse.

Nell got to it first. She shoved it away to the center of the desk.

“Enough now, I mean it.” Elise rose. “Cut it out.”

“Please stop.” Nell looked straight in her eyes and spoke with heartfelt intensity. “Come on, Leesie. Give up the act. You need the money and you need it bad. Stop pretending you don’t.”

Elise realized her mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut. She’d been so sure that nobody knew the extent of her problem. She sank back into the chair and hung her head. “Just tell me. Please. Does everybody in the family know?” Silence from Nell. Elise made herself lift her head and pull her shoulders up straight. “Do they?”

Slowly, Nell nodded. “We love you and we are not blind. You’re working yourself into the ground. And if you had the money, you would have reopened Bravo Catering when the insurance paid out.” She would have, it was true. But half of that money had been Tracy’s and Tracy had finally admitted that the catering business wasn’t for her. Plus, Elise had had all those debts to pay. In the end, they’d split the insurance money and sold the lot to a merchant next door who wanted to expand. Once Elise had paid off what she owed, there wasn’t much left. Nell went on, “That’s why you need to go see Jed Walsh. Leesie, we are talking thousands a week if you can last.”

“Oh, come on. Thousands? For a secretary?”

“The woman he just fired said so. I asked her as she was stomping out the door.”

“She must have been exaggerating. If he pays thousands, someone would have stayed.”

“No. I think he’s actually that bad. And he’s evidently damn picky. Most of them he fires, so they can’t stick no matter how much they want the money he’s paying. But the good news is, he’s really desperate now. I heard he’s blown off his book deadline over and over. At some point he’s got to keep an assistant and get the damn book done.”

Elise sighed in defeat. “Be realistic. If none of the others can put up with him, what makes you think I can?”

“Because you’re a Bravo and a Bravo gets out there and gets it done.” Nell stood. “Jed Walsh is going to get the assistant he needs, which is you. And that means Jed Walsh is going to put you back in the black.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

Nell braced her hands on her shapely hips. “You know, Leesie... On second thought, you’re right. You should just give up now. We all love you and we’re all doing great financially. We can help and we will. No one’s going to hold it against you if you let your family rescue you from the consequences of your own stupid pride and bad decision-making.”

Elise rose again, slowly. She said in a low voice that sounded like a threatening growl, “No. Freaking. Way. I’ll rescue myself, just you watch me.”

A slow grin tipped the corners of Nell’s impossibly sexy lips. “That’s the spirit.” She grabbed a square of paper from the pad on the desk and bent to scribble on it. Then she took Elise’s hand and slapped the paper in it. “Here’s the address. Now get over there and show Mr. Number One New York Times Bestselling Author that you’re the assistant he’s been looking for.”

* * *

Walsh’s new house was really something, Elise thought. Bravo Construction must be proud. Surrounded by giant pines and Douglas firs, the gorgeous, rustic, wood-and-stone home sprawled impressively on the crest of a hill.

I really, truly do not want to do this, Elise repeated to herself for the hundredth time as she parked her SUV in front of the slate walk that meandered upward toward the massive front door. Excuses scrolled through her mind: She really should at least have called first. Her typing was rusty. She hated to be shouted at and everyone said that Walsh was a yeller.

But then again, her family knew. She could no longer lie to herself that her abject failure to take care of herself and her future was her own little secret. They knew and they worried for her and if she didn’t pull herself out of this hole she was in, they would do it for her.

Uh-uh. No way. Not going to happen. She’d dug this hole and then fallen into it. One way or another, she would get herself out of it. If there was any possibility that Jed Walsh might provide the solution she’d so desperately been seeking, she needed to convince the madman to hire her.

Elise smoothed her hair, straightened her white button-down shirt and put one foot in front of the other all the way up the winding stone walk. The front porch was really something, made of rough-hewn rock and thick unfinished planks cut from various exotic-looking woods. The studded door had copper sculptures of leaves and vines attached to the windows on either side. No doorbell, just a giant cast-iron boar’s-head knocker.

Elise lifted the knocker and banged it three times against the door. The thing was loud. She could hear the sound echoing on the other side. She waited for a full count of twenty for someone to answer. When no one did, she lifted the ring through the boar’s snout to knock again.

Before she could lower it, the big door swung inward.

And there stood Jed Walsh, a giant of a man in jeans and a black T-shirt with muscles on his muscles, a scruff of beard on his rocklike jaw and a phone at his ear.

He shouted into the phone, “I don’t care about any of that, Holly. She didn’t work out and I need someone else now.” The person on the other end started talking. Walsh pulled the phone from his ear and looked Elise up and down with a way-too-observant pair of icy green eyes. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m Elise Bravo and—”

“With the construction company?” he barked. “The hardware’s great and I’m happy with the copper sink. No problems.” He started to swing the door shut in her face.

Elise talked fast. “You need an assistant and I’m here for the job.”

He grunted, swung the door wide once more and spoke into the phone again. “Never mind for now.” Whoever Holly was, she was still talking as he disconnected the call. And Walsh was giving Elise another leisurely once-over, from the top of her head to the toes of her practical black shoes.

The look was way too assessing. Please. The last thing she needed right now was to have some man—any man, crazy or otherwise—looking her over. She was not at her best, all frazzled and tired, with the buttons down the front of her shirt on the verge of popping and her black pants clinging tighter than they ought to. She was an excellent cook, after all. Plus, there was the donut shop right downstairs from her cramped apartment. Food could offer great comfort when your world went up in flames.

And then again, so what if he ogled her? She hitched up her chin and ogled right back. Let him stare. She didn’t have to be skinny to type.

Eventually, he stepped back and gestured her into his cavernous foyer. Against her better judgment, she went.

“Elise, you said?”

Ms. Bravo to you, she fervently wished she had the nerve to reply. “Elise. That’s right.”

“I’m Jed.”

“I know.”

“Who sent you?”

“My half sister Nell said she thought you might be looking for a new assistant today.”

“Nell Bravo, you mean?”

“That’s the one.”

He frowned, considering. “That was enterprising of Nell.”

Elise could easily lose patience with this guy. “Do you need a new assistant or not?”

Was that a smirk on his face? “Fair enough then, Elise.” The smirk vanished to be replaced by an expression of utter boredom. And then he said in a tone that commanded and dismissed her simultaneously, “Let’s see what you can do.”

