2

NOT BAD. Not bad at all. Bathed by warm Sarasota, Florida sunshine, Jayde stood in a huge fenced-in terra-cotta-flagstone-paved courtyard. Surrounding her was tropical greenery she couldn’t even begin to name. To her left was a kidney-shaped pool. And right in the middle of the courtyard was a magnificent three-tiered Italianate fountain. She couldn’t believe this. It was like a sign, one that said Welcome Home, Jayde.

Slowly now, she turned round and round, admiring the compound of her new employer, Mr. Bradford Hale. One of the richest men in the country, Ms. Kingston had said. He was no one Jayde had ever heard of. But that didn’t really surprise her, considering she was just a blue-collar worker’s daughter from Kentucky. Maybe Mr. Hale was a quiet, secure rich man, one who saw no need to broadcast his wealth and power. Someone of humility and values. Someone, despite Ms. Kingston’s relationship with the man, whom Jayde could respect. She certainly hoped so, at any rate.

“Wow,” she said aloud to the muscled hunk of a chauffeur who’d met her at the Sarasota-Bradenton Airport. “Are you sure this is the right place? I thought houses like this existed only in movies. Or maybe magazines.”

“Yes, ma’am, Jayde. This is the right place.”

“Boy, I’ll say. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen this style of house before. What’s it called?”

“Northern Italian. Some call it Mediterranean.”

“Northern Italian. Mediterranean,” Jayde repeated with due reverence as she faced the tile-roofed, two-story structure finished in a warm sunset-colored stucco. She believed the house—mansion, really—with its arched entry and windowed balconies, was bigger than a horse barn. Finally, Jayde eyed the chauffeur and quipped, “I don’t think I’m in Kansas City anymore, Toto.”

The man chuckled. Tall, dark and handsome in a no-nonsense sort of way, and dressed in an honest-to-God chauffeur’s black uniform, he had been standing in the terminal, holding up a hand-lettered sign with her name on it. He’d introduced himself as Lyle and had proven to be kind and solicitous of her every need. They’d traveled to the house in a black stretch limousine. Jayde thought she was dreaming.

But now that Jayde was standing here, she was suddenly overcome. So she blurted out the first relevant thing she could think of. “So, where is he? My boss, I mean. Will I meet him anytime soon?” Selfconsciously, she pulled at her very inadequate wool skirt and knit sweater, trying as much to straighten them as she was to tug them away from her itchy skin. It must be eighty degrees here. She’d already shed as many layers of clothes as modesty would allow since stepping out of the airport terminal.

Lyle set down her bags and her artist’s easel, and then searched through his pockets, presumably for a key to the house. “You’ll meet him today, as it turns out. Mr. Hale will be arriving from Rome in a few hours. I’m to set you up here, show you the way things work and then go back and get him. He’ll be staying here tonight and part of tomorrow. Then he leaves for England.”

Jayde was duly impressed. “That’s some life he’s got there.”

Lyle grinned as he finally fished a key out. “It keeps him busy. And pays for all this.” He inserted the key into the lock, turned it and opened the door. “Come on in. Welcome home.” He stood aside for Jayde to enter. She heard a high-pitched whine, like an alarm, and sent Lyle an alarmed look. “Go ahead,” he urged. “Look around. I’ll carry your stuff in and deal with the security system. I’ve got thirty seconds to punch in the code, or the alarm sounds and JOCK calls the police.”

“Well, that’s good of him…I guess.” Whoever Jock was. Jayde stepped out of Lyle’s way…and found herself in a world she’d never have believed. A feast for the senses. Across the way, ceiling-to-floor windows looked out onto a beautiful expanse of blue water. Inside, mauves and tans and greens and touches of blue greeted her. It was formal yet inviting. Exciting yet restful. Framed artwork that appeared to her to be the real thing hung on the walls. Big, bold furniture, richly upholstered accented each room. Awestruck, she wandered around the house. Not one tiny detail had gone lacking, not from the sunken wet bar to the marine fish tank that backed it. Jayde could hardly breathe. In fact, she feared she was going to cry. Being here was like winning the lottery. Things like this just didn’t happen to her.

