Head Over Heels for the Boss (Donovan Brothers)

by Susan Meier

She unbuttoned the first button of his shirt. “You might be used to dressing like this, but it’s not right.” She sought his gaze. “You’re worth enough money now that if you wanted to hold meetings in scuba gear, everybody would just call you quirky.”

  He laughed.

  She undid the second button. “You don’t need to dress like Donald Trump for people to respect you. Once you start talking, it’s easy to see how smart you are.”

  She looked up and saw him studying her. So she smiled. “You’re gorgeous, rich, smart, good to your family. I say buy the scuba gear.”

  She opened the third, fourth, and fifth buttons, revealing chest hair as dark as the hair on his head, a muscled chest, and a stomach as flat as her desk. And suddenly everything became real. He wasn’t seducing her. She was seducing him. Because she liked him. She really liked him. And he liked her. There was a lot more going on between them than just sex drive.

  She popped the sixth button, leaned down, and ran her tongue along his skin. “I’m really hoping you have a condom in your wallet.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  She nodded. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew exactly what they were doing. Even if he didn’t.

  “Okay, then let’s talk logistics. Having sex on a leather couch comes with problems.”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed.

  “That shaggy rug in front of the fireplace looks like fun.” He forced her to look at him. “But for our first time, I’d like it to be special. Do you still have a room in this house?”

  She swallowed. He had a habit of saying the most wonderful things casually. Which just proved—again—that he was a naturally good guy.

  “My parents turned my room into a guest room.”

  He stood up, taking her with him. “Sounds perfect.”

  She followed him up the stairs. He stopped at the top, and she pointed to the first door on the right. Before she realized what he was about to do, he turned, scooped her up, and carried her into the room that had once been hers.

  “How very Gone with the Wind of you.”

  He laughed. “I love romance.” He dropped her on the gray, white, and gold bedspread that matched the gold drapes. “Just because this is an affair doesn’t mean it can’t be romantic.”

  Her mind would have stuttered over his reminder that this was just an affair, except it was too busy swooning over the fact that he’d carried her into the room. Even the way he gently brushed her hair out of the way so he could find the back catch of her blouse was endearing. But when he lifted the shirt over her head and pulled it off, revealing her yellow lace bra, she suddenly became shy.

  It had been years since she’d done this, and now she was doing it with the man of her dreams. She almost couldn’t believe it. But this was absolutely what she wanted.

  Chapter Eleven

  Devon awoke on Saturday morning feeling like a new man. He dressed, ran downstairs, and got to work, a little disappointed that Isabelle wouldn’t be sitting in the office just outside his door. It was her day off. He looked up from the pages he was reading with a snort of derision. She didn’t have a day off. She would be at the flower shop today.

  At ten, he went for coffee. A cold, empty house greeted him. Obviously, his mom had stayed at Bob’s the night before. For some reason or another that didn’t set his skin on fire this time. But when he got back to his desk, the words of the prospectus he was reading swam in front of his eyes.

  Dropping the prospectus like a hot potato, he rose, opened the drapes on the floor-to-ceiling windows, and displayed the pool. Late June sun sparkled across the blue water. He could almost feel the waves of heat skipping along the walkway around it.

  And, damn it to hell, he did not feel like working.

  He grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pants pocket. But confusion stopped him. He did not feel like being in gray trousers and a white shirt either. He didn’t want to answer his phone, talk to people about money, or try to figure anything out.

  He threw the phone on his desk again, got in his Porsche, and headed for town.

  He drove directly to Buds and Blossoms. The bell above the door tinkled as he walked inside. Disappointment rippled through him when he saw the dark-haired teenager behind the counter. Sam Benjamin. The one true Benjamin Brat.

  Tall and slim, like a pencil, the sixteen-year-old boy gave him a bored smile. “How’s it going?”

  “That’s not exactly what I’d say to the guy who owns the shop I work at, but I guess it’s better than ‘hey you’ or ‘yo.’”

  Sam sighed. “Sorry.”

  He clearly wasn’t sorry, but Devon let it go. It was his sister, not Sam, who would be an official employee once they hired real staff.

  “Is Isabelle here?”

  Sam angled his thumb to the back room, so bored and disinterested it was a wonder he didn’t scare customers away.

  Okay. Absolutely fired. Just not today.

  Devon walked through the opening to the room where Isabelle made her flower arrangements. Noticing a curtain that separated the room from the shop floor, he pulled it closed behind him.

  Isabelle stood at the long table, ear buds in, rocking to a beat as she shoved flowers into the ugly green foam, then stood back and admired her handiwork.

  Walking quietly, he sneaked up on her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and bit her neck.

  She squealed.

  Damn. He forgot she was a screamer.

  He whirled her around then pulled the buds out of her ears. When she saw him, her face broke out into the most glorious smile that lifted her full lips and lit her green eyes.

  “Devon—” she started, but before she could say anything else, he kissed her. Hard. Good God she made him hot. And three hours of hamburger-and-fries-fueled sex the night before hadn’t been nearly enough.

  She broke away quickly. “Stop! Sam’s out there.”