He really did piss her off—not that that was a bad thing. Her irritation made her determined to show him he’d be an idiot not to hire her. Because Nellie was right. She was a damn fine typist. But more important, she was a Bravo and a Bravo didn’t let some big, grouchy butthead intimidate her.

“This way.” He turned on his heel and started walking.

She went where he led her, through a fabulous three-story great room, down a hall at the back to a two-story home office with a breathtaking view of the mountains and one entire floor-to-ceiling wall filled with books. The opposite wall was padded, covered in burlap, had a number of bull’s-eye targets hanging from it and was scarily studded with what appeared to be stab marks.

Okay, so maybe he played darts. But stab marks? Surely not...

“Sit here.” He pulled back the high-end leather desk chair in front of a computer with a screen the size of Cleveland.

Her heart pounding wildly, she sat.

He stood way too close behind her. She swallowed hard and pressed her lips together to keep from ordering him to back off. When he reached over her shoulder, she had to steel herself not to flinch as she felt the heat of his big body.

So close, she could smell him. He smelled really good—like cinnamon. She stared at the ropy tendons in his muscled forearm, at the silky brown hair that dusted his tanned skin, at the sheer size of his big hand as he tapped on the keyboard.

A document popped onto the screen.

He withdrew his hand and backed off, moving over so that he stood in her line of sight. “Start a new paragraph.” As the cursor blinked tauntingly at her, he explained, “I’ll use your name as the signal to start and stop. When you hear ‘Elise,’ you will type the next word I say and keep typing every word I utter until I speak your name again. And so on. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

He made a grunting sound, as though he doubted that. “Do not speak. Not one word.” He paused, as if expecting her to say something and thus prove she was incapable of following instructions. Fat chance, buddy. When she only waited, he added, “Fake the punctuation. We’ll clean it up in edits. Elise.”

Did he think she wouldn’t be ready? Ha.

He began, “It was a day for killing underlings.” She typed each word as it fell from his mouth. “A day without mercy, the sky a gray wolf, crouched on the land, hungry and unforgiving. The man in the watch cap was waiting for him at the station as agreed Elise.” He said her name so softly, without even a hint of a pause to signal it was coming.

But she was ready. She punched in a period after the word agreed and stopped typing. The room was suddenly totally silent. A strange, hot little shiver raced beneath her skin as she waited, fingers poised on the keyboard, for the sound of her name.

Finally, almost in a whisper, he said, “Not bad, Elise.” And they were off and running again. “The man thought he was safe, thought he understood his place and his function. He assumed he would come through this in one piece as long as he did his job. But no one was safe. It was the nature of the game they played. Jack didn’t want to kill the man. And maybe, if things went as planned, he wouldn’t have to. Too bad things so rarely proceeded as planned...”

Jed went on, his deep voice rising and falling.

Breathing slowly and evenly, Elise had found that calm space she’d learned to inhabit back in Mrs. Clemo’s second period keyboarding class. So few people took keyboarding, even back then. But Elise had, because you never knew when it might come in handy to actually be good at something so basic, something most people nowadays just fumbled their way through.

Elise let his words wash into her, through her, and then pushed them out her fingers as he kept on.

And on. Sometimes his voice was eerily soft—and sometimes he shouted.

She tuned out his unnerving changes in volume and tone and stayed with her task, typing the words as he spoke them, throwing in punctuation wherever his pace and phrasing seemed to indicate it, stopping when she heard her name, and then waiting—calm, ready, silent—until he said her name again.

There was something about typing that just worked for her, that was as effortless as drawing her next breath.

Not that she’d ever want to type for a living. Uh-uh. Too much sitting. For the long haul, she needed a job with variety, a job where she didn’t have to spend all day on her butt.

But Nellie had mentioned a looming deadline, hadn’t she? How long did he have? A few months at the most? Elise could be a typist for three months. If the money was good enough.

About twenty minutes after he started dictating, Jed said her name yet again—and after that, he was silent.

She cast him a quick, questioning glance.

With one big arm across his chest and the other elbow braced on it, he stroked the scruff of beard on his square jaw, a calculating gleam in his eyes. Finally, he spoke. “The typing test is over. Swivel that chair around.” She turned her chair to face him. “Can you go on like that for hours?”

She took a minute to consider the question.

It was a minute too long, apparently, because he muttered impatiently, “You may speak now.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a sarcasm he either didn’t notice or chose to ignore. “I would need a five-minute break every two hours, long enough to stand up and walk around a little.”

“I can accept that.”

“An hour for lunch.”

He scowled as he continued to stroke his rocklike jaw. Apparently, in his world, typists shouldn’t be allowed to waste precious time on food. But then he conceded, “All right. An hour. But you’ll need to be flexible as to which hour. If the story’s flowing, you might have to wait a while to eat.”

“Even with regular five-minute breaks, there have to be limits. No more than five hours at a stretch without an hour-long break.”

A grunt of disapproval escaped him. But then he agreed, “Five hours. All right. The work will be intense and you’ll need to roll with that. I have to get a book out fast and I’ll need you when I need you—which will be ten to twelve hours a day. You will have to live here and you will work six days a week, with Sundays off.”

Live here in his house? God, it sounded awful. But in the end, it was all about the money. If the money was good enough, she could bear a whole boatload of awful.

And wait. What about Mr. Wiggles? He would have to come with her. “I have a cat. My cat will be moving in with me.”

Dead silence from Walsh. He stopped stroking his jaw and moved to the windows. For several seconds, he stared out at the mountains.

It appeared that Mr. Wiggles was going to be a deal-killer. Well, so be it. She’d barely gotten the big sweetie out alive during the fire. If she had to live with this strange, grumpy man, Wigs was coming with her. Or she wouldn’t come at all.

Jed turned those intense eyes on her again. “Fine. Bring the damn cat.” She felt equal parts triumphant that she’d won her demand and let down that she was one step closer to being Jed Walsh’s typing slave for she still didn’t know how long. She was about to ask him how long the job would last when he said flatly, “Unfortunately, I find you sexually attractive. That could be a problem.” Did he actually just say that? Another of those odd shivers swept through her as he added thoughtfully, “But then there’s the cat. I hate cats. That should help.” Frowning, he kept those cold eyes steadily on her. “You’re thinking I shouldn’t have told you that I’m attracted to you. But I think it’s better if we’re on the same page.”

She probably shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t resist. “What page is that, Jed?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “The one where you know that I’m aware of you as a woman, but we both know that work is the focus here and we will be keeping it strictly professional.”

