Working Overtime

Working Overtime Raye Morgan As the devoted single mother of two rambunctious boys - and as the best darn paralegal in town - Chareen Wolf knew all about hard work. But she'd never before had a job so demanding that she and her boss actually had to live together - day after day, night after night…. Trouble was, her new boss had her heartbeat working overtime, too. Michael Greco was devastatingly handsome, irresistibly charming - and clearly determined to keep her with him long after business hours!Yet despite their combustible chemistry, the hard-driving executive hadn't exactly scheduled marriage - or kids - into his future. However, now that she'd finally found the man of her dreams, Chareen wasn't about to throw in the towel. Could they land the deal of a lifetime…together? Suddenly Chareen was lying on the bed—fully dressed—and Michael was on top of her. She gasped. His hard, warm body was pressed to hers in so many places. To have a man so close, so strong, was unbelievably intoxicating. It had been so long…. There was a moan starting deep in her throat. Was it a moan of surrender? Of triumph? Of overwhelming desire? She would never know, because at that moment there was a new sound from the hallway: “Mama? Mama?” Her eyes snapped open and she used the hands that had been kneading the muscles of his chest to throw him off her. She ran to the door and scooped into her arms the two little redheaded boys standing there. “Where did they come from?” Michael asked. Chareen looked at him, and her chin rose. “They’re mine,” she said proudly. “Say hello to Mr. Greco, boys. He’s my boss.” Dear Reader, We’ve been trying to capture what Silhouette Romance means to our readers, our authors and ourselves. In canvassing some authors, I’ve heard wonderful words about the characteristics of a Silhouette Romance novel—innate tenderness, lively, thoughtful, fun, emotional, hopeful, satisfying, warm, sparkling, genuine and affirming. It pleases me immensely that our writers are proud of their line and their readers! And I hope you’re equally delighted with their offerings. Be sure to drop a line or visit our Web site and let us know what we’re doing right—and any particular favorite topics you want to revisit. This month we have another fantastic lineup filled with variety and strong writing. We have a new continuity—HAVING THE BOSS’S BABY! Judy Christenberry’s When the Lights Went Out… starts off the series about a powerful executive’s discovery that one woman in his office is pregnant with his child. But who could it be? Next month Elizabeth Harbison continues the series with A Pregnant Proposal. Other stories for this month include Stella Bagwell’s conclusion to our MAITLAND MATERNITY spin-off. Go find The Missing Maitland. Raye Morgan’s popular office novels continue with Working Overtime. And popular Intimate Moments author Beverly Bird delights us with an amusing tale about Ten Ways To Win Her Man. Two more emotional titles round out the month. With her writing partner, Debrah Morris wrote nearly fifteen titles for Silhouette Books as Pepper Adams. Now she’s on her own with A Girl, a Guy and a Lullaby. And Martha Shields’s dramatic stories always move me. Her Born To Be a Dad opens with an unusual, powerful twist and continues to a highly satisfying ending! Enjoy these stories, and keep in touch. Mary-Theresa Hussey, Senior Editor Working Overtime Raye Morgan To Kim Nadelson, for all those great editor things you do. RAYE MORGAN has spent almost two decades, while writing over fifty novels, searching for the answer to that elusive question: Just what is that special magic that happens when a man and a woman fall in love? Every time she thinks she has the answer, a new wrinkle pops up, necessitating another book! Meanwhile, after living in Holland, Guam, Japan and Washington, D.C., she currently makes her home in Southern California with her husband and two of her four boys. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter One The first thing Michael Greco heard was her low, velvety voice, and when he heard it, the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He froze, his hand on a volume of contract dispute records, his heart beating just a little faster. He’d never heard a voice like that before. It seemed to curl around his senses like a slinky cat might wrap itself around your ankles, all sleek and seductive, and at the same time, a provocative mystery that promised to stay just out of reach. He’d come into the law section of TriTerraCorp’s empty corporate library to do a little research over the lunch hour. For the last thirty minutes he’d been lost in his search, hidden by the tall bookcases, hardly noticing the group of women who’d come into the library after he’d arrived. The newcomers were gathered around the copy machine, laughing about something they seemed to be working on, obviously oblivious to the fact that he was in the room. The thick carpeting and the constant hum from the computers and other appliances helped to mask his presence. He’d ignored the women. But then that voice had arrived and greeted the others. “Well, what do we have here?” she said, her voice husky in a way that stopped him in his tracks. “Is this a secret meeting of the Third Floor Conspiracy, or can anyone join in?” “Hi, Char” came the slightly nervous answer, along with a rustling of paper. “We’re just…uh…we’re just…” “Oh, let her see it,” a higher voice said impatiently. “Char’s okay. She won’t turn us in. Look, Char, it’s a calendar that we’ve been working on. Just something for laughs, to pass around the office.” “A calendar?” Her rich tone seemed to vibrate his senses. “How controversial can that be? Let’s see it.” There was more rustling of paper. “Oh, you naughty girls. What have you done?” Her laugh was just as provocative as he’d thought it would be, and he narrowed his eyes, enjoying it. “The Most Eligible Bachelors of TriTerraCorp. What a good idea. These pictures are priceless.” “Aren’t they great? The office hunks. Sherry did the graphics on her computer. She’s an artist at this stuff.” Michael softly slid the book back into place on the shelf, cursing himself for his involuntary reaction. He still had goose bumps, and it was just a voice, after all. The woman probably looked like a tree gnome. And, anyway, it didn’t matter if she did or she didn’t. He’d promised himself a woman-free trip this time. He’d spent too much time dating interchangeable lovelies ever since his marriage had crumbled into the dust and left him grasping for a new focus to his life. Wine, women and song were never the answer to that problem—though it sometimes took a while to get that through thick heads like his. “Ignore the voice,” he muttered softly to himself, frowning as he tried to remember what he was looking for on the