The Millionaire She Married

“One moment, please.”

The clerk turned to the antique switchboard behind her and rang Mack’s room. When she turned back, she was all smiles again. “Mr. McGarrity is expecting you.”

“I’ll bet he is,” Jenna muttered to herself.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I’ll be so glad to see him. Which room is he in?”

“He’s taken the East Bungalow. Go out that door there, across the back patio and take the trail that winds to your right.”

The East Bungalow, nestled among the oaks well away from the main building, was a wood frame structure, blue with white trim. It had a cute little white porch, complete with a rocker, a swing and planters under the front windows. The lights were on inside, spilling a golden glow out into the mild September night.

The door was wide open and Mack was standing in the doorway—lounging, really, looking lazy and insolent and quite pleased with himself. As Jenna marched up the porch steps to confront him, he gave her a slow once-over with hooded eyes.

Her body responded to his glance as if he had touched her. A hot little shiver slid over her skin, a shiver of awareness, of sensual recognition.

He straightened from his slouch and folded his arms over his chest. “It’s about time you showed up.”

She paused on the threshold. He was blocking the doorway. “May I come in?”

“By all means.” He stepped aside.

She entered warily, into a front sitting room decorated in Victorian style, with lace curtains at the windows, glass-shaded lamps and a sofa and love seat with carved claw-footed legs. Most of the furniture had been pushed against the wall to make room for two desks, set at right angles to each other. One desk had a laptop, a fax machine and telephone on it, the other a full-size computer, complete with mammoth monitor. At the moment, the monitor was running a screensaver of planets, stars and moons hurtling endlessly through deep space.