Elise said nothing. Really, what was there to say? The less the better, clearly. She shouldn’t be flattered. But she was, a little. Apparently the extra pounds she’d put on since the fire didn’t look so bad on her, after all.

“My deadline is November first and it will not be extended.”

“Four and a half months.” She mentally calculated the money that might be hers.

“It’s likely you’ll be finished by mid-October, but I need you to commit till November first, just in case I run into trouble. I do most of my rewriting while composing the first draft of the manuscript. So essentially, the book is finished when I get to the last page. Then I clean it up, but that I usually can do on my own in a couple of weeks, max."

"All right. Four to four and a half months, then."

"Yes. If you last, the position will become permanent. It’s a grind when I’m on a project. But as I said, I type my own rewrites, so as soon as I’ve made it to the end of the first draft, I probably won’t need you until I start the next book. You’ll have weeks and sometimes months off at a time between books.”

Elise thought of all those thousands he supposedly would pay. She could almost let him think she might be willing to type his novels long-term to get a chance at that money.

But she wasn’t willing, no way. And it was only right to let him know up front. “I’m sorry, Jed. If we can come to terms, I’ll do this one project. But as of November first, I’ll be moving on.”

His scowl deepened. “I pay well.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“If you work out, I’ll need you to stay on.”

“Sorry, not happening. I’m done the first of November. If you can’t accept that, then—”

He cut her off with a grunting sound. “All right. Have it your way. Even if you make it through the trial period, you’re done when I finish this book. If it turns out we work well together, I’m not gonna like it, but I need someone ASAP. Let’s move on to the money. You’ll be an independent contractor. You pay your own insurance and deal with your own taxes.”

“Not a problem if the money’s right.”

“Three thousand a week.”

Amazing! When this ordeal was over, she could have enough to get Bravo Catering up and running again. Her heart raced in excitement and her palms started sweating at the prospect. But really, why stop there?

She wiped all signs of greedy glee from her face and manufactured a serene smile. “Four thousand a week.”

His cold stare went subzero. She was dead certain they were done here and she knew a moment of stark regret. No, she didn’t want to sit in a chair all day typing her fingers to the bone, but she did want that money.

And then at last, wonder of wonders, he nodded. “All right. Four.” She was just breaking into her mental happy dance when he added, “If you last. We’ll start with a three-day trial at five hundred a day.”

She opened her mouth to shout out a yes. But some contrary creature within her spoke up first. “I’ll have my own room, correct?”

He looked down his blade of a nose at her. “Of course.”

“Just to be clear, I will need my own bathroom, en suite.”

“There are six bedrooms in this house.” He was wearing his bored face again. “Each has its own bath.”

“I want to see the one where I’ll be staying, please.”

He asked wearily, “Would you prefer the ground floor or upstairs?”

Choices. She loved those. Lately, there had been so few. “Where is your room?”

Green eyes narrowed. “And that matters, why?”

“I need my space.”

He made a humphing sound. “I have half of the upper floor.”

“Ground floor, then.” She really did need a place to go where he wasn’t. “Show me, please.”

Jed’s expression asked why she insisted on wasting his precious time. But all he said was, “Follow me.”

She rose and went after him, back through the great room and down another hallway. He stopped at a door and pushed it inward.

The room on the other side was larger than her apartment over the donut shop. It had a king-size bed and its own sitting area, with a big-screen TV above the modern gas fireplace. The wide windows revealed another beautiful mountain view. There was even a set of French doors leading out to a small private patio. She could hardly wait to settle in.

“Walk-in closet there.” He pointed at one of the two interior doors. “I hope this will do,” he said, heavy on the irony.

She had one more question. The most important one. “May I see the bathroom?”

“Be my guest.” He gestured at that other door.

Elise marched over and pushed it open.

Pure luxury waited on the other side. She’d never been much for the rustic look. But in this case, she could definitely make an exception.

The woodwork was dark and oversize, breathtaking. Travertine tiles in cream and bronze covered the floor and climbed halfway up the walls. The long vanity had two sinks and copper fixtures. There were separate stalls for the toilet and the open shower, which had side jets and a rain showerhead.

Very faintly, she smelled cinnamon. Jed had come to stand behind her in the doorway. “The towel racks have warmers, of course,” he said. “And the floor is heated.”

“Of course,” she said softly, transfixed by the glorious sight of the giant jetted tub tucked into its own windowed alcove. The tub windows had center-mounted cellular shades that could be raised to the top to block glare, or lowered to the bottom for privacy. She could stretch out in bubbly splendor and stare at the sky.

“Well?” Jed demanded.

She turned and met his eyes. “When do you want me to start?”

Chapter Two

Elise Bravo was a find.

Jed knew she was going to last.

He’d known it the minute he’d let her in his house. She wasn’t like the never-ending string of hopeless cases he’d hired and fired in the past year. She could type like nobody’s business while keeping her mouth shut and not getting frazzled or riled. There was something downright soothing about her, something receptive. She was exactly what he’d been afraid he would never find again. At last.

And he liked looking at her. He could go for her, definitely. She was so soft and pretty, round-faced and bright-eyed, with just enough junk in the trunk. She smelled good, as well. Fresh. Like clean sheets.

She also had attitude. Jed liked a woman with attitude. He liked a woman who could hold her own.

Not that he’d ever make a move on her. Any woman could provide sex. But a skilled assistant was a pearl beyond price. He’d learned that the hard way during the past god-awful year after Anna deserted him.

So yeah, he’d resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to be seeing Elise naked. It was going to be all about the work. He’d taken his last extension on this book. With Elise at the keyboard, he would knock the damn thing out.

“I need to get to work immediately,” he said.

“I understand. But first I have to get my cat, move my things and settle in a little.”

The cat. For a moment, he’d almost succeeded in forgetting the cat. “We’ll start tomorrow morning, then,” he said grudgingly.

“Yes. All right, tomorrow.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at the bathroom behind her, as if to reassure herself that it was actually there. She really seemed to like the bathroom. Whatever floats your boat, Elise. She could spend every free moment in there for all he cared. Just as long as she performed during the long working hours. “What about meals?” she asked. “I’ll need to have the use of the kitchen while I’m staying here.”

“No problem. I have a cook-housekeeper, Deirdre, who comes in five days a week. She’ll make plenty for both of us. But if you want to cook, knock yourself out. You can consider the kitchen and any food and drinks you find in it yours.”

“Works for me.” She looked up at him expectantly. Probably because he was blocking her path. “I should get going...”