Then Lyle reminded her of his existence. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

Jayde obediently followed him. Through a formal dining room, past a kitchen a professional chef would be proud of, down a hall…and into a bedroom that dazzled her. A veritable dream come true itself, complete with a queen-size bed, complete with a down comforter and a walk-in closet bigger than her entire studio apartment in Kansas City had been. Through an open doorway on the other side of the room she could see a bathroom…with a marbled countertop. She turned to Lyle. “You’re pulling my leg, right? This isn’t my room. This is Mr. Hale’s, isn’t it?”

Lyle just grinned. “No. Mr. Hale has the upstairs.”

Jayde eyed him. “The upstairs? As in ‘all of it,’ the whole thing?”

“Yes. Besides his bedroom suite, there’s a workout room, office, study, wet bar, home theater, things like that.” Lyle counted them off on his fingers.

“Wow. The rich really are different.” Full of wonder, she again swept her room with a glance and then pivoted to face Lyle. He was still in the doorway, watching her in a speculative sort of way, a shoulder propped against the doorjamb. Jayde felt her face coloring. “I don’t believe any of this. Pinch me.”

Chuckling, Lyle pushed away from the door and held his hands out defensively in front of him. “Not on your life. Now, if you don’t mind, before you settle yourself in, I’d like to take a few minutes to familiarize you with the alarm system and the electronic butler.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. “Electronic butler? Like a robot?”

“No. Like a computer. He runs the whole house. He was the one I was talking to and telling to turn on the lights, things like that, just now.”

“Oh.” Earlier, she’d been too fascinated with her surroundings to pay much attention to whom Lyle might have been speaking. She’d just figured it was some discreet servant. But now that she was more focused…this electronic butler thing didn’t bode well. She could barely operate an electric can opener. Still, she followed Lyle back into the kitchen. “So, it’s a he?” she asked. Lyle glanced questioningly over a shoulder at her. Jayde repeated, “The computer. You called it a he. I was just wondering how…I mean, I know how you can tell if a puppy’s male or female. I was just trying to figure out how you’d know on a machine….”

Lyle chuckled. “I get your drift. ‘He’ has a male voice. And his name is JOCK. J-O-C-K. All capitals. And don’t let him fool you—he’s the most advanced thing in artificial intelligence there is. Has his own obnoxious personality, too.”

With that, Lyle stopped in front of a narrow white wood door set in the wall in the gleaming kitchen and opened it. Jayde thought it must be a pantry. But it was nothing that simple. Instead, mounted on a black panel inside, were enough gadgets and buttons and bells and levers to warm a rocket scientist’s heart. Some of them glowed steadily, some of them weren’t lit at all and still others were blinking. To Jayde, they all looked ominous.

Her heart thumped fearfully. Surely she wouldn’t be expected to know how to operate all this stuff. As Lyle began confidently pushing buttons all over the panel—Jayde was waiting for a missile silo to appear right in the living room—she asked the only intelligent question she could think of. “So, Lyle, what does JOCK stand for?”

Not looking her way, he shrugged his broad shoulders. “I forget. It’s computereze for something or other. Okay, here we go.” Now he looked at her. “Everything in the house is voice-activated. Once I introduce you to JOCK, he’ll obey your every command.”

“Really? Will he clean the bathrooms if I tell him to?”

“No. But he’ll tell Helga to do it.”

“Who’s Helga? Another robot?”

“No. The maid. She comes in once a week. You don’t have to do any heavy cleaning. Just pick up after yourself, do your own laundry, and keep the kitchen clean.”

She nodded and then eyed the control panel, irrationally lowering her voice to a whisper as she leaned toward Lyle. “This JOCK thing won’t be, well, watching me all the time, will he?”

