London Falling (5 page)

She picked up his makeshift dog bed and put it back in the kitchen before heading for the door. “No, Puppy. You need to stay here.” She blocked his access to freedom with her foot and shut him in the kitchen. She didn’t need him waking Mr. Heartless.

No. She definitely needed some time to put her plan into action.

Simon shivered and tugged the duvet over his head. His alms trembled from the exertion. Through the slit in his left eye, he saw dim light sneaking through the curtains, which had to mean it was sometime in the morning.

Crikey, he was knackered.

Thankfully, it was Boxing Day, and he didn’t have to deal with anyone important. Passing out in front of his employees probably wouldn’t give them much confidence in his capabilities. His only task was to call the Porter Scale people and let them know they’d got their loan. Although it could wait until tomorrow, he wanted them to have the good news so they could relax and enjoy the holiday. He should also review the latest draft of his proposal for the princes’ business, because he still felt that something was missing. It was a gut feel, but he knew that he still didn’t have the one thing that would toss the business his way, and his gut was usually right, at least when it came to business.

His father was pushing the charity route, but Simon wondered if it had more to do with his father’s crush on a certain opera singer rather than a good business decision. The Royal Opera just didn’t give him the right feeling.

Until he ran the business, however, he had to follow orders.

Simon pushed himself into a sitting position and waited for the nausea and dizziness to abate. One step at a time. He wobbled to the en-suite to start his morning routine, but he had to grip the edge of the basin when he almost blacked out. After a few minutes, his vision returned and he somehow managed to brush his teeth, although his toothbrush tasted strange, almost like whiskey. Right odd. The lurgy must have impacted his taste buds too.

Maybe just a few more minutes of sleep before he started work.

Somehow, he managed to change into his only pair of pajama bottoms and his old Oxford sweatshirt before crawling back into bed. He tugged the sheets over his head to warm up, but he only got colder with every passing second. He’d pay a million pounds for another blanket to magically appear on his bed, because he couldn’t summon the energy to go upstairs to get one.

Picturing a warm, sunny beach, he closed his eyes. It didn’t stop the shivers.

Tap-ta-tap-ta-tap. Something was on the hall stairs. Tap-ta-tap-ta-tap.

Whoosh bam against the bedroom door. What the … ?

That devious woman left the dog.

“Damn-it, puppy! I told you to stay downstairs.”

She’d left herself too!

He lurched into a sitting position as the door opened and glimpsed her carrying a tray filled with glasses, but nausea forced his eyes closed.

“I heard you moving around, so I thought you might be awake and ready for some medicine,” she said.

“Please tell me that I’m hallucinating and that when I open my eyes you will not be here.” He opened one eye, only to see her holding the damn tray and smiling at him. “Ack, it’s a nightmare.”

Her smile faltered, but she quickly pasted it back on again. “I brought you water and tea and some Flu medicine.” She set everything on his nightstand, including a box of Beecham’s Flu Plus. “I also brought some toast with a little bit of butter, but I wasn’t sure if you could eat it or not.”

His stomach rolled at the thought of food. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m nursing you back to health.”

“Didn’t I fire you yesterday?” He coughed and the effort nearly cost his stomach. “No wait, I never even hired you. So I repeat, what do you think you’re doing?” On the last word, his voice cracked and stole the oomph from his question.

She couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with the empty tray, because she kept moving it around, sticking it between her left arm and body, holding it in front of her, and finally leaning it against the nightstand. “I’m convincing you to hire me.”

She was like a fly that just couldn’t be swatted away. “Like I said before, there is no way I am ever going to hire you. So you can just give up this little farce and get the hell out.” He swung his feet to the floor. His whole body ached.

“Where are you going?”

“To call the police, since I don’t have the energy to toss you out of here.”

The Scottie jumped from his seated position, anticipating his move.

“You should just stay in bed and rest.” Her eyes looked everywhere but at him. “You can look for your cell phone tomorrow.”

