by Noelle Adams
Julie had never assumed she did. “I’m surprised you’ve been able to keep it a secret so long.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Okay,” Julie said quickly, a little upset by his abrupt tone but telling herself she should have expected it.
“I keep her secret on purpose. Some things are off-limits.”
“Okay,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on the fresh peach slices she was eating. “Understood.”
She felt like an idiot, though.
It might have seemed like they were getting a little closer here—talking to each other for real—but they weren’t. Not really.
Eric was her boss for less than two more months. They weren’t ever going to be close. And she would only end up hurting herself if she let herself believe that would change.
—
For the next week, Julie managed to hold to her resolution of keeping Eric at an emotional arm’s length. She treated him in a purely professional manner and kept at bay the majority of her dangerous thoughts about him.
Maybe, when she was lying in bed in the dark, she thought about that longing look in his eyes, the outline of his erection beneath his pants, the thought of how it would feel if she could touch him, if he could touch her—but she succeeded in keeping those thoughts to a minimum.
She’d made it one month. She could make it two more. And it didn’t matter how attracted she was to him. Things like that happened. They were only really a problem if you indulged them despite your better judgment.
He’d gone back to his normal behavior—partly grumpy, partly obnoxious, and partly distracted with work. He didn’t spend another evening drinking, and she managed to avoid any conversation that got too personal.
She might want to know more about him, but that would just make it harder for her to stay objective and professional.
On the following Friday morning, Eric had a follow-up appointment with his surgeon. Kristin had wanted to take him—and Julie wasn’t going to argue, even though she preferred to accompany him to places herself so she could be sure he was taken care of properly. But Eric had insisted that Julie go with him, telling Kristin to stay and make some phone calls he needed made.
So Julie was sitting beside him in the doctor’s office at ten o’clock in the morning, waiting for the surgeon to make an appearance with his X-rays and test results.
She hoped everything was healing smoothly. Eric would be very upset if he wasn’t getting better on schedule. He had to be the best at everything, and that included recovering.
She sneaked a look over at him and saw that his forehead was creased. He had that brooding look she saw on his face occasionally. She wondered if it meant he was thinking about his daughter.
Julie hoped the girl was all right. She hoped they’d found a treatment for whatever it was she had. Every day Julie wondered how his daughter was doing, but she didn’t dare to ask—since he’d told her quite clearly it was off-limits.
She was suddenly struck by how strange it was to be sitting in this little room with Eric Vincent. What was she even doing here? This wasn’t who she was at all.
She missed her mom. She wanted someone to talk to for real.
Feeling an unexpected wave of grief at the thought of her mother, Julie swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
“You okay?” Eric asked.
She straightened up and saw he was studying her closely. “Yes. Of course.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter.” Her tone was just slightly sharp, since his sensitivity was upsetting her, compounding the flash of grief she’d just experienced.
“Well, something’s the matter. You look like you’re about to cry.”
Damn the man. He could stomp around like a clueless bull most of the time and then he’d suddenly be super observant, right when she didn’t want him to be.
“I’m not,” she gritted out. “And, for the third time, nothing is—”
Eric had on his stubborn face, so he almost certainly would have kept arguing if the surgeon hadn’t come in just then and interrupted their conversation midsentence.
Julie let out a relieved breath at being saved from a discussion she didn’t want to have.
After some preliminaries, the surgeon studied Eric’s information on his computer and gave the X-rays another look. “Well, the bone is healing fine. No problem there. You still have a lot of swelling, though. You’re keeping the leg elevated?”
“Yes. Nearly all the time.” Eric frowned, as if displeased by any sign that he wasn’t healing in every way, more quickly than regular mortal men.
“Maybe try to use more ice on the foot and ankle, and make sure you wear those compression stockings.”
Eric’s frown deepened but he didn’t object.
“And I’m a little concerned about some of your blood test results.” The surgeon turned to his screen again. “Some of your levels are off. Are you eating okay? Getting enough rest?”
“Yes.”
The surgeon shifted his eyes to Julie, who understood the look. “He hasn’t taken any time off of work. He’s busy most of the day, and he mostly eats on the go. He sometimes works out until he’s exhausted.”
Eric turned his head to glare at her, but Julie just ignored it.
Shaking his head, the surgeon said, “You had some significant surgery, and a lot of your body’s energy is going to healing the bone. You need to rest a lot.” Peering at his computer screen again, he added, “In fact, you should take at least a week off to give your health a boost in the right direction.”
“A week off? I’m not going to—”
“Your leg will heal faster if you’re in better health overall,” the doctor interrupted. “That’s what you want, right?”
Eric’s annoyed look shifted between Julie and the surgeon, but he just muttered, “Yes. Fine.”
“You should go somewhere. Get away from your normal life. Focus on resting and eating well. Don’t overdo the physical therapy yet, but you might start moving around with crutches more, so the rest of your body will be ready for when your leg is healed.”