Lyle leaned over to her, also whispering. “Yeah, he will. So don’t try to steal the silver.” Her eyes widened. Lyle chuckled. “I’m just kidding you. But, yeah, there are cameras throughout the house, and JOCK can see you wherever you go. And he hears you through the house-wide intercom system. But it’s for your protection more than anything else. You’ll get used to it.”

Jayde wasn’t so sure. But before she could say so, Lyle faced the panel and “spoke” to JOCK, telling it—him—who Jayde was. JOCK welcomed her. “Hiya, toots. What’s a cute doll like you doing hanging out with a zero like Lyle? Why don’t you step in here with me and I’ll show you what a real man is like.”

Jayde stood there…dumbfounded. Lyle just quirked his mouth, crossed his arms over his chest, grinned…and watched her. Like this was a test. Maybe they wanted to see if she’d be rude to visitors. Maybe that was it. So, she went with her good Kentucky manners. “Um, hello, JOCK, nice to meet you. And thank you for saying I’m a…cute doll.”

A moment of electronic silence followed. And then—Jayde would have sworn to it in a court of law—JOCK turned to Lyle. “What is she—a virgin?”

Gasping, Jayde blurted out, “I am no such thing. How dare you—” She cut herself off, suddenly remembering that being a virgin wasn’t a bad thing.

“Cripes,” JOCK said sarcastically. “No need to yell, Jayde. You may speak in a normal tone of voice. I’m not deaf.”

Lyle chuckled and good-naturedly smacked Jayde on the shoulder, almost knocking her over. “Come on, Jayde. Don’t let him get to you. You got to show him who’s the boss, or he’ll walk all over you.”

Jayde recovered her balance and sought Lyle’s gaze, seeking encouragement, which he signaled with a thumbs-up gesture. She then bravely stepped up in front of the control panel. “You might not be deaf, big boy, but if you ever speak to me like that again, you’ll be a singing soprano and hitting the high notes in the national anthem.” She then turned to Lyle. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the hang of this, I’m sure.”

Lyle waved away her apology. “You already got the hang of it.”

JOCK cut in. “Of course she does, Lyle. After all, you did. And you have a single-digit IQ.”

Lyle’s expression was deadpan. “He’s quite the kidder, huh? Yeah, me and JOCK—we’re real tight.”

After that, Lyle took the time to explain the contraptions on the panel, the functions and workings of each Jayde hadn’t a prayer of remembering. In only moments, her head was spinning. Blessedly, Lyle gave her a thick three-ring binder that turned out to be a primer on operating all the gadgets in the house. With that safely tucked against her side, Jayde recapped for Lyle her understanding of the Hale domestic operations.

“Okay, so there’s a security system wired directly to the police. A pool service. A yard service. A pest control service. An electronic butler that is voice-activated and runs the whole house. A maintenance man who checks on things once a month. A maid who cleans everything once a week. And no cook, unless Mr. Hale is home for an extended length of time.”

“That’s right.” Lyle’s blue eyes were sincere and friendly.

“And Mr. Hale doesn’t live here more than a few weeks of the year.”

“Yes, Ma’am. When he’s here on business.”

Jayde nodded. “So, Lyle, what am I doing here? Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled—if not stunned—to be here. It’s beautiful and, I’m beginning to think, a great opportunity for me. But what exactly am I sitting? I mean, this house doesn’t need me.”

“Sure it does. So does Mr. Hale. See, he likes his homes to be lived in. He doesn’t like to think of them sitting dark and empty all the time. He wants someone on the premises who he can call and tell to get things ready when he’s coming home.”

Jayde frowned, considering Lyle’s words. “Gosh, that sounds…I don’t know, Lyle…lonely or sad, somehow. As if Mr. Hale is trying to hire himself a family. Does he have one?”

