Autopilot was good. Autopilot worked.
Even as he worked by rote, another part of him felt alive for the first time in years. It was probably the worry stirring up his adrenaline in a way that deadlines and competition couldn’t.
“Hey.” She pushed open the bathroom door. “Where’s Stanley?” she said in a whisper. Her breath was all minty.
“He’s outside.” He went to pick her up again, but she pulled back.
“No, I’m good.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “You’ve been out for five days.”
Her hand went to her throat. “Five days?”
“Yeah, you’ve been pretty unwell here.”
If it was at all possible, her face paled.
He snagged her hand. “You need food and antibiotics and then you need to go back to bed.”
She stopped. “Why am I wearing your T-shirt?” She frowned and pulled the T-shirt forward and looked down, her eyes growing wider.
“You can’t sleep in a bra. You were sweating out, and I kind of got behind on the laundry.”
“You took me to the bathroom,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Yeah.”
Her large hazel eyes roamed over his face. “You stayed with me every night.”
He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I wasn’t going to leave you alone.”
Her filmy eyes stayed locked on his. “You called me Jesus,” she whispered.
He pushed her hair back from her face. “That wasn’t so much directed at you. Your body was fluctuating between an inferno and a polar ice cap.”
“You held me when I was freezing.” She looked down and snagged her bottom lip with her teeth, but he caught the emotion in her eyes.
“Yeah.” He exhaled, running his thumb down her cheek. “You talk in your sleep, by the way.”
Her head shot up, and she looked on the verge of panic. “What did I say?”
He watched her face redden, and she turned her head away. “Something about plasma, Sarah, and kidneys.”
“Well, you know what I said doesn’t count, right? That wasn’t me talking. That was the fever talking there, Barnaby.”
He cupped her chin is his hand and turned her face towards him. She blinked, and he heard the hitch in her breathing before she closed her eyes for a long second. When she opened them, the filmy emotion was gone. She angled her head away, biting down on her bottom lip, and wrapped her arms across her chest. Without a word, she started to walk past him. He stopped her with a gentle tug on her hand. “I’ll bring Stanley to you. He got pretty nervous while you were out.”
He touched the back of her neck and felt her shiver, but she held herself stiffly, the barriers going up. He hated that she was shutting down in front of him, but in his mind he held up his hands in mock surrender and shifted the conversation onto neutral ground.
“Sarah called five hundred times and so did Nola and half the town.”
She nodded and he gave her neck a small squeeze. No fucking way he was going to tell her about the texts that some dude named Troy had sent her, wanting to go out next Saturday night. He’d deleted them and the guy’s number from her phone.
They were going to talk about what she said in her sleep. He didn’t know what shit she was talking about with plasma and kidneys and there was no way she was going to stay with Sarah. Fuck that. She was staying. With him.
“I need a shower,” Billie said, and he caught her wobble.
“There’s vegetable soup that Nola made, and I’ll butter us up some toast. You need food then a shower.”
She let him lead her to the kitchen table where he put a steaming bowl of soup in front of her and cut up toast. He’d been surprised at the amount of casseroles, cakes, homemade dog food, even cartons of milk the town had dropped off. He’d spoken to Sarah every day, and she’d come around with the best cake he’d ever eaten, not that he was going to tell his assistant that.
Stanley bounded up to her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on through his happy whimpers. After several minutes, she lifted her head and wiped away tears.
She looked around. “We’re not eating in the dining room?”
“No, this room kind of grew on me.” It had. It radiated warmth and just felt right. “Besides, it’s closer to the appliances. Easier that way.”
“Didn’t pick you as the stretchy pants and slippers type.” She picked at her food.
Even with bedhead, she was beautiful with her huge hazel eyes. He didn’t like the dark purple bruises that gave her eyes a wide, waifish look, but they’d fade. Either way, she looked good wearing his T’s.
“You need to eat. You’ve lost a ton of weight, and you need to get your curves back.”
She looked down, pulling the T-shirt taut against her body. “I need to get sick more often. I won’t need the miracle diet pill for at least a couple of weeks.” She frowned then continued. “Remind me to throw out those bags of fudge. I want to keep these planes.”
“I’ll buy you more if you throw them out.” He gave her a once-over that he hoped told her she was sexy either way, but that she looked better with a few more pounds on her.
“Thanks for looking after me,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. Her barrier slipped for a second, and he leaned back in the chair at the emotion in her voice.
“Welcome,” he grated out.
They ate in silence.
When she was done, she rose, her legs much steadier now. “I’ll just go and have a shower,” she said.
“You need my help?” At her blush, he continued, “I’ve seen all of you.”
She waved her hand and avoided his eye. The barriers were locked in place. “No thanks, Kimball. I’ve got it.” She left the room slowly, and Stanley joined him, watching Billie go.
He fucking hated that she put those walls up. He got it, but he still hated it.
“Hey, old man.” He ruffled the dog’s fur and was rewarded with a warm tongue on his hand. He’d broken through a barrier with Billie sick. The dog had glued himself to Mason’s side, and he’d enjoyed the quiet companionship. He still hadn’t heard him bark, but he was confident that would happen.