bookshelf. But there it was again. “You’ve even got Greg Holstein,” she was recounting. “He looks so cute in that lion suit! And Andy Martinez from Security as a trapeze artist. Sherry, this is a hoot.” He swallowed hard. This was really strange. Her voice did something to him. It was almost the way a tuning fork resonated as it caught a note. He felt something respond inside every time she spoke. There was no use trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. But nothing like this had ever happened to him before. Maybe it was lack of sleep, he told himself grimly. After all, the night before he’d had a rough time. After a long, tiring flight from Florida, the company had put him up at the best hotel in Rio de Oro, but there was a rodeo in town filling most of the rooms and the partying had gone on fast and furious all night long. If he’d had a full hour’s sleep, he hadn’t noticed it, and now his eyes felt grainy and his head was throbbing. That had to be it. Fatigue had thrown off his internal balance or something. Still, this had gone so far, he knew he had to see what this Char woman looked like. He tried to get a glimpse through the shelves, but the copy machine was at an angle and he only got a quick look at a flash of skirt. He was going to have to come out from the stacks and reveal himself if he wanted to see any more. He sauntered casually out from behind the bookcase, and he could see the group of women clearly now. There were four of them, but the only one that held his gaze was the blonde who had her back to him. Her moonlight-silver hair was straight and silky as it fell halfway down to the small of her back. She wore a light blue suit that was cut snuggly enough to reveal a trim, firm body with a neat waist and hips that were appealingly round and inviting. There was a slit in the skirt that showed off legs as long as any he’d ever seen. If this was a tree gnome, they were making them less gnomelike these days. “And…oh wait,” she was saying, pulling out a new page that hadn’t been attached to the others yet just as he settled his attention on her. “Is this Michael Greco person the new acquisitions specialist who’s supposed to arrive today? How did you get a picture of him so quickly? I thought he’d just been loaned out by the Miami office. Is he even here yet?” At that moment, one of the women turned her head and noticed him and her mouth dropped open in horror. “He’s here,” the tall blonde named Sherry was saying. “I saw him when he checked in this morning and I didn’t have to think twice. Listen, one look at the boy and you know he’s calendar material. I snuck that photo from Human Resources. That’s what we were working on when you came in, making copies. I’ve got to get the original back before lunch hour is over.” Another of the women noticed Michael and began tugging on the arm of the third. But so far, Char didn’t know he was there, and Sherry didn’t, either. “The funny thing is, I’ve just been assigned to do some research for him,” Char said musingly, holding the calendar out as though to get a better perspective. “Hmm….” Her voice trailed off. “Isn’t he a cutie?” Sherry asked, beaming. “A cutie? I don’t know.” Char put her head to the side as though she couldn’t quite get a fix on the picture. “He’s got that playboy look in his eyes, if you ask me.” Sherry’s head swung around and she blanched. By now all three women knew Michael was standing just a few feet away. Only Char was oblivious. “Uh…Char?” Sherry whispered urgently. But Char was lost in contemplating the picture in the calendar. “I’ll go even further,” she said. “I’d say he’s got a shifty look. His eyes are too close together. And there’s a ruthless set to his mouth I don’t really go for.” She shook her head. “Nope. I don’t like him.” “Char!” Sherry wailed, reaching out as though to grab her friend and run. But Michael didn’t give her time to do that. Stepping forward, he put a hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “A real shady character, huh?” he drawled. “Here, let me have a look.” Char slapped the calendar to her chest, spun on her heels and stared up into his hazel eyes. Her own eyes widened, then she blinked. “Oops,” she said, making a face. He looked down into her sparkling gaze and forgot to breathe for a moment. Yes, the face was just as good as the rest of her. That hair the color of moonbeams framed skin as pale as fine china with eyes as blue as a summer sky. Her lips were full and lush and perfect for kissing, and when he finally did draw in a breath, her wildflower-fresh scent filled his head. He felt a surge of desire so strong, a part of him wanted to grab her and carry her off to some private place, caveman-style. If there had ever been such a thing as a woman made especially for him, this would have been her. He swallowed hard and forced himself to ignore that fact. “May I see the picture?” he asked coolly, holding out his hand. She shook her head, holding the calendar tightly to her chest. “Oh, no, Mr. Greco, I don’t think you want to do that,” she warned, her eyes full of apprehension. The other women were murmuring a warning as well, but he didn’t pay any attention. “Come on,” he said, his gaze holding Chareen’s. “How bad can it be?” A flash of resentment flared in her gaze and he wondered if he’d come off a bit too arrogant. That was just as well, of course. He’d vowed to keep his distance from all attractive women on this trip, so why not lay a firm foundation? Still, he smiled as he held out his hand again. She hesitated, then slowly pulled the calendar away from her body and handed it to him. He looked down and frowned. “What the hell…?” he said, looking up at her and then down at the calendar again. The picture had his head right, but the rest was pure fantasy. Somehow Sherry had attached the head from his file picture to the body of an extremely muscular pirate, ruffled shirt open to his waist, pants that fit like leotards and revealed more than was prudent. A jaunty black eye patch and a curved sword completed the picture. All in all, the result looked closer to a male stripper than it did to anything resembling reality. He looked into Chareen’s eyes again. Was that laughter he saw playing hide-and-seek among the silvery shimmers? “It’s just a joke,” she said quickly. “They don’t mean anything by it.” “It’s all in fun, Mr. Greco,” Sherry chimed in, snatching the calendar from him with a nervous smile and beginning to back from the room. “I’m sorry if you’re offended. I’ll take your picture out. I’ll tear it up.” She demonstrated, ripping it out of the calendar and tearing it right before his eyes. “I’ll burn it. No one will ever see it again. I swear.” With a wide-eyed look at Chareen, she turned and disappeared through the doorway, along with her two co-conspirators. Giggling could be heard in the halls, then silence. Chareen cleared her throat and tried to look innocent. Holding out her hand, she looked up at him and smiled brightly. “Well, Mr. Greco. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Chareen Wolf. I guess we’ll be working together for a few weeks.” Or…maybe not. He hesitated before taking her hand. There was no hint of amusement in his gaze, and she wondered for just a moment if he was going to hold what he’d heard her say against her. Should she apologize? Or pretend to have forgotten all about it? But he finally did accept her handshake, though his side of it was rather perfunctory. “You are the expert in old Spanish land grants, aren’t you?” he said crisply, his eyes cool as they assessed her. “I was told I was going to need you if I wanted to get the acquisitions accomplished in a timely manner.” “Guilty as charged,” she admitted, refusing to let him see any nervousness on her part. “I’m a paralegal. I know something about early-nineteenth-century Spanish legal language. And I specialize in researching old deeds.” He nodded. “Just what I’m going to need.” He gestured toward the doorway. “Why don’t we stop in at the coffee shop and work up our strategy for this project over a cup of coffee?” She hesitated. She’d had other plans for the rest of her lunch hour. But she supposed they could wait. For the time being, he was the boss. “Fine,” she said, turning toward the doorway. They didn’t speak again as they strode side by side down the hallway. Chareen stared straight ahead, but her mind was racing. She wasn’t sure she could do this. Michael Greco was nothing like what she’d expected. The last acquisitions specialist she’d worked with had been a huge, balding man with a laugh that shook the rafters of the building. They had worked really well together, and when she’d told Leonard Trask, the Legal Services manager who was almost like a second father to her, that she would be willing to take that sort of assignment again, she had expected to be paired with another older, nonthreatening sort of man. But Sherry had been right about one thing. Michael Greco belonged in a hunk calendar. That in itself wasn’t going to be easy to deal with. It had been a long, long time since she’d had a man in her life, and she was determined it would be a much longer time before anything like that happened again. She had two little boys at home who were the result of her last experiment in romance. Her life was set. She was a single mom, and she had no intention of being anything else for the time being. Working closely with a man who had this sort of masculine appeal was not going to be a piece of cake. But there was more. There was something about him that bothered her to the core of her soul and made her wish she could think of a way to get out of this assignment. She’d noticed it from the first, when she’d seen the picture Sherry had made from the photo she’d borrowed from Human Resources. He reminded her of someone—Danny McGuire, the father of those two little boys. It was just a fluke, of course, just a chance resemblance. But it was enough to make her wish she was anywhere but here. She only hoped they could get on with the business at hand and get it over with. The sooner the better. She chose a latte, while Michael Greco poured himself a large cup of some very black blend, and they made their way to a table near the window, overlooking the rolling green lawn that led down to a small, reed-fringed duck pond. He made a move as though thinking of pulling her chair out for her, but she hurriedly pulled it out for herself, then felt a bit foolish for having done so. But what the heck? She’d been doing things that made her look foolish from the very beginning with this man. She wasn’t sure why that bothered her so much, but it did. And that was unusual, because she was known around here for being a little sassy, a little brash, and a whole lot sure of herself. It wasn’t true, of course. But she had managed to develop the reputation. It was a good shield against her real feelings. She glanced at him sideways as he began to talk, going over the fundamentals of the White Stones project. Did he really look a lot like Danny, or was she imagining things? He did have the same sort of thick brown hair, cut very much like Danny used to wear it. And his hazel eyes were just as knowing. But his nose was straighter. His had more of a Roman look, whereas Danny’s had looked as though it had been molded by a street fight or two. And his mouth was different. Danny’s had always been twisted in a mocking grin. Michael Greco had only smiled once that she knew of, when they had first come face-to-face. Ever since, she’d been getting the feeling that he didn’t want to be with her any more than she wanted to be with him. She moved restlessly in her seat, wondering why this meeting was so uncomfortable for them both. Maybe, for some people, it was dislike at first sight. She wished, suddenly, that she was with her children. Three-year-old twins, they were at a stage where they were alternately adorable and infuriating, and she hated missing even a minute of their development. This had been a particularly topsy-turvy week, because she’d had to move her little family out of their home, as the landlord was doing some long-overdue repairs and painting. For the time being, they were living in quarters made available to TriTerraCorp employees, and the boys were having a little trouble getting used to it. Half of her mind was going over ideas of things she could do to make it up to her children, while the other half was listening to her new temporary boss. “Don’t you agree?” he asked her suddenly. Startled, she looked up and met his steely gaze. She had no idea what he’d asked her to agree to. He’d made her feel foolish again, and he’d done it on purpose. Her chin rose. “I never contradict the boss,” she said crisply, giving him a look of pure challenge. His nod seemed to acknowledge that she’d gotten out of that one pretty well. Just as she settled back, pleased with herself, someone opened a door to the terrace and a sudden breeze swept through the room, scattering cups and papers. A napkin rose from the center of their table and Chareen reached to catch it. Michael reached for it at the same time, and somehow their hands met, fingers tangling. Electricity sizzled through her system and her gaze met his. The heat was sizzling through him, too. She could see the evidence in his eyes. They both drew back as though they’d been burned and he quickly began talking again, going over the land that had been earmarked for the White Stones purchase, the various long-range uses of the property, the potential for the master-planned resort that was in the works. But her pulse was racing. She stared down at her latte and wondered if she was