  “Yeah, I saw. You know he’s fired, right?”

  She giggled. “Michelle is much more responsible. Besides, what teenage high school football star wants to work in a flower shop?”

  “Point taken.”

  He reached for her again, but she skittered away. “We can’t risk him coming back here and seeing us.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Gee. If only we had a place where we could hide my car and do anything we want for hours and hours.”

  “The realtor is probably there right now with those clients.”

  “What time do you think the place will be empty?”

  She pulled a rose from the table, stuck it in the foam, pulled it out, and stuck it in somewhere else. “I’d say two.”

  “Want me to bring lunch?”

  She glanced up. “Yes, but a salad this time.”

  He took her arm, spun her around and kissed her again just because it felt so good.

  He left her standing dazed and smiling, went home, and got out of the stuffy gray pants and white shirt.

  Rummaging through the refrigerator his mother kept stocked—even though she didn’t seem to live there anymore—he found the makings of a salad. Not a skimpy salad from the diner, but a hearty salad, packed with tasty things and nutrition.

  She was going to need a lot of stamina.

  On Monday morning, Isabelle all but floated into work. She wore a new black skirt she had bought and a raspberry shirt with her favorite beads, fixed her hair the way she knew Devon liked it, but said a very professional, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Cooper.” He didn’t even look up. But that was the fun of it. Here and everywhere in town, they were a boss and apprentice. Only at her house was he allowed to touch her.

  Just the thought of him touching her sent tingles of arousal dancing across her skin.

  “I pulled a request for money out of your stack this morning.” His brown eyes met hers, and like two people sharing a wonderful secret, something primal passed between them.

  With just a look.
>
  Good glory, the man was good.

  “The CEO called me last night. They’re a step away from bankruptcy and desperate. At first glance, I want to say yes to the company, but before I do, I want you to look for things I missed. Go online. Call the employees. Do whatever you want.”

  Do whatever you want.

  He’d told her that the night before, and the sex that had resulted about sent both of them through the ozone layer.

  Still, she smiled, took the papers from his hand, and said, “Sure.”

  This time the look he sent her was warm and full of affection. Her head spun as she walked to her desk. Not because they weren’t supposed to send warm looks but because it was confusing.

  They’d eaten their salads naked, sitting on the guest room bed on Saturday, but on Sunday, he’d noticed the eight-foot fence around the backyard (to keep her mom’s Scotty dog Misty from roaming). He’d gone to O’Riley’s Market and bought steaks, which he grilled while she prepped veggies also to go on the grill. They talked when they ate. Mostly about his family. He didn’t seem to have any qualms about describing his father’s abuse, but she had the feeling it was the first time he’d really been so open with anyone about it.

  He’d read the paper. She’d read a book. And though they’d kissed and touched, they hadn’t gone to bed until late afternoon. Then he’d stayed to help restore the guest room. They’d watched a movie, and he’d given her a good-night kiss that could have rivaled anything Bradley Cooper had done on screen.

  She supposed that was why—even though sneaking around was fun—it was also confusing. If this was just supposed to be about sex, why did it feel like so much more?

  A knock at her door brought Isabelle’s head up.

  Finn said, “Hi, Izzy.”

  Right behind him, Cade said, “Hey, Izzy.”

  “Hey, guys. Here to see Devon?”

  Both said, “Yeah,” as they walked through her office to his door. She wasn’t a secretary, so she didn’t expect them to want her to announce them. They were also Devon’s brothers, who shouldn’t have to be announced. So she let them walk right through and into Devon’s office.

  She heard him say, “Hey,” and then put her attention onto the work Devon had given her that morning. Obviously, he liked the numbers in the request for money. There were financials as well as a five-year plan of what they’d do with the money if they got a bailout, and brochures that advertised their products.

  Devon had read all these. If she was going to find anything he didn’t already know, it would be on the internet. She turned on her computer, let it chug to life, and started surfing.

  “Mom is a little bit upset with you.”

  Hearing the conversation coming from Devon’s office, Isabelle winced.

  “With me?”

  “Finn and I both got our tuxes over the weekend. Where were you?”

  Isabelle winced harder, glad she was behind her computer monitor so no one could see her face turn bright red. Devon had been with her all weekend. He’d come to her house Saturday afternoon in shorts. He’d spent Sunday in sweats. Clearly, he hadn’t been thinking about tuxes.

  “I was busy,” Devon said.

  “Too busy to get a tux from a shop that’s a twenty-minute drive away? She thinks you’re stalling.”

  “I’m not stalling.”

  She heard Devon’s chair squeak and knew he’d stood up. She wasn’t surprised when he closed the door.

  But she was glad. At least she thought she was glad. He’d just put a line between their personal lives and their…well, fun times.

  His brothers left twenty minutes later.

  Oddly, Devon kept his door closed all day. He came out for coffee. He came out for lunch. But each time that he returned to his office, he shut the door.

  At five, she knocked on it and went inside. “I’m not quite done with this, but you didn’t give me a deadline.”

  He looked up. The expression on his face was nothing but professional. “They need cash on Friday. If you can give me your notes on Wednesday, that gives me time to review them and move money if I have to.”

