London Falling (12 page)

“I keep your house clean, do some cooking, pretend I know your brother if anyone asks, and I get to stay here until Paige gets back from India. Got it.”

She flashed him the okay sign.

“And no funds change hands.”

“What about groceries? Or are you going to do all the shopping?” She could have a lot of fun with that, actually. “I’ll make a list for you tomorrow.”

“I forgot about the food.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “I’ll have to give you money for food, but I’ll expect you to return the change and the receipts for a full accounting. Including the funds you took from my wallet.”

“Gotcha.” Actually, she’d already been doing that. Everything was in an envelope on his desk, if he could find it in all that mess. But his suggestion about the money was the answer to her prayers. She could use what he gave her for start-up costs, and then pay him back out of the profits of her first sale. He’d never know. Everything was coming together perfectly. And she’d have money again!

“I really do appreciate this.” She danced over to face him, pushed onto her toes and impulsively threw her arms around his shoulders. “Thanks!” But she misjudged and her peck on the cheek landed on the corner of his mouth.

He stiffened.

He pulled away and fixed his gaze on hers. His eyes weren’t just an average blue, but had a hint of gray to them too. She closed her eyes, unable to look at him.

“Crikey,” he said.

“I’m–”

He touched his finger to her lips, paralyzing her.

She knew with absolute certainty that this was a bad choice. This terrified her. He terrified her. But then he touched his lips to hers. Gently, as if he knew she was skittish and poised to run. Her traitorous body answered with a surge of longing.

She had to stop this before her feelings got involved. But she didn’t move a muscle, even as his hand lifted to the back of her neck and his thumb caressed the sensitive skin below her ear. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He stepped closer so their bodies lightly touched. The heat drove the ice from her limbs, and she leaned into him, wishing she could make the moment last forever. He wrapped his hands in the hair at the back of her neck, pulled her closer and lightly nipped her lower lip.

She shivered.

He pulled away for one second, but his lips returned, harder this time, and she parted her lips, fully participating in the kiss. His mouth tasted like melted chocolate and promises for the future and she lost herself to the sensation.

Her hand moved to the sleeve of his sweatshirt. She wanted to touch him, really touch him, not through layers of clothes, but skin-to-skin. She moved her hands to the bottom of his sweatshirt where her fingers brushed something cold and metallic.

His cell phone.

The thought intruded like a thief, stealing her desire in one moment of awful truth. She was kissing her boss. Simon. The man who held the fate of her future in his hands. The man who could call the cops and have her arrested. She gripped the cell in her hands as she pulled away. While her breath betrayed her with short bursts, his face betrayed no emotion, not even surprise.

She swallowed.

He raised his hand. Lowered it. Cleared his throat. “I never wanted that to happen.”

He annihilated her with one single shot. Where was her quick comeback, her snarky response? Why couldn’t she think of anything to say? The silence twisted in a web of tangled thoughts and emotions. She had to come up with something. Anything. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly my cup of tea either.”

Her bare feet slapped against the cool tile as she raced from the kitchen.

You’re not my cup of tea either? Was she British now? What kind of comeback was that? She couldn’t get to her room fast enough.

When she shoved open her bedroom door, the puppy greeted her by spinning around in crazy circles as though he’d never seen her before. She ignored him and crawled into bed, sending the comforter flying over her head and wallowing underneath it.

She replayed the scene in the kitchen over and over again. If only she’d shoved him away when he’d kissed her, instead of reacting like a sixth grader receiving her first kiss from the most popular boy in school. She pulled the sheets tighter around her head.

Ever since she’d seen him with only a towel wrapped around his waist, she’d been off-center. Dear Lord, the man had a torso chiseled by the Gods.

Every muscle was delineated, even the hip bones on either side of his six-pack abs. A whoosh of heat had pooled in her lower body, and she hadn’t recovered since. She’d barely ever seen a real six-pack except in Hollywood magazines, and she knew half of those weren’t even real, having been airbrushed into existence. The man was a banker for heaven’s sake-a desk jockey. He was supposed to have hunched shoulders, an expense account paunch, and no muscle tone.

