The Playboy Meets His Match

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As Merry talked, Jason watched her. If he had good sense, he wouldn’t flirt with her or touch her. This was definitely not a woman he wanted to date. Not in the next million years. And yet—what was it about her that drew him? A few casual touches shouldn’t hurt anything. She was going to ignore them anyway.

“By your standards I’m sure she didn’t have a lot,” Merry continued. “Holly worked hard and went without things and saved. She had several thousand dollars, and he just cleaned it all out and was gone.”

“That’s an entirely different matter than running out after telling a woman he loved her.”

“It’s different if you think money is more important than love!” she snapped indignantly and he knew he had just lowered himself in her sight again, but he was lower than a snake already so another notch wouldn’t matter.

“Do you have records of this joint account and of the withdrawal?”

She flushed again, and he wondered whether she was making everything up. “Dorian kept the records. He told Holly that he was moving the account to a bank where they would get better service. She gave him all the receipts. I don’t have proof of anything he did. He was very clever.” Big eyes stared at him. “You don’t believe me, do you?” she asked, sounding resigned as well as aggravated.

He thought before he answered. “I sort of believe you, but I sure as hell wish you had proof. Do you know how much better it would be if you could pull out bank statements, that sort of thing?”

“He took the money,” she said stubbornly. “And I’ll bet he’s tied in with whatever is going on at Wescott Oil. The man is greedy, ruthless and totally unscrupulous.”

Jason stared at her while he mulled over his own negative feelings about Dorian. He shouldn’t let them color his judgment now, though.

“I’m not convincing you,” she said and she sounded discouraged and resigned.

“I’m listening and thinking about it, but proof would make a world of difference. You know the old saying about a woman scorned.”

She stood. “I’m exhausted and I’d like to go to bed.”

“Sure.” He came to his feet. “In the morning do you want to sleep in or do you want me to call you?”

“I would much rather sleep in.”

“Suits me fine,” he said, thinking of appointments he would have to juggle to stay home with her. Yet the thought wasn’t unpleasant. “I’ll be up early. I work out first thing. You may use my exercise room if you want.”

“Thanks. I usually work out in the morning, too.”

“I’m not surprised at that,” he remarked dryly.

Switching off lights, he walked down the hall with her. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He had rarely dated short women and hated to have to stoop down to kiss one. It was much more pleasant to have an armful of tall, soft woman than to have to bend himself into a pretzel shape to get a hug and a kiss. “Are you between jobs right now?”

“That’s right.”

“So you can take time to get out and slash tires and break into men’s private clubs and all that?”

Her eyes narrowed and she shot him a look that should have dealt as big a blow as her fist, but he wasn’t one to be intimidated by looks.

“Dorian Brady is evil, and I don’t think he should do his wicked deeds and not have some comeuppance.”

“Maybe you should let the law worry about comeuppance.”

At the door of her bedroom, she turned to face him. “You can’t keep me here indefinitely.”

“I don’t intend to. I got you off the street tonight and as long as you leave Dorian alone, you can go your own way. Will you leave the man alone?”

She seemed lost in thought. “I suppose,” she said with a sigh.

“I think he’s suffered.”

“You are birds of a feather,” she remarked darkly.

“I told you before that I’ve never promised a woman marriage, never taken a dime of a woman’s money. Please do not lump me with Dorian Brady,” Jason said, annoyed with her again. She was like eating hot peppers—tasty, but full of sting.

“All right. I apologize for lumping you with him,” she said.

“Thank you.” He placed his hand above her head, resting his palm against the jamb. Moving closer, he tilted her chin up. “You know, the night doesn’t have to be wasted.”

“Wasted?” she asked, sounding breathless. He slipped his hand to her throat and discovered her racing pulse. He wasn’t waiting for her arguments or protests that he was sure would be coming. Pretzel twist or not, he wanted to kiss her. He slipped his arm around her waist, stepped closer and leaned down.