  She said, “Sounds good,” and waited. But he didn’t say anything else. So she returned to her office, collected her things, said, “Good night,” and left.

  She went to Buds and Blossoms for a debriefing from Michelle Benjamin, who gave her the slips for two arrangements she needed to make and have delivered the next day.

  “How’s Sam’s driving?”

  Pretty, dark-haired Michelle shrugged. “He’s okay.”

  “Think he can deliver these tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “If you don’t think he can, don’t be shy. Tell me. I’ll find somebody else.”

  “No. He’s fine. He’s just grumpy.”

  She nodded. “Teen years?”

  Michelle laughed. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “Women mature before men,” Isabelle said as she made her way toward the back room.

  “That’s what my mom says.”

  “And that’s why you want a job, and he just wants to sit by your parents’ pool.”

  Because she hadn’t gone home to change out of her black and white skirt and raspberry sleeveless top, Isabelle slid into a smock. She grabbed a baby boy-themed vase for Judy Montgomery who’d just had a baby, and a crystal vase for Annabelle Johnson who was turning eighty-three and was receiving flowers from her out-of-state daughter.

  As she worked on the bouquets, Michelle called back to let Isabelle know that she was leaving. She finished the bouquets, put them into the cooler, and headed for her car, exhausted. She drove to her apartment and immediately sloughed off her clothes and showered. After putting on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, she watched TV, but when she realized it was dark, she bolted up on the sofa. She’d forgotten to turn on the lights in her parents’ house.

  She exchanged the boxers for yoga pants, then put her hair in a ponytail. Wearing no makeup and flip-flops, she raced to the craftsman. This time she had her phone for a little light. Phone leading the way, she ran up the back porch stairs, unlocked the door, and lit the place as if there was a party going on.

  She sat on the sofa. Now what?

  Though it was only nine, she was tired. Really tired. Bone-weary tired. And she had to wait at least an hour before she could turn off these lights, go home, and crawl into bed.

  “What? No TV?”

  She gasped and spun around to see Devon standing in the space between the kitchen and family room, near the breakfast bar. He held bags—which she hoped contained food because she’d actually forgotten to eat—and he wore jeans and a T-shirt.

  And she wore a sloppy T-shirt, no makeup, and had her hair in a dumb-ass ponytail.

  Damn. He might be able to pull off the casual look, but she’d been running with all her might from the casual look since the day she’d started working with him. She did not want him to see her like this.

  Damn.

  Casually sliding the ponytail holder out of her hair, she let the shoulder-length locks fall free. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  His head tilted. “You weren’t?”

  She decided to come clean. “Tonight’s sort of a jumble for me.”

  “Jumble?”

  “I did real work today. Not just arbitrary reading, but actual investigating on a company. Then I went to Buds and Blossoms and made two bouquets. Then I went home and showered, thinking I could go to bed, but I remembered I had to be here.”

  He set the bags on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “I didn’t notice anywhere in there where you ate.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Good, then I’ll feed you. My mom must have snuck into my kitchen at some point today because there was a lasagna in the refrigerator.”

  Her stomach growled. “Oh dear God, that sounds good.”

  “I’ll heat it up.”

  He took the Tupperware containers from the bags, and the next thing she knew, she heard
the sound of the microwave. She really was tired. But she also knew why he was here. It was not an unhappy thing to have this gorgeous man track her down for sex. Tired or not, she wanted this.

  She forced herself to perk up and go into the kitchen to help him. She got dishes and silverware while he pulled a container of salad and fresh bread from the bags he’d brought.

  Not wanting to balance lasagna on their knees, they ate at the breakfast bar.

  “I thought your mother was mad at you.”

  “She’s not really mad. She’s miffed. I haven’t been the most supportive son about this wedding, and she interpreted my missing the tux fitting as my way of showing her I’m unhappy.”

  “Are you still unhappy?”

  He sucked in a breath and sighed. “No. I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly quasi okay with it.”

  She nudged his shoulder. “You don’t know why?”

  He laughed. “You think good sex changed my mind?”

  “I think good sex put you in a better frame of mind, yes. And in a better frame of mind, you can see that she’s not taking a huge risk. She’s falling in love.”

  “That and the private investigator’s report.”

  “Oh, you got the report?”

  “Yes. I’d told him to dig deeper. He called today and said he’d spent the whole weekend and all morning digging, and Bob is clean.”

  “So you really are happy.”

  He met her gaze. “Yes. Happier than I’ve been in years.”

  Her heart flipped over in her chest. He might not want to come right out and say it, but she made him happy.

  Looping her arms around his neck, she said, “Want me to make you even happier?”

  “I think I’ve created a monster.”

  She said, “I’m crushed,” before she kissed him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Isabelle awoke the next morning firmly wrapped in another person. Two muscled arms peppered with black hair surrounded her. Her butt was spooned to a firm stomach.

  Devon.

  Her eyes popped open. Sunlight filtered into the guest room.

  “Oh my God… Devon, wake up!” She nudged him before she struggled out of his hold. “We slept at my parents’ house.”