Clear as Glass Read online

  A scowl crossed his face. “Say again?”

  “What do men really want from a woman? Don’t sugarcoat your answer. Men just want sex, right?”

  He put the bottle into the refrigerator and let the door swing shut. “No, we don’t want sex. Truth is, we want lots of sex. And football.”

  “In that order? Sex, then football?” The revelation sparked another question. “What if your girlfriend wants to have sex while you’re watching football?”

  An attractive indentation formed near the corner of his mouth. “Sex wins, every time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because sex feels incredible and is a heck of a lot of fun. Football, on the other hand, is just fun.” He leaned his hip against the counter. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just trying to figure stuff out.” She felt a bit surprised he didn’t seem to mind talking about sex. With a flick of her wrist, she flipped her bangs out of her eyes. “For a while, I used to think women needed to be loved before they had sex and men needed to have sex to prove they were loved. A paradox, you know? But now, I don’t think love has anything to do with sex. We just want what we want, and we keep looking until we find whatever makes us feel good.”

  “You’re not usually so negative. What did you girls talk about tonight?” Mitch held up his hand to stop her reply. “Let me guess. Did the discussion revolve around how rotten men are?”

  “Quite the contrary, in fact.” She opened the fridge and reached for the cranberry juice. “You didn’t take a swig of this, did you?”

  “No way. That swill is all yours.”

  She poured some into a glass and put the bottle back into the fridge. “If you must know, we talked about you. Did you know Abigail has a crush on you?”

  “I had no idea.” He shook his head with a rueful grin. “If only I were thirty years older.”

  “I don’t think age matters.” She smiled at him over the rim of the glass. “She’ll take you as is.”

  He snorted. “I doubt it. Most women want to change me.”

  “How so?”

  “At first, they try to get me to change my clothes. Jeans and T-shirts lose their appeal after a while. Then most women think I’m not fluent in feelings. Things disintegrate when they discover how bullheaded I am about keeping my feelings to myself.”

  Jaye sighed. “Some girls can’t leave well enough alone.”

  “Well enough alone?” His gaze narrowed. “Are you saying I shouldn’t change?”

  “Right. Drives me crazy when women expect men to act like women. We should celebrate our differences, which attract us to each other in the first place.”

  He picked up the cookies and tilted the open bag toward her. “Sex is at the top of every man’s list. Where does sex land on most women’s lists?”

  “We like sex, too.” She took a cookie and nibbled the edge, savoring the sweet chocolate chips buried within the crisp vanilla.

  Mitch’s gaze intensified. “How do women choose their partners?”

  “Depends on what they need.” Maybe the darkness made being candid easy, or maybe Jaye felt comfortable admitting the truth because Mitchell Blake was far less forbidding in bare feet and gym shorts. Either way, she found herself saying, “I just want someone who will tell me the truth. If I stumble upon an honest man who’s willing to rub my feet at night, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him.”

  “Feet, huh?” Mitch put down the cookies and shifted his weight. “What if he’s the type who doesn’t like to talk much?”

  She carried her juice to the edge of the kitchen and tossed him an impish grin. “If he tickles my feet while we watch football, he never has to say a single word.”

  “Lucky guy.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The biting wind pushed a heavy quilt of clouds across the sky, but the dismal sight didn’t dampen Mitch’s good mood. He tossed a bag of garbage into the dumpster and scanned the factory’s parking lot. Jaye’s silver coupe sat beside his truck, which meant she was already tucked away in her corner of Blake Glassware. With any luck, she was coming up with another team-building scheme involving him in some curious way.

  He’d been scheming, too—coming up with ways to get closer to the meddlesome pixie who’d scampered into his life. So far, he hadn’t acted on those dangerous impulses. Pursuing one of Blake Glassware’s employees would be a boneheaded maneuver.

  Then again, he hadn’t hired Jaye. Technically, she didn’t work for him.