going crazy. Michael went on, going over the fine points of the project and detailing the problems they were having with the Coastal Commission, which oversaw environmental concerns, but she was already familiar with most of what he was telling her, and her mind was wandering again. She knew from experience that this work would take a few months, at least. Months, working side by side with this man. How often would their hands touch? How often would his gaze catch hers and kindle that shivery feeling? She didn’t want to think about it. But there was no way she could get out of this, short of quitting her job. She was the only one who had the background to research the old Spanish land grants. He couldn’t do this without her. But somehow she was going to have to find a way to keep their actual physical contact to a minimum. “We’re set to include two golf courses,” he was saying. “A convention center and a main hotel, along with two subsidiary hotels, one more of a spa and the other a sort of bed-and-breakfast. Then there will be a tract of condominiums, and a small, upscale shopping area, including four restaurants.” Deciding that she’d better get with the program, she made an appropriate comment. “Wow. How large is the projected property?” “About eight hundred acres. Mostly along a canyon that opens onto a wide beach.” She frowned. That sounded familiar. “Where exactly is it?” “North of Gaviota, south of Vandenberg Air Force Base.” She nodded. That was a beautiful area of Southern California and she was looking forward to working there. She had an elderly uncle who still lived in the area. She’d visited his rickety beach house often as a child, walking down to the ocean on hot summer days. It was going to be fun being back there. But she was going to have to be wary. A friend of hers had a saying she was always repeating, “If you don’t want to get burned, stay away from the fire.” Words of wisdom. She was going to keep them in mind. Michael checked his watch and stifled a groan. They’d only been sitting here for a little over a quarter of an hour. It felt like much longer. The obnoxious minutes were dragging their scruffy little feet. This was like some type of unbearable medieval torture. He glanced over at Chareen. She was staring down into her drink and he took the opportunity to take a good look at her. He took in her silky curtain of hair, the soft curve of her cheek, her elegant chin line, and then his gaze trailed down into the opening of her blouse, where the upper swell of her breasts was barely visible. Reaction surged through him and he had to look away quickly, grabbing his coffee cup and draining it in one long swallow. It was as though someone had picked up one of his teenage dreams, looked inside and pulled out everything he liked in a woman, then mixed it all together and presented him with Chareen Wolf. There wasn’t a flaw on her. She was the sort of female who made grown men think about chucking it all and heading to the South Seas in a sailboat with only her on board. His mind slipped back to a picture of Grace, his ex-wife. She’d been just as pretty, but every time he thought of her now, all he saw was the haunting look of disappointment in her eyes. It had been four years since he’d seen her, but the memory of that look still had the power to make him bleed. So he’d spent the last few years looking for love in all the wrong places—on purpose. No commitments, no promises, no more disappointed looks. Casual relationships were all he could handle. He’d thought he was beyond being easily aroused any longer. That is, until he’d heard Chareen Wolf’s voice in the library. But that wasn’t what he’d come to California for and he couldn’t let himself get sidetracked. The TriTerraCorp CEO had taken him to lunch before he’d left Florida and made it very clear that there was a vice presidency riding on this job in California. That would be great. After all, wasn’t that what he had been working toward for the last few years? Business, Not Pleasure. That was going to be his motto on this project. He’d promised himself as much, and he knew he had the self-discipline to keep that promise. But working side by side with Chareen Wolf was not going to make it any easier. But wait a minute. Here was a thought. Why did they have to work together side by side? After all, he was the executive officer here. He set strategy, others implemented his orders. He could set it up in any way he chose, and a good way was beginning to form in his mind right now. He glanced at Chareen. “You know,” he told her casually, “I understand that you are used to working without too much direct supervision. Your department head told me you are the best TriTerraCorp has got at this sort of thing.” She gazed at him brightly. “Well, I think I’m pretty good at my job,” she admitted. He smiled at her. “So I hear. And I’m sure you’d prefer to work without me breathing down your neck all the time. So how about this?” He leaned forward, giving her a direct look that seemed to startle her. “Why don’t you set up your own schedule and make your reports to me through Leonard Trask, your supervisor. That way, you’ll have complete autonomy, unless I find any problem with your work. Though I hardly expect to do that.” She sat up a bit straighter and seemed excited. “That’s a great idea,” she told him. “So, in other words, I’ll reserve time at city hall to delve into the archives and go over the deeds, then set up my own interviews with sources, write up a report and hand it to Leonard, who will pass it on to you.” “Exactly.” He was pleased to see she was as quick as he’d heard she was. But just a little surprised that she seemed as eager for this hands-off approach as he was. When you came right down to it, he wasn’t used to women finding excuses to avoid his company. But that was neither here nor there. “You’ll still be available for any follow-ups we might need, of course.” “I love it,” she said, smiling from ear to ear, her eyes shining. “Mr. Greco, you’re going to spoil me.” “Believe me, Ms. Wolf, you’re doing me a favor.” Great. She was going for it. He stretched back in his chair and risked a smile. He was a genius. “That,” he told himself silently, “is why they pay you the big bucks, Greco. You are the man with the plan.” Chapter Two Chareen shed her clothes with a sigh of relief and stepped into the shower as though it were a waterfall on a tropical mountainside. The water felt so good running through her hair and down over her skin, and it had been such a long day. She’d picked up her two little ones, Ricky and Ronnie, at the day-care center and had driven them directly to their favorite fast-food restaurant for hamburgers. She’d then spent an hour trying to ward off constantly impending disaster as they charged through the room with the plastic balls