Lyle remained quiet so long that Jayde felt certain she’d spoken out of turn. She lowered her gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Lyle said. “And no, he hasn’t got a family. Not anymore. You know, I hadn’t thought about it that way before. Is that how he comes across?”

Jayde shrugged. “Well, maybe. From what you’re saying, it does. But I haven’t met him yet. I wouldn’t think that someone who had all this would be lonely unless he chose to be.”

Lyle’s eyes widened a bit. “Wow, you’ve got a lot of insight in that head of yours.” Then he looked her up and down in a speculative way, adding, “And potential. It’s written all over you.” Without giving her a chance to ask what he meant, he went on with the business at hand, acquainting her with the surroundings. “I forgot to tell you. There’s a car in the garage you can use anytime you want. Just don’t take off for California or anything.”

Jayde could only stare, not believing her good fortune. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Then, considering her opulent surroundings, she asked, “What is it—a Rolls-Royce?”

Lyle laughed…but didn’t say it wasn’t. “You also have a bank account in your name. Ms. Kingston, back in Kansas City, should have had you sign the signature card.” Jayde nodded. Lyle continued. “Good. Your salary and money for household and car expenses will be deposited automatically into the account once a month. And credit cards and a health card will be issued in your name, too.”

Jayde’s head was swimming with this sudden embarrassment of riches. All she could think of was how this money—her share of it—would help her family. “Mr. Hale is awfully trusting.”

Lyle didn’t laugh. “No, he isn’t. You’ve been carefully checked out. Once by the employment agency. And again by Mr. Hale’s own security team.”

Jayde frowned, feeling very exposed. “That was fast. I didn’t even know about this job myself twenty-four hours ago.”

“Yeah, they’re fast. But you’re also squeaky clean.”

Jayde stared at him. “That’s the second time in twenty-four hours I’ve been told that, Lyle. I’m beginning to think it’s another way of saying I’m boring.”

He grinned. “You’re anything but boring.” Then, he surprised her by adding, “In fact, I’m thinking you’re just what the boss ordered—if not what he needs. Imagine…Ms. Kingston sending someone like you.” Jayde wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but Lyle was still talking. “I guess you’ll find plenty of things to paint here, too.”

Jayde stared at him. How did he know that she was an artist?

Before she could get too paranoid, Lyle informed her, “Your artist’s easel. I carried it in. And you told me that a shipment of your work is supposed to arrive in a few days.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Relief coursed through her. “I forgot. Whew. For a minute there I was thinking maybe that security check you said Mr. Hale did—”

“Well, that, too. But don’t make too much of it. It’s standard for anyone who works for Mr. Hale. He just likes to know who he’s dealing with.”

“Don’t we all,” Jayde quipped, as she wondered what Ms. Kingston had gotten her into.

“WHAT THE HELL—?” Bradford Hale, newly arrived from Rome, shoved forward from the back seat of his limo, almost joining Lyle in the front as he gripped the leather and stared at his secluded house in the quiet and gated community.

At this moment, though, the entire neighborhood was anything but quiet. Because Brad’s home was surrounded by police cars with blue and red lights flashing in the deepening dusk. The courtyard gates were thrown wide and milling officers could be seen inside at the front doors. Security sirens, mounted atop the house, blared. Curious and, no doubt, irate neighbors, none of whom Brad knew, lined their own driveways, gawking at the Hale mansion and talking amongst themselves.

“Looks like something went wrong, Mr. Hale.”

“That would be my guess, Lyle. Just stop here and park. I’m getting out.”

“Yes, Sir.” Lyle angled the limo over to the curb and brought it to a smooth stop. He cut the engine and pulled an automatic pistol out of his shoulder holster, checking it over. “I’m right behind you, boss.”

“Be ready, but keep that thing out of sight.” With that, Brad jumped out and sprinted across the lawns, where he was stopped by a policeman. “I’m Bradford Hale. That’s my house,” Brad quickly explained. “What’s going on?” He checked the man’s name tag. “What’s happened, Officer Talbot?”