  Mitch strode toward the administrative wing and reached the old broom closet serving as Jaye’s microscopic office. He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. The sight of her sitting at the decrepit old desk made him feel like a lit bottle rocket, ready to shoot into the sky. “Hey.”

  She grinned at him. “Hi.”

  Attraction exploded inside him. As usual, she wore a crisp white blouse paired with a skirt. He watched her lean over the arm of her chair to pull something out of her briefcase. The skirt’s hem rose a couple of inches along the lean, mouth-watering thighs he’d been trying not to drool over for the past eleven days.

  He wanted those legs wrapped around his hips.

  Jaye placed a file beside her laptop. “Can I do something for you?”

  Hell, yes. He muzzled his runaway libido and manufactured a disapproving scowl. “A few days ago, you threatened to make liver for dinner. Tell me you were joking.”

  “Nope.” With a pretty smirk, she resumed typing. “It’s Wednesday. Like I told your brothers, we’re having liver and brussel sprouts. They’re nutritious.”

  “I prefer burgers and steak.” He wished Jaye had never admitted she liked sex. Now he couldn’t stop wondering what she’d do if he gave into the powerful urge to kiss her beautiful mouth. “The only way you’ll tempt me to eat what’s on the menu is if you ladle some leftover meatballs on top of my liver.”

  “Your liver is already covered in meatballs.” She flicked her chestnut bangs out of her eyes and squinted at him. “Don’t you remember eating the leftover spaghetti and meatballs last night while I was at Veronica’s house?”

  “Nope. Wasn’t me. Must’ve been a mouse.”

  “A very big mouse. He didn’t leave any meatballs behind for my lunch.” She returned her gaze to the laptop’s screen. “I’m thinking of setting a trap for the pesky creature.”

  Mitch’s gaze sank to her sexy black heels. Ever since she confessed she couldn’t keep her hands off an honest man who rubbed her feet, he’d been trying to come up with a way to take off her shoes without looking obvious. Every time he thought about slipping off her shoes, he longed to move his hand in the opposite direction toward the sexy curves under her prim skirt.

  His lit fuse zipped straight to his groin, igniting a dangerous throb. Crap. What were they talking about? Oh, right. Mice. “If you want to catch the mouse who ate the leftovers, bait the trap with steak and potatoes. The mice around here are finicky eaters.”

  “Finicky?” She laughed. “The mouse in your house is more like a bottomless pit.”

  Her smile made Mitch feel ridiculously happy. “Be careful. No telling what the mouse will do if you feed him liver.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” She rose from her desk and inched the door closed. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do. One of the guys I work for is a little touchy about consultants. I don’t want him to think I’m goofing around on the company dime.”

  He braced his foot so the door couldn’t close all the way. “Is he the grumpy guy with short hair? I hear he’s a real hard-ass.”

  “Yes. Don’t worry, though. I know what to do if he gets ornery.” Half her face peered around the door, one warm brown eye glinting with mischief. “All I have to do is tickle him.”

  “You’d better not. He tickles back.” He slid his shoulder down so he was eye-to-eye with her. Forget tickling—he wanted to barge through the door and kiss her. “Why is the map I drew for you taped to the wall?”

  One delicate shoulder shrug
ged. “Because I like it.”

  Mitch shook his head in disgust. “I can draw you something better than a lousy map.”

  Her eye narrowed into a suspicious slit. “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. How ‘bout a hunk of mozzarella flying through the air?”

  “No, thanks. I like the map better. Quit distracting me. I’ve got work to do.” She turned with a flourish and sat at her desk.

  He nudged open the door. “Why not use your winnings from last night’s poker game to buy us some prime rib? Heck, I’ll buy the groceries if you’ll cook ‘em.”

  “Nope. I’m happy to buy the food in exchange for a place to sleep.” With a few clicks of her mouse, she began typing. “There’s no need to buy steak for tonight. After all, liver and steak are both beef. There’s not much of a difference.”

