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Her challenge hit him like an explosive force. “You damn well do.”
“No, I don’t,” she spat derisively. “It was my day off and a day off is a day off.”
Why the hell had he given her the damn day off to begin with? “You’re going to tell me where you went, trust me on that.”
She struggled against him and his hands clamped down. “Let me go—I need to see to Hannah.”
“She’s fine for the moment. All I want is the truth.”
“I already told you the truth. I had errands to run.”
Her goddamn prevarication wasn’t funny anymore. “This morning you said you wouldn’t be gone long, and then you were gone all damn day.”
“So? What’s it to you? It was my day off,” she announced hotly, renewing her struggles to get away as her baby kept up steady noises of distress.
He had no choice for now, he had to release her. “Tonight,” he determined as he was forced to release her, stepping away from her.
She immediately moved to the door and twisted the handle but she didn’t pull it open. “Tonight, what?”
“Tonight, after the kids are asleep, you’re going to tell me where you went.”
She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a look that said he was crazy—and then she had the goddamn nerve to roll her eyes and shake her head—right before she opened the door and fled from the room.
****
That night, after Hannah’s last bottle and after the baby was sound asleep, Janet turned the monitor on and prepared to walk from the room. There was no question that she fully believed Jeff’s threat from earlier in the day. Her show of bravado in his office, had unfortunately, been only that—a show. He wanted answers and she was going to have to supply them, but she’d be damned if she’d let him corner her in her bedroom—or his.
She figured he’d just walk silently into her room as if he owned it (damn him) and then he’d pull her into his bedroom whether willing or no.
So it was her intention to head him off at the pass.
The unseasonably cold weather that had produced the ice storm six days prior was now gone and in its stead was a mild temperature that called for only a light sweater. She pulled one from her dresser drawer and slipped from the bedroom on silent feet. She made her way through the house as quietly as possible but noticed the light on in the study.
Knowing the man himself was in there and knowing he was probably only giving her enough time to get Hannah down, she debated her options.
How did you deal with a man who seemed determined to get his own way? Not a normal man, but a man like Jeff McIntyre, one who seethed undisputable authority, a man who had such an imposing will that it created conflict within her. His merciless demands not only angered her, they rendered her almost helpless, some silly feminine part of her fighting with her brain. Why couldn’t she give in to him, dammit? Seriously, how hot would a stay in his bed be?
So now she faced a quandary. She needed to take control of the coming conversation because there was no question, he would come find her, so she had to be proactive. She could simply knock on his door and tell him where she’d been that day, or she could sit on one of the swings on the front porch and wait until he found her.
First and foremost, she didn’t want him to walk into her bedroom and accidently wake Hannah, but she also didn’t want to be cornered in his office. Holding the monitor’s receiver in one hand, she stood in front of his office door and made her decision. She quietly knocked, and at his bark, she poked her head in. She gave him no time to speak as she simply said, “I’m going to sit on the porch,” and then she closed the door again and proceeded to the front of the house.
Once outside, she chose the swing that had the most wind protection and sat down on the striped cushion. Her nerves were practically shot to hell. The man was undoubtedly on a short fuse so she knew he would follow her outside—and soon. How soon? How high up did she rank on his list of priorities? She began counting the seconds in her head. One, two, three—
On four, the front door opened and the rancher stepped out, his prompt showing causing both a trickle of alarm and a river of tempting heat to slide down her spine. He spied her immediately as she silently put the swing in motion with her foot. She’d purposely sat in the middle of the seat, giving him little alternative but to stand if he wanted to talk to her—the other swing was too far away across the long expanse of the porch for any intimate conversation.
After the kiss that had literally rocked her world, she had no trust that she’d be able to control the situation she found herself in. She could always pack up her stuff and her child and leave. After all, she had an extra one-twenty for gas money, not to mention her first week’s pay, and she could hightail it home to Louisiana.
But she didn’t want to do that. For some ridiculous reason she couldn’t explain, she admitted she was infatuated with Jeff McIntyre. Of course, knowing her track record, it could all blow up in her face and she’d have to leave anyway, but why run yet if it wasn’t absolutely necessary?
With that thought, she pushed the swing again and was somewhat mystified when he stood silently a couple of feet away and lit a cigarette. She’d never seen him smoke before, in fact, she hadn’t seen any signs that he smoked at all, and when he put the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled she felt an unsettling stroke of both distaste and attraction.
Her reaction was silly, she knew that. But smoking was such a bad boy thing, and the way he pulled on the cigarette while staring straight into her eyes hit her as both horrifying and seductive, at the same time.
Not that she was condoning smoking. She wasn’t. It was just an added enigma to the man who was Jeffrey McIntyre. As he held her eyes, he took five or six quick drags before stamping the cigarette out with the toe of his boot.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” she said, trying to hide both the condemnation and the trickle of added awareness she was feeling.
He came back to stand directly in front of her, so close that the swing bumped his knees on the forward movement, which had been his obvious intent. “I don’t, not usually,” he said as he reached out a hand and caught a chain in his hand, stopping the repetitive swinging motion entirely.
She lifted her chin and boldly held his gaze, refusing to allow him to intimidate her—or at least refusing to allow him to see that he was intimidating her. “So why smoke now?”
“Because I’m stressed out, lady. And it’s your damn fault.” His brows drew together as he motioned toward the monitor in her lap. “How far does that thing reach?”
She’d already heard Hannah making sweet little baby noises, so she knew it was good at least this far. “I can hear her out here.”
“Could you hear her at the barn?”
Janet glanced across the darkened yard area toward the barn, which was maybe a tenth of a mile away. The word barn wasn’t giving the structure its due, it was probably fifteen thousand square feet and as magnificent as his house was, the ‘barn’ probably cost five times as much to build.
She had no idea why he’d want to have a discussion there instead of here, but she figured it couldn’t be good for her sanity—and probably had something to do with the fact that at twelve years old, his son could wake up at any time and walk outside, searching for his father.
So she shook her head, although she had no idea if the monitor’s strength could carry that far.
“So, you want to do this here?” he challenged, putting his free hand on the other chain and all but caging her in.
Having already decided to tell him how she’d occupied the hours of her day, so he wouldn’t be antagonized further, she was still agitated by the dictatorial warning in his voice and her incongruous feminine response to it. “Do what, exactly? You want to know where I went, so I’ll tell you. I met a guy at the grocery store who needed some housework done, so I went to his house and cleaned it. End of story.”
He looked taken aback for a moment, rearing his upper torso away a
few inches as a dark frown of disbelief settled between his brows. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Would you like me to repeat it?” she asked with a touch of sarcasm she couldn’t control. Oh, yeah. She’d known her explanation was going to set him off—which was why she hadn’t been looking forward to it.
“Whose house? What guy?” he demanded at once.
As he watched her with burning, reproachful eyes, she attempted to breathe steadily. “Mr. Parker,” she answered as neutrally as possible.
Steam seemed to rise from his head and if he’d looked pissed before, at the name, he seemed ready to blow. “Parker?” he all but seethed. “Fucking Jason Parker?”
