Engaging the Boss (Heirs of Damon) (11 page)

He
glanced over toward the tearoom, where Jonathan was emerging with a full cup of
coffee. Then, with an almost naughty glint in his eye, Ben reached over and
picked up her hand.

He
looked down at her finger. “It’s a really nice ring,” he drawled, “For a fake
engagement, I mean. How long did he take picking it out for you?”

***

Jonathan had only been
gone for a few minutes, but when he returned Benjamin was holding Sarah’s hand.

She
withdrew it almost immediately, but she was prettily flushed and flustered. A
wave of jealousy slammed into him, so intense it almost consumed him.

Sarah
was his.

At
least, that was how it felt.

He’d
never been a violent man, but the thought of her with Ben made him want to
smash something. Preferably, his cousin’s face.

He
stopped walking until he could control the feeling. He had no claim on Sarah,
except as an employer. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t reasonable to expect her to
act like they were in a relationship.

He’d
spent his life trying not to be irrational, to work hard and accomplish
something worthwhile with his intellect and his persistence. He wasn’t going to
throw it all away now for something so ephemeral.

If
Sarah wanted to be with Ben, if she wanted Ben’s company over Jonathan’s, then
he would have to live with it and he would have no grounds for complaining.

Sarah
wasn’t his.

When
he felt like he had himself back under control, he walked over to their table.
“Ready to go?” he asked, pleased that his voice sounded natural.

Ben
was smiling smugly, as if he knew something Jonathan didn’t. Maybe he knew he’d
taken Sarah away from him.

“Yes,
we’re ready,” Sarah said, standing up. She still seemed flustered, and she
stumbled a little as she took a step away from the table.

Jonathan
reached out instinctively to help, and she grabbed onto his shirt to stabilize
herself. His arm tightened around her, pressing her soft body against him.

She
gazed up at him with flushed cheeks and heavy eyelids, her lips so full and
kissable he almost couldn’t resist.

“Sorry,”
she said, lowering her eyes and pulling away. “Just clumsy today, I guess.”

For
some reason, Benjamin laughed.

***

The afternoon and
evening seemed endless to Jonathan. They visited Stonehenge, which didn’t take
long, since after they walked around the roped off path and took some pictures,
there wasn’t much else to do. Then they drove back, and Sarah got ready for
Marietta’s wedding shower.

Since
Jonathan had a free afternoon, he tried to work on email. But he hated doing
email, and he couldn’t seem to focus, so he gave up and worked out instead. He
ran hard on the treadmill, but it did little to ease the tension in his mind.

That
evening, they had the bachelor and bachelorette parties.

There
wasn’t a stripper at the bachelor party, since Cyrus Damon was paying for it
and Harrison wasn’t really that kind of man anyway. They went to a local pub
and drank beers, and Harrison’s friends and Andrew told jokes and tried to
embarrass Harrison with stories from his past.

Jonathan
didn’t have a bad time. He might have even enjoyed it if Benjamin hadn’t been
there giving him knowing, amused looks.

It
was late when they got home, and Jonathan was surprised to discover that Sarah
hadn’t returned yet. He didn’t know what the women had done, but he’d (perhaps
ignorantly) expected them to be done earlier than the men.

Jonathan
took a shower and was reading in bed when there was a knock on the bedroom
door.

He
was surprised to see that Gordon had walked up with Sarah, carrying her purse
and sweater. Then he realized why the butler had done so.

Sarah
had clearly had a little too much to drink.

Fortunately,
Jonathan had pulled on a t-shirt when the knock on the door came. He wouldn’t
want to talk to Gordon in just his underwear.

Sarah
giggled when he opened the door. “There he is. My fiancé.” She drawled out the
last word unnaturally long.

Jonathan
met Gordon’s eyes.

“My
apologies for disturbing you, sir, but I thought I should make sure she got to
her room all right.”

“I
only got lost once,” she declared, clearly offended by some imagined slight to
her sense of direction. She grabbed fistfuls of Jonathan’s t-shirt and slumped
against him. “I had a really good time at the bachelorette party.”

