by T. F. Walsh
“I wouldn’t survive seeing you walk in that sexy scrap of silk.” He settled her onto the kitchen counter top, her thigh over the sink. “Stay here.”
She bit her lip. He wasn’t embarrassed for her? He was actually . . . interested? She did a quick survey of the room, but there weren’t any body-snatcher pods either.
He started the kettle and went into the back hallway. A moment later, he returned with acetaminophen, a glass of water, several flat packages of gauze, and tape.
He handed her the glass and the acetaminophen. “Take two.”
“You’re taking this very well.” She swallowed the pills.
“No reason to panic. You’ll need to have this sewn up by a doctor when we get back. Maybe a tetanus booster as well.”
“Don’t panic, he says, in the same breath as ‘needle’ and ‘shot.’”
“I didn’t say the words. Only implied them.”
“Uh-huh. Then I only have implied panic setting in.”
His lips quirked as he tested the kettle water. “Good. Warm but not too hot.”
“Shouldn’t it boil?”
“We boiled it this morning.” He poured the water over her thigh. It was soothing, until he added the soap.
“Ouch! Hey, that hurts.”
“The medical term is sting.” He swabbed on disinfectant.
“Holy hard drives, that sucker stings.”
“Sting is good. Means it’s getting clean.” He rinsed her thigh gently, patted it dry, and covered it with gauze squares.
“Thank you, Nurse Kirk.” She smiled.
He returned her smile. She fell into eyes as beautiful as a clear mountain stream . . . He bound the gauze with white tape.
“Tight.” She wriggled. “Too tight.”
“No, no, it’s called ‘pressure.’ But I’ll loosen it a bit.” He cut the tape and wrapped it again.
The “pressure” receded. “More Serenity Rangers wisdom?”
“My mother the nurse. She insisted I learn first aid.”
“Mmm.” Warm and comfortable now, she felt cared for. Happy. “Thank you, Everett.”
“I get a thanks and a beautiful smile? Play with sharp things as often as you like.”
She drew herself straight. “Really, Everett, I wasn’t playing.”
“I know.” He lifted her from the sink, making her stomach swoop again—really, he was immensely strong—and settled her on the couch, placing a blanket over her. “You were contributing to our well-being, and I appreciate it.”
“Maybe I should say thank you more often.”
“Nah. You’ll spoil me.” He sat beside her, caressed a finger over her cheek.
Her eyes closed, her entire being concentrated on that sweet touch. Her body fired up, her lips started throbbing . . . The touch, his heat was gone. Her eyes opened.
He was at the door, throwing on his coat. He’d grabbed the ax from where she’d hidden it behind the chair. “You’re right, we need more firewood. I’d better get chopping.” His voice was strained. “Save some of those bandages for me.”
• • •
The instant the door clicked shut she threw off the blanket and limped to the window. Though Everett appeared competent, he was still an executive, more used to commanding than doing. If she’d sliced her thigh, no telling what trouble he might get into with that ax.
He disappeared into the woods.
“Sweet pickled motherboards. What does that man think he’s doing?” She limped back and forth until her thigh ached. She sat down, but less than ten minutes later popped up again and scurried to the window.
Everett was returning with a freshly cut tree.
She pressed her face to the cold glass. He’d found a handsaw. He trimmed branches and sectioned the tree into several logs.
He placed the first log on the chopping block. Hefted the ax.
Edie sucked in a breath. Said the only word that truly covered this situation. “Damnation!” She grabbed her coat to run out and stop him.
Everett split the log with one clean chop. Edie froze, flabbergasted.
Then Edward Everett Kirk, company president and CEO, started cleaving wood rhythmically as if he did it every day of his life. Pick up the log, swing the ax, split the log. Repeat. Edie hung up her jacket and settled in by the window to watch.
He stopped after four logs to remove his coat. He was only wearing a T-shirt, idiot man, did he want to get sick . . . ?
He hefted the ax. Edie’s breath imploded.
