“Would you quit saying that?” Heat rushed up his neck and settled in his face, making him quite uncomfortable. “Turn around so I can tend to the wounds on your back.”
For once, she did as he said without any questions. Thank goodness. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could have put up with the endless questions. It would have been so much easier to smother her lips with his own. And then he’d know if her berry-red lips were as sweet as they appeared.
But this was better. With her back to him, he could get a hold on his rising desire. They were oh, so wrong for each other. She was pushy and demanding. She was definitely not the type of woman he normally dated. If he hadn’t been alone all these months, he wouldn’t even be tempted by her. He assured himself that was the truth.
And then she lifted her shirt, stained with thin traces of blood, to reveal the smooth skin of her back. His assurances instantly melted away. All he wanted to do was run his hands over her body and soothe away her discomfort with his lips, fingers and body.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
His mouth suddenly grew dry. He swallowed and hoped when he spoke that his voice didn’t give away his wayward thoughts. “I—I’m just figuring out where to start.”
“Is it that bad?”
He wondered if she was referring to his level of distraction or the cuts and punctures on her back. He decided that she’d given up flirting with him and was at last being serious. “It could be worse.”
“That’s not very positive.”
He was beginning to wonder if along with his memory loss he’d lost his ability to talk to women. He used to be able to flirt with the best of them without even breaking a sweat, but talking to Gabrielle had him on edge, always worrying that he’d say something wrong, which he seemed to do often.
“I didn’t mean to worry you.” He grabbed a fresh washcloth from the cabinet and soaked it with warm water. He added some soap and worked it into a lather. “Let me know if this hurts.”
“It’ll be fine.”
He wanted to say that the skin on her back was more tender than that on her arms or hands, but he didn’t want to argue with her. It was then that he noticed how her skirt rode up her legs, giving a generous view of her thighs. His hand instinctively tightened around the washcloth as his body tensed.
With great reluctance, he glanced away. It took all of his effort to concentrate on the task at hand. And it didn’t help that the task involved running his fingers over her bare flesh. Talk about sweet torture.
He pressed the cloth gently to the first wound. When he heard the swift intake of her breath, he pulled away the cloth. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just keep going.”
“Are you sure?”
“Keep going. I obviously can’t do it myself.”
And so he kept working as quickly as he could. When her wounds were cleaned, rinsed and dried, he grabbed the antibiotic cream, which, thankfully, had something for pain relief. A few of the cuts had required bandages. The others had already started the healing process.
He lowered her top. “There. All done.”
She turned to him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t.” He waved off her gratitude. “I don’t deserve your thanks.”
“Yes, you do. You fixed me all up.”
“I’m the one who caused your injuries.” He just couldn’t seem to do anything right these days.
“No, you didn’t. I stumbled and fell. End of story.”
“You stumbled because I startled you.”
Her green-gray eyes studied him for a moment. “You do have a way of growling—”
His voice lowered. “I don’t growl.”
She laughed. “You just growled at me.”
Had he growled? No, of course not. He wasn’t some sort of animal. He was human—a damaged human, but human nonetheless. Still, his tone might have been a bit gruff.
She stepped toward him. “I see the doubt in your eyes.”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “If I growl so much, why are you still here?”
“Good question. I guess I’m just holding up my side of our agreement.”
For a moment there, he’d forgotten that she was there at his insistence. He knew that if she had a chance, she’d be anywhere else. And he couldn’t blame her. He definitely wasn’t the most hospitable host.
But when he was this close to Gabrielle, he wanted to be someone else. His old self? No. He’d been too selfish—too self-absorbed. Right now, he wanted to be someone better.
“I’m sorry that I startled you earlier.” He made sure when he spoke that his voice was soft and gentle. He would not growl at her. “I never meant for you to get hurt.”
She stared into his eyes. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Of course.” His voice took on a rough edge again. He swallowed hard. And when he spoke, he made sure to return to a gentle tone. “I’m not used to having anyone out in the gardens.”
“The rose garden is beautiful. That’s why I was out there. I could see them from my bedroom window and I wanted to get a better look. Unlike the rest of the grounds, they are well-maintained. They must be special to you?”
“They are. I had them planted for my mother.” He missed his mother. She had been kind and gentle. She had been the exact opposite of his brutal father. “Roses were her favorite. She used to spend hours out there. It’s where she spent her last days.”
Gabrielle’s eyes filled with sympathy. She reached out to him. Her fingers wrapped around his hand. She gave him a squeeze. “I know that saying I’m sorry isn’t enough, but it’s all I have.”
He continued to stare into her eyes, and he saw something more than sympathy. There was...understanding. He searched his memory and he recalled her mentioning that she’d also lost her mother. “You understand?”
She nodded. “My mother died giving birth to me, so I never knew her.”
