"My God." He stared at her like she was an exotic sea creature that he hadn't decided whether to be afraid of or fascinated by.
"What?" She tightened the covers around her shoulders.
"Just...you're an unusual woman, Lia Halpern."
Lia stared at him. "I am?"
"Uh-huh. I've never met anybody so incredibly prideful, so stubborn, and so foolish all in one package." While she was still processing that, he said, "There's nothing wrong with borrowing money as long as you do it wisely, as I have no doubt you would. Dammit, Lia...I get the thing with your friend, but you shouldn't be here. You do know the temperature inside isn’t any different from the temperature outside?" He shook his head.
She bristled. "So? Why do you care?"
He adjusted his scarf around the collar of his wool coat. "Why do you think?"
"I have no clue. Really, I can’t see why it matters to you. It's my life. It’s no business of yours if I decide I don't want to put up with people's crap anymore. You're my boss, not my warden."
She watched as his face went through the strangest contortions. He opened and shut his mouth, opened it again, then expelled a breath through his teeth.
It annoyed her that all that grimacing didn't detract from his looks one bit. If anything, it made her want to run her finger along his sensuous lower lip.
"What about your parents?" he demanded in a low voice.
"What about them?"
"I thought they lived in town somewhere. Did you even bother to inform them you needed a place to stay?"
"There’s no point. No, really," she added at his skeptical look. "If I asked to camp out with them, they’d make a hundred excuses as to why they couldn't have me. They kind of hate me for being born."
He stared at her for a long time, then swore. "Then why didn't you tell me?"
"You? What could you do, raise my temperature by getting facetious and uppity at me?"
He closed his eyes as if seeking patience. "I'm putting up anyone who doesn't have a place to stay. I told you that."
"You didn't say it applied to me."
"Oh, for fu—look, Lia, you can't stay here. You think hypothermia is a joke? The conditions here are hazardous. Don't think I didn't notice that you shoveled the walkway out there in the elements. What the fuck were you thinking? Sometimes I—forget it, you're not even listening to me. Come on."
"What? Wait, what are you doing?" She made a lunge as the comforter was whipped off her body.
He tossed it across the floor and surveyed her like a judge, taking in every inch of her bundled-up, shivering, polar-bear self. She must look ridiculous to him, wearing half her wardrobe and doubling her total volume. She was all set for an Arctic expedition.
"That's mine. This is my place. I can stay here if I want to."
"I beg to differ. This is my building and it's on me to make sure my tenants are situated in decent living conditions. That doesn't include temperatures that have you shivering."
"I'm not a tenant."
"Oh, but you are. Lia, as far as I'm concerned, you're the tenant. Now what'll it be? Are you walking out with me, or do I have to carry you out of here?"
A laugh spurted out at the mental picture of the fashionable March Ulrich hauling her out in a fireman's lift. "You wouldn't dare." Then it hit her, what he'd said. The tenant? What did that even mean?
He rolled his eyes. Then he was striding over, and suddenly she was being hauled into his arms. The Cary Grant way, not the fireman way.
CHAPTER 4
A STUNNED LIA FOUND herself being hoisted several feet in the air, staring into two piercing green eyes. March Ulrich's excruciatingly handsome face was so close she could see each tiny hair on his jaw. Man, he was even more drool-worthy this way. It was positively obnoxious, his in-your-face sexiness. She clasped her arms around his neck resentfully.
"What does that mean, the tenant?" she asked.
"It means...it means you’re important to me. As a tenant," he added after a beat. His steamy breath washed over her skin. The heat of him felt too damn nice.
"Oh, right, of course. I’m the one who scrubs the porcelain around here. That makes me indispensable." She injected a healthy dose of sarcasm into her words.
"It’s not that," he dismissed.
"Then what?"
Other than a muscle ticcing in his jaw, he didn't reply.
"It’s not like we’ve ever had a conversation," she prodded.
"No? I beg to differ."
She strained her memory.