Eric didn’t answer, except with another scowl.
“I want you back in two weeks so I can recheck your levels. Take care of yourself in the meantime.”
Julie didn’t dare say anything as they left the hospital and drove back to his building. She knew Eric wasn’t pleased by the appointment or the instructions he’d gotten.
He was a man who was always doing something, and he didn’t like to feel less than physically powerful.
They were almost home when she asked, very carefully, “Do you have any ideas about somewhere you can go to get away?” He had enough money he could go anywhere he wanted, but she didn’t say that, since it would have just annoyed him more.
“I’ve got a beach house on the Outer Banks.”
“Oh, that would be good,” she said. “Maybe you could head there for a week or two and get some rest.”
“I don’t need extra rest.”
“The doctor obviously disagrees.”
“I’ve got a lot of stuff going on with my work.”
“I guess that’s fine,” she said, “if you don’t mind being in the cast longer than you have to be, because you’re not letting your body recover the way it needs to.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re infuriating?”
“No,” she replied honestly, hiding a smile at his aggrieved expression. “Everyone always thinks I’m sweet and mild and easy to get along with.”
He gave a huff. “Boy, are they all wrong.”
—
Eric used to go on vacation to the Outer Banks every spring with his family. When he’d gotten his first commercial endorsement deal after graduating from college seventeen years ago, he’d bought a house there on the beach, where his mother had lived until she’d died several years back.
He’d kept the house, always planning to us
e it a few weeks a year to get away, but he hadn’t been for over five years. There was just always so much to do, it was hard to find the time.
Fortunately, it had an elevator, or he never would have been able to make it three floors up to the main rooms of the house.
“This is really nice,” Julie said, looking around at the great room with its huge windows, high ceilings, and beachy decor. “Look at that view.”
They were high enough on this floor to see over the sand dunes that separated the house from the ocean, and the sea view was unobstructed. Eric felt the most ridiculous swell of pride at her awed expression—that it was his house that had impressed her so much.
She’d been distant and cool with him for the last week, and he didn’t like it at all. It had felt like they were getting close, but now that was gone. He wanted to get things back to where they had been before, but he wasn’t sure exactly how.
“Is the master over here?” she asked, gesturing to a closed door to their right.
“Yeah. There’s another decent bedroom on this floor over there that you can use.”
“Okay. Great. I’ll start to get you unpacked. Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.” He hated feeling so helpless, having to be waited on for the simplest things. He was hating it more and more, particularly where Julie was concerned.
She might be impressed by his beach house, but she wasn’t going to be too impressed by him, when he couldn’t even get out of his chair.
The elevator opened up again and Tim appeared with more of their luggage. Between Tim and Julie, they unpacked and organized everything in the bedrooms, kitchen, and bathrooms, while Eric just sat uselessly and watched.
To make himself feel like he was doing something, he called Kristin and checked in about work. He’d left her in Charlotte to keep up with the bare minimum that needed to be done with business for the next week.
“Do you need to go the bathroom?” Julie asked once he’d ended the call and was just staring out at the ocean waves breaking in the distance.
He did, but that annoyed him too, since it was one more thing he couldn’t do without help.
Julie checked out the half bath in the main room. “This one is kind of cramped. You should probably use the one in the master bedroom.”
With a sigh, he wheeled himself into the bedroom and toward the bathroom, which was very large, with marble surfaces and a huge tiled shower.
When Julie brought the crutches over and tried to position them for him the way she usually did, he yanked one from her hand. “I can do it.” He could at least manage to stand up for himself and not lean on her as much as he’d been doing for the last few weeks.
He hated the damn crutches. They made him feel like an idiot. That fact was bothering him more now than it had before.
Julie didn’t object to his taking the crutches, but she stood nearby watching as he tried to haul himself up.
It didn’t go well. He lost his balance before he could get upright, and he had to drop one of the crutches and catch himself on his chair to keep his casted leg from getting wrenched.
He was almost shaking with frustration when Julie handed him the crutch again. “I don’t need an audience,” he muttered.
“Why do the crutches bother you so much?”
“They’re just annoying.”
“It’s more than that. Everything about a broken leg is annoying. But there’s something about the crutches in particular that you hate, and it doesn’t make sense to me.”
He was staring down at the crutches he still held, and he didn’t think he would answer the question. He didn’t have to. She had no business asking him something like that.
But then he finally muttered, without even consciously saying the words, “They make me feel helpless.”
“More than the wheelchair does?”
“Yes. I can move around without much trouble in the wheelchair. I can’t move around fine with the damned crutches.”
The obvious response for her would be to say that he just needed to practice more. If she said that, then he could be mad at her again, not torn like this. But instead she asked softly, “Why is it so hard for you to feel helpless?”
“Because I’m never helpless.”
