Valentine Fantasy. Jamie Denton
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clicked the icon for a blank page and centered Jordan McBride’s name at the top, then started typing what she knew about him, which wasn’t much. Other than the fact that he was gorgeous and more than willing to be her Valentine for a fee, she knew nothing about the man. She didn’t know if he owned the agency, or if someone else pulled the strings behind the scenes. All she had was Louden’s claim that an employee of Fantasy for Hire took money in exchange for sex. It was up to her to prove this was a common practice for the agency.
She pulled up another blank page and made a list of things she needed to learn about the agency. She needed to find out who owned the agency, but a huge help would be a list of previous clients. If she could find one more person to verify the claim made by Louden. That, coupled with whatever her own experience with Jordan might produce, would add up to the necessary verification. Obtaining a client list would be impossible, unless she crossed the legal line and resorted to breaking and entering.
She underlined the entry to think about later.
An hour later, she took a short break and headed for the kitchen for a cup of tea. She was pleased with her progress. The beginning was already shaping up, and she had a solid line on which direction she planned to take the article. As her investigation deepened, so would the depth of her story.
She set the teakettle on the stove, then pulled a mug from the cabinet as the chimes for the front door rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but that never stopped her nosy sisters from dropping by unannounced. Sometimes having four older siblings could be a royal pain, but she loved them anyway, even if they did think her business was their business.
She strolled to the front door and peered out the side panel to find a Toyota four-wheel drive she didn’t recognize parked in the driveway.
“Who is it?” she called.
“It’s your valentine,” a deep, velvety voice answered from the other side of the door.
Her heart stopped, then resumed at a maddening pace.
Her valentine?
She wasn’t supposed to see him until Saturday night. What was he doing here? Unless, she thought, narrowing her eyes, he’d decided she required further investigation as a potential target. She’d struggled hard not to flinch when she’d handed over most of the contents of her savings account. Obviously her plan had worked, and that pleased her. She’d hate to think she’d spent the money for nothing.
“Just a minute,” she called, then frantically swiped at the fingernail dust still clinging to her navy sweatshirt. She stifled a sneeze, ran her fingers through her hair in hopes of restoring a sense of order and pinched her cheeks for color. A quick glance down at her clothes caused a groan to escape her lips. What on earth would he think seeing her dressed in baggy sweats, her hair a mess and not an ounce of makeup on her face? So much for playing the socialite. She looked more like the hired help.
Pasting a welcoming smile on her face, she straightened her shoulders and opened the door. Her stomach flipped at the sight of him. Lordy, he was even more drop-dead gorgeous than she remembered. He wore the same navy polo shirt and tan trousers he’d had on earlier, but the worn, leather bomber jacket that matched the color of his wind-tossed, sable hair gave him a slightly dangerous appeal that put her feminine senses on alert.
“Hi,” he said, that rumbling voice jarring her back into reality—the reality that Jordan was really standing on her porch.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said, taking another swipe at the dust on her shirt. She wanted him to think of her as someone who was polished and sophisticated, not as someone who lounged around the house in dust-covered sweats.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” He looked at her closely, his gaze sliding along her body as if searching for the curves beneath her baggy clothes.
Her temperature shouldn’t have heightened just because he looked at her, but it did. Good grief, how did she expect to seduce him when he had her heating up like a furnace with one simple sweep of his gaze?
“Were you sanding something?” he asked, looking closer.
She gave him a quick grin. “Sort of,” she muttered, and took a step back. Just taking precautions so I don’t poke your eye out when I get to run my hands through that thick hair of yours.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked, opening the door wider. If he was here to do a little investigating of his own, she’d be more than happy to oblige. Besides, maybe she could find an opportunity to learn more about him and the agency.
“I just dropped by to give you this,” he said and held out a red velvet, heart-shaped box of chocolates. “From your valentine.”
Stunned, she stared at the box, then up at him. She detected a hint of shyness that threw her off-kilter. When she’d first met him, she’d had the impression that Jordan McBride was the type of man who knew exactly what he wanted, and sought it with single-minded determination. She easily imagined him as the high-powered executive type. A take-no-prisoners kind of guy. Of course, she suspected the impression he gave was misleading. Take-the-money-and-run was a more appropriate description.
“Oh.” She reached for the beautifully wrapped box. “Oh,” she added with a little more emphasis when realization dawned. This had to be part of his plan to seduce her out of her supposed fortune. She recognized the shyness now for what it was—a ploy, a part of the game of seduction. Well, two could play this game.
She graced him with her best sultry smile. “Thank you, Jordan. That’s very sweet of you.”
A high-pitched wail sounded from the kitchen. “I was making tea,” she said, leading him into the house. “Would you like a cup? Or perhaps something a little stronger?”
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the foyer. “Tea’s fine.”
“I heard we’re due for more rain,” she said. With the box of chocolates still clutched in her hand, she led the way through the house to the kitchen, wishing she could think of something witty or charming to say. She’d attended enough society events, sat through numerous charity functions and listened to endless useless and boring conversations. Couldn’t she come up with anything to talk about besides the weather?
“Typical for this time of year,” he commented. He sidled up to the breakfast bar and watched as she retrieved another mug from the cabinet. “Nice place. You live here alone?”
Cait blinked. “Uh…” What did she say? She didn’t feel comfortable telling a total stranger she lived alone. To do so would violate every rule she’d ever been taught, but this was a business arrangement. She couldn’t very well conduct an investigation if she wasn’t willing to take risks.
Anything for the story.
“Yes, I do live alone,” she said, casting a surreptitious glance in his direction to gauge his reaction.
He nodded, then looked around the enormous, sterile kitchen. White ceramic tiles and white cabinets graced most of the room, the only break in color offered by way of aluminum-topped appliances and a few green plants scattered about. The plants were her touch, not that her brother was ever home long enough to see to their care. Brian had his own computer company and was often away on business.
Cait let out a slow breath, grateful he didn’t question her further on her living arrangements. Lying didn’t come easily, and she wondered briefly if that character trait would prevent her from becoming an investigative reporter.
No, she decided. She just needed more practice.
She finished preparing the tea, and led him onto the glass-enclosed patio overlooking Brian’s extensive ornamental garden. A flick of the switch bathed the sitting area in soft, romantic light, but the highlight was the illumination of the gardens with its variety of flower beds, plants and shrubs, complete with cobblestone bridge and waterfall. Whenever she saw the garden at night, she thought of intimacy and romance. Hopefully, Jordan would, too.
“Very