He bounced her in his arms. "I happen to know more than I ever wanted to know about neck muscles thanks to you. You asked me if I had a stiff neck or was just born that way. Then you told me my sternocleidomastoid and scalenes ‘weren’t even that hot,’ I believe were your words. Then you lectured me on how to hold my arms so my pecs would be more relaxed."
She stared, appalled. "And this was when…?"
"I believe you’d been drinking at the time."
Shit. She remembered now. She knew exactly the day he was talking about. A month or so after he'd moved into the building, he’d called her in one evening to fix a popped tile in his foyer, something any competent guy should have been able to do himself. She’d been so unnerved by the way he’d watched her, like her every movement was part of some bizarre freak show, that she’d blabbered on about the book she’d been reading when he called, which happened to be her Valentine’s Day gift to herself, Functional Anatomy of the Human Body: Muscles in Motion. It also didn’t help that she’d been drinking beer—she may have been on her fifth. An embarrassing interlude, one she’d made herself forget.
Apparently he remembered it vividly, though. Which was somehow disturbing, given her current circumstances.
"You should put me down, uh..." Sir? Person who's holding me? Your landlordishness? What the hell did you call a guy you worked for who was holding you intimately close?
"Should I, now?" he said softly.
Staring into his eyes, she wasn't so sure anymore. His arms were big, cozy and safe. The solid slab of his body against her side was a surprise. All this time he’d been holding her with ease. That took a hell of a lot of muscle power, especially since she was a lifter and a good fifteen pounds heavier than she looked. "Yeah. Yeah, you really should."
"Let me rephrase that. Do you want me to put you down?"
"I didn’t say that," she said quickly. "I could probably stay here all day. No sweat off my brow, I'm pretty comfortable. But you should. You know, in case I get the wrong idea."
"You could never get the wrong idea, Lia," he said, staring at her mouth, and his tongue ran along his lower lip. "You’re coming with me where it’s warm." But still he didn’t move, she noticed with bemusement. Was he thinking what it looked like he was thinking?
Just the possibility of his thoughts going where hers were going had heat throbbing inside her—blessed heat. Dangerous blessed heat.
She cleared her throat on the off-chance she could save this situation.
"Why is it such a big deal that I'm here? Are you afraid I’ll sue you for frostbite? You don’t have to worry. My toes are fine." She wiggled her feet to demonstrate. "Your fortune is safe from me, Lord Suave."
His mouth stretched in a disbelieving smile. "What did you just call me?"
Crap. "Lord, uh, Suave. I have other names for you, too, but...well...I try not to use them to your face."
He snorted. "You might as well."
"Why?"
Instead of answering, he brought her closer against his chest.
Then he tilted his head and, taking his own sweet time, inched closer and closer, looking back and forth between her eyes and her mouth.
So she did the same, inching closer to him.
Until his lips made contact with hers. Making it officially a kiss.
Something generally done among people who were not boss and employee.
Stop assaulting me, you lecherous landlord fiend, she didn’t say. Somehow it w
ould have lacked conviction, given how she was meeting him halfway and melting all over him.
Because, stupid or not, she wanted to kiss this man so damn much.
If she were honest with herself, she’d wanted it—badly—for a long time. It wasn't much of a kiss at first; it took bit of time for feeling to return to the blocks of ice that were her lips. But then gentle fire curled up to her cheeks and down to her chest as March Ulrich's soft mouth tickled softly across hers. After a few minutes of this kiss—and that kiss—and that one—she felt the probe of his warm tongue—not shyly tentative, no, but not like an army invasion either. More like he was testing her for doneness, and deciding she was hot enough, he was content to settle in and take his fill.
The asshole kissed even better than he looked.
She did eventually think what on earth am I actually doing? and try to squirm free. But when his arms immediately loosened, she changed her mind and pulled him closer, kissing him back with all she had.