Officer Talbot lowered his arms and had to yell over the sharp wail of the sirens. “We don’t know, Mr. Hale. We can’t get inside to see. Or to turn the alarm off. It’s locked down tighter than a chastity belt on a virgin.”

“Damn. I have a new house sitter inside. Is she all right?”

Talbot, a big, burly and competent-appearing man, frowned. “That would probably be the angry young woman inside, banging on the door, right?”

“I have no idea.” Brad turned to Lyle, who nodded as he surreptitiously holstered his weapon. Brad again faced the police officer. “Yes. That’s her. Maybe she gave a wrong command to JOCK and he locked the house down.”

“JOCK? That’s your security system’s computer brain, right?”

“Right. If you’ll allow me, I can go undo this. JOCK will respond to me.”

“I sure as heck hope so, Mr. Hale. We’re getting complaints here.”

Brad felt his neighbors’ accusing glares on his back. “I’m sure you are. Lead the way, officer.”

Once at the doors, Brad heard the pounding and the yelling on the other side. His expression turned grim. The poor woman had to be scared to death. That damned JOCK. The computerized butler was getting too independent. It wasn’t employees he was programmed to, well, discourage—it was old and unwelcome lovers, for lack of a better word. Brad decided that, over all, he was becoming a bit concerned by JOCK’s behavior. Was the artificial intelligence he possessed getting more real? Was the butler actually thinking on his own? Brad didn’t know if he should be excited by or afraid of such a possibility.

Either way, the truth was JOCK’s independent actions had already cost Brad two house sitters in the past year by pulling stunts such as this. No sense allowing him to get away with any more games. With Lyle’s bulk hiding him from prying eyes, Brad opened a small, artfully hidden panel to one side of the front doors and punched in a few numbers. What he feared he would have to do instead, though, was completely disconnect JOCK once and for all.

“All right,” Brad said, closing the panel and turning to Officer Talbot. “JOCK should unlock the door any second now—” A metallic clicking interrupted him. Then the front door swung slowly open.

Immediately, a slender brunette squeezed through the opening and flung herself outside. She looked around, hair wild and her eyes narrowed. She suddenly centered her attention, for whatever reason, on Brad. “I am personally going to kill that damned JOCK. That is the last time he gets around me, you hear me? If it’s the last thing I do, I will rip every one of his precious wires right out by the roots. You just see if I don’t.”

Shocked, Brad stared back at her and then looked over her head to Lyle, who grinned drolly.

“Told you so,” Lyle said. “You’re wrong about this one, boss. Meet your new house sitter. Mr. Hale, this is Ms. Jayde Greene, lately of Kansas City, Missouri.”

THAT EVENING WAS Florida picture-postcard perfect. The police were gone. The neighbors had disappeared. The sun had set beautifully in a manner worthy of applause. And even Lyle, after securing a lobster dinner for two—the two being Brad and his new house sitter—had been given the evening off. That meant Brad was now alone with Ms. Greene, and had been for the past couple of hours.

After she’d settled down, showering and changing into a more weather-appropriate dress, he’d invited her to eat out back with him on the lantern-lit flagstone patio. She’d seemed uncomfortable at first, but the enchanted surroundings, the good food, the wine and hopefully his company had finally worked their magic. She now appeared relaxed as she sat across from him at the wrought-iron table, a gentle wind carrying her perfumed scent his way.

Brad tried his best not to be intoxicated by her, but it was hard. She was an intriguing woman. Attractive. Funny. Articulate. Down-to-earth. And totally oblivious to him. Brad almost chuckled at the realization. No, he didn’t want her to come on to him. And no, he didn’t think he was irresistible. But he knew that to most people, his money was. Wealth was intoxicating—if you didn’t have the onerous responsibility of managing it on your own shoulders, that is. But Brad did and that was why he was determined—with this dinner invitation, this romantic atmosphere, and the wine—to see if he could make Jayde Greene show her true hand, so to speak. If she did, if she came on to him, or made him think she had any ulterior motives at all, then he’d fire her.

