He poured her another glass of champagne and she looked at the flute in her hand in surprise. Had the thing sprung a leak? Surely she hadn’t drunk all that herself?
As if he could read her mind, Piers hastened to reassure her. “I won’t let you drink too much. Responsible host and all that. Besides, I know how much you like to remain in control.”
“I’m not worried,” she protested.
In fact, she’d rarely felt less worried than she did right now. A delicious lassitude had spread through her limbs and there was a glowing warmth radiating from the pit of her belly. She curled her legs up beside her on the sofa and watched the flames dance and lick along the logs in the fireplace. She’d hated fire since the accident—hated how consuming it could be, how uncontrolled. But being here at the lodge these past few days had desensitized her from those fears somewhat. The curtain grille that Piers always pulled across the grate created both a physical and mental barrier to the potential harm that could be wrought. Of course, he’d have to put stronger barriers in place once Casey became mobile, she thought. If he stuck with his plans to keep the baby, she reminded herself.
But that was a problem for another time. And not hers to worry about, either, she told herself firmly. Tonight’s goal was to chill out, so that’s what she most definitely was going to do.
The latter part of Piers’s remark, about her liking to remain in control, echoed in her mind. Was that how she portrayed herself to him? In control at all times? It was certainly the demeanor she strived to create. It was her protection. If she had everything under control, nothing could surprise her. Nothing could hurt her.
Being totally helpless in the face of the gas tanker skidding toward their car on the icy road that night had left scars that went far deeper than purely physical. Her whole life had imploded. By the time she’d recovered from the worst of her physical injuries, the emotional injuries had taken over her every waking thought.
Faye’s transition into foster care had been a blur and, as a salve to her wounded, broken heart, she’d poured herself into the care of the younger children in the home. The babies had caught at her the most, each one feeling like a substitute for the baby brother she’d lost. The baby brother who may have still been alive today if she hadn’t begged her stepdad to let her drive that night. For the longest time she’d wished she’d died along with her family. That the tanker driver hadn’t been able to pull her free from the burning wreckage of their family sedan.
Subconsciously she rubbed her legs. The scar tissue wasn’t as tight as it used to be, but it remained a constant reminder that she’d survived when her family hadn’t.
“You okay? Your legs sore?” Piers asked.
It was the first time he’d said anything about her injuries since he’d seen her undress the night he’d arrived.
“They’re fine. It’s just a habit, I guess.”
She waited for him to ask the inevitable questions, like how she’d gotten the scars, had it hurt and all the other things people asked.
“Would you like me to rub them for you? I guess massage helps, right?”
She looked at him, completely startled. “Well, yes, it has helped when I’ve tried it before—but I’m okay, truly.”
A flutter of fear, intermingled with something else—desire, maybe—flickered on the edges of her mind. What would it be like to feel his hands on her legs, to feel those long, supple fingers stroking her damaged skin? She slammed the door on that thought before it could gain purchase and swung her legs down to the floor again.
“Shall I go and check on dinner?” she asked, rising to her feet.
“Not at all, sit down. Tonight, let me wait on you, okay?”
Reluctantly, Faye sat again. “I’m not used to being waited upon.”
“Then this will be an experience for you, won’t it?” Piers said with a quick grin. “Now, relax. Boss’s orders.”
He went to the kitchen and she caught herself watching his every step. She couldn’t help herself. From the broad sweep of his shoulders to the way his jeans cupped his backside, he appealed to her on so many forbidden levels it wasn’t even funny. It was easy in the office to ignore his physical appeal. After all, at work she was too busy ensuring everything ran smoothly and that potential disasters were averted at all times to notice just how good Piers looked. So exactly when had her perception of him changed? When had he stopped simply being her boss and become a man she now desired?
Seven
As Piers sliced a loaf of bread he’d defrosted earlier, he wondered if Faye had any idea of how much she revealed in her expression. These past few days it was as if the careful mask she wore in her professional life had been destroyed and he was finally getting to see the woman who lived behind the facade. He put the slices in the basket he’d put on a large tray earlier and turned to lift the lid from the pot simmering on the stove.
The scent of the gently bubbling beef-and-red-wine stew made his mouth water. It was funny how living in isolation like this made you appreciate things so much more. He’d never take any of his staff for granted again. Not that he’d made a habit of it up to now, but it was time to show additional gratitude for the foresight the people around him displayed. Of course, that’s why he employed those very people in the first place—without them he could hardly do his job properly, either.
Which brought him very firmly back to the woman waiting for him in the main room. Tonight he’d seen a window into her vulnerability that he hadn’t noticed before. It kind of made him feel as though it left a gap for him to fill. Some way to be of use to her, for a change, instead of being the one being shepherded and looked after all the time. It made him feel a little on edge. As if this was his one shot to make things change between them. If he screwed it up, that would be it. He’d not only lose any chance they had of genuinely forming a relationship together, but she’d no doubt hightail it out of the workplace, as well. Nothing had ever felt quite so vital to him before.