He made a low, vibrating sound against her mouth that was pretty damn animal, considering the man was supposed to be some kind of desk jockey and a practiced flirt. The room kind of spun, and then she felt a blast of freezing air and heard a door slam.
Her head jerked up and she looked around wildly. "Hey, did you just lock me out of my apartment?"
"I have a key," he said thickly, and took her mouth once more, and this time he didn’t lift his head again until they both experienced a jolt. It was followed by another one. She opened one eye.
Fuck! She’d been so lost in kissland, she hadn’t noticed March carrying her down the hallway. Now he was descending the short flight of steps to the entryway!
"You can put me down. I can walk just fine."
"No, I can't. You’ll just run back to your place."
"Who, me?"
"Don’t even try it, woman. I have it on record that you lie about this shit."
She should argue. But she had nothing right now.
It was slightly uncomfortable and very cold, but also impossibly sexy to be transported this way out the building. "You know I’m only letting you do this because I’m shoe-less."
He rolled his eyes.
"Watch out for ice," she advised.
"No ice, just snow. Tons and tons of snow." He let the outer door swing shut and hitched her in his arms, the first sign of his muscles tiring.
She gazed around at the deserted neighborhood, shivering at the sight of the blinding whiteness all around. It was sunny and much colder than when she’d ventured out the day before. The walkway she'd shoveled so laboriously was covered in a brand new thin layer of snow. Snow drifted lazily in the still air. A snowflake landed on her nose. "I need to pack a bag," she remembered. "I need my wallet. My Leatherman. My phone."
"Mmm," he responded neutrally, bending to kiss the snowflake off her nose.
She went silent, liking that way too much. It was all...very surreal. Avoiding his gaze as he trundled along the snow-covered walk, she caught sight of his red car. The shoveling she'd done was the only clear spot. The street was still unplowed, and his was the only shiny, clean vehicle parked on the block, proving that it had spent the night tucked up in an insulated garage.
He bent his knees and opened the passenger door. She considered making a break for it, but he never set her down, the chivalrous bastard.
Hiking her over one broad shoulder—so much for chivalry—he unlocked and opened the door. Then he set her into the passenger seat. "You stay here," he commanded.
She shrugged, refusing to commit to anything. But then she decided she might as well sit back. The car’s interior held a residual warmth that was incredibly inviting. He shut the passenger side door and went around to the driver’s side. She noticed he didn’t fasten his seat belt. As soon as the car started up, she sighed with pleasure and held her hands out towards the heating vents.
He glanced at her, his hand on the door handle, his expression shadowed with warning. "I’ll be back with your stuff. Don’t you dare move."
"Oh, I have no intention of moving." This time she was telling the truth. The heat felt too wonderful.
He leaned over and murmured in her ear, "I’m relieved to hear it. It's my intention to kiss you again soon, and I'd be seriously pissed off if I found you trying to sneak back into that igloo back there."
Then she sat there, frozen for a different reason, as he hopped out of the car and strolled back into the building.
And continued sitting there, waiting for him like a damned fool.
AN HOUR OR SO LATER, SEATED AT a small, secluded table at Emmender’s, she decided she’d heard March Ulrich wrong. It's my intention to kiss you again soon was what she’d thought he said. But when he’d returned with her stuff, he hadn’t even looked at her, merely ordered, "Buckle up," then driven them to Hotel in silence, saying little other than "What?" when he caught her staring at him. She’d shaken her head, opting to hold her tongue for the entire ride.
Had she imagined it? Winter storms and kisses happened. She could accept that. But you didn’t in cold blood tell your tenant-employee you were going to kiss her again soon.
Maybe his actual words were, "It's not my intention to kiss you again soon" or "It's my intention to piss you off, you loon" and she’d just twisted it to sound like what she wanted.
Either way...tough. He was off-limits. Even this kinder, gentler version of the man.
After getting her checked in, he followed her and the bellhop to her room, keeping a professional distance. He was so businesslike as he tipped the man that she decided it was better simply to retreat into the room. If he could ignore the kiss, so could she.
