Miss Charlotte Surrenders

This was no time to be getting an attack of conscience, Charlotte told herself firmly as she dialed the warehouse number for Stephen Sterling’s publisher. She had every right as a member of the press corps to investigate him. Furthermore, she was only doing what someone else would eventually do, anyway. Therefore, she might as well be the one to get the credit for discovering who Stephen Sterling really was, and why he was so hell-bent on hiding from the world.

Her mind made up to see this assignment through to the end, Charlotte finished punching in the long-distance number.

“Author sales,” a chirpy voice on the other end of the line said.

Charlotte hated this part of her job, but it was necessary to be a little dishonest. So she crossed her fingers and began the ruse she hoped would lead her directly to Sterling. “This is Stephen Sterling’s private secretary. I’m calling because he has not received his author copies of the book that was published last month.”

“Those copies were shipped over two months ago,” the shipping clerk said, puzzled.

A guilty flush climbed from Charlotte’s chest to her neck as she pretended confusion. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. It says right here that the books were shipped to Joe Smith, Post Office Box 94332, Arlington, Virginia, 22210.”

“Well, that’s the address all right,” Charlotte said after she had finished copying it down.

“And you say the copies did not arrive?” the clerk on the other end persisted.

“No, they didn’t,” Charlotte fibbed. “Nor did Mr. Sterling get a phone call telling him the books had been sent as requested. Listen,” Charlotte said, injecting a harried note into her voice, “I have another call coming through, one I’m going to have to take. So if you want to look into this further, see what you can find out on your end and then call me back, that would be fine.”

“I’d be happy to do that.”

“You’ve got my name and phone number?” Charlotte persisted.

“Why don’t you give it to me again?” the clerk asked.

“Actually, this might be a good time to check what you’ve got on file in this area, too, just to make sure it’s correct,” Charlotte said. “So if you’d just read what you have on file—”

“No,” the clerk said firmly, sounding suddenly suspicious. “I think you had better tell me what your name and phone number is.”

There was no way she could do that. Disappointed her ploy hadn’t worked, Charlotte hung up the phone. Her dismay heightened as she glanced up and saw Brett lounging in the doorway to the library. His arms were crossed in front of him in a way that only drew attention to the broad musculature of his chest. From the way he was scowling at her, she knew he had heard enough of her conversation to realize she had lied in order to unearth more information on Sterling.

“There’s a place for little girls who tell lies to get their jobs done,” he drawled.

Charlotte had no defense for what she had done, so she took the offense, hoping to curb some of the embarrassment she felt at having been caught red-handed. “Why aren’t you out cutting grass?” she demanded.

Brett straightened and moved toward her. The look he gave her was direct and uncompromising. His teeth flashed in a knowing smile, and he offered lazily, “I decided I didn’t want to cut the grass, after all.”

Charlotte regarded him with resentment. “Want doesn’t come into this, Brett.”

He looked at her as if to say, Doesn’t it?

Charlotte felt another flash of discomfort. She knew there were some who would say there was no justification for the way she had just pried. Under any other circumstances, she might even agree with them. But what she had done was neither here nor there when it came to dealing with their lackadaisical caretaker. “When I assign you a task, as your employer, I expect it to be done,” Charlotte advised.

Brett leaned across her desk and braced his hands on either side of her. Their glances met. For a second, Charlotte found it hard to get her breath. Warm color flooded her cheeks.

Brett grinned. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Miss Charlotte.” Without warning, his glance dropped to the notepad she’d been writing on. Charlotte promptly covered it with another notebook. She was unable to tell how much of the address Brett had been able to read.

“I arranged to have the grass cut by a poker-playing buddy of mine who also happens to own a tractor with a grass-cutting attachment,” Brett continued, taking a seat on the edge of the grand old desk. He propped his wrists on his spread thighs. “He’s going to cut the entire property, starting tomorrow. In return, I’m going to let him off the hook for a poker debt he owes me.”

Leave it to Brett to have a good explanation for his laziness, too. “How generous of you,” she said sweetly.

He leaned toward her sexily. “Considering how much he owes me, I thought so.”

Her pulse racing, Charlotte gave him wide berth and stalked to the window. She opened the floor-to-ceiling drapes. Sunshine poured into the room. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a master at getting out of work?” She whirled back to face him and found to her dismay the distance had done nothing to dim her awareness of him.

Brett took her in from head to toe, his glance lingering on the softness of her breasts before returning to the flushed contours of her face. “I don’t want to get out of all work,” he assured her cheerfully, pushing away from the desk. “In fact, that’s why I came in to see you.” He strode toward her, not stopping until they were mere inches apart. “I want to repair the shutter out front, but I don’t know where the tools or ladders are.”

Charlotte drew a deep breath and caught a tantalizing whiff of his cologne. She folded her arms in front of her. “They’re in the storage room in the garage.”

His glance drifted over the ivory silk blouse she had tucked into her pleated trousers. “There’s no storage room in the garage.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Well, I’ve never seen it,” Brett said.

He was standing so close to her she had to tilt her head back to see into his face. Charlotte sighed. “I suppose you want me to show you?”

He shrugged. His blue eyes were dancing as he looked down at her. “Only if you want the shutter fixed,” he allowed.

Right. Frowning, Charlotte picked her keys up off the desk with a snap of her wrist and marched out into the hall.

Brett lengthened his strides to keep up with her. He reached ahead to hold the front door open for her, and she had to run sideways to scoot past him. “Are you mad at me or the person you were lying to on the phone?” Brett asked innocently, as he followed her out onto the porch.

Charlotte turned around so swiftly she almost crashed headlong into his chest. He reached out to steady her, his grip on her arm warm and solid. She leaned into him momentarily. “You need to forget what you overheard when you walked in,” Charlotte advised him sternly.