and sailed down the long tube slide and climbed anything with a handhold. There was a lot of noise involved—and an apology to the man who was hit in the head with one of the plastic balls when her two wild ones had a ball war. And then there was the little girl who started crying because Ronnie made a face at her. But finally she’d been able to convince the boys to get back in the car and she’d dragged them back here to Casa del Mar, the old Victorian house where they were staying. A sort of corporate bed-and-breakfast, the three-floor structure had been renovated to provide rooms for contract workers and other temporary visitors to TriTerraCorp. When she’d told Leonard, her supervisor, about having to find a place to stay while her house was being repaired, he’d suggested she stay there for the duration. Currently half empty, the house had plenty of room for her and her two boys. “Just keep those kids quiet,” Leonard had warned her. “Some of the old-timers who stay at Casa del Mar are real cranky when it comes to the sound of kids.” Keeping Ricky and Ronnie quiet would require depriving them of the power of speech, and even then they would surely pound on drums to get their message out. But she did her best, hurrying them in through the lobby area and up the stairs to the room on the second floor where they were staying. She bathed them, read them a story and put them to bed. At last, she had a few minutes to unwind. And to think about what had happened at work. She’d been putting off thinking about it, because there were just too many ramifications to deal with all at once. Michael Greco had rocked her world, whether he knew it or not. She only hoped he didn’t know it. And it wasn’t just that he looked so much like Danny. At least, she thought he did. She wished she’d brought a picture along when they’d moved in here so that she could get it out and take a look and see if this was all in her imagination. Funny how blurry his image was to her now. There had been a time when she’d been so in love with that face, she thought she’d die if she couldn’t be with him. Well, she hadn’t been with him for a very long time now, and she was still very much alive—though it had been touch-and-go for a while there. Everyone had always warned her that Danny would disappear from her life. No one had expected it to happen quite the way it had, though, in a fiery car accident that took his life. And no one had known she would have two little red-headed boys to remind her of the love she’d had for too short a time. She’d had three years to get over it, and she’d done a pretty good job. Her life was full of her kids, and her job, in that order. There was no room for anything or anyone else. Especially not a man who stirred up painful memories—and her long-dormant sensual imagination. Slipping out of the shower, she dried herself with one of the big, fluffy towels that Hannah Schubert, the house manager, had stocked in the bathroom, then stepped into the bottoms of her Mickey Mouse shorty pajamas and pulled on the top. She twisted her hair into a clip at the back, slipped her feet into fluffy pink bedroom slippers and made a face as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. This was not a picture she would want anyone she knew to ever see. Stopping to peek in on her sleeping babies, she paused and smiled, her heart full as she looked at them. Those adorable little angelic faces. Who could guess that all they were doing was storing up the energy to drive everyone crazy again as soon as possible? She grinned and turned to go downstairs. Her stomach was grumbling. She’d been too busy to eat at the fast-food restaurant and a peanut butter sandwich would hit the spot right now. She moved through the hallway with the confidence born of the knowledge that she was the only one home. Besides herself and her little family, four other people were living in the house right now. Hannah was the house mother and all-around coordinator of most of what went on here. And then there were two contract workers from Seattle who were busy improving the accounting software used by Financial, and an engineer from the Dallas office who was consulting on a sports stadium project. Hannah had gathered them all together to go out to the arena to see an all-star roster of country singers entertain, part of the rodeo that was in town. Chareen had been tempted, but she’d turned down the opportunity for a little fun. It was much more important to her to spend what time she could with her children. She padded into the kitchen and looked around the room, enjoying the contrast to her own little tiny kitchen at home. The stove was a huge gleaming monstrosity, the refrigerator had three doors, side by side, the sink had all the latest attachments, and beautiful copper-bottomed pans hung over the center island. Think of the gourmet dinners she could concoct in this place. Sighing happily, she switched on the radio and reached into the bread box. A cha-cha came on the air and she began to sing along with it, adding a few dance steps with her pink-slippered feet at the same time. Now where did Hannah keep the peanut butter? Michael paused on the wooden steps and looked up at the beautiful old house. He was feeling better already. He needed sleep and he needed it soon. This looked like a place where he might be able to get it. He knocked on the big wooden door with the beveled glass windowpanes, but there was no answer. In the distance, he could hear a radio playing, and the sound of someone singing. Trying the knob, he found it turned easily in his hand, and he went on into the entryway. The place looked just as good inside as out. Polished hardwood floors gleamed in the lamplight. Persian carpets, neoclassic furniture, reproductions of works by Constable and Turner, and plenty of flower arrangements all combined to lend the place an air of quiet dignity and peaceful serenity. And most of all, after the wild scene at the hotel where rodeo rowdies caroused through the corridors all night long, there was the wonderful silence that lurked in the hallways. Sighing happily, he set his leather suitcase and canvas suit carrier on the floor of the entryway and started toward where the radio was playing. He’d been told to ask for a Hannah Schubert, who managed the place. In just minutes, he was sure his head would be on a cool, crisp pillow. He could hardly wait. Pushing open the swinging door to the kitchen, his gaze encountered a woman in baby doll pajamas and fluffy pink slippers, hair only half caught in a band at the back of her head. She was just taking a huge bite out of a peanut butter sandwich and catching sight of him at the same time. “You’re not Hannah Schubert, are you?” he asked wryly, knowing the answer before the words were out of his mouth. For some reason, finding