She wrung her hands like an eight-year old caught filching from the cookie jar.

He bit out his next sentence. “What did you do with my mobile?”

“Absolutely nothing. Except …”

“Except what?”

“Well, you shouldn’t have left it on the floor. The puppy thought it was a toy, so I put it in a safe spot.”

“Am I to understand that you’re keeping this spot a secret from me?” He never should have given up his land line.

She stepped towards him. “Look, you need someone to help out right now. You’re too sick to do anything, and I need a place to stay. We can help each other out.”

Was she joking? This had to be some sort of weird hallucination brought on by his fever. He dug his fingers into his palms. No, this was definitely real.

“There is no way in hell I would hire you without a work permit, because if anyone ever found out-say, the private detective stationed outside my house right now–my chances would be over. Finished. There is no way the princes’

managers would ever allow them to choose a banker with a scandal attached.” And he needed this to finally prove to his father that he could handle the business.

Her mouth opened as if she were about to say something, but then she snapped her lips closed. A strange gleam entered those huge eyes.

“What if I went to the private investigator and told him you’d hired me without a work permit?”

Squiggly lines blurred his vision. “Are you threatening me?” he croaked.

She swallowed. “Yes. No.” She looked at the floor and her shoulders slumped forward. “Yes,” she repeated in a quiet voice, almost as if she didn’t want to say it out loud.

She didn’t want to blackmail him. Could he trust his instinct and kick her out?

At that moment, she lifted her head and the determination in her eyes stunned him. She didn’t want to do it, but she sure as hell would do it.

“Look, you can trust me,” she said.

He couldn’t keep a smack of laughter from escaping. The fever had addled his brain. A crazy American broke into his house, cleaned it, and held him hostage, and his response was laughter?

“You can trust me,” she repeated.

He stood, but the blackness returned. When was the last time he’d had food? He sank back onto the bed and waited for his equilibrium to return.

She wasn’t going to leave him alone until he capitulated, and the last thing he wanted to do was spend hours filing a police report when he felt like this. He wasn’t even sure he could make it over to his neighbor’s to borrow their phone. How would that work? Excuse me Aimee, but could you help me over to the neighbor’s so I can call the police?

He was too knackered to care.

Besides, what was she going to do? All she’d done, as far as he could tell, was clean his house and go to the shop for him. Right now, it seemed more dangerous to force her out than to let her stay, and his malfunctioning brain couldn’t come up with any other options. If she tried to steal anything of value, Interpol would be on her in two seconds flat, and all of his personal financial information was locked up tighter than the crown jewels. He was messy, but he wasn’t stupid.

And for some insane reason, he wanted to help this woman. His father was right. He did have a bleeding heart. “You know I’m going to throw you out as soon as I get better,” he said.

The smile of relief on her face was almost blinding. “You’d be crazy not to.”

“I’m crazy not to throw you out now. But I’m too tired.”

She picked up the teacup and held it out to him. “It’s lemon and honey tea.”

He was thirsty. He dragged his legs back on the bed, leaned against his pillows and took the tea from her. “I can’t believe I’m letting you stay.” The fist sip was lukewarm and almost triggered his gag reflex as it traveled down every inch of his gullet. She watched him with intense interest, as if waiting for some reaction.

Was he placing too much trust in this crazy woman?

“Did you drug my tea?”

“What?” The look of shock on her face did much to calm his fears, but he set the cup on the table just in case.

“If you kept me sick, you could stay here longer.” Her eyes widened with hurt. Great, now he felt like a heel, which was ridiculous, because she was the one who was in the wrong and blackmailing him. He crossed his arms.

“Well?”

She clenched her hands. “Now you know my big plan. Poison you so I can stay here and clean your house forever.” She sipped the water on his nightstand. “Unfortunately, the poison store wasn’t open last night. I’ll have to wait until my next shopping trip, although they may be out of the best poisons because of the Christmas rush.” She paused to take a big bite of his toast and then washed it down with a gulp of orange juice. She slammed the glass onto the table. Juice sloshed over the edge and dripped down the side of the glass.