He looked out at the sleepy valleys and trees pregnant with fruit dipping toward the ground. The sweet smell of apricot and wild lavender that grew around the house mingled with the slightly salty breeze, and he inhaled deeply. He traced a flock of blackbirds across the sky before they landed in a tree. The sun blazed across the blue sky. Apart from the distant shouts of children’s laughter coming from the beach and the birds, it was so quiet. He kind of missed Nola dropping by with her husband Burt, delivering food. Stanley nudged his hand. Hell, he was going to miss him when he left here. He’d been able to put off the Coromandel property for a week, but he needed to put those plans into place and get this house sorted.
Except this place was growing on him.
A cold feeling wrapped around him and held tight. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
He looked back through the open door to Billie on her mobile, gathering fresh clothes from her dresser. Their eyes locked for a second before she turned away.
Soon he’d never see her again.
Chapter Ten
“Billie, you really need to rest.” Mason loomed over her as she typed a report.
She didn’t look up. “I’m okay here, Chip.”
She could hear the frown in his voice. “Chip?”
“Just keeping it impersonal, like we agreed,” she replied, feeling his gaze burn through her marrow. The first order of business she was about to execute would end the sleeping issue. Last night she’d fallen asleep on the couch and had woken at some point during the night to find Mason behind her, his arm around her waist, the other holding her hand. She’d been so peaceful and felt so safe, she’d cried. She’d thought about leaving, but as if sensing her need to retreat, he’d pulled her tighter into his chest. When she next woke, he was gone.
She took a
deep breath and steeled herself. “I’m going to stay with Sarah.” Before he could blow up the room with his reply, she continued. “I know it will be a bit of a commute, but it’s for the best.”
“Why’s that?” The temperature in the room dialed down to zero.
She finally looked up at him. “One minute I’m Forty-Two and the next minute I’m Billie. One minute you look like you want to tie me in a chair instead of seeing me walk out the door. The next minute you tell me I’m your hook-up and nothing more. I know you don’t have any emotions or feelings toward me—I get that—but don’t curl around me on the sofa each night and expect me not to feel.”
He stepped beside her chair and cupped her jaw in his warm hand. “You want to feel?”
“Do you?” she shot back.
His intense gaze held her until she couldn’t breathe or swallow. He let go. “No, I don’t.”
She managed not to flinch and briefly shut her eyes before blanking her face.
“Right,” she said clearing her throat. “So as to my moving—”
“No,” he said, making his way back to his desk, not even looking at her.
She sat back in her chair. A cracking dose of anger built in her chest. “What do you mean no? I’ll be here at six o’clock every morning and will work until whenever. I would prefer to keep Stanley here, as the hour drive will be too much.”
“No to Stanley. No to you.”
At his calm, dismissive voice, she shoved her chair back and stood. “Listen here, Reginald. You don’t own me. I can leave here when I want, as long as I’m here to do my job.” She advanced on him, and he had the good grace to look surprised. “What is your issue?”
He didn’t blink, and his mouth remained a straight white line. “As I said, we have a shit load of work to get through, and if I need you at midnight, I need to know you’re here.”
“Well, dial me up, and I’ll come running.” She scanned him. He looked his usual glamorous self in aged denim, bare feet, and a blue T-shirt stretched across his frame. “I take it we’re not working now since you’ve forgone the suit.” Truth told, he hadn’t worn a suit since she’d woken up in his bed.
He finally had the decency to look pissed. “Dress down Friday.”
“Every day?”
“Yep.”
Exasperated and beyond frustrated she said, “Just once why can’t you tell me what you’re thinking? Give me the real reason. Just once, just talk to me.”
“I need to know you’re safe and—” Then the shutters came down, and the emotion that had lit his eyes hit the off switch. He turned away.
No. Not this time. He hadn’t given her any room to avoid the truth when they first met. He wouldn’t avoid her this time. She snagged his hand and pulled hard. “And what?”
“Drop it.”
“No, I won’t drop it. You got all pissy at me when I told you I was thinking about the periodic table and you called me on hiding what I was really thinking.” She threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “You’re doing it now.”
“I said drop it.”
She inched forward until their breaths clashed. She was surprised she wasn’t cut in half by his laser stare. “No, I won’t drop it. And what else?” Her hand curled around his forearm and she held on. “Talk to me.”
“And I don’t have fucking nightmares when I sleep with you.” He ripped his arm away.
Oh. “You have nightmares?” she whispered. “Why?”
He clenched his jaw. “Personal demons.” He shrugged. “Just the way it is.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “With you, it’s the only time I can really sleep.”
“Oh,” she whispered. On some level, he needed her, even though he’d never fully need her. She wanted to make him live with the consequences of his asshole behavior, but she didn’t have the heart. The man was clearly in a lot of pain.
“I’ll stay,” she said to his ram-rod back.
“Appreciate it.”
On her way back to her desk, she stopped to give Stanley a hug, and he softened under her embrace. Any day now, she imagined he’d finally manage a doggie smile.
She sent a text to Sarah. Change in plans. Heathcliff needs to howl on the moors, and he wants company.
