The Playboy's Office Romance

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  When Lara returned, he was cleaning up in the kitchen. He watched her pause to brush her hand affectionately across Cal’s flyaway hair, then she came into the kitchen and leaned against the center island, slender arms crossed at her waist.

  He looked a question. She offered her Mona Lisa smile in return. He went back to stacking dishes in the dishwasher. “Doctor Trahern will be here shortly,” he said. “He’s a good friend and a good doctor. I think you’ll like him.”

  She didn’t say anything for a minute and the fact that steam didn’t pour from her ears at his high-handed interference was, Bryce thought, another sign she wasn’t feeling quite herself. “That was arrogant of you. I doubt the doctor will consider you a good friend for dragging him over here on a fool’s errand.”

  He wasn’t in the mood to argue this with her. “I’m worried about you. Forgive me for caring.”

  She sighed…and surprised him. “I’m sorry, Bryce. You’re being extraordinarily kind when you have to be wishing you were anywhere but here.”

  “I want to be here, Lara. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be.”

  “Right,” she said with a half smile. “You enjoy cleaning my kitchen and being exposed to strep throat while wearing last night’s tuxedo.”

  He glanced down, hardly aware until that moment, what he was wearing. “It’s okay,” he said. “I always wear this tuxedo when I make chicken soup.”

  Her brows lifted. “Chicken soup?”

  He feigned modesty. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe, guaranteed to cure sore throat, fever, the common cold and a poverty of spirit.”

  “Your grandmother taught you to make chicken soup?”

  He liked that she could tease him, wished she didn’t have to act so astonished to discover he could actually do something other than woo women and walk out on them afterward. “She was an extraordinary woman,” he said. “And you’re going to like the soup. Trust me.”

  “It sounds good, but really, you don’t have to stay. I can manage just fine and, if I need to lie down or something, I’m sure Bridget will come over and help with Cal.”

  He closed the dishwasher door, wiped his hands on a towel, and went to lean against the center island beside her, arms crossed in a stubborn replica of hers. “Let’s get to the bottom line here. Whether you want to admit it or not, you’re sick. Whether you want to face it or not, you need help. And whether or not you want me around, I’m not leaving. Any questions?”

  “How many times a day do you get complaints about how arrogant you are?”

  “Three. So far today, the count is two down with one still to come. Anything else?”

  A bare smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “How soon will the soup be ready?”

  “About the time you wake up from your nap.”

  “What if I don’t need a nap?”

  “Then you can lie around and watch cartoons, but I warn you, too many episodes of Scooby Doo, Where Are You? and you’ll be out like a lightbulb. Look what happened to Calvin.”

  “Maybe I’ll catch up on some reading…if my head quits hurting.”

  He reached out, placed his hand over hers, touched her because he couldn’t stand this close and not touch her. “Go to bed, Lara. Please?”

  For a fleeting moment, a mere breath of time, she leaned her head against his shoulder, a gesture so endearing, so obviously costly to her, his heart ached with a heavy tenderness. “I’ll go,” she said. “Any other orders…er, requests?”

  Let me love you.

  “Get comfortable again,” he said instead. “Put the pajamas back on. Loosen the hair. Rest. Relax. Feel better. Let me take care of everything else.”

  She studied him with a puzzled expression. “Sometimes, Bryce, I don’t know what to think about you.”

  “At least,” he said with a smile, “that’s a step in the right direction. Now go before I decide to pick you up and carry you to bed.”

  “Don’t think you can force me into using up my third and final complaint of insufferable arrogance this early in the day,” she said, rather saucily for a woman whose cheeks were flushed with fever. “I’m certain I’m going to need it later.”

  And with that parting shot, she went to bed.

  Chapter Ten

  The doorbell rang and Cal, who until that moment had been absorbed in systematically crashing Hot Wheels racing cars against the brick fireplace, jumped up with a child’s wide-eyed excitement for possibilities. “Somebody’s here! Somebody’s here!”