Instead of offering her the same empty words, he nodded and squeezed her hand back. It was then he realized her hand was still in his. The physical contact sent a bolt of awareness through his body.
He should let her go. He should step away. But he could do neither of those things. It was as though she were a life-sustaining force and without her, he would cease to exist.
His gaze lowered to her lips. Today they were done up in a striking purple shade. Against her light skin, her lips stood out. They begged for attention and he couldn’t turn away.
This wasn’t good—not for his common sense. Because right now, all he could think about was her mouth—her very inviting mouth. He wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. He longed to feel those lush purple lips move beneath his. A groan swelled in the back of his throat, but he choked it back down. He didn’t need Gabrielle realizing how much power she had over him.
Because there was no way her kiss could be as amazing as he was imagining. Nothing could be that good. Not a chance.
He needed a heavy dose of reality to get her out of his system. And then he’d be able to think clearly. Yes, that would fix things.
Without giving his actions further thought, he dipped his head. He captured her lips with his own. At first, he heard the swift intake of her breath. She pulled back slightly and he thought she was going to turn away.
Then her hand lifted and smoothed over his beard. It must have caught her off guard. He should shave it, but it never seemed like the right time, until now.
And then her lips were touching his again. Tentatively at first. She didn’t seem to know what to make of this unlikely situation. That made two of them, because kissing her was the absolute last thing he thought he’d be doing this morning.
As if he were acting in a trance, he drew Gabrielle closer and closer. He expected her to pull away. To slap him. Or at the very least stomp away.
Instea
d her hands came to rest on his chest. Her lips began moving beneath his. Her hands slid up over his shoulders and wrapped around his neck as her soft curves leaned against him. Mmm...she felt so good. And she tasted sugar-sweet, like the icing on a donut. And he couldn’t get enough of her.
Their kiss escalated with wild abandon. It was as if she were the first woman to ever kiss him. No one had stirred him quite the way she did. He never wanted to let her go.
In the background, there was a noise. He couldn’t make it out. And then it stopped. Their kiss continued as his body throbbed with need.
And then the sound started again. He wanted it to stop—for them to be left alone to enjoy this very special moment. The next thing he knew, Gabrielle braced her hands against his chest and pulled back.
It was too soon. He wasn’t ready to let her go. And yet she moved out of his embrace. She reached for her cell phone, which was resting on the countertop.
“Hello, Dad. Is something wrong?” She turned her back to Deacon.
He ran the back of his hand over his lips. Instead of getting Gabrielle out of his system, he only wanted her more. He was in so much trouble.
Gabrielle turned back to him. She didn’t have to tell him how much she loved her father. It was there in her voice when she spoke of him. It was in her eyes. It was in her actions by coming here and working for Deacon. She was a devoted daughter. Deacon just hoped her father deserved such devotion.
When she ended the call, Deacon asked, “Is everything all right with your father?”
She nodded her head. “He’s fine.”
Deacon noticed how her gaze failed to meet his. “But he’s not happy about you being here.”
“No. He isn’t.” She sighed. “My father used to be such an easygoing guy. But the accident, well, it changed everything—for both of us.”
Right then the wall went back up between them. Deacon could feel the warmth slip away. The chill was as distinct and real as the kiss they’d shared—the kiss that would not be followed by another. He would be left with nothing more than the memory.
“I know how death can change people.” His mother changed after his father’s death. Even though the man didn’t deserve her undying love, she’d given it to him anyway. When his father passed away, his mother was cloaked in sadness. She moved on with her life, but it was never the same. She was never the same again.
Gabrielle’s gaze briefly met his. “About what happened between us—”
“It was nothing.” He was a liar. A bold-faced liar. “We lost our heads for a moment. It won’t happen again.” At least that part was the truth.
Gabrielle glanced away. “You’re right. It was a mistake.”
Her sharp words stabbed at him. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. It was best that they parted ways until he got his emotions under control.
He wasn’t mad at her. He was angry with himself for losing control—for complicating an already messy situation.
“I should go.” She just turned and walked away.
This situation was such a mess. An awful mess. How in such a short time had Gabrielle taken his dark hopeless life and filled it with light? He didn’t know how he’d go back to the dark again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE SUN WAS sinking into the sky when Gaby called it quits for the day. Deacon had made himself scarce the rest of the day and perhaps that was for the best—for both of them.
Things were confusing enough. That kiss only intensified the conflicting emotions within her. She had no business flirting with him—coaxing him into kissing her. She should keep a respectable distance from this man. He was trouble.
Wait. Was that the answer? Could she be drawn to Deacon because he was so different from the other professional men she’d dated? Did Deacon’s dark side act like a magnet?
Whatever it was, she had to get a grip on it. Because her reason for being here had absolutely nothing to do with becoming romantically involved with Deacon Santoro. And she’d do well to remember the circumstances that had led her here.
