The Wealthy Man's Waitress (HQR Presents)

by Maggie Cox

‘Wrong for who?’ Suddenly Piers had to touch her. He drew his fingers gently down the softly velvet surface of her cheek, tipping up her chin so that she was forced to look at him. The pupils of her distinct honey-brown eyes had grown arrestingly dark and he saw her delicious, plump lower lip quiver slightly. Heat exploded inside him like a small incendiary.

  ‘You need taking care of.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Good God, woman! Are you going to argue with me the whole night long?’

  There were other things Emma would much prefer to do with him all night long but she had neither the confidence nor the strength to state it—not with his nearness making it hard for her to take a breath, let alone talk.

  ‘No.’ Her voice had diminished to a husky whisper and Piers’s hypnotic mouth curved into a deep smile, highlighting dimples that she hadn’t even realised were there. Piers Redfield, powerful, admired head of one of the country’s foremost management-consultant firms, had dimples. Dimples, if you please! And they softened every firm slash of cheekbone and jaw and transformed merely handsome into heartbreakingly unforgettable…

  ‘Good.’ The smile vanished and he stepped away, his blue eyes alight with satisfaction and some other undisclosed feeling she wasn’t privy to. ‘Now go and pack while I clean up the kitchen and get this place straight before you leave it.’

  Wide-eyed, Emma pushed away from the counter and wondered what Piers’s esteemed colleagues would think of their boss now as he rolled up the sleeves of his immaculate white shirt and prepared to get stuck in to Emma’s washing-up. She couldn’t quite believe the evidence of her own eyes herself.

  ‘You don’t have to…’ But she cut short her argument when, with one razor-sharp flash of those devastating blue eyes, Piers effectively squashed any further dissent and made her suddenly welcome the relative sanctuary of her bedroom.

  Curled up in one of Piers’s too comfortable fireside chairs, a good blaze burning in the large bricked fireplace warming her legs, Emma briefly shut her eyes and wished she could simply allow herself to doze a little. But in the luxurious large kitchen, with its solid light oak floor and sea of marble worktops that would put The Avenue’s workspace to shame, he was currently making her the mug of hot chocolate she hadn’t got around to making at home. As she opened her eyes once more, Emma’s appreciative gaze absorbed the stately beauty of her surroundings and she tried to imagine living in such a house all by herself as Piers did—well, when he wasn’t travelling around the world, that was. With its obviously cherished antique furniture, high ceilings and ornamental balcony looking out on to a large private garden—a garden that Piers had promised her would be at her disposal any time she wished to enjoy it—she felt a little like Alice in Wonderland. But wouldn’t a person get lonely living in such a grand house by themselves? No matter how beautiful it was, it couldn’t make up for the warmth of human companionship, could it? Frowning at the nagging pain in her temple, Emma pondered the fact that she had so easily allowed Piers to persuade her to come here, knowing that if she hadn’t been feeling so tired and weak she would have put up a better fight to stay where she was. But whatever his motives for inviting her to stay in his house, admittedly she was glad not to be alone tonight for a change.

  ‘I hope I’ve made it how you like it.’ Suddenly he was there in front of her, carefully transporting her mug of hot chocolate on a tray that he placed on a small cherry-wood table by her side. When Emma started to sit up and uncurl her legs from beneath her, Piers waved her back down again. ‘Stay right where you are. You look far too comfortable to move.’

  His smile was unguardedly friendly and startled Emma out of her sleepiness. At home he seemed far more relaxed and at ease in his surroundings yet she couldn’t help wondering again if he didn’t get lonely living by himself. Being estranged from his only son couldn’t help either, even if he didn’t admit it. Everyone needed someone.

  ‘You’re right. I am too comfortable to move. Although I shouldn’t really be here at all.’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion.’ Walking across to the fire then staring thoughtfully down into the crackling flames, Piers looked preoccupied for a moment before turning his head to regard her. He experienced a heady rush of pleasure at her beauty when he did and his gaze lingered in admiration at the way her silky dark locks fell in soft waves onto her shoulders, and the way the firelight danced in her liquid brown eyes. Then it struck him how right she looked ensconced in that big fireside chair, and in a completely unguarded moment he thought about seeing her there every evening when he came home…

  ‘I’ll stay until tomorrow then I really must go. I’ve got post I haven’t even opened yet and I must write thank-you notes to all the people who came to the funeral…’ Breaking off from her anxious list of things to do, Emma rubbed at her temples with her fingers, her growing headache making her wince. There hadn’t been that many people at the funeral but still her grandmother would have wanted her to do the right thing and thank them.

  ‘I put all your post and correspondence in a carrier bag and brought it with us. You can look at it tomorrow if you insist but you’re not going back to that damp apartment until I get the landlord to do something about it.’

  ‘That’s hardly your responsibility!’

  ‘Forgive me if I beg to differ.’ Walking across the room to the drinks cabinet, Piers splashed some brandy into a glass then returned to stand in front of the fireplace.

  ‘No wonder Lawrence finds you impossible to deal with!’