Muscles sprang out of nowhere. The damp tee clung to the tops of his chest, the pinpoints of his nipples, the breadth of his shoulders. His back flared like a cobra as he swung the ax around and high overhead. Powerful shoulders brought the ax down, sinews in his forearms springing into relief as he completed the split.
Edie stumbled away from the window, fell onto the couch. Panted shallow breaths.
Even shallow breaths stopped when Everett shouldered the door open, carrying an armload of wood.
Escaped strands of chestnut hair fell roguishly over forehead and cheek. His torso was thick with muscle. He looked like a woodland god striding into the cabin. She wanted to clasp his knees and pay homage to his . . . Spank her with a rack of panpipes. Hard. Repeatedly . . . she groaned.
“What’s wrong?” He dumped his load by the wood burner, and then took one look at her leg and tutted. “You’ve been up.”
“No. Maybe a little.” She flushed and it wasn’t embarrassment.
“You’re not a very good liar.” After washing his hands, he returned to the couch with more gauze and tape and settled next to her. His weight dented the cushion. She slid into contact with him, the heat of his body inflaming her. As he repaired her bandaging, one errant chestnut lock fell across his intent, serious face.
She reached up and brushed it back.
He looked at her, eyes abnormally bright.
Awareness sprang between them.
Slowly, he set aside paper wrappings and tape, gaze never leaving her face. She raised herself on her arms, yearning toward him.
He cupped her chin in his square, competent hand. She leaned into his fingers, eyes fluttering shut.
They kissed.
His lips were warm on hers, fluid, tasting her gently. Edie sighed. She tasted him in return, mint, fresh air, pine and all male.
His arms came around her, securing her against him, his tee wet but his body steaming hot. Her hands framed his face, palms sliding over his chiseled cheeks into his sleek hair, urging him closer. Groaning, he deepened the kiss. “You taste wonderful.”
Edie’s muscles melted. “Everett . . . why?”
“What?” He trailed kisses along her jaw.
“Why haven’t you done this before?”
“Kiss you?” His lips chased fire down her neck. “I wanted to.”
“Why didn’t you?” Edie arched against his mouth. He nipped the tender skin of her throat. Her languidness flamed into something more passionate. More dangerous.
“The company,” he nipped gently until she shivered, “doesn’t allow relationships between employees.”
“What?” Edie came bolt upright on the couch. “You wanted to kiss me but didn’t because the company wouldn’t let you?”
Everett rocked back, his eyes wide. “Well, not exactly—”
“Because the damned board didn’t approve? Does the board issue you potty passes too?”
“Don’t get crude.”
“Crude? What’s cruder than the company controlling private lives? Big Brother lives, he spies, and worse, he censors any emotion at all!”
“Edie, sweetheart. There are good reasons for discouraging personal relations—”
“So forget team building exercises! Might be misconstrued as a ‘relationship.’”
“That’s not it.” Everett pushed back his straggling hair with a short, sharp shove. “Consider the repercussions. What if I asked you to dinner? Hell, what if I dated you? Your raises and promotions would be
tainted with accusations of favoritism. Someone in the company, or even your team, would call you a brown-nosed bi—”
“Language!” Edie sprang off the couch. “My team is interested in honest personal relations. If I dated you, they’d know it was because I loved—” Her mouth hung open in horror.
“Damn it Edie.” His eyes were on her thigh. “You’ve started bleeding again. Lay down, now.”
He hadn’t heard. Edie fervently thanked the Omega Point and meekly lay down.
Love. Where had that come from, anyway? He wasn’t the complete enemy butthead she’d thought, but that didn’t mean they were compatible.
In fact, they were opposites. They went together like gunpowder and a match. No, no! Like a hot fiery brand thrust into oil . . . Her body convulsed with pleasure.
Okay, sure, fine. They were physically compatible. But a devastating chest in a wet T-shirt and the fun she had arguing with him and his kindness tending her cut were rather shallow reasons to fall for a man. Which she hadn’t.
Fussing over her bandage, Everett apparently hadn’t noticing her silence. “Now stay put. I’ll make dinner.”