Harsh? Yes. But necessary. He needed to know what lay behind her sweet facade and the breath-of-fresh-air personality she had. Quite frankly, even despite her squeaky clean background check, he didn’t trust her. If she was a gold digger, then he wanted to know now. Because tomorrow he left for London and wouldn’t be back for months. So he had to know tonight if she was trustworthy and simply here for the job, as opposed to being here in the hopes of compromising him and, thus, his fortune. Not that his money was everything to him. It wasn’t. But it had proven, with more than one woman, to be everything to each of them. After a few such incidents, he’d become a little hardened, maybe a little jaded. But what else was he supposed to do? Remain a dupe for every opportunistic female out there?

It was no wonder he preferred to trust no one until they proved they could be trusted. Maybe his attitude wasn’t fair. If he was wrong, he’d be the first to apologize. But he had every reason to be especially wary of Jayde Greene. Because he couldn’t understand why Lucinda would send him someone like her to replace his last house sitter. This woman across the table from him was beautiful and ingenuous. Surely she was a plant, a gotcha, from Lucinda. She had to be. Lucinda Kingston hadn’t quite given up on him yet, he knew that much. So it would have made more sense if she’d sent him someone he’d instantly hate, just to make his life miserable. But she hadn’t, and Jayde was…well, wonderful. So far. Which could only mean she was probably a partner in crime with Lucinda, someone sent to make him fall hard for her just so she could walk away from him, leaving him face down in the dust. It’d be just like Lucinda, which was why they were no longer engaged.

But was it like Jayde? Was he unfairly prejudiced against her? Well, that’s what he didn’t know. And that was what he intended to find out. Tonight.

In her favor, Lyle seemed to think she was genuine. And Lyle wasn’t easily won over. In fact, Lyle was even more wary of unattached females than Brad was himself. A small smile claimed Brad’s mouth. That damned Lyle. Brad had often told Lyle that he acted more like a doting nanny than he did a driver and bodyguard. Brad wasn’t sure exactly when Lyle had decided that his boss was lonely and needed a wife. Maybe it had started five years ago…Brad shied away from that painful memory. He wasn’t going there, any more than he was going to seek a wife among his employees. Not that he needed or wanted a wife anyway.

Brad couldn’t stop himself from watching his new house sitter as she stared dreamily at the distant city lights twinkling across the bay. For all the attention she paid him, he could have gotten up thirty minutes ago and gone to bed. She wouldn’t have noticed. Brad grinned, employing a bit of self-deprecating humor. Did Jayde Greene think he was boring?

Brad lifted his wineglass and took a sip. Okay, so his new house sitter was, by all signs, totally unimpressed by him. All she’d talked about so far was art and fountains. And all he’d been thinking about as she spoke was how good-looking she was. She didn’t have the overtly seductive beauty you’d see on the cover of a magazine. No, she was more the girl-next-door kind of pretty. And she had a nice body to round out the package. But she was more than that. She had something else about her that really appealed to him and, alarmingly, it was getting around all his defenses. Something warm, something earthy and real that he hadn’t encountered in many years. Maybe she was everything she appeared to be. It was there in her laughter, in her inquisitive intelligence, in every artless yet seductive gesture she’d made this evening.

Suddenly, Brad realized that he wanted her to be the genuine article, the real thing. He really wanted that. After all his false starts and abrupt endings with women lately, he felt he deserved that. Just then, finally catching the drift of his own thoughts, Brad shifted on the cushioned wrought-iron chair and took himself to task over this apparent dent in his armor of aloofness. He blamed jet lag, the wine, his concern over some business matters, his own loneliness—Loneliness? Where had that come from? Lyle?

