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her standing in her room. He was proud of himself for his self-control. But this was Cass, not some groupie; if he’d stooped that low, well—he hadn’t stooped so low as to seduce Cass; his conscience was clear on that point at least. Of that he could be proud.
    Right up until this morning when she didn’t come down for breakfast, and still wasn’t down after his run. He began to get scared. What if she’d hurt herself? Somehow, fallen out of the window, or drowned in the tub? Or alcohol poisoning? Had she had enough to drink to poison her system? How much alcohol did that even take?
    He stood outside her door and started pounding on it, calling her name, making threats for nearly five whole minutes, before she shouted back. He’d been so relieved that he’d opened the door just to make sure. Thinking back, that had been his first mistake of the day, walking into her room while she laid supine, half covered by a sheet, which did little to conceal her curves.
    Damn! Jaime plunged back into the water for one last lap. Stop thinking about her, stop it, fool. Cass Pendleton is evil. She is the most hateful woman in the world. And ugly. Damn but she is hideous. She isn’t blonde or tall or model thin. And Meathead, she is smarter than you are. How about them apples?
    Jaime climbed out of the pool, his inner voice apparently satisfied, his body purged of indecent thoughts of Miss Pendleton. Unfortunately, his stomach took up where his conscience left off.
    “Shit,” he swore out loud. He’d somehow managed to forget that he’d fired his cook yesterday. No wonder Alicia wasn’t in the kitchen singing some catchy Cuban song. Double damn, he was supposed to send her out a check today or at least get Cass to send her one.
    On top of that, he’d forgotten to call his agent, Sam, to postpone their meeting until this evening. Now it was probably too late.
    He stripped out of his wet clothes and padded to the back door naked and dripping. Inside, he checked the clock—after twelve already—Sam would already be halfway here from the airport. He picked up the towel he’d left on the back of a kitchen chair, wrapped it around his nudity, and flung open the refrigerator to see if there was anything he could handle with his limited cooking skills.
    There were bottles and bags of things he couldn’t identify, but the flank steak wrapped in butcher paper he could handle. Enough vegetables to make a salad filled the drawers, and with any luck, he would find potatoes in the pantry; if not, then he would just have to wing it. After three years, he was finally going to fire up the grill outside and burn something.
    Maybe not having a cook was a good thing.
    * * * *
    “Not having a cook sucks,” Jamie told her the second she stepped into the kitchen. “Why did I fire Alicia?”
    “I believe it was because she threw a sugar bowl at your head.” Cass sniffed the air, something smelled delicious, and she was amazed that after emptying her stomach, she could even stand the aroma of food. But after standing under the steam jets in the guest shower for nearly an hour, she felt great. “I’m starving. What’s to eat?”
    “Don’t give me that look.” Jaime pointed the chopping knife he was using to mutilate tomatoes at her for emphasis. “That look. That one you’re giving me now, the one where you think I’m an idiot.”
    “I have never thought you were an idiot, Jaime, just a jerk; there’s a big difference.” She stepped around the island and took the knife from him. “Here, those poor tomatoes are dying horrible deaths; let me take over.”
    “What happened to Lord Ironman?”
    “I have no idea what you mean.” She took a fresh tomato and sliced the stem end off. She vaguely remembered calling him something along those lines, just before she puked her guts up, but he didn’t need to know that. “What am I making?”
    “Salad. I have steaks on the grill and potatoes in the oven. There’s a loaf of some kind of