Why was Simon the first man to make her feel like that? Even Rod the Bod hadn’t done near that much for her, and he was the closest she’d come to sleeping with another man since High School. Rodney was merely a sparkler on the Fourth of July. Simon was two tons of pyrotechnics shot from a barge in the middle of Puget Sound with a musical score to accompany it. She’d never felt a kiss like that before.

He was probably used to having women throw themselves at him all the time. But not her! She wasn’t a hangar-on, a weakling. She was an independent woman and she didn’t need a guy to make her feel whole. She was already whole. If–and when–she had a real relationship with a guy, it would be a relationship of equals, not one where she could be substituted for any female of the week. She had worked too hard to gain her confidence and wasn’t about to give it away to a careless lothario.

She’d just have to keep her attraction to him a secret and find a way to save face. Lord knew he’d be avoiding her like a poisonous snake, since she’d probably scared him to half to death with her reaction. Why oh why had she kissed him in the first place? Could she have embarrassed herself anymore?

When she finally poked her face out for air, Cupcake’s big brown eyes pleaded for attention. She sighed. How could she ignore that look? She pushed back the comforter, sat up, and noticed Simon’s cell phone on the sheets. She’d taken his cell phone. Again.

Just as the realization struck her, Simon knocked on her door. “I need my mobile, Aimee.”

Cupcake dropped from his two-pawed standing position against the bed to all four paws. She didn’t want to answer the door, but she’d forgotten to lock it. She grabbed the phone and hopped out of bed. After whipping the door open, she slapped the phone in his hand and slammed the door back in his stunned face. Then she turned the lock.

On the way back, she leaned over to pick up Cupcake and his ears dropped flat against his head. If she just pretended he was a stuffed animal, it wasn’t so scary to touch him. “Don’t get used to this.” She shook her finger at him. “I only let you up here because you keep my feet warm in this arctic room.” She placed him on the foot of the bed, but he got up and moved right next to her belly. He circled around and shoved his rear end right up against her stomach and curled up beside her.

At least someone liked her.

Someone warm. She hid beneath the covers again and curled into fetal position, as far as the dog’s body would allow her to move.

She and Cupcake sighed.

On the bright side, kissing Simon had given her one advantage. She now knew his secret.

He’d stolen one of her cupcakes.

Chapter Six

At half past ten in the morning, Simon’s stomach grumbled in protest.

Again. He needed to eat if he was going to be remotely productive today. He stared at the presentation on his laptop. Tapped his fingers on the desk.

Fantasized about a strong cup of tea.

He never backed down from a challenge, so why was he avoiding Aimee?

Because he was a prat, that’s why. He pushed his chair back and leaned his head against the back rest. Before this strange episode, he’d never hit on an employee, although he’d had plenty of chances. It put him at risk for a sexual harassment case at worst and awkwardness at best. And talk about awkward–Aimee lived with him as his housekeeper! No getting away from that situation.

But she wasn’t his housekeeper. She wore those ridiculous pajama bottoms and come–hither boots, instead of wrinkle–free pants and tennies.

Unlike most of the women he dated, Aimee had done absolutely nothing to seduce him, yet he was more turned on by the sight of her in his old, gray Nike t-shirt than any woman in an expensive negligee. Her legs were nice and shapely, not too muscular, and much longer than they seemed under those ragged pajama bottoms. Closing his eyes, he pictured the pale, smooth skin of her legs under his t-shirt, looking like the poster-girl for post-sex food runs to the kitchen.

Lord knew she wasn’t his typical type. She was much too hard.

No, hard wasn’t the right word. Guarded, perhaps? Her protective security was harder to break into than the toughest vault, but every once in a while, he caught a glimpse of the woman inside, such as when she brought him soup in bed and made him toasted cheese sandwiches. Despite her terror of dogs, she’d saved a puppy from the cold. If she could warm up to a tiny little dog, could she warm up to him?

He was in a right pickle.