  “What?” He thrust out both hands, disturbed at the notion liver was anything like steak. “Are you insane? There’s a huge difference.”

  “Shh.” She pointed a slender finger at her monitor. “I’m busy surfing for liver recipes right now. I’m having trouble concentrating with you yammering on and on about steak.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. Lord, she was adorable. “Instead of surfing for recipes, shouldn’t you be building my father’s online store?”

  Hesitating, she hovered her fingers above the keyboard. “Oh, so now you want me to build a website?”

  “Only if it’ll keep you out of the liver aisle.” Damn, he loved sparring with her.

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “Does everything revolve around your stomach?”

  “Working makes me hungry.”

  “Too bad you don’t find an online store appetizing.” She tilted her head, her brown eyes seeking his. “Then again, you haven’t had a chance to see what I’ve designed. Want to take a look?”

  The thought of being any part of the website made him nauseous. The last thing he wanted to do was participate in his father’s quest to lock Blake Glassware in stemware for the next twenty years. “Count me out.”

  She pointed the laptop’s screen his way. “Could I get your feedback on what I’ve done so far?”

  “No.” The word came out sharp as broken glass.

  Jaye bit her bottom lip and repositioned the laptop. Folding her hands in her lap, she met his gaze. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

  The humor vanished from her eyes. Regret swam into his gut, intensifying the sick feeling welling inside. Bracing one fist against the doorframe, he shook his head. “Talking about anything else would be pointless.”

  “Guess so.”

  He pushed away from her doorway and strode toward the lobby.

  “Mitch, have you got a minute?” Veronica hustled out of her office. “I just got a call from the electric company. We’re past due on our bill. They’ll turn off the power if payment doesn’t arrive soon. Normally, I’d put this problem in your father’s hands but he’s out of town to visit a couple of merchants. He won’t be back until Saturday.”

  Dread pounded in the center of his chest. “Dad paid the bills on Monday night while I watched the boys. The electric company should’ve gotten our check by now.”

  “They haven’t, and they’re not too happy about the delay.”

  Mitch cast a longing look toward the studio and knew he couldn’t return until this problem was solved. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix this.”

  Veronica blew out a relieved sigh. “Thanks. I knew you would.”

  Convinced the electric company screwed up, Mitch turned and walked into his father’s office. An alarming number of unopened envelopes lay scattered on the desk.

  Propelled by a surge of apprehension, he unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled out the checkbook. According to the register, his father hadn’t written a check for the past two months.

  “Dammit, Dad. What were you doing two nights ago when you were supposed to be paying the bills?”

  Face to face with the familiar ghost of betrayal, Mitch sat at the desk and jostled the mouse to wake up the computer. He attempted to log into the accounting software six times. Bracing his elbows on the desk, he cradled his aching head in his hands and muttered a curse.

  His father had locked him out of the system.

  “I need you, Jaye.”

  Those four words lapped into her office like high tide, pulling out any residual anger with the sweeping pull of a powerful undertow.

  Mitch wore the dazed expression of someone who’d just uncovered a lie. She recognized the look. For a while, she’d seen the same hollow incredulity every time she looked in the mirror. Tamping down a sharp stab of fear, she gripped her hands in her lap. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t get into our accounting software.” A grimace of anguish crossed his troubled features. “My father changed the password.”

  Her mind raced to come up any explanation for the oversight. “Maybe he just forgot to tell you. Have you called him?”

  “I can’t.” He braced his hands on her desk and lowered his voice. “If Dad doesn’t want me to look at our financials, I need to know what the hell is going on before I confront him.”

  Pain flashed across his eyes, distinct and brittle. A rush of compassion washed through her. “Are you sure you typed in the right password?”

  “Yes. Nothing works.” He leaned toward her. “If you can help me, I might figure out the new one.”

  She twisted her watch’s wristband. “I can’t help you break into Nick’s financial software.”