  Bryce headed for the door, with Cal pogo-hopping beside him. “I think it’s the doctor,” Cal chattered. “And he’s got quar’ers and nickels and a penny!”

  Kevin Trahern had come and gone a couple of hours ago, leaving Cal with a jingling pocketful of change and the memory of how, when the doctor had checked behind his ear, he’d found not only a shiny new quarter, but two nickels and a penny, too. So far, Dr. Trahern was the ideal visitor in Cal’s mind.

  “You think it’s Doctor Kev, huh?”

  Cal nodded vigorously, no easy task while hopping.

  “Well, I think…” Bryce opened the door to reveal Peter standing on the other side. “…it’s my baby brother.”

  Cal stopped hopping, and his smooth little brow furrowed as he looked from Peter to Bryce and back again to Peter. “He’s not a baby.”

  “Depends on whether or not he gets his way.” Bryce grinned at Peter. “What took you so long?”

  “This may come as a shock to you, but there are a few things in my life which take priority over bringing you a change of clothes.”

  “Must be a woman.”

  “Could be more than one.” Peter handed off a small leather bag as he stepped inside. “But don’t even ask for names, because I’m not telling an old claim-jumper like you.”

  “Hey,” Cal said, edging closer to Bryce. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Peter. Who are you?”

  The boy slipped his arm around Bryce’s knee. “Cal,” he answered. “Are you Pe’er Pan?”

  “No,” Bryce said, setting aside the bag of clothing and personal items he’d asked his brother to bring. “He’s just one of the Lost Boys.”

  Cal pondered that. “I got losted once, but Aunt Lara comed and got me.”

  Bryce’s heart tightened and he reached down and lifted the little guy into his arms with a jingle of pocket change. “Well, you’re not going to get lost anymore,” he said. “Tell Peter where you got all that money you have in your pocket.”

  Cal’s eyes brightened. “The doctor got it from my ear!”

  “Wow,” Peter said, looking impressed. “The only thing the doctor ever found in my ear was a bumblebee.”

  Cal made a small O with his mouth. “Did it sting?”

  “It stung my sister when she put it in there, but that’s about all I remember.”

  Bryce was always startled at the infrequent reminders that his youngest brother had a half sister, had in fact lived a whole other life before he came to Braddock Hall as a boy of nine. Peter had been a lost boy, Bryce realized. In some ways, maybe he still was. “Good thing there are no bees or sisters around here, huh, Cal?”

  “Yep,” Cal agreed. “We don’t need no stinkin’ sisters!”

  Bryce’s gaze met Peter’s. “Cal has a phenomenal memory. He seems to remember everything he hears whether he was meant to hear it or not.”

  Cal nodded. “I’m a good ’memberer.”

  “That you are.” Bryce gave the boy a squeeze and put him back on his feet, where he immediately, probably out of sudden shyness, revved his engines and dashed off into the other room.

  Peter watched him go. “Are you sure he’s sick?”

  “You should have seen him last night. He’s feeling a lot better, although Kevin said he might be a little cranky and sleep more than usual for a day or two.”

  “Cranky?” Peter narrowed his eyes on Bryce. “Good grief, Bry. You’re starting to sound like a nursemaid.”

  The surprise in the words, the pat
ent disbelief that he could not only be a caregiver, but actually enjoy the role, sent a ripple of resentment coursing through him. “You know, Peter, I don’t know what I’ve done to give my friends and family—who, by the way, ought to know me better—the impression that I have about as much depth as a dog’s water dish. But from now on you and everyone else, are going to see and appreciate that I have heretofore unsuspected, and nurturing, qualities.”

  Peter looked a little taken aback, but then he smiled and cuffed Bryce on the arm. “I never doubted it for a minute,” he said. “I just thought cranky wasn’t one of your vocabulary words.”

  Regretting that he’d taken a jab at his brother when his feelings were really directed at Lara, Bryce gestured Peter into the other room. “Lara’s asleep,” he said. “So Cal and I have been testing the theory that Matchbox cars are virtually indestructible.”

