Falling For Grace. Stella Bagwell

Jack, I’ve only just now met you. How I manage to support myself is really none of your business. And as for my baby’s father, he’s out of the picture and I expect him to stay out.”

      She’d said enough, he told himself. This was all he really needed to know. He ought to thank her for the drink, apologize again, then tell her a final goodbye. Yet, he couldn’t let the whole thing simply drop now.

      There was still too much he wanted to know before the lawyer in him would be completely satisfied.

      “If you’ll remember, Grace, you’re the one who brought this whole thing up. You’re the one who asked me for a job.”

      Her lips compressed into a flat line. “Yes. And I’m sorry I did. I didn’t know you were going to take it as a go-ahead to interrogate me.”

      Sarcasm twisted his features. “I normally interview people before they come to work for me. It’s the standard procedure.”

      She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “By asking them who and how many they’ve slept with? I’m sorry, but that’s just getting a might bit personal for me.” Her gaze swept him up and down in a deliberately leering manner. “Maybe you should remember the old saying about those without sin throwing the first stone, because I very much doubt you’ve been living like a monk.”

      Even though her words angered him, the hot blaze in her green eyes excited him as nothing he could ever remember. He wanted to jerk her into his arms, smother her lips with his. It was crazy. She was a stranger—and a pregnant one at that! Yet the feeling was there, anyway. And it felt glorious to a man who’d been emotionally dead for a long, long time.

      “I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Grace. Just trying to…offer some advice from a different perspective.”

      She glanced away from him and, though her profile remained rock-hard, he didn’t miss her painful swallow or the telltale blink of her long black lashes.

      Suddenly Jack wondered if he could be wrong about this woman. Maybe she hadn’t purposely set out to snare a rich husband. Maybe she’d been led on, then left to suffer the consequences on her own. Damn it, he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—know unless he managed to get closer to her. And something told him that might be a very dangerous thing to do.

      “I don’t need your so-called advice,” she said tightly.

      “What about that job? Do you still need it?”

      Slowly her head turned and her expression was incredulous as she met his gaze. “Are you serious?”

      No, more like insane, Jack thought. But he’d already gone too far, he couldn’t turn back now. Moreover, he realized he didn’t want to.

      “Yes. I could use a housekeeper. I wouldn’t have much work,” he warned. “But maybe enough to help you out.”

      She appeared to suddenly wilt as a long breath rushed out of her. Wiping a hand across her damp brow, she said, “I’m sorry. I have to—sit down.”

      She handed him the tray and crossed the few feet to where a couple of wicker chairs were shaded by a curtain of moonflower vine.

      As she sank wearily into the chair, Jack moved toward her, his face wrinkled with concern. “Are you ill or something?” he asked.

      She shook her head, then, leaning down, began to unbuckle her sandals. “No. Just very tired.”

      Once the leather straps were loose around her ankles, she looked up to see him still standing inches away, holding the tray she’d given him. “Oh, I forgot. Just put that thing down anywhere. I’ll take it in later.”

      “Maybe you should go in the house and lie down,” he suggested. She did look exhausted; he wondered if their slightly heated exchange had drained her. He didn’t want to think so. The last thing Jack wanted to do was to inadvertently harm her or her unborn child.

      Her fingers continued to rub her ankles where the leather straps had fastened the sandals to her feet. “I will later,” she assured him. “After you tell me about the job.”

      Jack placed the tray on a storage shelf by the back door, then took a seat in the wicker chair next to her. “There’s not much to tell.”

      She looked at him, then, smiling wanly, she shook her head. “You and I really have a hard time communicating. I wonder why that is? I thought lawyers were expert at getting to the point.”

      He couldn’t help but smile at that. “Quite the opposite, Grace. We’re professionals at drawing people’s thoughts off the real issue.”

      Her brows peaked with sudden interest. “Is that what you’re trying to do with me?” she asked warily.

      In a way that was exactly what he was doing, he thought a bit guiltily. But this time he had an even better reason than simply looking out for a client’s interest. Grace had already admitted Trent was the father of the baby. If true, that meant the child was connected to his family. He had a right to find out where her intentions were headed.

      “I’m not trying to do anything to you, Grace,” he said, frustration roughing his voice. “Except offer you a little work if you want it.”

      “I do.”

      “Good. I don’t do house-cleaning. And I know very little about cooking.”

      Grace couldn’t imagine preparing a meal for this man. Although she’d never had money in her life, she could always spot a person with plenty. And with Jack it was easy to see he was an affluent man by the cut of his hair, the casual, but classic clothes, the Italian leather loafers on his feet, the thin, expensive watch on his wrist.

      No doubt Jack Barrett was accustomed to having the best cuisine money could buy. Not to mention anything else his heart desired. Yet as she’d already noticed, he appeared to be anything but happy. The notion made her suddenly remember something her grandfather had often told her.

      People with big money are no different than you and me, Gracie. They have their problems, too. Only theirs are bigger.

      She said, “I’d better warn you that some of my classes keep me late in the evenings. But on the days I teach violin I’m home earlier.”

      “Don’t worry about it. I’m not on a rigid working schedule.”

      “Fine. Just let me know when you want me to start.”

      Jack felt like a fool. He didn’t need a housekeeper or a cook. Though he never tended to those chores in his home back in Houston, he was adept at fending for himself whenever need be.

      “You haven’t asked about the pay,” he pointed out.