“I
can see that,” he said. He glanced over her head at Gordon. “What did they do?”

“They
went to a club, sir.”

“Hey,”
Sarah objected, glaring at Gordon. “I was going to tell him. We danced a lot.”

She
started to show him, swinging her hips and waving her arms. “I was very sexy.”

“I’m
sure you were,” he murmured, putting an arm around her waist so she wouldn’t
dance her way down the hall. “Thanks, Gordon.”

“Do
you need anything, sir? Some more water, perhaps?” It seemed impossible that
Gordon wasn’t a little amused by Sarah’s antics, but there wasn’t a trace of
laughter in his placid blue eyes as he handed Jonathan her purse and sweater.

“We
still have a couple of bottles here. Thank you.”

 “Make
out with me, Jonathan,” Sarah mumbled, as he tried to pull her into the room.
She was pressed up against him, her lush body rubbing against his in a way that
was very distracting. “I want you to make out with me.”

“Maybe
later.” He managed to guide her into the room, gently pushing her toward the
bed. “You should lie down now. How much did you have to drink?”

“A
couple of glasses of wine,” she huffed, still rubbing up against him.

When
she’d left earlier that evening, she’d been wearing a little cashmere cardigan
over her dress, and he was alarmed at how much the dress actually revealed.

It
was strapless and not very long, and it had discreet sparkles in the dark green
fabric. She looked absolutely delectable, but he hated the idea of who knew how
many other men seeing her this way.

The
neckline kept slipping down as she rubbed against him, and the sight of her
lush cleavage and the insistent rubbing had a predictable effect on his body.

Even
in her muddled state, she noticed it almost immediately and started rubbing up
more strategically against his groin.

He
almost groaned at the sensations but managed to summon enough willpower to
gently push her away. “Let’s not do that right now.”

“I
want
to do that.”

“I
don’t think you really do.” He maneuvered her onto the edge of the bed and
knelt down to take off her shoes.

She
stretched her foot out until it was pushing into his shoulder, showing him much
too much very sexy leg. “Do you like my stockings?”

He
did like them. A lot. But he couldn’t let him himself admire them at the
moment. Looking down at the shoe in his hand, he said, “They’re very nice. Now,
why don’t you get in bed?”

“Jon-athan,”

His
body tightened at the throaty word. It sounded exactly the way she’d said his
name during sex.

“Jonathan,”
she said again, louder and more insistent.

Since
her voice didn’t sound like sex, he looked up to meet her eyes.

“I
have something to tell you.” She leaned over, a sweet but blurry expression on
her face.

“I’m
listening.”

“It’s
a secret,” she whispered, her eyes darting around as if someone might be
listening. She reached out, grabbed the shoulder of his shirt, and pulled him
closer.

Irrational
or not, it felt like she was going to say something significant, something he
would want to hear. Maybe it was less than ethical to listen to intimate
revelations while she was intoxicated—and he knew enough to know they couldn’t
always be trusted—but he tensed up anyway, waiting.

“Jon-athan,”
she murmured throatily into his ear. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

He
let out a huff of dry amusement and also lust at the image the words conjured
up. But he steeled his will and asked, “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah.
You’re a very smart man, you know.”

He
helped her to her feet and then to the bathroom, but there he left her to her
own devices, since he was quite sure she wouldn’t appreciate his watching her
pee.

After
he heard the toilet flush, the water ran for a long time in the sink, so long
he finally tapped on the door. “Sarah? Everything all right?”

He
pushed the door open and found her with her hands stuck under the running
faucet, staring at herself fixedly in the mirror. He went over to turn the
water off, dried her hands with a towel, and then put his palm on her back to
urge her back toward the bed.

She
sat on the edge of the bed again where he put her and didn’t move. But she
raised her hands when he brought an oversized t-shirt over and helped her put
it on. Fortunately, her dress was strapless, so he could just pull it off under
the shirt without any inappropriate leering.

She
was still sitting on the edge of the bed when he handed her a bottle of water.
She made a face. “I don’t want water.” She seemed to have passed the silly
stage of her intoxication and moved into the pitiful stage.