He felt a definite reluctance to let her out of his sight. Anything could happen. What if she changed her mind about working for him? Got hit by lightning? Got in an accident bringing over her stuff and her damn cat? He warned, “We start work at zero-eight-three-zero hours sharp.”

“That’s eight thirty, right?”

“Correct.”

“No problem. I’ll be here and I’ll be ready.”

He reconciled himself to letting her go. Turning for the outer door, he doled out necessary info as he led her along the hall to the front of the house. “It’s a four-car garage. You can have the bay on the far left. Before you go, I’ll get you a garage-door remote, a house key and the code for the alarm system...”

* * *

At her apartment, Elise parked in her space by the Dumpster and entered the building through the back door. The hallway and the stairwell smelled of donuts from the donut shop in front. She’d grown to hate that smell, mostly because it tempted her constantly. There was something so perfect about a donut, after all. Flour and fat and sugar, deep-fried and glazed or frosted. The purest sort of comfort to a desperate woman’s soul.

Well, bye bye, temptation and hello, jetted tub. So what if she had to type Jed Marsh’s book for a living? She’d have a bath every night and make buckets of money. Life was looking up.

Mr. Wiggles was waiting when she opened the door. “Mrow?” he asked.

“Wigs!” She scooped him up, all twenty-plus superfluffy pounds of him. He was orange, with a huge, thick tail and a deep, loud purr. She buried her face against his lionlike ruff. “We are moving today,” she told him. “We’ll keep this dump for now, I think. And reevaluate our crappy living situation once the job is over.”

“Mrow, mrow,” Wigs replied, as though he understood every word she said. He butted his big head against her cheek to let her know how much he loved her. She gave him one more kiss for good measure and then set him down to start packing.

Her cell rang as she was piling clothes into three suitcases spread open on the lumpy bed.

It was Nellie. “Well?”

“Nailed it.”

“You got the job! I knew you would.”

“I have to live there, in his house.”

“I built that house and Chloe designed the interiors.” Chloe was their brother Quinn’s wife. “You’re gonna love it.”

She thought of the bathtub, of the king-size bed. “Oh, yes, I will. And the money is good. Really good.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. What about Jed? Seriously, you think you can put up with him?”

“He’s not so bad. A little weird. A lot intense.”

“Sexy, though, right? In a club-you-senseless-and-drag-you-to-his-cave sort of way.”

For some unknown reason, Elise felt a hot flush rush upward over her cheeks. “Don’t even go there. He’s my boss now and we’re keeping it strictly professional.”

Nell’s naughty laugh echoed in her ear. “You have way more scruples than can possibly be necessary—and we have to celebrate. I’m buying the drinks.”

“Rain check. I need to get moved in over there tonight. The job starts early tomorrow morning.”

“He gives you crap you can’t handle, you call me.”

Elise’s cheeks were still burning. She could almost smell cinnamon. And what about that crazy thing he’d said? Unfortunately, I find you sexually attractive. “Oh, I think I can handle him.”

Nell laughed. “There. That’s what I’ve been missing. You’ve got your attitude back.”

She felt all misty-eyed suddenly. “Thank you, Nellie.”

“Hey. What’s a sister for?”

“We, um...we’re all right now, you and me. Aren’t we? I mean, I know I was a total bitch to you back in the day...”

“Back in the day? You and Tracy treated me like crap right up until Clara’s almost-wedding to Ryan.” That was nearly two years ago now. Clara hadn’t married her best friend, Ryan McKellan, but she had somehow succeeded in healing the lifelong breach between Elise and Nell—and Nell and Tracy.

Elise defended her absent bestie. “Don’t be too hard on Tracy. She always just followed my lead.” But not anymore. Tracy was forging her own way now.

Nell laughed again. “You’re right. It was all your fault. But I did get my licks in, too. Remember that time I put bubblegum on your breakfast-nook chair?”

Elise started laughing, too. “I loved those yellow shorts. They were never the same.”

“It’s what you get for messing with me.”

“I know. You’re so scary.”

“Oh, yes, I am. And don’t you forget it.”

“Never. And I guess what I’m asking is, do you forgive me for all the mean things I did?”

Nell gave a soft sigh. “You know I do.”

“I’m so glad.”

“Leesie? You’re not getting sappy on me, are you?”

Elise swiped at her damp eyes. “No way. Gotta go.”

They said goodbye and Elise made quick calls to Clara and Jody, to tell them she had a job typing Jed Walsh’s newest book and wouldn’t be in at the café or Bloom the next day.

Then she finished packing and dragged her suitcases down to her car, followed by all the cat gear and, last but not least, Mr. Wiggles. He rode in the front seat, sitting up tall beside her, watching the world go by and making those cute little chirping sounds, his own personal brand of kitty conversation. He loved the car and he never got in the way of her driving, so she’d given up on making him ride in his carrier.

She took the space in the garage that Jed had assigned to her and carried Mr. Wiggles in first, pausing in the utility room to check the alarm. As it turned out, Jed hadn’t armed it when she left, so she didn’t have to mess with it right then. She went on down a hallway and then through the kitchen and great room and down that other hall to her bedroom suite, finding no sign of her employer along the way.

Which was just fine. She had a lot to do and she didn’t need the distraction of dealing with her big, crabby boss.

In her room, she put Wigs down in front of the window, promised him she would be right back and went out to start hauling everything in, taking care to shut the door as she left so he wouldn’t get out. Jed had said he hated cats. No reason to test his patience right off the bat.

By seven, she had everything put away and her stomach was growling. Wigs, meanwhile, alternately circled his empty food bowl, chased the cleaning robot she’d started up a few minutes before and made a big show of scratching at his three-level activity center.

“Okay, okay. I’m on it.” She’d stored his food in the utility room, which had seemed the most logical place for it. She scooped up his food bowls—for wet and for dry—and went out the door again.

The hallways and great room and kitchen were empty. Very odd. Her first night in his house and Jed had vanished into thin air.

She considered peeking into his office, or even looking for him upstairs.

But the thought of wandering through the unfamiliar house trying to track him down made her even more uncomfortable than not having a clue as to where he’d gone. So she went ahead to the utility room to dish up Wigs’s dinner. She was pulling the top off a can when she heard music.

She shouldn’t snoop.

But really. Where was he? And, no, wait... A better question was why did she care?

Well, she cared because...

Okay, fine. She had no idea why she cared.

