Sandra Marton - The Bedroom Business

Why wonder? She knew that he didn’t. He was as dense as every other man she’d ever known, as foolishly arrogant as the endless succession of idiots who’d trooped through the house when she was growing up, every last one of them thinking he knew what he was doing and why he was doing it when, in reality, her gorgeous sisters had been leading the jerks around by their…hormones.

Jake McBride was just like those silly stud puppies. He might be rich, he might be handsome—assuming you liked the type, which she certainly didn’t—but he was as much a victim of his hormones as the tongue-tied idiots who’d filled her sisters’ teenaged lives.

His problems with the latest twit was proof of that.

McBride had broken things off. No surprise there. Emily had sensed it coming, long before he had. And, she had to admit, he’d done it with his usual flair. Roses. A little bracelet from Tiffany’s that she knew—after all, she’d placed the order—set him back six thousand dollars. But the brunette with the ditzy name wouldn’t, couldn’t, accept The End. She sent gifts. Notes. She phoned. She’d even taken to dropping by the office.

I’m here to see Jake, she’d whisper, in a voice Marilyn Monroe would have envied.

And Emily would pick up the phone, tell her boss that Miss Carole was here. And McBride would say, oh Lord, just get rid of her, please, Emily.

Emily almost felt sorry for the woman. She certainly didn’t feel sorry for Jake. As if she had nothing better to do than clean up after his messes. Bad enough she’d cleaned up after messes that involved her sisters.

Em, are you sure Billy hasn’t called? Or, Em, I’m so unhappy. Jimmy’s dating another girl. And then, after they both got married, she’d been expected to soothe them through their other disasters. Em, I think Billy’s fooling around. Em, Jimmy just doesn’t love me the way he used to…

They hadn’t learned anything, either, not even after marriages and divorces and affairs…

Ridiculous, the way women set out to snare men and ended up in the trap, themselves.

That had never been what she wanted out of life. A man? A lot of embarrassing slobbering to be endured and then, maybe, a wedding ring and promises of forever-after that wouldn’t even last as long as it took a slice of good-luck wedding cake to go stale, and for what?

For companionship, Emily. For those long winter nights when you think you’ll die if you have to curl up with another book…

Emily bit her lip.

Okay. So, maybe she wasn’t getting any younger. Maybe it might be nice to know what it was like to go on an occasional date. To have some man send her flowers, the way McBride—correction. The way she sent flowers, to his women. It might even be nice to get to see all those elegant New York restaurants from the inside, instead of just telephoning to make reservations for her boss and his latest interest.

What would such an evening be like? To have a man smile across the table at you, have him pick up your hand and bring it to his lips? Even if she really wanted to find out, where would she find a date? Lately, she’d started reading through the Personals in the back of GOTHAM magazine. Just for laughs, of course. She couldn’t imagine ever bringing herself to answer an ad. Or running one. What would she say?

Average-looking mouse searching for gorgeous, sexy, exciting man but will settle for plain, nonsexy, unexciting, av-erage-looking rat…

No. That wouldn’t do at all. Then again, neither would the truth.

Average-looking female interested in average-looking male. Object: to find out what a date is like because said female hasn’t had one in forever. In fact, not since the night of her senior prom, when one of her beautiful sisters conned a would-be boyfriend into being said female’s date and everybody knew it and laughed…

“Emily?”

Okay. That was it. She would run an ad. After all, she wasn’t eighteen anymore. She wasn’t Serena and Angela Taylor’s poor little sister, the one with all the brains and none of the looks. She wasn’t one of Jake McBride’s women, either, with the kind of face and figure men dreamed of, but she could still manage to find herself a date—

“Emily? Are you okay?”

A large, warm hand settled on her shoulder. Emily blinked, focused her eyes on her boss. He was standing a breath away from her, staring at her with a little furrow just between his eyes. And what eyes they were. Dark. Deep. So deep…

“Are you all right? For a minute there, you seemed to drift away.”

“I’m fine,” she said briskly. “Just, uh, just a cold coming on, perhaps.”

His hand slid to her elbow. “Go home,” he said gently, as he propelled her towards the door. “Take a nice hot bath. Make yourself some tea.”

“Honestly, Mr. McBride…”

“Do it,” he said, with a polite, teasing smile, “or I’ll take you home and do it for you.”

An image swam into her head. McBride, in her tiny apartment, so big and masculine against her chintz-covered furniture. McBride, smiling down at her, his hands warm and gentle as he unbuttoned her tweed jacket, unbuttoned her silk blouse. Or, perhaps, his hands not so gentle. Hard, in fact. Rough, maybe, as he ripped the blouse from her and took her into his arms…

Color flooded her face as she stepped back.

“That won’t be necessary, sir. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know you are,” he said. For one awful minute, she was afraid he was going to pat her on the head. “Now just run along home, Emily. Take that bath, have the tea, pop some vitamin C and get a good night’s rest.”

“But it’s only four forty-five.”

McBride gave her another of those I’m-So-Wonderful-and-You’re-So-Lucky-To-Be-Working-For-Me smiles.

“I can do without you for a little while, I promise. Now, go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Mr. McBride.”

“Good night, Emily.”

“Good night, sir.”

Jake shut the door and sat down at his desk. Damn, what dedication. He’d almost had to carry Emily out of the office. Well, that would have been simple enough. She was small. Slender. She’d be light, just like one of those little sparrows. He could carry Emily up the steps in his duplex, to his bedroom, set her down on her feet and find out just what, exactly, lay hidden under all those woolly layers of clothing…

He frowned, pulled a blank pad towards him. What crazy thoughts. Jake chuckled softly. Amazing, the things a man’s brain could conjure up at the end of a long day. Better to spend the next couple of hours profitably, writing some memos to leave on Emily’s desk for her to tackle first thing in the morning.

He worked for a while, went from the memos to sketching out an idea that had just come to him about that meeting in San Diego…

A knock sounded on the door.

Jake looked up, then checked his watch. It was after five. Emily was gone. Nobody else would…

Somebody would.

Brandi, he thought unhappily. She’d called earlier, when Emily was at lunch. He’d picked up the phone just as the answering machine did and he’d heard that little whisper that had once driven him crazy with lust and now just drove him crazy, begging him to see her tonight.

The knock came again. Maybe if he just sat it out, pretended he wasn’t here…

“Jake?”

The door swung open. Jake, caught between deciding whether to duck for cover or tell Brandi to get lost, looked up and grinned in surprise.

“Pete?”

Pete Archer, a guy he’d worked with his first year in New York, opened the door wider and stepped inside.

“Jake, you old son of a gun. What’s the matter? You afraid I’m a bill collector or something?”