by Noelle Adams
Julie’s cheeks were flushed and the words on the screen of the laptop she was working on were blurred for a few seconds.
Why the hell did he feel the need to have a massage in front of her like this?
It was simply inappropriate.
“What’s the matter?” Eric demanded.
When she looked over at him again, she saw that he’d turned his head and was watching her. She cheeks reddened even more. “Nothing.”
“Well, something’s wrong. Did a buddy send me porn or something?”
Damn it, how could he read her expression so easily? Grabbing at the excuse he’d offered her, she said, “Yes. I deleted it. I’m not replying to an email like that.”
He chuckled. “I’ll dig it up later.”
She desperately hoped he’d forget about it. There wasn’t any such email to dig up.
The massage therapist pulled the sheet down a little farther, so the top of Eric’s butt was visible. Julie’s eyes flew down helplessly to look.
When she realized what she was doing, what she was feeling, she cleared her throat again, put the laptop down, and stood up. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Okay. Knock yourself out.”
As she was walking into her room—he’d reserved a two-bedroom suite for them—she heard him groaning, “Shit, I’m tight right there.”
Julie didn’t actually have to go to the bathroom. She just closed the door, stared into the mirror at her flushed face, and gave herself a firm lecture about keeping her mind in check.
She shouldn’t be thinking about sex and Eric in the same breath. She shouldn’t be enjoying the sound of his moans and sighs. She shouldn’t be imagining how he would look, sounding that way, in a very different situation.
It was wrong. And, what was more, it would just make her miserable, since he would never look at her twice that way.
He teased her, sometimes flirtatiously, the way he teased everyone he interacted with, but she wasn’t stupid enough to assume it meant anything.
So she wasn’t going to let herself indulge in fantasies that would only crush her in the end.
She might sometimes have trouble exerting her will, but she wasn’t stupid.
—
A few minutes after Julie left the room, she stuck her head back in, saying, “I’ve got a call. Is it all right if I take it while you finish up, or do you need me back now?”
“Take it,” Eric told her, wondering who the call was from.
It was unlike her to ask to receive a call in the middle of the day. Maybe there was a problem.
Or maybe it was her boyfriend.
Eric had been relaxing during the massage, but he tightened up at the thought. He didn’t know what the hell she was doing with that guy. She must be into him, though, since she’d gone out with him twice in the last two weeks. He’d tried to get her to tell him the guy’s name—or at least what he did for a living—but she wouldn’t tell him anything.
He didn’t care if it wasn’t his business. He wanted to know.
And he didn’t like her talking to that guy when she should be working for him.
He expected her back in a few minutes, but his massage was over and the woman was folding up her table before Julie finally deigned to reappear.
“Sorry about that,” she murmured, keeping her eyes down on the floor.
He wanted to know why she looked so shy. What the hell had she and that guy been talking about for so long? “What took so long? I need some water.”
Eric thanked and tipped the massage therapist while Julie went over to the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of cold water. He waited for an answer, but she didn’t give him one.
“Well?” he demanded as he took the water from her.
“Well what?”
“Well, what took so long? Was he proposing or something?”
Julie’s eyes went very wide in an unmistakable sign of surprise. “Was who proposing?”
“Your boyfriend. Wasn’t that who you were talking to for so long?”
She gave him a cool frown, which was the most disapproving look she ever gave him. “No. It wasn’t.”
Eric shouldn’t have been pleased by this information, but he was. “Then who was it?”
“It was private. Did you enjoy your massage?”
She was obviously changing the topic. Eric was tempted to go back to the question, but he managed to rein himself in. She worked for him. He needed to at least keep a few professional limitations. “Yeah, it was fine.”
“Did you want to put on some clothes?”
He was wearing a white hotel bathrobe, and he looked down at himself in surprise. “No. I’m fine.”
“Okay. Did you want to finish the email?”
“Not now. I’m not really in the mood.” His body felt relaxed after the massage, but he was suddenly hit with a wave of fear, remembering Maddy’s appointment at the hospital tomorrow. It had temporarily slipped from his mind, and it came back to him like a blow. The doctor at Duke had decided his treatment wasn’t working, so he’d recommended she see another specialist.
“Are you okay?” Julie asked softly.
She was watching him closely now. She must have seen his change of expression. He immediately schooled his expression. “Of course.” He took a long swig of water. “I didn’t hire you to fuss, you know.”
Her expression flickered slightly, like his words had hit home or something. She actually never fussed over him, and she never asked him if he was okay just because.
He wasn’t okay, and she had noticed it. But he didn’t want her feeling sorry for him, and he didn’t want to dwell on what he might hear about Maddy’s diagnosis tomorrow.
Julie had leaned over to pick up the laptop, but now she straightened up, rubbing the back of her neck.
Glad of the distraction, he asked, “What’s wrong with your neck?”