Brad instantly assured himself that he wasn’t lonely. He was a rock. One man unto himself, in charge of his world, a loner. He needed no one. To test that conclusion, Brad looked around himself now, trying to see his property through Jayde’s eyes. The manicured and sloping yard before them, complete with banyan trees and majestic palms, gave way to the fine sands and then the azure waters of Sarasota Bay. Moored here at his private dock, and even now bobbing gently in the swells, lay his sleek yacht, a fifty-foot Sea Ray. Pretty impressive stuff. Complete.

He was complete…so let the games begin. He glanced again over at the brunette who still sat in profile to him. She held her wine goblet in her hand. Her expression was serene. And she was essentially and irritatingly ignoring him while he wrestled with his demons. Smooth. Very smooth. Or genuine? Hell, he didn’t know. But he did know how to find out. “Still suffering a bit of culture shock, Ms. Greene?”

She turned to him, her doe eyes wide and dark. Oops. Perhaps he’d sounded as put out as he’d thought he had. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said quickly. “I’m just not used to being ignored, especially in my own home.”

“Ohmigosh, I’m sorry. I never meant to ignore you. It’s just that…” She smiled. “Well, yesterday I was freezing in a blizzard. And now, here I am, basking in Florida sunshine—well, starshine right now—and staring at a yacht. And tonight I had lobster for the first time in my life. So, yes, I have a bad case of culture shock, Mr. Hale.” Then she grinned. “Thanks to you.”

Fighting the melting effect of her smile on what he liked to think of as his cool and calculating heart, Brad hoisted his wineglass. “Here’s to no cure for culture shock, then, Ms. Greene.”

“No cure,” she said spiritedly, clinking her goblet against his and then sipping. As she lowered her glass, she murmured, “You can call me Jayde, if you like.”

Here we go. The beginning of the intimacies. Brad stared at her over the rim of his wineglass before setting it back on the table. “Thank you. I will.” He deliberately didn’t reciprocate by inviting her to call him Brad. For one thing, none of his employees, including Lyle, called him by his first name. And for another, he wanted to see what effect it would have on her. From what he could see, it had none. So he upped the stakes. “That’s an unusual name you have, Jayde. But a pretty one. Very pretty.”

And very fake. No one is named Jayde Greene, except maybe in a James Bond movie. That’s what he told himself, but to his mounting dismay, Brad secretly liked the way her name, real or not, felt on his tongue. Jayde. Jayde Greene. Surprisingly warm and rich, like a dessert.

“Why, thank you.” She shot him another one of those killer smiles, one full of openness and trust. Or was it?

Into the ensuing silence between them, punctuated only by gentle sounds of the night, another pang of wanting her and her smile to be real assailed Brad. Maybe his guard was down because he was tired of people being so artificial and cunning, which forced him to be the same way or to be taken every time. And maybe he just wanted to meet one real person in the world, one who didn’t give a damn about his money, but who gave every damn about him. What was wrong with that? Or with her being that one?

Just then, as if to further unnerve him, her dark eyes glinted, reflecting the lantern light in such a way that it appeared stars shone in their depths. Brad’s breath caught. Was he in danger of falling under her spell, calculated or not?

“You’re very kind to say so about my name, Mr. Hale. But I imagine to someone like you it sounds hokey or fake.”

Hadn’t he just thought that himself? Was this a ploy on her part, or innocent insecurity? The truth was, he was beginning to wonder if, in her case, he would finally be able to tell the difference. “To someone like me? What does that mean?”

Her expression fell. “I didn’t mean anything disrespectful.”

Brad shook his head. “I know you didn’t. It’s okay.” And it was. Because her comment, as well as her calling him Mr. Hale, reminded him of what he was trying to accomplish here. “And I really do like your name,” he added, now purposely flirting with her, trying to draw a suspicious reaction from her. “Although I would at least expect you to have the green eyes to go with it.”