Chareen here didn’t really surprise him. After all, he’d been thinking about her all afternoon. But Chareen seemed surprised. She gasped, breathed the wrong way and began to choke on the peanut butter. He was at her side in two quick strides, pulling her into the curl of one arm while he pounded on her back with the flat of his free hand. Funny. For such a slim thing, she felt solid and deliciously rounded against his arm. He wanted to keep her there for a while, but she was already fighting to get free of him and he let her go reluctantly. “You!” she cried as she backed away, still coughing, her face red and her eyes watering. She couldn’t believe it. Was she cursed or something? There he stood, big as life, looking incredibly handsome with his hair mussed so that it fell over his forehead, his tie hanging loose and the top button of his shirt undone. He was so masculine and attractive, it made her ache inside. What had she done to deserve this? “It must be kismet,” he was saying dryly, looking at her with a bemused smile. “We meet again.” She would have kept on backing right out of sight if she could have, but the counter stopped her. Still staring at him, ready to jump should he make a move toward her, she licked the peanut butter from her fingers and reached for a paper towel to finish the job. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, embarrassed to be caught running around in her pajamas, intrigued by the sight of him and chagrined to think he might realize just how much she liked what she saw. “What are you doing here?” he countered, looking her up and down and knowing he was being blatant about it, but unable to resist. She looked good enough to kiss, even in her present disheveled condition, and he realized he wasn’t as displeased as he should have been to find her thrust back into his day. “I have permission to stay here,” she told him, drawing herself up rather grandly for a person who’d just been choking to death on peanut butter in his embrace. She pulled her arms across her chest in a defiant posture, meant to outweigh the picture she knew she made in her childish pajamas. “My house is being repaired and I needed a place to stay for a few days, so Leonard, my supervisor, suggested I stay here.” “What a coincidence,” he told her, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I have special permission to stay here, too.” She frowned. That was all she needed. Surely he was mistaken. “No,” she said sternly. “You can’t stay here. This place is for contract workers and visitors from other branches of TriTerraCorp. You’re an executive. Executives stay at the hotel. The company has a very expensive suite for them.” She gestured with a jerk of her head. “You’ll have to go and stay there.” “I’ve been,” he told her tranquilly. “And I left again. There’s a rodeo, you know.” She blinked, thinking that over. “I know. But it’s not at the hotel.” “It may not be, but the cowboys are. They’re riding the place hard and they plan to die with their boots on. I didn’t get any sleep at all last night. Tonight, I plan to sleep like a baby.” Her shoulders drooped. She knew she’d probably lost this one. It was so annoying to see him standing there so easily, as though he belonged, telling her the way things were going to be. She wished with all her heart that she could honestly tell him there was just no vacancy. But the way things were going, he’d probably find a way to have her kicked out and take over her room. “Okay,” she told him grudgingly, “but if you’re going to be staying here, you’ve got to promise me one thing.” “What’s that?” “Promise that you won’t keep sneaking up on me like this. I’m going to be jumpy as a cat for as long as you’re around.” He grinned. He couldn’t help it. She was just so damn appealing. “I promise.” “Good.” She heaved a sigh, as though that took a real load off her mind. “Okay, here are the rules. We’re all equal here. No bosses. No ordering anyone around. Everyone gets a bedroom, but we all share one bathroom on each floor. There’s a ‘knock three times and pause’ rule on all the doors, especially the bathroom door, because the locks are old and cranky. Sometimes they don’t work very well.” She paused, waiting to see if that was enough to scare him away. When it obviously wasn’t, she sighed and went on. “You’re supposed to supply some of your own food, though Hannah keeps a stock of staples that everyone is welcome to use. She has them clearly marked. She makes breakfast available for all from six to seven-thirty every morning.” He nodded, agreeing to the rules as she’d stated them. “That all sounds very good.” He flexed his shoulders. He would have liked to stay here chatting with her for hours. That husky voice of hers still worked its magic on his senses, and he had to admit, she was a hit in those diminutive pajamas. It just about made a man forget all about some ridiculous promises he’d made to himself. She was acting skittish, but something told him she might be receptive with the right persuasion. Why not give it a try? A knowing smile, a touch, a raised eyebrow—he knew the ropes. He might even get her to share a bed with him this very night. But, much as he was tempted, he knew he wasn’t going to do it. She wasn’t a player. She had all the earmarks of a woman who viewed marriage and family as a major goal, and that was the very kind of woman he avoided at all costs. Besides, he was dead tired. He had to get some sleep. After one last regretful look at how cute her breasts looked under that ridiculous pajama top, he sighed and asked, “How do I find out which room I’ve got?” She shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Hannah. She and everyone else in the place are at the rodeo. They’ll be back about midnight, I’m sure. Now, if you’ll just hand me the other half of my sandwich,” she added, pointing out where it lay on the counter behind him, “I’m going to bed.” He picked up her sandwich but he didn’t hand it to her right away. “Midnight,” he said, frowning. “No, that’s impossible. I need a bed now.” “Sorry,” she said, stepping closer to take her sandwich and turning as though about to flee. “‘Sorry’ won’t help,” he said, grasping her wrist before she could pull away. “I’ve got to get some sleep. Now.” She glared up at him. “What do you expect me to do about it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know. Be a little helpful, maybe.” Their gazes held a moment too long. That sense of awareness sizzled between them, and her heart was beating so loudly, she knew he had to hear it. This was utterly ridiculous. How could she be standing here in these silly pajamas, with his hand holding her wrist in a viselike grip, feeling like a teenager with her first crush? Determinedly, she yanked her hand away and glared at him, rubbing her wrist. But he hardly