“Of course you are. Everyone is occasionally.”
He made a throaty sound and waved a hand to dismiss her words. “Sure, occasionally. But why let yourself feel helpless when you don’t have to?”
She gave a little shrug. “Why try to feel powerful when you aren’t? And why blame your poor crutches for doing what life does to us anyway?”
His brows drew together, but he was meeting her eyes now, trying to understand what she meant. “What does life do?”
“It makes us helpless.”
Their gazes held for a long time, longer than they should have. Then he felt an inexplicable wave of fear as a different kind of helplessness crystallized in his head, one that made him far more vulnerable than his physical impairment.
He said, “Okay. I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”
“Fine. But I’m not going to leave you until you’ve gotten up.”
He knew it was smart—that it would be foolish of her to leave when it was possible that he might fall—but that just made him feel even worse. He gritted his teeth and tried again.
After a few minutes, Julie came over and repositioned his hand and his good leg. “Try it this way,” she suggested in her normal mild voice.
There was nothing critical or impatient in her tone, but Eric felt like a child just the same. When he’d managed to get his feet on his own, he gritted out, “Okay. I’m good. Get out of here.”
Julie didn’t respond in words. She just gently shut the bathroom door behind her.
He wondered if he’d hurt her feelings. If he could just get a little more mobile, everything would be easier and he wouldn’t feel compelled to always be such an ass.
He went to the bathroom and washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror for a minute. He was sweating, and he looked pale and kind of sick. No wonder Julie wasn’t impressed by him. There wasn’t much chance she would be into him in this condition.
Not that it mattered. Nothing could happen between them anyway.
Despite knowing this, he still felt compelled to pull himself together a little more. So he couldn’t walk. That didn’t mean he couldn’t attract a woman. He’d always been good with women. They’d fallen for him with very little exertion on his part. Julie was different, but she wasn’t invulnerable. Surely he could soften her up a little with some effort.
She was waiting for him outside the bathroom door. He smiled at her in a way that usually appealed to women. Her eyes widened, but she smiled back. “What do you want to do this evening?”
“I’ve got some calls to make.”
“If they’re work calls, then they can wait. I thought Kristin was handling all that.”
“She is, but a few calls aren’t going to—”
“The doctor said you were supposed to rest.”
“Who’s in charge here? If I want to make some calls, then you’re not going to stop me.”
“I will stop you, even if I have to steal your phone and put it on the top shelf of the bookcase.” Her voice was still quiet, but there was a spark in her eyes that appealed to him.
He liked her like this, a lot better than when she was being distant, like he was nothing but an acquaintance. Or a patient.
“Tim will get it for me,” Eric said, nodding at Tim, who was walking in with a few groceries he’d gone to get from the store.
“Leave me out of it,” Tim muttered with his typical impassive expression.
Julie was obviously trying not to smile. “See? You’ve got no one on your side. Since you’re not going to be making calls or doing any work, what do you want to do this evening?”
Eric scowled. It would probably be another boring day watching sports on his own.
“It’s a really nice day. We can
hang out by the pool, if you want,” Julie suggested.
Eric perked up. Maybe Julie would put on a bikini.
—
Three hours later, Eric was stretched out in the sun next to the pool in a chaise, feeling better about the world in general.
Julie hadn’t put on a bikini. She had a regular suit and a thin blue cover-up, but at least he could enjoy the sight of her legs. Tim was grilling steaks, and Julie had made margaritas, so overall it was a pretty good day. He’d even dozed off for about a half hour, something he almost never did.
It would have been better if Julie would talk to him more, but all of his attempts at conversation were falling flat.
She was lying in the sun beside him, reading a book on her e-reader. She looked beautiful with the sunlight turning her hair to gold.
She glanced over at him then, as if she sensed he was looking at her.
“Did you go to the beach a lot as a kid?” he asked, using the first question that came to him to draw her into a conversation.
She’d been so skittish this week. It was very frustrating.
“We always went to Myrtle Beach,” she said. “We went about every other year.”
“You liked it?”
“Sure. I liked to swim, and we went out to eat some. We never ate out much when we were at home, so that was a big treat.”
“Why didn’t you eat out?”
She looked surprised. “We didn’t have much money.”
“What did your dad do?”
“He worked in a factory. My mom stayed at home with me and my sister. We weren’t destitute or anything, but there was never a lot of extra money.”
Eric’s parents had both worked—his mother in a department store and his father as a coach. They hadn’t been rich, but they’d always had plenty of money. Then, once he’d gone pro, he’d had more money than he could possibly spend.
He suddenly had an entirely new sense of what the million dollars he was paying Julie would mean to her. It had been a long time since he’d lived with the experience of wanting more money than he had.
Before he could think of anything to say, Julie had gone back to her book.
“What are you reading?” he asked, getting a little annoyed that she was making it so hard to sustain a conversation.