She set the opened can on the counter and stuck her head out into the hall. Yep. Music.

She followed the faint sound back out into the great room, to the wide central staircase that switched up and back from the lower level to the top floor. It was coming from downstairs, the basement level. She leaned over the railing, listening. It was something with a hard beat, but the sound remained muffled, indistinct. Maybe there was a TV room down there. Her curiosity increased. She left the railing and started down the stairs, catching herself on the second step.

No, she told herself sternly. Bad idea. Mind your own business.

So she turned and retraced her steps back to the utility room, where she dished up the food and took it to her hungry cat.

“Mrow?” Wigs left off stalking the cleaning robot to get to work on his dinner.

Now what?

Her stomach growled again. Jed had said that she should make herself at home in the kitchen. She’d grab something to eat and then get up close and intimate with that glorious tub.

It was weird, raiding the refrigerator of the stranger she now worked for—and lived with, essentially. But the food looked good. She heated up a plate of roast chicken, mashed potatoes and mixed veggies and set herself a place at the table that would have looked just right in the castle of a medieval king. She even poured a glass of the pinot grigio she found in the door of the fridge—hey, the bottle was open. Why not? Pulling back one of the big, studded leather chairs, she sat down and smoothed her napkin in her lap.

Definitely weird. Just her, all alone at the massive slab of a table in the giant great room.

She’d just lifted her glass and taken a nice, big gulp of wine when Jed asked from behind her, “You all set up, then?”

Startled, she choked. Wine sprayed out her nose. Coughing and gagging, she shoved back her chair and pressed her napkin to her face. It wasn’t pretty. Ragged, hacking sounds alternated with desperate wheezing as she tried to catch her breath.

“Breathe,” he commanded. He was at her back by then, pounding on it with his enormous hand, instructing, “Slow, easy. That’s the way.”

After a terrifying minute or two wherein she wondered if she would ever breathe again, her throat loosened up. She sucked in a decent breath of air at last.

“Okay?” he asked warily.

After wiping the last of the wine from her cheeks, she turned to faced him—and almost choked all over again at the sight of him. Shirtless, he had on a pair of low-riding training shorts that displayed the sculpted tops of sharply cut V lines. His big, chiseled chest was dusted with manly hair and dripping sweat. He had a towel slung around his neck, one end of which he was using to wipe more sweat from his forehead.

Mystery solved: there was a gym in the basement. She’d heard his workout music.

Somehow, she managed to croak out accusingly, “Don’t you ever sneak up on me like that again.”

For that she got a lifted eyebrow and a disdainful “I never sneak.” And then he asked again, “You okay?”

“Splendid. Thank you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away. She stared at his broad, sweaty back as he strode to the staircase. He went up, pausing to look down at her just before he reached the first landing. “Zero-eight-three-zero hours tomorrow. Be ready to work.”

Like she was some scatterbrained child incapable of remembering the simplest instructions.

Four thousand a week, she reminded herself. Four thousand and a jetted tub. She nodded, sat back down, picked up her fork and did not glance toward the stairs again.

* * *

The next day was just as Elise had expected it to be. Endless.

She typed and she typed some more while Jed alternately paced and loomed over her, sometimes shouting loud enough that she winced at the sound, now and then murmuring so softly she could barely make out the words. Luckily, she had excellent hearing and managed to get down every whispered word he said. Already, it was something of a point of pride for her that she could keep up with him and never have to speak while at the keyboard, not even to ask him what he’d just said.

He finished the scene he’d tested her with the day before. Jack McCannon, Jed’s ongoing main character—and, Elise suspected, his alter ego—ended up killing the man at the station, whose name was Gray. Elise felt a moment’s pity for Gray, whom Jack eliminated through the clever use of a ballpoint pen to the throat. Jack, apparently, was quite creative vis-à-vis weaponry. He killed Gray with a Bic and kept fishing line in his pocket. Because who knew when he might need to tie someone up or strangle them with a makeshift garrote?

After Gray met his end, Jack evaded a pursuer and then met a contact at a café. They drank espresso and Jack received critical information stored in a minichip invisible to the naked eye. The contact, Lilias, caressed his face and transferred the minichip to his cheek. Lilias was gorgeous. Jack had history with her. Intimate history. Jack considered having sex with her again, but decided against it due to time constraints and the fact that he really didn’t trust her. The men Lilias slept with often turned up dead.

There was a scene at a shooting range. Jack was a crack shot. Who knew, right?

And, yes, already Elise found herself keeping up a snarky mental commentary on Jed’s work-in-progress as she typed away. The typing really was like breathing. She didn’t have to think about it. Even with the yelling alternating with growls and rumbles, she found Jed’s voice easy to sink into, as if she’d been listening to him all her life, as though some part of her mind knew what he would say before he formed the words. It left her the mental space to have a little fun at Jack McCannon’s expense.

Not that Jed wasn’t good at what he did. Now and then she got so involved she almost stopped typing to enjoy the story. The action scenes were spectacular—really edge-of-your-seat.

How many books had Jed written? Four or five, she thought she’d heard. Maybe she’d have to try the first one just for the heck of it. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little background on the job.

They worked until six thirty that evening. When Jed finally dismissed her, he stayed behind in the office to look over the day’s pages. She fed Wigs his dinner, raided the refrigerator and called Tracy in Seattle to see how she was settling in and report on her new job with Jed.

Tracy knew her too well. “But you hate typing,” she pointed out. “What is going on? I really don’t get this.”

“It’s amazing money and it’s only for four months.”

“But what about Bravo Catering?”

As she’d been doing for weeks now whenever she and Tracy talked, Elise evaded the question. “I’m getting there. This came up, is all. And I thought, for this much money, why not?”

Tracy wasn’t buying. “Just how broke are you? I can lend you—”

“Trace. Stop. It’s tight, but I’m managing.”

“I never should have left you.”

“Yes, you absolutely should have. It was time and you know it.” They’d grown up together, literally. Their mothers had been best friends. She and Tracy had shared the same playpen as babies. Then when Tracy’s parents died in a house fire, Tracy had moved in with the Bravos. In every way that counted, Elise and Tracy were sisters, bonded in the deepest way.

They’d gone to CU together and had come home to open their catering business and live in adjoining apartments. But Tracy had always been a science nerd and what she’d never told Elise was that her real dream had nothing to do with planning weddings, designing perfect dinner parties or creating tasty menus that stayed fresh on a steam table. Not until after the fire had Tracy finally confessed that she dreamed of a career in molecular biology.