“Nothing. It’s just a little stiff.” She had her hair pulled back like normal, and no makeup on, and he couldn’t help but notice how clear her skin was, how dark blue her eyes were.
He never would have noticed if he’d just seen her in passing. He would have assumed she was just average, the way he had in the elevator. But the longer he knew her, the more he saw in her to admire, to desire, to want to uncover.
But he was her boss, which meant he couldn’t. Not the way he wanted to, anyway.
It wasn’t the best of situations, truth be told.
“I should have had you get a massage,” he said absently, trying to think about something prosaic, rather than the curve of Julie’s neck.
“What?”
“I should have had her do you too, since she was up here.”
“I don’t want her to do me.” Julie’s words were sharper than normal, and she must have heard herself, because she rephrased. “I don’t need a massage.”
“Why not?” he asked.
She frowned at him. “Because I don’t want one.”
“Why wouldn’t you want one?”
For some reason, she was looking rattled, which was unusual enough to distract Eric. “I just mean massages aren’t something I bother with.”
He suddenly realized something surprising. “You’ve never had one, have you?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because you’re not answering me. You’ve really never had a massage?”
“It’s not like a massage is a vital part of human experience. Why is it so strange that I wouldn’t have had one?”
“I don’t know. You’re what? Around thirty? Most women have had massages by that time.”
“Maybe the women in your world, but not the women in my world. It’s just not something I would ever waste money on.”
He didn’t quite know why this innocuous topic had provoked a reaction from her, but he wasn’t going to let it pass. “Then I can waste money on it.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
He held up a hand to quiet her as he picked up the
phone and called down to the hotel spa. “My assistant is coming down for a massage this afternoon. What time can she come?”
Julie started to object, but he held up his hand again to stop her. He glanced at the clock and nodded. “Good. She’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”
“Eric—”
He hung up the phone, giving Julie a bland look he knew would annoy her. “It’s already scheduled. You’re not going to inconvenience them by not showing up, are you?”
Her eyes flashed. “You are the most—” She broke off suddenly, evidently realizing what she was saying.
He was suppressing a smile as he asked, “What was that? What am I?”
She just glared at him.
“The best boss ever, to arrange for a massage for you? Please don’t thank me for that. It’s just part of my generous nature.”
—
Eric enjoyed the memory of Julie’s frustrated expression for a few minutes after she left to go down to the spa. In three weeks, he hadn’t succeeded in provoking as much of a reaction from her as he had today, and he still didn’t understand why she’d cracked a little this afternoon.
But after a few minutes of chuckling to himself and thinking through what was going on in her head, he got worried about tomorrow again and sat stewing about it for over an hour, until Julie came back to the suite.
Relieved to have a distraction from his worries, he asked, “How was it?”
“It was fine,” she said rather primly.
“That’s it? Just fine?”
“It was good. Thank you for arranging it.”
He let out a huff of amusement. “You’ve decided to behave yourself again, haven’t you?”
“I always behave myself.”
He shook his head. “I wonder.”
“Is it all right if I take a shower?” she asked. “I’m covered with all the oils they used. We can do the emails afterward.”
“That’s fine. I’m going to order room service. What do you want?”
“Oh, anything. I don’t need anything expensive.”
He was a little disappointed by her response to the massage. He had been hoping to hear more about what she’d thought.
Now that he’d had time to consider it, it wasn’t really surprising that she’d never had a massage. She didn’t appear to be a woman who indulged herself, except maybe in the occasional pretty nightgown. She’d spent years putting her life on hold to take care of her parents. He wondered if it was only selflessness that had prompted it or maybe something else.
He still didn’t feel like he’d gotten a handle on her, even after a little more than three weeks. It was frustrating, since he could usually size people up in the space of an hour or less.
She was a mystery, and he still hadn’t solved her.
He wanted to, though. More and more.
In a half hour she came back out to the sitting room wearing a pair of knit leggings and a tunic top. Unfortunately, the top was long and loose, so it hid the most interesting parts of her body.
“The food should be here in a few minutes,” he said.
“Good.” She sat down on the couch near him, picking up the laptop again. “Shall we go through more of those emails?”
“Nah. I don’t feel like it now.”
He felt restless and impatient and anxious whenever he thought about tomorrow, and he didn’t like how helpless it made him feel. He’d found the specialist at Duke. He’d been confident that the doctor would be able to find out what was wrong with Maddy and fix it. He didn’t know this new specialist, and he didn’t like his daughter being passed along like this.
“Okay. What shall we do?”
He supposed if he said they should have mad, passionate sex, she probably wouldn’t work for him anymore. Instead he stretched out his good leg, rubbing the thigh, and said, “Tell me about the massage.”
She sighed. “It was fine. I already told you.”
“But fine doesn’t tell me anything. Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes. For the most part. Some of it was painful.”