He couldn’t understand why things had changed between them, but he wasn’t about to question it. He already knew he trusted Faye with everything that was important to him. She’d been his absolute rock when his brother had died, ensuring everything continued to run while he was away dealing with tying up Quin’s estate. Over the three years they’d worked together they’d formed a synchronicity he’d never experienced with anyone else. Did he dare hope that same synchronicity could spread into the personal side of their lives, too? And this snowstorm, their being stranded together—albeit with a miniature chaperone—it all conspired to open his eyes to what they really could be.
Realizing he was allowing himself to get thoroughly lost in his thoughts, he quickly ladled two large servings of the stew into bowls. After a final check of the tray to ensure he had sufficient cutlery and napkins, et cetera, he took the tray through to the main room.
Faye was staring vacantly into the flames. What was she thinking? She didn’t hear him until he put the tray down on the coffee table and sat beside her on the sofa.
She straightened and moved a fraction away from him, which only made him spread himself out a little more, closing the distance between them. He leaned forward, picked up one of the bowls and passed it to her with a fork.
“Dinner is served,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Bread?”
He offered the bread basket and was relieved when she took a slice. She hardly ate a thing that he could tell, certainly far less than he did. Clearly she needed better looking after. It was a good thing he was just the man to do it. The thought made him feel a rising sense of anticipation build inside.
Some things were best savored slowly, he reminded himself, and together they ate their meal in companionable silence. It was later, when he’d cleared their plates away and tidied the kitchen, that he made his suggestion.
“Come on, let’s dance some of that dinner off,” he coaxed as he rose and held out one hand.
Faye eyed him dubiously. “Dance?”
“Oh, come on, Faye. Relax. I won’t bite.”
Even as he said the words he felt an almost overwhelming urge to lower his mouth to the curve of her neck and do just that, gently bite her fair skin, then pepper it with kisses to soothe away any hurt. The very idea sent a surge of something else coursing through his veins. Desire. Slick and hot and demanding. He clenched his jaw tight on the wave of need that overtook him. And waited.
It felt like forever but, eventually, she placed one small, pale hand in his and allowed him to tug her to her feet. Piers led her to an open area of the main room and pulled her into his arms. It came as no surprise to him that she fit as though she belonged there. He caught a faint whiff of her fragrance as he held her close. Her choice held a subtle suggestion as to the potential sensuality that lay beneath her carefully neutral surface. The sandalwood base note was warm and heady, and totally at odds with the woman he thought he knew. He’d have thought she’d wear something more astringent, sharper. Something more in keeping with her persona in the office—not that he’d ever had that many opportunities to get close enough to her to smell her perfume, he noted silently.
But right now, right here, on what he fervently hoped would not be their last evening together, they were very close. Piers began to move to the music, enjoying the way she moved with him and relishing the brush of their hips, the sensation of her hand in his and the feel of the subtle movement of her back muscles beneath his other hand. And all the while, those delicate hints of her scent teased and tantalized his senses.
The initial resistance he’d felt in her body began to soften. Her steps became more instinctive, losing the stiffness that showed she was overthinking every move. It was hardly as if they were in a dance competition, but to him it felt as though there was a unity to their movements that led his mind to temptingly explore how well they could move together under other circumstances.
He bent his head and kissed the top of hers. Faye pulled back and looked up at him with wide eyes. Did he dare follow through on what he truly wanted—what he suspected that deep down she wanted, too? Of course he did.
When he took Faye’s lips with his, he felt the shock of recognition pulse through his body. As if this woman in his arms was the one he’d been looking for all his adult life. The need that had been simmering under his carefully controlled behavior ever since their first kiss flamed to demanding life as her lips parted beneath his and she began to return his kiss with equal fervor.
This was more than that incident under the mistletoe the night he’d arrived at the lodge. This was incendiary. Consuming. He wanted her so much he had begun to tremble. He raised his hands to her hair and tugged at the pins that confined it into a knot at the back of her head. The pins dropped unheeded to the floor and her hair fell in thick, wavy tresses past her shoulders. He pushed his fingers through the silken length until he cupped the back of her head and angled her ever so slightly so he could deepen their embrace.
That she let him was more speaking than any words they’d ever shared. That her hands had knotted in his sweater at his waist, as if she had to somehow anchor herself to something solid, told him she was as invested in what was happening as he was.
Relief coursed through his veins. He didn’t know how he’d have coped if she’d pulled away from him completely or if she had asked him to stop. Of course he’d stop, but it would probably strip years off his life to have to do so.
She felt so dainty in his arms, so fragile, and yet he knew she had a core of steel that many people never developed. She was tough and strong, yet vulnerable and incredibly precious at the same time.
Her hands released their grip on his sweater and he felt her tug at the garment before sliding her hands underneath it. Then he felt the incredible sensation of her warm palms against his skin. He groaned ever so slightly and lifted his mouth from hers so he could look again in her eyes—to receive confirmation once again that he wasn’t demanding anything from her that she wasn’t willing to give.