“I get that a lot.” She looked down at her goblet, her motion causing her mahogany-colored hair to fall forward in a lustrous wave that caught Brad off guard and had him itching to run his fingers through it. But by the time she’d brushed her hair back and looked over at him, he’d picked up his wineglass, sipped at the fine Merlot…and his expression gave away nothing of the man who found himself suddenly and frighteningly yearning for her touch and her laughter, real or not.

“A pretty name was all my folks had to give each of us kids,” she added.

Aware of her every nuance, Brad nodded. Not that he understood. He was an only child, one born into a wealth he’d been managing before he’d inherited it outright when his parents had been killed five years ago in an avalanche at a Swiss ski chalet. Since then, he’d worked hard, sparing no one, not even himself, to increase his fortune. Wealth. It was very insulating—none of life’s ills could touch you. Or so he’d thought. But lately he hadn’t found his life fulfilling—not in the same way he suspected a family of his own would be.

A family, starting with a wife. Well, there was Lyle’s influence again. Brad fought a grin and counted himself lucky at least for JOCK’s unswerving support and efforts in weeding out the opportunistic females, as Brad called them. “So,” he said conversationally…and pointedly, trying to get at any holes in her story, “how many kids are there in your family?”

“Six.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Wow. That’s a lot nowadays.”

“It’s a lot every day. Just ask my mother.” She chuckled and, before he could stop himself, Brad joined her. Then she continued, “They live in Kentucky. My folks work hard, but there’s not a Greene who’s ever had much to lay a hand on. But that’s okay. Even in those times when there wasn’t quite enough food on everybody’s plate, we had plenty of love to go around.”

Oh, please. How saccharine. This was too much, this voluntary tale of poverty. True or false, it was not one Brad could relate to, either. But then again, came his sly thought, he wasn’t supposed to, was he? She had to know he’d never wanted for anything. He refused to feel guilty about that. Especially when he thought of the boarding schools and the infrequent visits home that had marked his adolescence. His parents had loved him, but they’d kept him at a distance. All of this Lucinda Kingston knew. What a perfect story for her and this Jayde Greene to come up with to tug at his heartstrings. Hell, the Greene family sounded like something out of a Rockwell painting.

“They sound like wonderful people. So, what are their names, these six kids with the pretty names as a legacy?”

He’d be willing to bet she couldn’t name them all without stumbling.

But she did. “Well, there’s me. I’m the oldest. And then there’re my sisters. Opal, Pearl and Ruby. And my brothers. Garnet and Gem. G-E-M.” She slanted him a shy, self-conscious glance. “That’s silly, isn’t it?”

Yes, it was. And so she had a good memory, so what? Still, he figured if he was going to play the game, he’d best rush in here with reassurances. “No, not at all. I think it’s…” He searched for a suitable adjective.

“Just too precious, maybe?” Jayde’s lips formed a humorous smirk. “Like they’re not even real?”

Was she testing him? Brad couldn’t believe it. Perhaps she was a lot more cunning than he’d given her credit for. He narrowed his eyes and agreed with her. “Afraid so.” Then, capturing her gaze, he heard himself boldly saying, “But let’s talk about precious. Precious doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I’d bet you’re precious to someone.”

Shy and beguiling, that was her innocent expression. “No. Just to my family.” Then, not looking away from him—not even when sudden awareness sparked in her dark eyes like an electric charge—she all but purred. “But I’d like to be. Someday. To someone. Wouldn’t you? Don’t you think that’s the best thing of all? To have someone to love?”

And there it was. Finally. The playing field was leveled. Something hardened around Brad’s heart…before disappointment could clutch at it. She’d just upped the stakes sexually. Brad sobered. He knew how to play this game from here on out. He refused to give in to the surge of emotion between them. Because it wasn’t genuine. It was dangerous. Big league. He set his wineglass down on the table, knowing full well what he was getting ready to do. Exactly what Jayde Greene wanted him to do.

He was going to kiss her.