“Yeah, but that’s the best part.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly, which was intriguing. He had no idea what she was thinking about that had triggered the reaction. He was certainly capable of double entendre, but he hadn’t been making one at that moment.
He let it slide, since he knew she’d never admit to whatever she’d been thinking of. Instead he said, “You should do more for yourself.”
“What do you mean?” She didn’t look offended, the way she had before. She looked almost curious.
“I mean you should do more nice things, just for yourself. You don’t have massages. You don’t get your hair done. You don’t get your nails done. You don’t buy a lot of nice clothes.”
“My clothes are fine.”
He chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult. But I meant do something for yourself that’s more than just fine. That you really enjoy. Why don’t you indulge yourself?”
“I know this is something you have trouble understanding, but I don’t think indulging yourself is the main purpose of existing.”
“And you think I do?”
“No,” she said, stepping back from her previous comment, as if she thought he might be offended. “Just that you do indulge yourself a lot.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
She gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. Nothing’s wrong with it. But I don’t have the resources you have, and if I spent too much time indulging myself, I would feel…a little selfish.”
“You think it’s selfish to take care of yourself?”
“I do take care of myself. I was talking about indulging myself.”
She was being serious. Absolutely serious. Her eyes were holding his, as if she was trying to express something real to him.
It was strangely exciting, for her to open up to him that way—about anything. He wasn’t going to let the conversation slide back to their normal interaction. “But there’s a point, isn’t there, where focusing your energy so much on other people means you’re giving them all the power over your life.”
She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t care that much about power.”
“Yes, you do.” He was thinking deeply, trying to put his thoughts into words. “You care about giving up power, just going with whatever happens to you. I wonder if it’s a way of never really taking risks.”
She gasped, her eyes flashing briefly. “I do take risks. You think coming to work for you wasn’t a risk for me?”
He gave a half shrug. “Maybe. But not really. You agreed to very specific terms for a short period of time. You signed a contract, so you were protected. It wasn’t a real risk.” He gazed at her face, feeling the strangest sense of entitlement, of protection, as he looked at her—as if she had become his responsibility. “For once, you should try letting someone in, I mean really in, to your most secret inner life you keep completely private. That will be a real risk.”
For a moment she really heard him and understood him. He saw her expression change, as if his words had made an impact.
Then her head snapped up. “Look who’s talking.”
“What do you mean?”
“How often do you let people in? You go through life trying to take all the power, and I guarantee it’s for the exact same reason.”
“I don’t take power.”
She laughed softly. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
He frowned, feeling a surprising wave of self-consciousness as he tried to think through his life. “I don’t. I mean, I know I yell a lot and order people around, but I’m not really a bad guy.”
“I know you’re not a bad guy. I didn’t mean you take power in order to treat people badly. But you still try to control everything.”
He wondered if she was right. He’d never even thought about it before.
He had no idea what to say, and what he wanted to say was making him uncomfortable, so he was relieved when there was a
knock on the door.
Room service was here. The server came in and set up the food and wine on the table. The table setting was complete with flower arrangement and candles.
Eric had not requested the romantic trappings, but he was used to this sort of treatment, so he wasn’t even surprised.
He signed the check and was startled when, after the server left, Julie asked, “Did they think we’re a couple or something?” Her cheeks were slightly flushed.
She was startlingly lovely in the candlelight. Eric almost lost his breath as he wheeled over to his place at the table. “Who knows what they think? What does it matter? Eat your food before it gets cold.”
He sounded more brusque than he’d intended, but it evidently made Julie feel better. Her expression composed itself, and she sat down across from him at the table.
—
Julie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out on a romantic date—a genuinely romantic date, rather than what she had with Ned.
Not that she was on a date now, of course, but it kind of felt that way, with the candlelight, the flowers, the lovely silver tray covers, and Eric’s handsome face across the table from her.
For a few moments, she let herself imagine that that was what this was—a date with Eric Vincent. She tried to conjure up an approximation of how she might feel, if it were really happening.
The fantasy lasted only a few moments.
“This steak is overdone,” Eric said, shaking his head after he cut into it.
“Do you want to call down and get them to bring you another?”
“Nah. Not worth the effort.”
She checked her steak. Eric had ordered for her—getting one of the most expensive things on the menu for her instead of something inexpensive, as she’d requested—and he’d rightly guessed that she preferred her steak to be cooked medium. Hers was nicely pink inside. “Do you want mine?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“Well, you obviously aren’t pleased with your steak.”
He frowned at her, shadows flickering on his face from the candlelight. “I can eat a slightly overdone steak without falling apart, you know.”
She managed to hide a smile. “Okay. That’s good to know.”
He gave her a suspicious look, as if he could tell she was trying not to laugh at him. “I suppose your boyfriend never complains about his steak when he plans a romantic meal for you.”
