The Trouble With J.J. by Tami Hoag

alone.” He plucked another blueberry muffin out of the basket Genna had come armed with. Steam rose from it as he broke it open and spread butter on it. “Just whatwould having a house-keeper entail? Does she have to live here?”
    “No.”
    “I don’t want some fussy old bag taking over with Alyssa.” He didn’t always get her braids straight and he wasn’t really up on the latest fashions for five-year-olds, but those were duties he wouldn’t give up for anything.
    “That’s fine,” Genna scribbled on her notepad. “You’re hiring a housekeeper not a grandmother.”
    “Good.” He devoured the muffin, thinking it was the most exquisite thing he’d ever tasted—next to Genna’s lips. “These muffins are fabulous.”
    “Thank you,” she said, not looking up.
    “And that pie you brought over looks great.”
    “I’m glad you think so.” She continued writing.
    Jared watched her, smiling to himself. She had shown up at his kitchen door at eight A.M. sharp, dressed in navy walking shorts, a pink oxford-cloth shirt, and big tortoiseshell reading glasses that made her eyes look impossibly large and guileless. She’d had a notebook under one arm and a wicker basket on the other. He guessed this schoolgirl look was intended to cool his ardor. Try again, Genna . If only she knew he was fantasizingmaking love to her with her wearing nothing but those glasses.
    “I think I know someone who might fit the requirements,” she said, thinking of Amy’s Aunt Bernice, who lived five blocks away. Bernice had been around. She wouldn’t bat an eye at Jared’s … uniqueness. “I’ll call her and see if she’s interested and if she can come by for an interview.”
    She made more notes, mainly to keep her wayward gaze off Jared. He’d answered the door wearing nothing but a red velvet bathrobe and a pair of gray wool socks. The robe gaped open now, exposing a wide expanse of muscular hair-covered chest. He didn’t seem to care. She was sure he would have felt just as comfortable sitting there stark naked.
    That thought suffused her body with heat. It was too easy to remember the feel of his fabulous body against hers and too hard to remember he wasn’t her type. Oh, why in the world had she ever let him kiss her? She hooked a finger inside the collar of her blouse and swallowed hard.
    “While I’m on the phone,” she said a bit raggedly, “you can put some clothes on and go mow the lawn.”
    He chuckled deviously, an unholy gleam in his eye. “Don’t you like my outfit, Genna?”
    “It isn’t exactly haute couture for lawn mowing,” she said dryly, arching a delicate brow at him.
    Jared leaned across the table, forcing her to look into his twinkling eyes. “I love it when you talk French to me, Gen. Do it again.”
    She leveled a no-nonsense look at him. “Mow the lawn, Jared.”
    “Okay,” he said equably, sitting back in his chair. “Plaid this time?”
    “Regular.”
    He frowned. “As in plain?”
    “Plain. Nondescript.”
    “Herringbone?” His brows lifted in a show of hope.
    “Plain, ordinary, free from affectation, unremarkable.” She didn’t let his scowl daunt her. “Normal people don’t mow their lawns in patterns. And get rid of the flamingos.”
    Suddenly he looked like a little boy who’d been told Christmas had been canceled and he could never have a puppy or join the Cub Scouts. Genna felt her resolve sway.
    “All of them?” he asked.
    Darn it, yes, she said to herself. She hated those cheap plastie vultures; they were eyesores. But Jared looked so genuinely disappointed. Be tough with him, Genna. Steel yourself .
    “I kind of like them,” he said sadly.
    The steel cracked and crumbled like old plaster. “All right, you can keep two—”
    “Six.”
    “Four. Two in front and two in back.”
    “Done.”
    He stood up and demonstrated some respect for Genna’s sensibilities by tightening the belt of his robe. The action didn’t keep her from thinking that red was an