Aggravating the person who was blackmailing him wasn’t exactly his smartest move. At least he knew she wasn’t trying to poison him.

She ripped into the package of medicine, punched out a pill and held it out to him. “Take it.” Her eyes sparkled with anger.

He just wanted to sleep and not talk to anyone. “No.”

“Take it.” She shook the pill between her two fingers.

“No,” he said, waving the pill away.

“Look, I’m not trying to poison you.”

“I know.” He scooted down in the bed and pulled the covers over his shoulders.

“Then why won’t you take it? It’ll make you feel better.” She held the pill in front of his face.

“Because I am two seconds away from honking all over the room.”

“Huh?”

He just wanted her to be quiet so he could go back to sleep. “I was up half the night honking. If I try to swallow that pill, I’m going to do it again.”

“Why are you going to honk?”

He sighed. “Because I’m ill.”

“You’re going to honk because you’re ill?”

“Why are you repeating everything I’m saying?”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Because I honestly don’t understand you.”

“If I try to swallow that pill right now, I’m going to puke it right back up.

Does that make sense to you?”

“Oh.” She picked up the napkin and cleaned up the orange juice from the nightstand. “You’d think we spoke two different languages.”

“We do.” He closed his eyes. “I speak proper English.”

“Right. Honking is proper English?”

“Please go away.”

“Do you need anything else?”

He shook his head. Just don t clean anything. I can’t have you working Her footsteps moved away from his bed. “No wait. Can you get me another blanket? I’m freezing.”

She left without answering. The dog followed her out of the room, tip-tapping along the floorboards, pure joy evident in every step. Maybe he should think about getting a dog?

Yes, right. His life was planned down to every second. A dog would wither away and die of neglect while he was analyzing spreadsheets at the bank. He was so tired of trying to prove himself and working harder than anyone else at that bank. It had to pay off soon.

A few minutes later, another blanket cocooned him in warmth and the ancient radiator clanked and banged to life. Heat. He could become accustomed to being blackmailed.

Too bad he was going to end her stay in a few short hours.

Chapter Three

Aimee took a deep breath to steady her nerves. It didn’t help. Her hands were shaking so badly that the glasses on the tray clinked together. The cops hadn’t found Rodney or that woman, and she had a sneaking suspicion that they hadn’t even looked for them. And Simon was planning to kick her out as soon as he could get out of bed. What was she going to do if she couldn’t get the money to buy that stupid plane ticket home?

She had no idea how she was going to convince him to pay her a salary, but it had to be done, and it had to be done now, because she couldn’t take the stress of not knowing where she was going to sleep that night.

She set down the tray, shooed away the puppy, and knocked on Simon’s door.

“Come in,” he said.

She patted down the frizz that was now her hair. Of all the things she missed from her suitcase, the one thing she wanted the most was her Fekkai Luscious Curls Cream, because without it, she looked like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket and somehow lived to tell the tale. Unfortunately, it was one of the most expensive things in her luggage and impossible to replace without a paycheck.

After she opened the door and the puppy raced in to greet Simon, she picked up the tray with his chicken broth. Liquid sloshed over the edge of the bowl, so she gripped the tray to keep it steady.

Simon pushed himself up. The man was way too good looking, especially now with a few days growth of beard and his hair all mussed by the pillow.

His face was all hard lines and angles, yet he had some of the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man.

“What are you doing?” His voice croaked from sleep.

“Bringing your lunch.” The glasses rattled on the tray, but years of waitress training kept them upright as she set everything on the nightstand and then turned on the lamp.

His blue eyes were still glassy as he blinked the sleep from them. “What time is it?” A lock of hair drifted over his forehead, and she felt an insane urge to brush it back.

She stepped away. “Around two, I think.” She gestured toward the nightstand. “I brought chicken broth and some crackers. And water.”

“It actually smells good to me. Thanks,” he said with a tired smile.