Sarah replied with a love heart.
Before lunch, she was formatting Mason’s talk to text translation. Her fingers froze halfway down the page, and she had to hit the back button. A single line, completely out of place, dead center.
She looked up, certain Mason was watching her. But he stood with his back to her at the window, staring out at the fields, a do-not-disturb vibe all around him. She looked back at the document, and there in the middle of a letter to the Coromandel contractor was the line, You doing okay there, Billie?
She pursed her lips and felt a burn hit the back of her throat. No, not really Mason, but thanks for asking.
On shaky legs, she made it to the kitchen and started making their lunch.
The front door slammed when she was in the middle of cutting sandwiches. She looked up, surprised. Normally he let her know if he was going out. Must be something up with one of the contractors. She was cutting up fruit when her phone vibrated with a text from Mason. Don’t start lunch without me.
She covered the plate of food with a damp cloth, popped open a diet soda, and went outside with a bowl to gather blackberries for a custard. She’d gathered enough to fill the large bowl and was considering going back for another, but when she glanced at her watch, the hour she’d allotted for herself was up.
Stanley looked down at a pinecone and back at her. She laughed and threw her dog a knotty brown lump. It was as if she’d assigned him a mission, and like a dutiful soldier, he would execute it. Hopefully in time, he’d learn it was okay to love. Maybe someday Mason would, too.
“Come on, baby boy, catch that,” she said and hurled one as far as she could. When he brought it back with a slight swish of his tail, she dropped to her knees and hugged him. Small, but she’d take it. Stanley led the way back to the house, where she found Mason on the phone, a cake bag in his hand. Judging by the conversation, it wasn’t going well.
The front door bell chimed and Mason waved at her to answer. She signed for a package, took it into the office, and opened it. Inside, photos of the Coromandel house lay in neat stacks in presentation frames, and a full report of the property was signed off in a flourish of ink. The property really was gorgeous. Set over an acre, roses all the color of the rainbow covered a sizeable portion of the hill. A gorgeous property. Looked fairly remote.
She glanced at the evaluation and the report, and an idea steamrolled into her head, an idea so obvious she nearly groaned aloud. She put the berries on her desk and started tapping out an email to Takahashi’s PA Iris. Looking at the photographs and the roses, she remembered an email exchange with Iris about how Takahashi’s wife planned on growing roses on the property but was sad it would take them so long to grow to show standard. She scanned documents, sent a prayer upwards and uploaded the photos that had been sent via an electronic link. An hour later, Mason stood by her desk as she hit send.
“Lunch, and then I’ve got that vanilla thing you like.”
Her heart threw in an extra beat. “You went into town just to get me a custard square?”
He shrugged but didn’t exactly meet her eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s not like I journeyed to Timbuktu.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, unsure of her voice.
…
That evening after Mason had taken Stanley out for a pinecone run, she checked her email and found one she was searching for in her inbox. She held her breath, clicked it open, and nearly squealed when she saw the reply. When Mason returned, she was so deep into work that she didn’t notice his approach.
“Think we’re done for the night. Stanley’s curled up. I’m going to read through the plans and then I’ll hit the hay.”
“Okay,” she said, flipping a file over. Exhaustion ate into her b
ones, but she had to get this done.
He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. “Don’t be long, Billie. Judging by the bruises under your eyes, you still need to catch up on your sleep.”
“Yeah, I won’t be long. I’ll just get this done and then I’ll go to bed.”
She finished up for the night, pleased with the plans she’d put into place. The guilt that had eaten at her like a cavity, that she’d betrayed Mason and lost him the potential sale of this house, eased a little in her heart. It wasn’t the exact solution he needed, but it was something and would buy him time.
Something else was bothering her that, for the short time they were together, was something she could fix. She walked into her room and changed into one of his T’s that she’d taken to wearing, washed her face and cleaned her teeth, and walked into his bedroom. She lifted the covers, and before he could ask her what she was doing, she snuggled back into his chest.
“Sleep,” she whispered as his arms wrapped around her and he pulled her to him.
…
“You sure you’re up for that? You’ve been pretty sick. You might not be strong enough,” Mason said the next morning. His highlighter blue eyes were crinkled with concern.
The sun beat out a happy hello of warmth on the back of her neck. Bumblebees bounced from flower to flower. It was a gorgeous day, and she was getting out. She still wasn’t one hundred percent and was still on antibiotics, but she wanted to go outside. “I’m only roaming around the grounds, not scaling Everest.”
Surprise shadowed his face as he stepped back. “Point taken.”
She picked up a basket. “There’s a place Sarah and I used to go when we were listening for Cathy and Heathcliff. It has the best strawberries. I think there’s about a hundred of them calling my name.”
Much to her surprise, Mason fell into step beside her.
“What are you doing?”
“You’ve been sick. You might get tired and need help back.”
She stopped, her hands on her hips. “I’m not made of spun glass here, Jimberoo, and I didn’t have bubonic plague. I had an infection, and it’s gone. I’m nearly finished the antibiotics. I’m fine. Really.”
Winning the Boss's Heart Page 14