Until he grabbed her arm and said that one magic word: "Food. Come with me."
Mind changed.
But yeesh. She hadn’t expected he meant to take her to Emmender’s. Lia had never eaten at a place this fancy in her life. Even the light bulbs in the chandeliers looked pricey—they glinted all sorts of different colors, like a diamond. There was a flower vase on the table with a small bouquet of orchids. The host who'd led them to the table knew March well enough to pat him on the back. Go on dates here much? she wanted to ask.
She spotted Trisha working tables over by the bar and shifted in her seat. Hopefully Trish wouldn't spot them and come over to share with March all the things Lia said about him or worse, rag on her outfit.
Even she knew it was inappropriate. When Lia had admitted it was her first time at Emmender’s and expressed surprise about the lack of a dress code or for that matter the need for reservations, March had shrugged. "They scrap their policies in emergency situations. Emmender's hasn’t closed its doors to anyone during a power outage, natural disaster, or local crisis in the last fifty years, even if the owner, herself, has to cook and wait tables."
"How do you know all this?"
"One of my old school friends is the daughter of the owner and runs the place."
She should have known he’d find a way to rub in his VIP connections. Still, it wasn’t as awkward as she might have expected. The atmosphere was noisy, almost boisterous when she had the feeling it was normally much more subdued.
Whether out of sensitivity or arrogance, March took care of all the stuff she might have stumbled over. He ordered a bottle of wine. She also let him order their food. She wasn’t picky.
But when she sipped her wine and gazed around, she grew uncomfortable at the attention the other diners were paying them. March, even in designer jeans, easily blended in, just like he belonged here, which he did. She, however...it had to be obvious how out of place she was.
Everyone could probably guess she was here with her boss. Even without her toolbelt, she didn't fit in, what with her extra curly hair and no makeup. She’d stripped off a few layers of clothes in the car, but her remaining outfit was anything but fancy. And she just, well, wasn’t at home here. With a sudden attack of feeling like a fraud, she set the glass down and took out her phone.
Instantly it was sn
atched from her grasp.
"Hey! What do you think you’re doing?"
"Checking out your contacts." He ignored her sputtering, swiping the screen with one hand while he picked up his wine glass with the other. He licked the corner of his mouth absently as he read, an action that clearly wasn’t meant to be seductive, but she blamed him anyway.
She kicked him under the table.
He looked up with innocent surprise. She kicked him again.
"My contacts are none of your business, mister."
"You sure about that?" He grinned. "Pricklord...I wonder who that could be..."
She pressed her lips together and held out her hand.
Childishly, he refused to surrender the device, ultimately setting it on the far corner of the table, out of reach.
"Whatever," she muttered.
He slid closer to her along the curved seat, set down his elbow and tilted up her chin with his finger. Lia crossed her eyes pointedly at it.
"Isn’t that a little personal?" she demanded.
"No, it’s a lot personal." Unlike her, he seemed uninterested in the other diners or wait staff. His gaze was intent on her face. "So tell me, Lia, do you have a boyfriend?"
She caught her breath. "Not currently."
March smiled.
CHAPTER 5
SHE COULDN’T HELP BUT smile back at him. When she saw the way March’s eyes heated up, though, she wiped the expression from her face. "That doesn’t mean you're free to grab my face and touch me whenever you feel like it." Or kiss me, she prudently didn't add.
"I'm aware of that." Yet he didn’t move his finger. He even started lightly tracing her jaw with it, sending an electric shiver down her spine.
"Well, knock it off. I’m not one of your groupies."
"Groupies?"
She refused to believe he didn’t know what she was talking about. "I’ve seen you with all those women. I’ve seen you online. You flirt. A lot."
"Ah, I see." His thumb moved to stroke her cheek. "So I flirt. Remind me who I flirt with."
"I, uh, I don’t know. Everyone. The snazzy people."
Jerk Boss: A New Highland Romance Page 4