“Dinner? Out of what, your executive command?” Her words held no real heat.
“I’ll find something.” He rummaged in the cupboards.
She figured he’d have as much luck finding dinner as she would figuring out her annoying, misguided heart.
Chapter Eight
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Friendship
See, I was right! If I told anyone here at work I was teetering on the edge of disaster, they’d be happy to give me the final push.
But you truly care.
Who’s trying to get me? The most obvious candidate is a woman who makes constant trouble. Except I can’t believe it’s her. I like her. A lot.
There’s the man I replaced—no love lost between us. Not to mention his girlfriend, who’s as political an animal as he is.
I’d appreciate your perspective on this, ED. I don’t know which way to turn anymore.
—Prez
Edie sat on the couch, watching Everett evaluate their meager fare. He did it competently, as he did everything: his chopping wood, his caressing hands, his beautiful hot . . . throw her to the mat with kung phooey.
She reminded herself that Everett wasn’t the epitome of masculinity. Well, he was, but . . . Philip would have handled this situation just as well as Everett. Wouldn’t he? Philip was outdoorsy too, with his big truck and bigger house in the country . . . well, no. Philip’s house wasn’t rustic in the least.
She’d only been to his house once, back when he was first grooming her for management. High atop a hill, back deck extended over a breathtaking two-story escarpment, Philip’s house screamed new construction. A carpet-like lawn (probably peeled away like a carpet too) held a life-sized statue of a spectacularly endowed but not particularly well-sculpted Greek goddess. Hopefully the stone wasn’t marble since the artistry wasn’t quite up to forever.
Philip met Edie with a glass of French champagne. “How do you like the landscaping?”
“Magnificent.” Edie meant it but secretly preferred her grandparents’ small roses and herb patch.
“Speaking of magnificent, let me introduce you to the wife.” He escorted her into a house that was as overdesigned as an aging star with too many facelifts.
A blonde detached herself from a couple guests. Bee-stung lips curved in a smile that was friendly, for a realtor—or a buzz saw. “You must be Edie. I’m so glad you could come. I’m Petra.” She shook Edie’s hand with a two-handed grip. Three carats of diamond flashed.
“Nice to meet you.” Edie kept her eyes glued to Petra’s. From the neck down, Philip’s wife was the model for the Greek goddess on the lawn.
“There are a few people Phil and I want you to meet—the right kind of people.” Petra led the way to a buffet table laden with shrimp cocktail and pâté de fois gras, barbecued pheasant wings and creamed artichoke hearts, enough rich food to harden the arteries of an entire small country.
“Time to network,” Philip murmured in Edie’s ear. Petra smiled her brilliant, cutting smile.
That was when Edie knew she’d never fit into Philip’s mold for her. Oh, she recognized the value of socializing. But she’d never quite gotten the hang of working the room.
“Food,” Everett called.
Edie shook herself. She got up and hobbled to the table. “Dinner?”
“A handful of spaghetti and a bag of hardened raisins. Some dinner.” Everett looked glum. “Oh yeah, and dessert—two granola bars.”
In contrast to Philip Sedgwick’s cornucopia, Everett’s table looked clean and wonderfully ascetic. Edie patted his arm. “Well done, considering there wasn’t anything left. Oh, you found salt!”
“Goodie, now we won’t sweat to death.”
She hid a smile. Poor Mr. President. “You did the best you could.”
“As far as I can tell, you made a feast out of old shoes and cobwebs. I made spaghetti and raisins.”
“Nouveau cuisine.” Edie sat and wolfed down her food in less than a minute. She pushed away, patting her belly. “I needed to lose weight anyway.”
“Hardly.” Everett scowled. “If you get any thinner they’ll hoist flags on you.”
“Such a lovely compliment.”
“Well . . . ” Everett’s lips quirked. “They’d have to be very short flags.”
“Even lovelier.” Edie smiled back encouragingly. He might irritate her in the extreme but she didn’t like seeing him unhappy. “What about you? Are you still hungry?”