seemed to notice. “What rooms are empty?” he asked crisply. “I don’t know,” she said, knowing she was acting like a sullen child but unable to help herself. “I don’t pay much attention.” “Don’t you?” His gaze narrowed. “What floor are you on?” “The second. But…” “Are there any empty rooms near you?” “That’s not the point.” “There must be a room across the hall from you. Anyone in there?” She hesitated. “Not that I know of, but that doesn’t mean…” He started for the door. “It means I’m going to be sleeping there tonight.” “You can’t,” she said, hurrying after him back to the entryway. “Oh, can’t I?” He slung his suit carrier over his shoulder and picked up his suitcase, then turned to look at her. “Just watch me.” He gestured for her to lead the way. “After you, fair lady.” She searched his eyes suspiciously, looking for any sign that he was making fun of her, but she couldn’t pin anything down. “Why can’t you just camp out on the couch until they get back?” she suggested rather halfheartedly. She knew he wouldn’t go for it and he didn’t even bother to say so. Instead he waited, giving her a look of expectation, and she sighed and flounced off toward the stairs. “The door might be locked,” she said over her shoulder as he followed her to the second floor. “The bed might not be made up.” “I’ll sleep in the bathtub if I have to,” he said calmly, not even pretending he didn’t like the view he had in front of him going up the stairs. “Just give me a pillow and don’t turn on the shower. Once I fall asleep, I don’t plan to wake up again until morning.” She hurried to put distance between them, but stopped in front of the room she was staying in. “Here’s mine,” she said, cracking open the door to deposit the peanut butter sandwich just inside and to sneak a peek at her sleeping boys. They looked fine, and she closed the door again just as he arrived. “And here’s the room you plan to hijack,” she said, trying the handle. It opened easily. She went straight to the bed and pulled back the bedspread. “I thought so. No sheets.” “I’ll rough it.” “No, you won’t.” She was scandalized. “I’ll find you sheets. Here, help me pull back the blanket. I’ll make your bed up for you. Just wait a minute.” He pulled back the blanket as she’d suggested, then shrugged out of his jacket, pulled off his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. All he wanted to do was fall down on the bed and close his eyes, but he waited while she opened drawers, looking for bedding. Her hair had come completely loose by now, and it swirled around her pretty face in a way that made him want to kiss her nose. She looked so beguiling with the tanned skin of her long legs gleaming in the lamplight. But when she’d found the sheets and turned, coming back toward him, he had to laugh at the picture she made. Her legs were lovely, but it did look as though she were wearing two very angry Persian cats on her feet. “What?” she said indignantly, stopping in her tracks. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing,” he said quickly, shrugging out of his shirt and dropping it onto a nearby chair. “Nothing at all.” She was going to say more, but one look at his muscular chest rendered her speechless and she looked away quickly, praying that she wouldn’t turn red as she moved toward the bed with the fresh sheets. The picture Sherry had created in the calendar had nothing on the reality. It had been a long time since she’d been this close to a real live shirtless man. She wondered, fleetingly, if he would notice if she turned up the air conditioner. It seemed to be getting awfully hot in the room. “Here, grab this side,” she ordered as she tossed the sheets down and began to pull the fitted one into place. He did as he’d been told and they got the sheet on in no time. Chareen reached for the top one and gave it a swish, looked up and caught Michael’s eye as he grabbed his side, and her heart did a flip in her chest. There was something in the way he was looking at her… “Pull it tight,” she ordered, avoiding his gaze and trying to keep her equilibrium. Just a few more minutes and she would be out of here. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice like a purr. “Tuck it under, like this,” she said, demonstrating a hospital corner. He gazed at her balefully. “What is the point?” he asked, making no effort to attempt one. With an exasperated sigh, she charged around the end of the bed to do it herself, but he didn’t make way fast enough, and when he did move, it was in the wrong direction. She turned right into him, their bodies collided, and the next thing she knew, she was falling down onto the bed, and he was falling on top of her. She gasped. He broke his fall with his arms, bracing himself over her, looking down into her face. “Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t move. She knew she should say something, but she seemed to have lost all power of speech. Her gaze was locked with his, and she felt as though she were lost, wandering in the shadows of his hazel eyes, unable to find a way out. His hard, warm body was pressed to hers in so many places. To have a man so close, so strong, was unbelievably intoxicating. It had been so long since a man had held her in his arms and made sweet love to her. Suddenly, she ached to have that feeling again. Her senses drank in every nuance of his presence, his clean, manly scent, the brush of his breath against her hair, the hard muscles of his thighs pressing on hers. Her hands were flattened against his naked chest, and she could feel his heart beating a pulse into her palm. “I hold your heart in my hand.” The sentiment flickered through her mind and for one very scary moment, she was afraid she might have said it out loud. But there wasn’t time to worry about that, because her body was turning traitor. A shudder ran through her soul and she knew she wanted him in a strange, deep and very primitive way. The need had an urgency that took her breath away and seemed about to convulse her body, as though she’d been taken over by a libidinous spirit that would soon render her helpless to resist. Her lips parted and she found herself arching toward him, begging for his kiss. There was a moan starting deep in her throat. Was it a moan of surrender? Of triumph? Of overwhelming desire? She would never know, because at that moment there was a new sound from the hallway. “Mama? Mama?” As though a switch had been thrown, her eyes snapped wide and she used those hands that had been kneading into the muscles of his chest to throw him off her. Springing to her feet, she called out, “Just a minute, baby,” and glared at where Michael was sprawled on the bed, looking as though he wasn’t sure what had just happened here. “If you need anything else, Mr. Greco,” she said evenly, “you can wait for Hannah to get back. I’m