  “It’s my software, too. I’m his damned partner.” He bent his head, glaring at the scrape on her desk. “The electric company just called. They’ll turn off the power if I can’t figure out why the bill wasn’t paid. The kiln has to run all the time. We’ll fall way behind if the studio shuts down, even for one day.”

  Now that the end of October was upon them, this was crunch time for the upcoming holiday season. Jaye sensed this was when Blake Glassware made most of its profit. “Does your mom know the new password? She’s your other partner, after all.”

  “No. She hasn’t been involved in the daily operation of this place for years. Besides, she and I don’t speak.” His thick fingers drummed on the desk three times. “Are you willing to speak to me after I pissed you off a few minutes ago?”

  Such a question must’ve pricked his pride, but Jaye saw no bitterness within the cobalt flecks of his blue eyes. She rose from her chair. “You didn’t hold a grudge when I hit you in the groin, so it’s only fair I don’t hold a grudge now.”

  He extended his hand, palm up.

  Jaye glanced at the smudge of smoke darkening the base of his thumb and slid her palm into his. Warmth pooled in the well of his hand, a welcome counterpoint to her cold office. A faint callous roughened his skin—proof he worked hard at his craft. Now that her hand was in his, a secret thrill coiled up her arm.

  His long fingers delivered a gentle squeeze. “I owe you, Jaye.”

  “No, you don’t. This one is on the house.” She followed him into Nick’s office and settled into the chair beside his. “What was your original password?”

  “Blakeglass. One word. No caps.”

  “Try it again. I want to see the error message.” She studied the results and sighed. “I’m afraid you’re right. The password has changed.”

  “I’ve tried every variation of blakeglass I can come up with.” Mitch looked at her. “Nothing worked.”

  This close, she could see the grief just below the surface of his gaze. An answering twinge pierced her chest. “Did you try the original password with a combination of numbers? Maybe a birthday or the year the factory was built?”

  They spent a half hour sifting through a number of possibilities. Jaye was able to stop the software from locking them out, but the error message stayed on the screen.

  Mitch rubbed his hands down his face. “My father has never changed the password. Why now?”

  “Some software updates require users to improve the
ir passwords in order to cut down on the chances a hacker can access your information. Perhaps that’s why he changed the password.” She stood to stretch. Noticing the rigid set of Mitch’s spine, she placed one palm against his back.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “God, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Moved by his heartfelt admission, she gave the ridge of muscle between his neck and shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Beneath the soft red cotton of his t-shirt, she could feel the whipcord strength of his upper back. He possessed a solid heft unlike any of the slender geeks she normally worked with, but salivating over his muscled torso wouldn’t do either of them any good.

  She paced between a filing cabinet and the door. “High tech programmers like me use passwords which contain a mixture of letters, symbols, and numbers. We’re so obsessed with preventing anyone from hacking into our systems, we come up with complicated passwords. Laymen, on the other hand, pick passwords with meaning so they’re easy to remember.”

  “Makes sense.” Mitch rested his elbows on his knees.

  The avid way his gaze followed her made her feel like every ounce of his formidable energy was focused on her.

  Warmth unfurled inside her. This man was listening to every word she said, something her father never did. She came to a standstill by the window and gazed at the field. With the morning sun behind the clouds, the long rye grass looked a faded blonde, like a pageant queen inching her way into the winter of her beauty. The scene was breathtaking. No wonder this place was so important to Mitch.

  The notion sparked an idea. “What’s the most important thing to Nick right now?”

  “Elise.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that’s the new password?”

  “Maybe.”

  Mitch typed Elise and hit return.

  The menu sprang onto the screen. He spun the chair and grabbed her waist. “It worked!”

  She felt herself being pulled toward his lap, but his hands abruptly lowered to the desk.

  “Now comes the moment of truth.” Mitch accessed the file.

  Not wanting to view the company’s financial data, Jaye stood by the filing cabinet. “I’ll wait a minute in case you have any questions.”