The sheen of desire that reflected back in her blue-gray gaze was almost his undoing. The semi-arousal he’d been hoping wouldn’t terrify her into running away stepped up a notch. He couldn’t help it. He flexed his hips against her. Her cheeks flushed in response and her eyelids fluttered as if she were riding her own wave of sensation.
Piers lowered his mouth and kissed her again, this time sweeping her lips with his tongue and teasing past the soft inner flesh to titillate. She was making soft sounds of pleasure and when he pressed his hips against her again, he immediately felt the hitch in her breath. Her fingers tightened on the muscles of his back, her short, practical nails digging into him ever so lightly. His skin, already sensitive to her touch, became even more so, and a thrill tingled through him.
He gently pulled one hand free of her hair and stroked it down her back to the taut globes of her butt. She was so perfect and she felt so right against him. His hand drifted over her hip and up under her sweater. He felt tiny goose bumps rise on the smooth skin of her belly. Felt each indentation between her ribs, then felt the slippery-smooth satin of her bra. His hand slid around to her back and he deftly unfastened the hooks that bound her.
“I want to see you,” he groaned against the side of her throat. “I want to touch you. All of you.”
“Yes,” she whispered shakily.
It was all the encouragement he needed. He moved away from her only enough to tug her sweater up over her head and to slide the straps of her unfastened bra down her arms, freeing her breasts to his hungry gaze. And there they were—those freckles that had so inappropriately tantalized him only a few nights ago.
Piers reached out with the tip of his forefinger to trace a line from her collarbone, connecting the dots until they disappeared and her flesh turned creamy white. Creamy white tipped with deliciously tantalizing pink nipples that were currently tight buds begging for his touch, his mouth. Action immediately followed thought. One hand went to her tiny waist, the other supported her back, as he lowered his mouth to her and teased one nipple and then the other with the tip of his tongue. He felt her shudder from head to foot and saw the blush of desire that bloomed across her skin.
Knowing he did this to her gave him a sense of joy he’d never experienced before with another woman. She was so responsive, so honest in her reactions. It was as refreshing as it was enticing and it made him want to make this evening even more special for her, more memorable.
Maybe there was a stroke of selfishness in his purpose. If he got this right, then maybe she wouldn’t hightail it out of there when the road was open. Maybe she’d want to linger, to explore just how great they could be together in every way possible.
She deserved the best of everything and he would see to it that she got it. It was as simple as that.
It was one thing to touch her, but he wanted to feel her, as well. He moved away slightly so he could tug his sweater off. The instant he was free of it he pulled her to him, skin to skin. The delicious shock of it made him feel giddy in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a crazy teenager with too many advantages and a whole lot of testosterone. He savored the sensation and stroked the top of Faye’s slender shoulders.
Her arms closed around him and she pressed her breasts against his diaphragm.
“Your skin, it’s so hot. It’s like you’re on fire,” she said so softly he had to bend his head to hear her.
“I’m on fire, all right. For you.”
* * *
Faye ran her fingers up the bumps in Piers’s spine then let her nails trace down his arms. She’d seen him topless before. When she’d worked with him while he’d been closing a business deal in France, on the Côte d’Azur, it wasn’t unusual for him to declare his poolside patio his o
ffice for the day. She’d marveled at the chiseled lines of his body but she’d never imagined they would feel like this to the touch. That beneath the golden tan of his heated skin his muscles would feel both hard and supple at the same time.
It was thrilling to caress him. Forbidden and yet not at the same time. Faye pushed away the confusion that clouded the back of her mind. The voice of reason that told her this was a very stupid idea. That she was merely a temporary amusement for him. But there was something about the way he looked at her, and the way his hands touched her with such reverence, that made her feel as though even if she only got to have him this one time, this interlude could still be an experience that would chase away the darkness and the loneliness that dwelled inside her.
Was it wrong to want, to need, this physical contact with another person? To want to feel cherished? Under normal circumstances the logical side of her brain—the one that had endured years of guilt, grief and recovery—would say that, of course, it was wrong. She didn’t deserve that kind of happiness.
But these were not normal circumstances and tonight that inner voice had been silenced. Wooed by champagne, dinner by firelight and dancing in the arms of a man whose breathtaking physical beauty was only transcended by the care he’d showed her tonight. Tonight? No, at all times. He might tease her and try to wheedle her secrets out of her, but he’d never been unkind or unreasonable. In the office, while he was very firmly the boss, he’d always treated her as a valued equal. Considering her ideas and suggestions and giving credit where credit was due when he followed through on something that had been her brainchild.
Maybe she hadn’t simply been wooed by tonight. Maybe she’d been wooed by Piers for the whole three years she’d known him and been working by his side, becoming more a part of his life than his parents and extended family. Certainly more a part of his life than the women he’d paraded in and out of his bed. For a brief moment she wondered, If this went any further, would I be categorized as one of those women? Okay, so maybe the inner voice wasn’t completely silenced—she smiled gently to herself—but it was about to be.
The Christmas Baby Bonus Page 8