“You
will later,” he said, placing it on the nightstand beside her bed. “Why don’t
you lie down now?”

She
scooted under the covers obediently. He went to the bathroom, turned out the
lights, and got into bed beside her.

She
immediately edged over and burrowed into his side. Since there was nothing else
to do with his arm, he put it around her.

“I
had fun tonight,” she said to the dark room.

“I’m
glad.”

“I
danced.”

“That’s
what you said earlier.”

“A
lot of men came onto me.”

He
swallowed. “I’m not surprised.”

She
was silent for a long time, and he thought she’d gone to sleep. But then she
said, her voice softer, almost broken, “I wish you liked me.”

“I
do like you.” He said it instinctively because he didn’t like the catch in her
voice, and it didn’t feel dangerous because she was so far out of it.

“I
wish you thought I was pretty.”

“I
do think you’re pretty.” He never would have said such a thing at any other
time, but she felt small and needy, huddled up against him.

“You
don’t really.”

Yes,
she was tipsy. Yes, she never would have said such a thing had she been in her
normal state. But he somehow knew she believed it—she actually believed he
didn’t think she was pretty.

The
knowledge roused in him such an astonished indignation that he burst out,
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sarah. You’re the most beautiful woman I know.”

The
grumpy words hung in the air. She didn’t reply immediately, just nestled
against him some more.

She
probably wouldn’t even remember them when she woke up tomorrow morning.

“Oh,”
she whispered at last. “Thank you. I’m glad.”

The
words sounded more lucid than anything else she’d said that evening, so
Jonathan bent his head to peer at her in the dark, wondering if she was sober
again.

But
she’d just fallen asleep.

Jonathan
didn’t sleep, not for a really long time. He lay awake in bed, hour after hour,
holding her in his arms.

Sarah woke up with a
dull headache and a disgusting taste in her mouth.

She
rolled over, blinking vaguely at the empty other side of the bed, her fuzzy
mind noting that it was rumpled as if someone had slept there.

She
rolled over to the other side and saw a bottle of water on the nightstand, like
a boon from the gods. She grabbed at it and gulped down several mouthfuls,
choking slightly since she hadn’t sat all the way up.

She
made herself sit up then, even though her head pounded even more. She breathed
and kept drinking the water until her mind cleared enough to realize where she
was and how she’d gotten into this state.

She’d
made a fool of herself last night.

She
almost never drank. She’d never had much of a social life in high school or
college—certainly not the kind that did a lot of partying. So the most she ever
drank was a glass or two of wine at dinner on those few occasions she went out.

She
didn’t know why she’d drunk so much last night—except she’d been feeling pretty
and was determined not to be depressed over Jonathan’s lack of interest in her.

She
closed her eyes, trying to recall if she’d done anything too humiliating,
anything she couldn’t take back.

The
water was lukewarm from sitting beside her bed all night, which wasn’t
particularly pleasant, but at least it was wet. It was almost eight. Jonathan
had probably gotten up more than an hour ago and gone down to breakfast.

Quite
stupidly, she missed him.

As
if her thoughts had summoned him, he walked into the room, dressed in wrinkled
khakis and a black golf shirt and carrying a bottle of water.

“This
one’s cold,” he said, handing it to her, as if nothing at all were strange
about her condition.

She
took it gratefully and gulped down a few more swallows.

“How
do you feel?” he asked. He was rooting through a drawer, as if he were
searching for something, but she could see him giving her a sidelong look of
scrutiny.

“Like
a fool,” she admitted croakily.

“Don’t.
You just had a little too much to drink. Happens to everyone.”

“It’s
never happened to me before.”

“You’ve
really never been drunk?”

She
shook her head and drank more water, this time mostly as a distraction. “I had
very vanilla teenaged years.”

His
mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” His tone
was warm, almost fond, but Sarah was hurt by the words just the same.

Evidently,
he thought she was so boring she couldn’t even misbehave.

“What’s
wrong?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together. He was studying her again and
must have noticed her reaction.

“Nothing.
Just a headache.”

“You
want some aspirin?”

“Not
yet. Not sure my stomach could take it.”

