Baby, It's Cold Outside

Baby, It's Cold Outside-Chapter 1

Chapter One

Jenna Thompson trembled with an unpleasant combination of cold and nerves as she watched the apartment door swing open. After five long years, she was finally going to meet Grant McNeil, the stranger who'd dominated her fantasies ever since she accidentally destroyed his marriage. Of course, no one knew the role she'd played in the breakup. But she knew, and she had to make amends for what had happened. It was her fault that he was practically a recluse, living alone in a Manhattan apartment, estranged from his family and feeling betrayed.

Jenna's plot to reconcile him with his family was desperate, or ridiculous, depending on your point of view. But she was determined to make it work.

Grant appeared in the open doorway. "It's not my birthday," he said. Six foot two, eyes of blue started to close the door in Jenna's face.

No way. Not after everything she'd done to get herself here.

"Wait!" She slapped her hand, numb with cold, against the moving door. "What are you talking about?"

"Me?"  Grant's straight eyebrows rose toward his short, wheat-colored hair. "I'm not the one who appeared out of nowhere all but naked." He stole another glance at her body. "Aren't you one of those singing telegrams or something?"

"Telegram? You hear me singing?" Jenna certainly wouldn't have been able to sing the way her heart was pounding. Neither her distant memories, nor Kate's pictures did justice to the flesh-and-blood man. Energy and vitality snapped from those vivid blue eyes. A gray t-shirt and worn denim jeans revealed a hard body that bulged in all the right places.

The heat that flamed over her was a welcome response to the cold she'd endured while traveling from the cab to his apartment door, dressed in nothing more than a tank top and shorts. An outfit that had looked sexy enough to catch his attention when she was back in sunny Florida seemed positively risqué now that she was here in Manhattan in the middle of an unseasonable October blizzard. Her wet tank clung to her braless boobs and his hot gaze clung to every part of her.

His broad shoulders faced her squarely, as he leaned into her personal space. Mr. Hot Stuff wanted to be cool, but his body language betrayed his interest.

"Fine." He moved to close the door again. "Whatever you're pitching, I'm not interested. Sorry. I'm working."

No surprise there. According to Kate, his sister, and Jenna's best friend, that was how he operated. He kept everyone out so he wouldn't be betrayed again. She had her work cut out for her.

"Stop!" She pushed back on the door once more. She had to get in. Since he refused to acknowledge any normal means of communication with his family—phone calls, texts, emails—she'd promised Kate she'd issue a personal invitation to their father's seventy-fifth birthday party. Plus, she'd do her best to make sure he accepted.

Trying to dispel her feelings of guilt over the way she was manipulating him, she added, "It's cold out there!" She certainly didn't have to fake the shivering.

"Lady." He rolled his baby blues. "You've got a suitcase there. Why don't you put on some more clothes?"

"This isn't my suitcase! Please listen. I need help."

Finally, he looked at her face. "Do I know you?"

"No." She drew a deep breath. "We haven't met, but my name is Jenna Thompson and I'm friends with your sister." She hurried through the explanation, knowing that the mention of his sister might anger him. But she hoped that the connection, slight though it was, would convince him to let her in.

"Damn." He shook his head. "That explains it."

"Explains what?"

A small frown wrinkled his brow. "Something like…zapped me when I first saw you."

He'd felt it too? She shivered, and not from the cold this time.

His frown deepened. "If you're my sister's friend, then you know that's not a recommendation to me."

"Kate is a good person—"

"—who loves to interfere in my life." He'd managed to shutter his face so she couldn't tell what he was thinking, except for the glances he kept sneaking at her long, bare legs and the deep cleavage exposed by her thin top.

"It's not Kate's fault that I'm here. She's not trying to interfere in your life." Oh, that was a lie. A big, fat lie. But necessary. If she succeeded in getting him reconciled with his family, he'd be better off. Wouldn't he? Even if she were deceiving him for the cause.

"Then why are you here?" He frowned slightly.

Jenna took another breath. Time to try out the flirting lessons Kate had given her. She inched one foot toward him, leaned her upper body forward a bit, and smiled up at him. "Can I come in?" If she wasn't giving him an invitation to pounce, she hadn't aced Flirting for Fun. She watched with delight as his eyes narrowed, his whole body leaned further toward her, and the door opened wider, as if by magic.

Yes, she had aced the class.

"Fine," he answered. "Like I said, you do look sort of familiar."

"Umm, I've never met you."

"Pictures." He shrugged. "I guess."

Savoring a small sense of victory, Jenna followed him. She'd crossed the first threshold, so to speak.

Grant led the way through an entrance hallway and stopped where a kitchen opened on the right, and a living room on the left. The foyer itself, though not large, had enough room for a small dining area – a table and four chairs that stood at one end. He was lucky to have that much space in Manhattan. The suitcase clattered behind her over the golden oak hardwood floors.

"The first thing," he said, "is to warm you up." He'd finally noticed she was shivering. "Then I suppose you have a tale to tell."

"Uh, the first thing is that I need to borrow some money." Though she didn't want to meet his gaze, she knew eye contact was a critical sign of self-confidence. And she had to at least appear self-confident to pull this off.

He raised his tawny eyebrows. She didn't care for the cynical expression that crossed his face.

"My purse is in my suitcase," she explained. "But, like I said, this is not my suitcase."

"Ooookay." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "If it's not too nosy of me, why do you need money right now?"

"I couldn't pay the taxi."

"Taxi," he repeated carefully. "You mean some poor slob is downstairs in this blizzard waiting for his fare?"

She avoided looking into his eyes. This was definitely one of the sticky parts. "I'll pay you back. I promise."

"Go in the living room." He waved to the left and then grabbed a coat out of the hall closet. "I'll be right back."

Jenna ventured into the room he'd indicated. It looked schizophrenic. Shiny technological equipment—half a dozen monitors, keyboards, two printers and a fax machine—lined one side of the room, while the other side, though decorated in a masculine style, looked warm and inviting. It featured two burgundy leather sofas, one adjacent to a black granite fireplace, and the other placed perpendicular, forming an L-shaped seating area. The sofas were long and she could picture his tall form stretched out on one of them, watching the large screen TV on the opposite wall.

She didn't want to sit down on the rich leather since her jean short shorts and tiny pink tank top were soaking wet. But at least she was out of the cold. Outside the tall windows the snow fell, softly blurring the lights of New York City. She sent a prayer of thanks to the heavens that at least she'd found refuge from the blizzard.

The front door opened and shut again. There was a pause while he must have hung up his jacket. Then he strode in, tossing his wallet on the coffee table. "You're still not dressed?"

She knelt down beside her suitcase and unzipped it. "Look."