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Thought he could? The truth was, he’d done it Several times And if he could pull that off so easily, was it his fault…or hers?
Never mind
His address book was right where he’d said it would be Sienna found the phone numbers, made the calls he’d requested Demanded, was et-what-I-want sensibility Was it his round? Was it because he was a man of the 1970s? Or was it just him?
Never ure that out, either Not now, anyway
She had never needed a job as badly as she needed this one
Neither his pilot nor his housekeeper see his instructions Were they well trained in taking calls from a prior secretary or were they accusto a woman in his life? His private life Not that she was a woman Well, she was, of course, but she was his eet her into his bed by taking her with him…
Sienna laughed
If he’d wanted to take her to bed, he’d do it here No need to fly her, what, eight, nine hundred
But she wasn’t going to let it happen
She was in enough of a s worse The last thing she needed was to connect with a coiven her hardly any information about him She’d found that curious
Now, knowing him, she found it credible
An erabbed it, tucked a steno pad into it—good grief, a steno pad!—along with some pens and pencils
The Internet had given her information about the canyon, the sacred stone, the tribes who’d lived on Blackwolf land a couple of hundred years ago and the people who’d inhabited it thousands of years before that All she’d found about Jesse was his date of birth and the notation that he was “reclusive” Wikipedia had been more direct and referred to him as a loner who’d inherited the ranch on the deaths of his parents, lived on it for a few years and then…
Then, nothing
“Sienna? Are you ready?”
She looked up, saw hi, faded jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, a tweedy light gray sport coat and what surely were hand-tooled black leather boots
He looked as if he’d just stepped out of GQ
She looked as if she’d just stepped out of a thrift shop
And he was so beautiful he made her ache
His plane was a Learjet
It said so on the tail