“Do
you remember anything from last night?” The words were strangely diffident, as
if he were trying for them to not sound significant.

She
was suddenly terrified, her queasy stomach tightening into a hard knot. Had she
done something to Jonathan, said something she shouldn’t have said? Was that
why he looked so wary?

“I
remember some,” she said slowly, trying to sort out the tangle of images in her
mind. “We were dancing at the club. I was having fun, I think.”

She
had
been having fun. She’d never been much of a dancer, but after a
couple of drinks she’d lost her inhibitions. She’d felt wild and sexy, and
she’d been thrilled by all the male attention she’d received.

It
was an entirely new experience for her—that she might be the kind of woman that
strangers were attracted to.

“I
don’t think I did anything too bad or stupid,” she muttered, closing her eyes
again as she thought. “I didn’t make out with a stranger or anything.”

“That’s
good.” He looked more relaxed and he was half-smiling again. “No harm done
then.”

Sarah
was starting to feel a little better too, when she was hit by a crystal-clear
memory. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “Did I…did I try to make out with
you
?”

She
had. She remembered it now. She’d been babbling like an idiot and rubbing
herself up against him like a horny tramp. “Oh, God,” she moaned again.

“Don’t
worry about it.” He sounded matter-of-fact, unconcerned, but he was still
rooting around in that drawer.

It
wasn’t that big a drawer. What the hell was he trying to find?

“I’m
so sorry,” she mumbled, covering her hot face with her hands. “I can’t believe
I did that.”

“Don’t
worry about it,” he repeated, looking over at her at last. “I know enough not to
take anything seriously that happens after that many drinks.”

“But
I…” He was her boss, and not only had she behaved like a fool but she’d also
talked to and touched him quite inappropriately. She had a horrific image of
rubbing her leg against him, asking if he liked her stockings.

She
looked down at herself. She was still wearing her stockings. And an oversized
t-shirt that must belong to him.

She
pushed her stockings down her legs like they were poisoned, yanking them off
with little regard for their delicacy or expense.

“Seriously,
Sarah,” Jonathan said, coming over to stand beside the bed and gently pulling
her up to her feet by one arm. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s nothing I’m ever
going to think about or hold against you. I’ve done silly things before too.”

She
gazed up at him, her belly twisting again, but this time with a deep, fond
emotion. His dark eyes were unusually intense, but so kind they made her want
to melt. “I don’t think you’ve done silly things,” she murmured stupidly.

“Believe
me. I have.” He let go of her and went back to the mysterious drawer of hidden
treasures he couldn’t seem to get his hands on.

She
watched him in silence for a minute. His thick, gentle voice sounded familiar,
and she was starting to remember why.

He’d
been speaking to her in that tone last night, all through her ridiculous
antics. And he’d said things. She could remember them now.

He’d
said he liked her. That she was pretty. That she was the most beautiful woman
he knew.

And
she suddenly realized why he was pretending to look for something in the
drawer. He was self-conscious, uncomfortable, needed a distraction.

Jonathan
Damon wasn’t a man who gave empty compliments. He was never charming, and he
didn’t say things just to please or appease someone else.

He
never said things he didn’t mean.

She
was suddenly slammed with a blinding hope.

He’d
been hard last night, aroused. By her. She remembered that now too. And he’d
been so incredibly sweet, in a characteristically Jonathan way.

Maybe
she’d been wrong about him. Maybe she’d been wrong about everything.

***

Jonathan left the room
before Sarah could fully process the realization. Gordon came up shortly
afterwards, with breakfast on a tray and some aspirin, which he said Jonathan
had suggested.

Sarah
ate what she could, and she was starting to feel better after she got dressed.

She
wasn’t sure whether it was the shower, the aspirin, or the chaos of jittery
excitement that had so thoroughly changed her condition.

There
was lunch and croquet on the lawn that day, and the hours passed in a fuzzy
haze. She smiled, chatted with strangers, and stood with Jonathan the whole
time, fielding awkward questions like when they were going to tie the knot and
whether they wanted children as smoothly and vaguely as she could.