  “Have you tried setting them on fire?” Peter suggested.

  “Please don’t say that too loudly.”

  But Cal barely glanced up as they entered the room, his attention focused on sending two cars crashing into the brick at once. “Cool!” he said, and sorted through his treasure pile for more crash vehicles.

  Peter settled on the arm of the loveseat and watched Cal line up his racers for the next demolition derby. “You should have heard Monica talking to Dad after they got home from the ball last night. She was red-hot about something.”

  “I don’t know why he puts up with her mood swings.”

  “Sure you do. She’s young and beautiful. He’s flattered as hell that she’ll have him.”

  “Along with the Braddock name and checking account.”

  “Well, in his case, love has always been deaf, blind and dumb.”

  “That’s certainly true with her.”

  “Last night, it wasn’t. He seemed amused that she was so angry and I was standing right there in the foyer with them when he told her she might be happier if she returned to Colorado without him.”

  “What were you doing at home then, anyway? I thought you met the woman of your dreams last night at the ball.”

  “The women of my dreams,” Peter corrected. “Twins. Belle and Bonnie Montgomery, visiting from Atlanta. They’re blond, they’re beautiful and I’m seeing them in—” He glanced at his watch. “—less than an hour.”

  “Which still doesn’t explain why you were home to hear Monica fussing at our father.”

  “I was looking for you. You might have told someone where you were going, Bryce.”

  “It was an emergency. Lara got the call and we left.”

  The quiet stretched for a minute, broken only by the crash of metal and the accompanying sound-track Cal was providing.

  “This is serious for you, isn’t it?” Peter asked, although Bryce could tell he already knew the answer.

  “Yes.”

  Peter nodded. “Speaking as one of the family and friends who has always actually suspected you had hidden depths, congratulations.”

  “Hold on to those felicitations for the present. Convincing Lara she wants and needs me in her life may take some doing.”

  “After the way you’ve taken over at the company and proven yourself a worthy successor to Adam, the wunderkind, I can’t imagine one female will give you much trouble. Besides, you have that one special quality women find irresistible.”

  “The Braddock name.”

  “That would be it.”

  Bryce sighed. “I only wish I thought Lara was as impressed with that as you are. I think she views falling in love with any man as a personal failure, no matter what his name may be.”

  “There’s nothing you like better than a challenge, so go to it.”

  “Errrkkkk! Crassssshhhh! Aacckk! Oh, no! You crashed my car!” Cal, playing, made a considerable amount of noise.

  “How much longer will he be here?” Peter asked. “Romancing Lara would certainly be easier without him around.”

  Bryce didn’t like the thought of Cal not being around, although Peter was probably right. “I don’t know. Lara’s sister is finishing up some kind of nursing degree, I think, but her clinicals ought to be over soon. Then he’ll be going back to live with her.”

  Peter shook his head. “Adam always said the rest of her family left something to be desired in the good sense category. I hope for the kid’s sake, the sister has at least some of Lara’s grit. Otherwise, he may turn out like his dad.”

  Watching Cal, Bryce could hardly bear the thought of the boy growing up without a positive male role model. Maybe there was a man in Lara’s sister’s life. Someone who loved Cal. Someone Cal loved in return. “I’m certain Lara won’t let that happen. No matter what.”

  Peter looked at his watch again. “Better be on my way. Don’t want to keep the Georgia peaches waiting.”

  “Thanks for bringing my stuff over.”

  “Always glad to put you in the position of owing me a favor.” Peter got to his feet and started for the door. “You never know when I may get myself into an awkward situation and need one, or both, of my big brothers to help me out.”

  Bryce laughed as he walked with Peter to the door. “Oh, right. As if you ever let yourself get caught in any situation that could be remotely construed as awkward. Much as I hate to say it, Pete, I think you feel more of an obligation to protect the Braddock name than even Adam.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Peter said with a wink. “It’s the name that drives the women wild.”

  “You might have a little something to do with it.”