Gaby sighed as she let herself inside the guesthouse. There was still enough light filtering in from outside that she didn’t turn on the lights. Instead she kicked off her heels and moved to the couch.
Her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number. She was about to ignore it when she thought of her father. Something might have happened to him.
Needing to be certain her father was all right, she answered the call. “Hello.”
“Gabrielle Dupré?” The male voice was unfamiliar to her.
Concern pumped through her veins. “Yes.”
“My name’s Paul. I’m with Gotcha magazine. Do you have a comment on the photo?”
“Photo?” She had no idea what this man was talking about. Thinking it was probably a scam, her finger hovered over the end button.
“The one of you in Deacon Santoro’s arms. Would you like to comment on why you’re in the arms of the man that allegedly killed your aunt?”
“There is no photo.”
“If you don’t believe me, go to our website. It’s on the home page, front and center. I’ll wait,” he said smugly.
Gaby pressed the end button. It didn’t matter what they had posted on their website, she wasn’t giving a comment. But she wanted to see what had prompted the reporter to call her.
Her fingers moved rapidly over the touch screen and then the website popped up. She gasped. It was true. They did have a photo of her and Deacon.
Her face felt as though it was on fire. That man had made the situation sound so scandalous. Deacon had only been helping her after she’d been an utter klutz.
She studied the photo more intently. She didn’t recall Deacon looking at her like—like he desired her. Surely they’d done something to alter the photo. She’d heard they do that all the time to make people thinner or prettier.
Thankfully there hadn’t been any cameras in Deacon’s house. Her face burned with embarrassment when she recalled how she’d flirted with him and then that kiss—oh, that heated kiss had been so good.
And yet, the kiss could not be repeated.
No matter how good it was, it was a one-time thing—a spur-of-the-moment thing. It didn’t matter if his touch had been so gentle and so arousing. There could be no future for them. It was impossible. She was the niece of the woman who’d died because of Deacon’s actions. There was no way they could get around that.
And she wouldn’t do that to her father. She owed everything to her father—a man who’d always stood by her and who’d encouraged her to follow her love of books and sacrificed so that she could go to college.
She needed to talk to Deacon. She needed to tell him about the photo. She headed out the door. She also needed to make sure he’d heard her when she said that she regretted that soul-stirring, toe-curling kiss—because she did, didn’t she?
Now that she had full access to the house, she knew her way around. She knew where Deacon would be, where he spent most of his time—in his office. It was like a one-room apartment. From what she could tell, it was where he took his meals, where he slept—when he slept—and where he worked.
Her footsteps were silent over the carpeting. When she reached his office, the door was open and the soft glow of the desk lamp spilled out into the hallway. But there were no sounds inside.
She stepped just inside the door. Her gaze scanned the room, with its long shadows. The desk chair was empty and so was the leather couch. Her gaze continued around the room until she spotted him standing in the open French doors that overlooked the ocean.
He didn’t move. He must be lost in thought. She wondered if she was too late. Had he seen the photo?
She softly called out, “Deacon.”
He didn’t turn to her as she’d expected. Instead he said, “You shouldn’t be here.”
&
nbsp; “We need to talk.”
“If it’s business, it can wait.”
She crossed her arms and leveled her shoulders. “If you’re going to talk to me, you could at least have the decency to face me.”
He turned to her. His face was devoid of expression. She didn’t know how he managed that when she was certain he was anything but calm—not after that spine-tingling kiss. She supposed that was what made him such an accomplished actor. She, on the other hand, wore her emotions on her sleeve. She didn’t like it, but she didn’t know how to hide her emotions.
“I’m facing you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Now, why are you here?”
“I just had a phone call from a reporter. There’s a photo of us on the internet.”
A muscle in Deacon’s jaw twitched. “Let me see it.”
Recalling how the photo made it seem like there was something going on between them, she didn’t think Deacon would take it well. “I don’t think you want to see it.”
He approached her and held out his hand.
She pulled up the picture on her phone. The headline read: Evading the Police in the Arms of a New Lover. Maybe bringing it to Deacon’s attention wasn’t a good idea after all.
She handed him the phone and waited for his reaction.
For a moment, he didn’t speak. He scrolled through the article. With a scowl on his handsome face, he returned her phone.
“I don’t even know how they got the photo,” she said.
“I do. There was a boat not far off the shoreline. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but there must have been a photographer on board.”
“How can they publish this stuff? The headline is a lie.”
“Welcome to my world. The tabloids will do anything for headlines. They are vultures.”
“But they know it’s not true.”
“They don’t care about the truth. It’s whatever makes them money. I’m sorry you got caught up in it.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Until the police report is released, I’ll be in the headlines.”
They’d both been dancing around the subject of the car accident for far too long now. She needed some answers and she didn’t know how to get them other than being direct. “Deacon, tell me about the accident.”
Beauty and Her Boss Page 6