off duty. See you in the morning.” She stared at him for a short moment, as though she could hardly believe what they’d just shared could have really happened, then she spun around, threw open the door and headed into the hallway. He rose slowly from the bed, still throbbing deep down with the need for her. His mind was fogged with exhaustion and desire, and he really wasn’t sure what was going on. Reaching the doorway, he leaned against the jamb and looked out into the hallway, watching as she scooped two little redheaded boys into her arms. “Where did they come from?” he asked, completely at sea and mainly intent on getting her to come back into the room. She looked up at him and her chin lifted. “They’re mine,” she said proudly. “Ricky and Ronnie. Say hello to Mr. Greco, boys. He’s my boss.” Chapter Three Michael groaned softly. Char was not going to be coming back in the bedroom. Not only that, but he now had ample evidence that his first impression had been the right one. She wasn’t the type to be interested in a quick roll in the hay. Especially not with two kids in tow. The boys both blinked at him sleepily. One boy waved. The other frowned and turned his head away, pressing into his mother’s neck. Michael stared at them. He was not a kid person. “You didn’t tell me you had children,” he said, resignation clear in his voice. “You didn’t ask.” She turned into her room, looking back at him. His attitude had cooled completely and she wondered why. But she had two children to look after and she didn’t have time to dwell on it. “Good night,” she called back over her shoulder. He didn’t answer, but she heard his door close as she put the boys back to bed. Frowning, she closed her own door and leaned against it for a moment, remembering what had happened on the bed. It was crazy, of course. She must have been half out of her mind. She didn’t do things like that, not ever. But she couldn’t say that anymore, could she? She’d responded to him like a flower to sunshine, as though she’d been waiting for him to awaken something in her that had been sleeping too long. Was she really that lonely? Did her body and soul really hunger so deeply for a man’s love that she was ready to drop down on a bed with the first guy who grabbed her? Or was it something else? Was it because he looked so much like Danny? Was that what had loosened her inhibitions and made her respond to him the way she had? “Hah!” she said to herself scornfully. No such luck. She couldn’t claim that as an alibi. Her mind had been on nothing but the touch, the scent and the heat of Michael Greco. Which was why he was more dangerous to her peace of mind than any man she’d known in a long, long time. “Mama, kiss!” Ronnie demanded from his bed, holding his little arms out to her. Smiling, she started toward him, loving the way his little fireplug body looked in his Pok?mon pajamas. “Forget about Michael Greco,” she told herself sternly. “Your kids are all that really matter.” And she wiped him from her mind as her children claimed her full attention. Michael went to bed, but despite his exhaustion, he found himself lying still, staring at the ceiling. Maybe he was too tired to relax. Or maybe he was still trying to get over his encounter with his neighbor. He could still feel the way her body had pressed against his. Every delicious part of her fulfilled the promise that rich, husky voice laid out. It had been a long time since a woman had turned him on quite so easily and quite so thoroughly. And here he’d thought he was finished with that sort of thing. It had been four years since his wife, Grace, had given up on him. He’d had his share of women since then, and over time, the nameless, faceless encounters had begun to seem sleazy and pointless. He’d made a decision to forget about women and concentrate on business. He had ambitions. Right now he was on a trajectory toward a vice presidency. That should be enough. And it was, damn it! He couldn’t have a life like other men because he wasn’t like other men. He accepted that. He could live with it. But it had been bad luck to end up so close to Chareen Wolf and her crew. Something in her had reached right through his defenses and latched onto his soul from the beginning. He hadn’t wanted it to happen. But she reminded him of what life could have been like if only… “If onlys” didn’t change anything. He was a pragmatic man and reality was all he cared about. And reality dictated that he stay away from women like Char—women who had family in mind. Poor Grace. Suddenly he had a clear picture of her, of that awful pleading look in her eyes. Even after all these years, that look made him shrivel up inside. All she’d ever wanted was a family. And that was exactly what he couldn’t give her. Char was nothing like Grace, but she had similar interests. He had to stay away from her. For his own sanity, for her peace of mind. And with that decided, he finally fell asleep. Michael’s eyes drifted open a crack. Sunlight spilled into his room. He glanced at the clock. Damn. He’d forgotten to set the alarm. He closed his eyes again. No use getting up until he was sure the coast was clear. Might as well get a little more sleep. This was his third morning in the old Victorian. On the first and second he had very carefully awoken early and cleared out before Char and her children got up, getting breakfast at a local coffee shop and heading for work in time to avoid all contact with the little family across the hall. He’d had to deal with Char a few times at the office, but he’d managed to keep the contact short and sweet—and very reserved. Neither one of them had made any reference to the incident on the bed. Relations between them were strictly professional and they were going to stay that way if he could manage it. But this morning he’d misjudged. He’d gotten in so late last night, he’d prepared for bed like a robot and fallen asleep instantly. Now he was going to have to spend some more time in his room if he was going to wait them out and emerge after they’d left the house. So he dozed, barely noticing as doors opened and closed up and down the hall, as little feet pattered past, as Char’s heels made a staccato but muffled tattoo on the corridor carpet. He had a short, seductive dream in which he reached out and touched Char’s shoulder, his hand sliding in between two silky strands of her beautiful blond hair, and she turned, dressed in the cranberry-colored, scoop-necked wool sweater she’d worn to work the day before—a sweater that did for her form what a layer of powdered snow did to the Sierras—and he reached down into the scoop and… Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/raye-morgan/working-overtime-39935642/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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