  “Keep talking and you’re going to spoil my afternoon with the twins. What fun would it be if I started taking myself too seriously?”

  “Bryce?” Cal had come to stand in the doorway behind them. “I picked up all my cars.”

  “That was fast. Did you think of something else you’d rather play?”

  The boy shrugged.

  Bryce frowned. “Is it time for more Scooby Doo?”

  Cal nodded, although without much enthusiasm.

  “Bye, Cal.” Peter smiled at the child. “I hope you feel better very soon.”

  “Goodbye, Peter,” Bryce said when Cal made no response. “I’ll see you in a day or two. And thank you.”

  Bryce closed the door behind his brother and turned to Calvin. “Okay, buddy. Let’s find Scooby Doo.”

  LARA AWAKENED with two clear impressions. The first being that she felt worse than when she’d gone to sleep, and the second, and much more interesting, being that Bryce was in bed with her. On top of the covers, true. And sitting upright, his back propped against a pillow, the Wall Street Journal in his lap, the soft light of the reading lamp falling across one broad shoulder and casting his face in gentle shadows. She could see in this light that he would age well, with good humor and good grace, changing gradually from young to old without undue deference to either. Whether thirty or ninety-two, Bryce would still possess the ageless charm of being completely in love with life.

  If she lived to be ninety-two, Lara thought, she’d still remember him the way he looked at this moment. In his khaki slacks and black polo, with his hair lately washed and falling across his forehead, with an expression of easy concentration on his face, he looked both casually handsome and sexier than any feverish woman should be allowed to see.

  He must have sensed her regard, because he glanced over and smiled to see her awake. “Hi, there,” he said, his voice soothing, soft and very sensual. “How are you feeling?”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked in a hoarse, croaky voice.

  The smile deepened, wove into his eyes, and filled her with a glow of winsome well-being. “I’m here,” he said as matter-of-factly as if he were quoting the stock prices, “convincing you that you can’t live without me.”

  Her heart jumped rhythm, danced to its own private melody. “That seems a little pointless since I’m not sure I’m going to live, period.”

  He laughed softly. “It only feels that way. You’ll be a lot better after you’ve
eaten.”

  “Ugh. Don’t even mention food.” She sighed and tried to gauge time through the closed curtains. “What time is it?”

  “After eight. Cal’s already in bed. He’s had his chicken soup and his bath. We read Yertle the Turtle four and a half times before he went to sleep.”

  Lara frowned, rubbed her temple, thought she must have misheard. “He ate soup?”

  “Mm-hmm. Didn’t even ask me to put peanut butter or banana in it.”

  “Wow, poor little fella, he must be really sick.” She pushed back the covers, thinking she’d feel better herself if she just touched his forehead, reassured herself that he was okay. “I’ll go check on him.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and was instantly dropped back to her pillow by a swirling dizziness. “In a minute.”

  “Take it easy. Kevin said the medication might make you light-headed.”

  She frowned. “Kevin?”

  “Dr. Trahern.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember.” She recalled, over and around the dull ache in her head, a nice-looking man who told her to take all of her medicine, even if she was feeling fine before the regime was gone, and to get some rest. Well, she’d taken the medicine and she’d slept away the day. It was time to get up. Taking a deep breath, she sat up again, carefully this time, ignoring Bryce’s hovering, helping hand. “I’m going to check on Cal,” she said as much for her own encouragement as to give out the information.

  He started to protest, then didn’t. “Okay, but if you need help, let me know.”

  She needed help, all right. The dizzy feeling had passed, but somehow the desire to just lie in bed and watch Bryce read the paper had returned in full force. Truthfully, watching him wasn’t all she longed to do. Memories of last night, of his kiss, his touch, the sweetness of the love he’d made to her kindled a desire she had no energy to pursue. Being sick, apparently, was no defense against his sexual appeal.

  Lara pushed to her feet, determined to overcome her weakness of will, and felt steadier, more in control just for making the effort. “I’ll be back,” she said.

  “I’ll be here,” he replied.