After his stomach growled again, he slapped his hand on the desk. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t avoid Aimee forever. It was just a kiss–a meaningless kiss–and one he’d never meant to happen, but he still needed to apologize for his actions. He grabbed his manhood by the balls and headed downstairs.

A sweet, fried scent teased him in the hall outside the kitchen, and the fan on the cooker hummed at full blast. Aimee stood with her back to him, stirring various pans on the hob, her auburn hair tied up with what looked like a ribbon from one of the gift baskets he had got from work. There was writing on the ribbon. He narrowed his eyes. Peterson Public Relations.

Definitely from one of the gift baskets. Wayward curls escaped the ribbon and caressed her cheek, flushed from the warmth of the cooker. A burning heat that had nothing to do with the gas flames on the stove leapt out and seared him with its intensity.

“I know you want it, sweetie, but you’ll have to wait a few more minutes,”

she said.

Already on high alert, his body pounded in response to her invitation.

She leaned over, her pajamas sliding over the curves of her bottom, and he ached to rip the sad cloth off her body and reveal those gorgeous curves. He’d slip his hands into her knickers until she shivered in response.

She reached her slender arm towards something on the ground and spoke. “You’re such a good doggy, aren’t you, Cupcake?”

She was talking to the dog. Right.

“With everything else you’ve done around here, can’t you at least find some real clothes to wear instead of those ragged things?” he asked.

Aimee jerked at his harsh tone. As she stood, she banged her arm on the handle of the oven and winced. She rubbed her arm. “Do you try to startle me at every turn, or is this just your winning way with people?”

Her eyes shimmered with suppressed tears from the collision, and his anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She didn’t deserve this. He’d come down here to apologize, not take out his sexual frustration on her.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t help that he was attracted to her.

More than attracted. Bloody hell, he wanted to take her right there on the kitchen floor.

“I apologize,” he said.

“For what? Being an overall jerk, or startling me just now?” She turned down the gas on the hob, and then rubbed her arm again.

“For startling you.” He let out a long breath. “And for last night.”

Before he could continue, Lucy breezed into the room, dropped two large bags on the floor, and kissed him on both cheeks. “What about last night?”

she asked, before greeting Aimee warmly with a hug.

“Yes,” Aimee said. “What about last night?”

Both women looked at him expectantly. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

How to get out of this one?

“Do you want to apologize for stealing a cupcake last night? Or scaring me half to death? Or for something else? I could start a list of all the things you might want to apologize for, but we might be a while.”

Bugger. He thought he had got away with the fairy cake. “I wanted to apologize for nicking a fairy cake last night.”

Aimee crossed her arms over her chest. “So you admit you stole one?”

“But I thought Aimee threw them all away?” Lucy asked. “Were you holding out on us?”

“No,” Aimee said. “Your brother took one out of the trash.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Lucy whirled to face him. “You ate food out of the bin?”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean to.” He paused to emphasize his point. “And I apologize again for what I did last night. It was uncalled for.”

Aimee narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, well just remember that I never offered you a cupcake, and there will be no more sampling of cupcakes by anyone in this house.”

She looked so cute with her arms crossed and her feathers ruffled that he couldn’t resist tweaking her defenses. “You seemed to enjoy the fair-cupcake when I offered you a bite.”

Her hands moved to her hips. “I definitely did not. It wasn’t one of my best. In fact, I’d have to say, it ranks at the bottom of my list.” Her eyes threw daggers at him. “Especially since it came from the trash.”

She had to be lying. He hadn’t imagined her response to him last night, nor had he imagined his own. What had started out as an innocent kiss had transformed into an intense burning need, and he knew she felt it too. It was wrong–insanely wrong–but he had a crazy urge to prove she had reacted to the kiss just as strongly as he. Blood rushed through his veins and he suddenly felt alive. Awake. Ready to do battle.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought it was pretty good. I wouldn’t mind sampling another,” he paused, “cupcake.”

Aimee stared at him for a long moment. “This is not a challenge to your manhood.”

“I didn’t think it was,” he said.