“Of course not. How could I fail to thrive on my own cooking?” Everett’s stomach let out a loud growl, contradicting him. He rose from the table and took the dishes to the sink, reached for the dish soap and then let his hand fall. “Let’s leave these for later.”
“Fine with me.” Edie rose, started to limp toward the couch.
“Stay off that leg.” Everett swooped in, scooped her up easily, and carried her to the couch.
So fast. So strong. It left her breathless. She blinked at him.
His focus was on her mouth.
He was going to kiss her again.
Her belly lurched. She wanted that. Wanted his mouth on hers, his talented lips melting her, his thrusting tongue making her helpless with desire . . . Yet she shouldn’t want him. They had no real future. It would only be sex. Except even corporate antagonists could learn to like each other . . .
While her mind was churning, his mouth closed on hers.
Silky lips moved with exactly the right firmness to coax her throbbing response. His mouth was so warm, moved so sweetly. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Her fingers slipped into his hair. His arms tightened on her, pulling her flush to him, waking her nipples, making her breasts tingle. Her bones liquefied.
His stomach let out a loud roar.
Her eyes flew open. “You are hungry.”
He bit off a curse. “All right, yes. Starving.” He lay her gently on the couch. Then he marched off to the sink, adding in a barely audible mutter, “The question is, what am I starving for?”
• • •
Edie hugged her knees. Everett was stalking the cabin like a caged lion. He stopped, stared at the dishes, and then stalked away to the wood burner to stare at it. He swung open the doors, jammed more wood inside, and shut the stove with a clang. Then he resumed his stalk, only to stare at something else.
She knew how he felt. Her lips were still tingling, her breasts aching, and she wanted him to kiss her again. To do much, much more. How crazy.
Edie sighed. “Would you stop that?”
“Stop what?”
“That pacing. It’s making me nervous.”
He reached the end of the cabin and started back. “I’ve got a headache. The pacing helps relieve it.”
“Take an acetaminophen.” She chafed her sore leg.
&nbs
p; “You had the last one. Leave your cut alone.”
She wanted him to kiss her, he wanted to mother her. “Sure, blame your headache on me.”
“I’m not blaming it on you.” Everett halted, face grim. “I’m perfectly aware that if we had taken your car, or I had stopped somewhere safe, or at least asked directions, we wouldn’t be in this fix. That you would be safe and whole.”
Perversely, that made her want to defend him. “If we’d left when you wanted us to we’d have made it safely to the motel.”
“If I didn’t eat so damn much, we’d have plenty of food.” Everett’s voice rose.
“If I didn’t cook so damn much, you wouldn’t have eaten it all!” She wanted to kiss him and damn the stupid company policy and his stupider self-discipline.
“Don’t swear.” Everett started pacing again. “At least I’m doing something about it.”
“You swear. Why can’t I? What are you doing, the snares? You can’t possibly expect to catch anything.”
“Of course I expect to catch something. Trust me. I wouldn’t have spent all damn morning laying them if I didn’t.”
“No damn swearing if I can’t. You are so stubborn. Delegate, Kirk!”
“Some things can’t be delegated.” He snatched up his coat and tugged it on. “Especially not to a stubborn firebrand who would rather cut off her leg than accept help!”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Edie hopped off the couch, hobbled toward him.
“I’ll show you I’m not playing. Stay down, damn it. We don’t have many more bandages.”
“Stop using that word, dammit.” Fear pushed her into his personal space. Not fear. Anger.
“I’m not as creative as you are. What word do you want me to use, rats?”
She thrust toe-to-toe, so close she felt his blazing heat. Glared up. “Fine.”
“Fine.” He glared down. His eyes fired. His head lowered . . . “Rats.” He spun for the door.
“Wait! Your jacket is still wet. It’s freezing outside.” She hobbled after him.
He spun back. “Get back on the da . . . the rats couch.”
“You’re not—”
“You are.” He took two strides, scooped her up and deposited her on the couch, so she was. “Now stay the rats there!”