Maybe
it was her imagination, but Jonathan seemed different too. Less standoffish.
More solicitous. He kept his hand on the small of her back when they were
talking to other guests, and she loved how it felt there.

She
tried to tell herself to be reasonable, that just because he thought she was
pretty—the most beautiful woman he knew—didn’t mean he had or could have
serious feelings about her.

He
was still her boss, after all, and that would always make things tricky.

Despite
her mental lecturing, she was feeling increasingly bouncy anyway.

After
croquet, she had a few free hours before the rehearsal dinner. Jonathan was
pulled into some sort of discussion with his uncle, so she grabbed her ereader
and headed to the secret garden.

She
tried to read but couldn’t focus. She fiddled with her ring and kept thinking
about Jonathan. What he might say, what she might say, how she could possibly
find out whether there was any hope of a relationship with him. If there was
any way to work it out with her job.

It
made her nervous, since she didn’t want to be crushed. But she couldn’t help
but put together hints and pieces in her mind and come up with the conclusion
that she must be more to him than just an assistant.

She
wanted to be so much more.

***

Jonathan couldn’t find
Sarah, and it was starting to annoy him.

He’d
showered and dressed in a dark suit for the rehearsal dinner, and it was nearly
time for them to go down to dinner.

She
wasn’t in the room. According to Gordon, she wasn’t in the house.

He
tried to be reasonable and tell himself she’d just lost track of time. But she
was never late. She was always responsible.

Something
had happened or something had seriously distracted her.

He
paced the bedroom, looking out the window onto the lawn and then looking out
into the hallway in sequence.

He
couldn’t imagine she would have gotten hurt. She wouldn’t have driven anywhere
or done anything physical—not in the couple of hours between wedding events.

He’d
thought she would have just taken a nap, since she hadn’t gotten much sleep the
night before.

He’d
seen her with Benjamin after the croquet was breaking up. Surely she wouldn’t
have gone off with him.

She’d
seemed different today, more responsive. There’d been an almost intimate look
in her eyes.

As
he’d been talking to family friends and family members on the lawn of his
uncle’s estate, it had felt like she was really his fiancée.

It
had felt like she was
his
.

Which
was why he reacted so strongly to the fact that she might have gone off with
Benjamin.

He
went downstairs and asked Gordon again if he’d seen her.

Gordon
hadn’t. He would get some of the staff to search the grounds for her if he
liked.

Jonathan
didn’t want to overreact, so he said they could wait a little while longer.

He
went out onto the back patio to look out on the gardens and was surprised to
see Benjamin, lounging in a chair and reading from an ereader.

Benjamin
still had the beard and untrimmed hair, but he’d made some sort of effort for the
occasion, wearing black trousers and a black dress shirt.

“What’s
up?” he asked, evidently noticing Jonathan’s expression.

“Nothing.
Just looking for Sarah.”

“I
think she was going to read in the garden earlier. You might check out the
walled garden in the east corner near the woods. That’s where she was reading
yesterday. You better hurry, though. Lord Uncle won’t appreciate a late arrival
to dinner.”

Jonathan
nodded and headed in that direction, telling himself it was ridiculous to be
annoyed that Benjamin knew more about Sarah’s doings than he did. Instead, he
should just be relieved that she hadn’t been with him.

It
took him a few minutes to actually find the walled garden and then another few
minutes to find the door. At least it wasn’t locked.

He
found Sarah immediately. She was stretched out on the hammock, sound asleep.

He
smiled as he leaned over her. She looked absolutely scrumptious, her red hair
spilled out around her face and her fair skin flushed from sleep. Her body was relaxed,
one hand resting on her stomach.

He
leaned down and gently touched her shoulder. “Sarah.”

She
mumbled and tried to roll away.

“Sarah,”
he said again, louder. He shook her very gently.

She
came awake suddenly, her eyes popping open and her slow breathing hitching into
a gasp.

He
felt strangely tender, strangely protective—as if this lush, generous woman was
his to take care of.

Her
blue eyes focused on his face, and she smiled up at him sleepily.

He
smiled back.

“What
happened?” she asked, her voice breaking on the second word.

“You
fell asleep.”