Well, Tracy was getting her dream now. She’d enrolled in a master’s program at the University of Washington.

“I should come home, at least for a few weeks. The semester doesn’t start until mid-August.”

“Come home for what? Not to see me. I’ll be working six days a week, ten hours a day.”

“That’s insane.”

“Yeah, it is, a little. It’s also what I want. And I have to tell you, I’m damn good at it, too.”

Tracy laughed. “I thought you said this was your first day.”

“I have a talent for it. He went through a whole bunch of assistants before I came along. They couldn’t handle it. I can.”

“What’s he like?”

“Jed? Antisocial. Hates cats. Seems to know a lot about deadly weapons.”

“He sounds awful.”

“I’ll say this. He’s buff. Looks amazing without his shirt.”

“I’m not even going to ask.”

“A wise decision.”

“You said he hates cats. How’s Mr. Wiggles taking that?”

“So far, I’ve managed to keep the two of them apart.”

“Leesie, I just feel bad about deserting you.”

“Don’t. I mean it. You didn’t desert me. I’m doing just fine. Now, tell me what’s going on with you.”

Tracy hesitated, but then she did confess that she’d met a guy she liked. On Friday they were going out to a great Greek restaurant and then to hear some hot Seattle band. She had her fall schedule worked out around the TA and lab-assistant jobs she’d found. She loved Seattle. It was her kind of city.

Elise hung up feeling good about her friend. Yes, she missed her. A lot. But it was about time Tracy came in to her own.

And so far, working with Jed wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be. She grabbed a sexy paperback and headed for the jetted tub.

* * *

Elise was waiting at the keyboard when Jed entered his office at 0830 the next morning. He felt a deep satisfaction just at the sight of her there, in knit pants that hugged her fine butt and curvy legs and a pale blue shirt that clung to her round breasts. They got right to work.

At a little before ten, the cat appeared. The thing was huge. It came and sat in the doorway to the office and watched him with unblinking eyes. Elise had her back to it and had no idea that the creature was there.

Well, fine. Let the cat stare. Jed went right ahead with the scene they were working on.

Eventually, the cat yawned, stretched and wandered off down the hall, its long, hairy tale twitching. Jed waited until they broke for lunch to tell Elise that the animal had gotten out.

She gasped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We were working,” he replied, though it should have been patently obvious to her.

“But I don’t get it. I’m sure I closed my door. How did he get out?”

“Why ask me? You think I left your door open?”

For that, he got a snippy little glare. She ran out calling, “Wigs! Come here, baby!”

The damn cat actually answered her. “Mrow? Mrow-mrow?”

He stepped over into the open doorway in time to watch it bound up the hallway to meet her. She scooped it up and buried her face in its hairy belly. “Bad, bad boy,” she said in a tone that communicated zero displeasure. Jed felt a stab of actual jealousy. He wished she’d bury her nose in his belly like that. “Come on now,” she cooed at the fur ball. “Back to our room...” She slung it over her shoulder and carried it off. The cat, its big hairy paws hanging down her back, watched him smugly through sharp golden eyes, until she turned the corner at the great room and they both disappeared from sight.

The annoying cat aside, that day went even better than the first, Jed thought. He got twelve usable pages by the time they packed it in at 1815 hours. There was just something about Elise Bravo, something soothing and stimulating simultaneously.

The woman was smart. She strictly observed his initial instructions and never spoke while he was writing. With her, as with Anna, he could concentrate fully on the next sentence, on the way the story was coming together.

Plus, every time she got up to stretch, he got to watch. He could write poems to her backside. And those breasts. He would love to get his hands on them. There was something about her, the softness of her, that he wanted to sink into, the way she bit the inside left corner of her mouth when he picked up the pace and the words were flying, her fingers dancing so fast over the keys.

He liked to move in close and suck in that clean-sheet scent of hers. And he got a kick out of the way she talked to him, sharp and snippy, but somehow with patience, too.

Elise did it for him in a big way. She wasn’t beautiful. She was so much better than beautiful. She was...the exact definition of what a quality woman should be.

No, nothing was going to happen between them. They both understood that.

But that didn’t stop him from enjoying the view, whether she was sitting, stretching or walking away. And he saw no reason he shouldn’t take pleasure in imagining the lusty things he was never going to do to her.

The next day, the final day of her trial period, he introduced the knives.

Chapter Three

Jed found his knives both soothing and stimulating. In that sense, they reminded him of Elise. For him, there were few experiences as calming as a well-thrown knife. He often threw them while he worked. The knives were an integral part of his process. They increased his focus. He liked to send them sailing. And he liked the sound they made when they hit the padded wall that Bravo Construction had installed precisely to his specifications.

He’d put off introducing the knives to Elise. He dreaded the possibility that she might freak—or worse, walk out and not come back. And there he would be again, with no assistant, his deadline looming.

Not being all that nice of a guy, he’d often used the knives to get rid of typists who weren’t working out. No, not by stabbing them, but by simply hurling a sleek kunai or a combat bowie knife without warning. More than one unsatisfactory keyboarder had screamed good and loud when surprised in that way.

But he wanted to keep Elise, so he prepped her.

When she entered the office for work that day, he was waiting for her, an assortment of knives laid out on the credenza next to the door.

She said, “Deirdre is here. She says good morning.”

He grunted. Deirdre Keller was a perfectly acceptable cook and housekeeper. Beyond that, he had nothing to say to her. He certainly didn’t require her to tell him “good morning.”

And Elise had spotted the knives. She caught on immediately. “Okay, I get it now. The padded wall, right?”

Feeling strangely sheepish, he confessed, “I like to throw while I’m working. It clears my mind.”

She glanced at the array of knives, then at the wall in question. “What about all the targets? Do you throw darts, too?”

“Just knives.” She seemed puzzled. So he elaborated, “I throw the knives at the targets sometimes. And sometimes I just send them flying at the wall. It depends.”

“On...?”

He hadn’t expected all these questions. But he was willing to indulge her if answering her would keep her happy. “I honestly don’t know what it depends on, why sometimes I want to hit a target and sometimes I just want to throw—the scene I’m writing, I guess. Or the mood I’m in.”

“Have you ever missed the wall and hit your assistant?”

“Not once.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Though now and then, I’ve been tempted.”

A burst of laughter escaped her. He found the happy sound way too charming.

“Oh, you’re just so scary, Jed.”

“Yes, I am,” he replied darkly. “And you should remember that.” She had that look, as though she was purposely not rolling her eyes. He added, “And as you can see, your desk is over there.” He gestured in that direction. “And the wall is there.” He indicated the wall. “You won’t be in the path of a throw unless you get up and put yourself between me and the wall.”

“What about if you get tempted?”

“I won’t.” Not to throw a knife at you, anyway.

“Hmm,” she said, as though still suspecting she might end up a target one of these days. And then she asked, “Is this it, then?”

“Define it.”

“Will there be more potentially life-threatening activities you’re going to want to do while I’m in this room with you?”

He admitted, “Sometimes I clean my firearms. Handguns. Machine guns. Assault rifles. That kind of thing. I find cleaning weapons—”

“Let me guess. Soothing.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Those fine dark eyes gleamed. “You find the strangest things soothing.”

He almost allowed his gaze to stray downward to her breasts. “You have no idea.”

“I’m going to assume that when you clean your guns, you make sure they aren’t loaded first.”

“You assume correctly.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Anything else you find soothing while you work? Archery, maybe?”

“I haven’t used a bow and arrow in years, but it’s a thought.”

“So I should be prepared for that?”

“No. Knife throwing is my impalement art of choice.”

She hummed again, low in her throat. “That’s a real thing? Impalement art?”

“It’s usually referred to in the plural. Impalement arts. Strictly defined, impalement arts entail throwing dangerously sharp objects at a human target.”

She considered. He loved to watch her think. “Like at the circus.”

“That’s right. A circus knife-thrower is in the impalement arts. A circus archer, too. Hatchet-and spear-throwers, as well.” She reached out and brushed her fingers over the stacked leather washer handle of a full-size USMC KA-BAR straight edge. “That’s the most famous fixed blade knife in the world,” he said. “It was first used by our troops in World War Two.”

She slanted him a glance. He couldn’t tell if he’d amused her or she found the knives fascinating, or what. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He wasn’t big on extended eye contact as a rule. But he didn’t mind it so much with her.

She broke the connection first, her gaze sliding away.

He shook himself. “You ready, then?”

By way of an answer, she went to her desk and fired up the computer.

* * *

Jed threw a lot of knives that day. And he wrote a lot of pages. It was good. Really good. Elise took his knives in stride. She never turned a hair when he sent one flying. She just kept right on filling those blank screen pages with his words.

They worked until 1900, at which point he handed her a check for 2,832 dollars and told her she was officially hired.

She frowned at the check. “I thought we said fifteen hundred for the first three days.”

“I included payment for tomorrow and Saturday at your full rate. And after this week, I’ll pay you every Saturday at the end of the day.”

She rose. “Works for me.” She headed for the door to the hallway.

He caught himself with his mouth open, on the verge of calling her back and asking her to have dinner with him.

Not a good idea. She had her life. He had his. They met each morning for work and went their separate ways when the workday was through. He found her far too attractive to start sharing meals with her.

Fantasies involving her were fine—or rather, given that he was having them, he might as well roll with it. Fighting it too hard would only make him want her more.

But hanging around with her after hours?

Bad idea.

She lived in his house. It would be so easy to get more than professional. That would be stupid. Because when the heat between them burned out, the work would get strained. She would end up leaving.

And that couldn’t happen.

He was keeping her. She just didn’t know it yet. She thought she was quitting when this book was through. But she was wrong.

Before she had knocked on his door Monday, he’d been increasingly sure that his big-deal writing career was headed straight for the crapper. He’d spent way too many sleepless nights sweating bullets over his dawning realization that Anna had been a lucky fluke and he would never find the right assistant again. Now that he had found her, he would simply have to convince her to stay. So what if she seemed determined to go?

One way or another, whatever he had to offer her to keep her happy, he was keeping her.

And the best way to lose her was if they had a thing and then it ended—which it would. He’d never been any good at relationships. Sooner or later, most women wanted more than he knew how to give. Maybe Elise was different. Maybe she could have a good time and then have it be over and still sit down at the computer and type his words for him every day.

But he couldn’t afford to take a chance on finding out.

So he kept his damn mouth shut as she disappeared down the hall.

* * *

As they’d agreed when he hired her, Elise had Sunday off.

That Sunday, she left the house at 0905 hours. Jed knew the time exactly because he was standing on the balcony outside the master suite when she backed her car out of the garage.

Unlike the previous Monday, when she took off to get her cat and her clothes, he was okay with watching her go. Today, he felt zero anxiety as she drove away. They were getting on well together, after all, and he was paying her an arm and a leg. No reason she wouldn’t return.

Plus, he hadn’t seen the cat in the car. And if the cat was still here, she would have to come back.

An hour later, he headed for the shooting range, where he remained until lunchtime. He had a burger at a truck stop out on the state highway and got back to the house at 1400 hours.

Elise was still gone.

He put on workout gear and went down to the basement to use the StairMaster and then pump iron for a couple of hours. After his workout, he had a shower and found something to eat in the fridge. Then he went to his office and researched poisons until past 1900 hours. He had a lot of book left to write and that meant a lot of characters to kill.

Elise still hadn’t returned.

He wasn’t concerned. No reason to be. As long as she showed up at her desk on time in the morning, he couldn’t care less where she went or how long she stayed there.

But for some completely crazy reason, he was kind of worried about the damn cat. Had she taken the animal with her, after all? Or had she just left the poor thing alone in her room?

Yeah, he hated cats. But she shouldn’t just leave it locked up like that all day. Wasn’t that cat abuse?

Sure seemed like it to him.

An hour after he left his office, he wandered down the hallway that led to her room. He stood there in front of her door for several minutes and debated the acceptability of trying the handle, maybe letting the fur ball out—if it was in there and if she’d left the door unlocked.

But opening her door without her permission seemed like a really bad idea. She might get mad if he did that. And getting her mad was no way to keep her working for him.

In the end, he settled on putting his ear to her door, just to listen for the possibility of plaintive meowing.

“What are you doing, Jed?”

Luckily he had nerves of steel. He didn’t so much as flinch at the sound of her voice—even though he felt like a bad child caught with his grubby hand in the candy box.

Slowly, he pulled his ear away from her door and stood to his full height, turning to face her as he did it.

She watched him from the far end of the hallway, a stack of boxes in her arms. “Well?”

The best defense is always an offense. “Your damn cat. I was getting worried about it.” He strode toward her. “Here. Let me help you with those.”

She allowed him to take the boxes. “But you hate cats.”

“Open the door.”

She eased around him and did just that. It wasn’t locked.

The cat was there waiting. It didn’t look any the worse for wear. “Mrow? Mrow-mrow?”

“Wigs!” She scooped it up, scratched its big head and kissed it on its whiskered cheek. “How’s my big sweetie?”

“Mrow-mrow.” It started purring, the sound very deep. Rumbly. Like an outboard motor heard from across a misty lake.

Elise said...to Jed this time, “Just set those down inside the door. Thanks.”

He set the boxes where she wanted them and then turned to leave, figuring he’d escape before she asked him any more questions about why she’d come home to find him with his ear pressed to her door.

No such luck. “Why where you worried about Wigs?”

Resigned, he stopped and faced her again. “You left the cat locked in there all day. That can’t be good.”

“Well, that’s kind of sweet of you.” She seemed bemused.

He hastened to disabuse her. “I am never sweet.”

She actually giggled. He despised gigglers—or at least, he always had until this moment. She held up the cat. It hung from her hands, totally relaxed, and big enough that its rear paws dangled at the height of her knees. “See? He’s fine. I left him plenty of food and water. He doesn’t mind a little alone time.”

“A little? You’ve been gone for eleven hours.”

Her soft mouth pursed up. “It’s my day off. How is it any of your business how long I’ve been gone?”

It wasn’t and they both knew it, which meant there was absolutely no point in answering her. So he didn’t.

Eventually, she got tired of waiting for him to defend himself and informed him icily, “I have one day off a week and I had a lot to do.”

Yeah, he felt like a jackass. But somehow, he couldn’t just apologize for invading her private space and move on. “That’s a big cat.”

Her mouth got tighter. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

He narrowed his eyes and flattened his lips. “That cat needs space.”

“He’s fine in my room. My apartment is a studio, smaller than my room here. He was perfectly happy there.”

Smaller than her room here? That was way too small. And she was a Bravo. He’d grown up in the area and he knew of her family. The Bravos had always had enough money to be comfortable, at least. The Bravos didn’t live in cramped one-room apartments. He wanted to ask her how she’d ended up in one.

But that would be a personal question and they were not getting personal. “Next time leave your door open, that’s all I’m saying.”

She blinked as that statement sank in. “You mean, let Wigs have the run of the house?”

Suddenly, his throat had a tickle in it. What was that about? He never got a ticklish throat. He coughed impatiently into his hand. “Yeah. And come to think of it, don’t lock that cat up in there at all. Let it have the house to roam in.”

A tiny gasp escaped her. “You mean, all the time?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“But what about how you hate cats?”

“I’m making an exception in this case,” he growled at her. She looked at him with distinctly dewy eyes, so he commanded, “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I...well, okay. I won’t.”

“Good,” he said, scowling as hard as he could. And then he turned on his heel again and started walking away fast.

“Jed?”

He stopped. But he didn’t turn. “What?” he grumbled at the great room in front of him.

“Thanks.”

He almost said You’re welcome, but caught himself just in time.

* * *

In the next week, the work continued to go well. Very well. Elise just kept typing, never dropping a word or making a sound, no matter how loud and aggressive he became while acting out the voices of his characters.

On Thursday, he cleaned three of his rifles and a couple of Glocks as they worked. She seemed to take that in stride—didn’t even bother to comment when she saw the weapons, gun oil, cleaning rags and brushes laid out that morning on a folding worktable.

Jed had never been a happy man. He found the concept of happiness more than a little silly. A man did what he had to do in life and what he had to do was rarely that much fun.

But with Elise working out so well, the pressure was off in terms of his deadline and hopefully his career. He was getting more work done, faster, than when he had Anna. It was a hell of a relief. Maybe this was happiness.

If it was, it wasn’t half bad.

The damn cat had free rein of the house. The animal talked too much and had a tendency to climb up on tall cabinets and drape its giant body on the wide-beam staircase railings and along the backs of couches. But so what?

Jed had told Elise that the cat could roam free and he wasn’t a man who reneged on his word. He ignored the creature. It wasn’t that hard.

Another week went by, as smooth and productive as the previous one. Jed dared to feel confident that he was out of the woods at last. He was going to make it. He would have the book turned in by the final deadline—or maybe even before, at the rate they were going. Elise was a damn treasure.

His only concern now was her plan to leave once this project was finished. He really needed to do something to keep that from happening.

Fortunately, he had until November 1 to figure out what.

* * *

Two and a half weeks after he hired Elise, Jed woke at 0200 to a rumbling sound.

He’d been dreaming of a misty lake and the soft roar of a motorboat coming toward him through the fog. Shaking off sleep, he pulled himself to a sitting position and peered blearily into the darkness.

Gold eyes gleamed at him from down by his feet and the strange rumbling sound continued. The motorboat had followed him right out of his dream.

But it wasn’t a motorboat.

It was the damn cat.

“Out!” he commanded, sweeping an arm toward the door for good measure.

But the cat was not impressed. It just watched him and continued to purr.

He stared it down for several seconds and then ordered, “Get!” good and loud.

No effect whatsoever. In time with the purring, it kneaded his comforter with its big paws.

Jed gave up glaring and growling and took action. Shoving back the covers, he scooped up the animal into his arms. Unconcerned, the cat kept purring as Jed carried it to the upper hallway, set it on the floor and firmly shut the door on it.

* * *

The next morning, he purposely went down to the kitchen early, when he knew Elise would be there.

And she was. He found her at the counter near the six-burner range with eggs, butter, a golden loaf of homemade bread, milk and several spices spread out in front of her.

The staircase met the ground floor just beyond the open-plan kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted him as he descended the last few steps. That wide mouth bloomed in a smile of greeting.

Strange. It was only a smile, yet it caused a distinct and disorienting stab of pleasure right to his chest.

“Jed. What a surprise.” She turned to face him fully. She looked good, fresh and well rested in curve-hugging jeans and a big, white shirt of some silky material that clung to her tasty breasts.

He kept the corners of his mouth turned down and spoke with great severity. “I need a word.”

Her smile vanished. He missed it the second it was gone and regretted being the reason it went away.

What was she doing to him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He entered the kitchen area. Her dark brown eyes were wary now. “Of course,” she said. “Coffee?”

Why not? He grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup. She waited for him to say what was on his mind, her breakfast preparations suspended. “Your cat was in my room last night. I woke up and found the thing purring on the end of my bed.”

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