  Refusing to be baited, Piers couldn’t help but smile. ‘Don’t start this argument with me, Emma, because you won’t win. Now, why don’t you just sit back and enjoy your drink and when you’re ready I’ll show you upstairs to your room?’

  Willing herself to move, Emma reluctantly straightened in her chair and reached across to the side-table for her hot chocolate.

  ‘I don’t know why I’m doing this.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ For an electrically charged moment Piers caught and held her defeated gaze. ‘You’re here because for once in your life you need someone else to take the reins for a while—worry over you for a change.’

  Was he worried about her? Emma found the prospect far too difficult to believe. He was only behaving the way he was towards her because he had some misguided sense of responsibility in case she was pregnant with his child. As soon as they both found out she was not, he would leave her alone to get on with her life just as she had been doing before he showed up…

  ‘I don’t need anyone to worry over me.’ Taking an experimental sip of the mouth-watering hot chocolate, Emma found she welcomed the sweet warmth that slid over her tongue, down her throat and into her stomach. She shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the man they dubbed a corporate wizard was not completely undomesticated, but to tell the truth she was.

  Although amused by her stubbornness, Piers simply didn’t buy Emma’s emphatic statement that she didn’t need anyone to worry over her. The girl had just lost the person who was closest to her. If that wasn’t bad enough, she lived in a dingy little flat with damp on the walls and was facing the prospect of possibly becoming a single mother—all because Piers hadn’t been able to curtail his lust long enough to think about protection. He might not be able to fix everything in her life but when it came to living in more salubrious surroundings in better accommodation—and in the future possibly a better job with more prospects—well, he could do that much for Emma, couldn’t he? Swirling the brandy in his glass, he studied her as she sipped her drink, knowing that if circumstances had been different and he’d invited her to his house for the night in the ordinary way he would have without a doubt wanted to make love. In fact his whole body was thrumming now with the need to do so—like a battery left on charge. But studying her now, her eyelids drooping as she forced herself to stay awake, Piers knew this was one occasion when he wouldn’t put his own needs first.

  ‘Drink up and I’ll take you upstairs and show you to your
room.’

  ‘Will you be going in to your office tomorrow?’ Emma asked him warily.

  ‘No.’ His reply was emphatic, and Piers smiled as if to underline it. ‘From tomorrow I’m planning on taking a few days off.’

  Placing her half-consumed drink back on the table, Emma tucked her hair behind one ear and sighed. ‘Then in that case, if I can borrow a clock I’ll set the alarm and be out from under your feet just as soon as I can.’

  ‘No, Emma. You’re not running away that easily. I’ve already told you you’re staying here as my guest until your feckless landlord undertakes some proper repairs to his property.’

  ‘But that could be months!’ Her eyes widened in alarm.

  ‘Then so be it.’

  Helping herself to another sugar in her tea, Emma read the formally worded script of the solicitor’s letter again to make sure she had got the content right in her mind. Emma was requested to attend tomorrow afternoon at the offices of Arbuthnot, Johnson and Harris in the West End to hear the reading of her grandmother’s will. Helen Robards had survived on a widow’s pension all these years, and her granddaughter knew only too well that there had been very little money left over for anything else save day-to-day living expenses—let alone savings. But her grandmother had always asserted that, when the time came, she would leave the house to Emma. She’d barely given the matter a thought in the days since the funeral. While she was still reeling from her loss, material gain was the last thing on her mind. Now, taking a sip of the hot, sweet tea that Mrs Mayes, Piers’s housekeeper, had made her, Emma put down the letter for a moment to glance admiringly around the abundantly stocked library. As well as being a dream come true for anyone who was passionate about books, it was a stunningly beautiful room with two sets of large Georgian windows looking out in genteel fashion on to a verdant landscaped garden that seemed to stretch for miles. Her gaze captured just then by a charming little robin that had flown onto a nearby window ledge, Emma didn’t immediately hear the door open and Piers walk into the room.

  ‘How’s the headache?’

  Her heart jolted at the sound of his deeply resonant voice and as her gaze made contact with his, Emma was struck again at how shockingly blue his eyes were. He was casually dressed in a cream cable-knit sweater and blue jeans, and the less formal clothing seemed to accentuate his attractiveness even more.

  ‘It’s fine…I mean, it’s gone. Mrs Mayes gave me two paracetamol and that seemed to do the trick.’ Every time he glanced her way Emma felt as if she became a tongue-tied schoolgirl. The sooner she got back to her flat and resumed work at the bistro the better, as far as she was concerned. Only every time she tried to raise the subject of her returning home, Piers was adamant she wasn’t going until her landlord had undertaken the repairs Piers deemed necessary.

  ‘Good. You’re looking a little brighter today at least.’

  Gratified at the rosy hue in her cheeks, even if the central heating was mostly to blame, Piers sensed something inside him relax. He’d lain awake most of last night preoccupied with thoughts of the lovely young woman sleeping just down the corridor from him, planning what he would do should she find herself pregnant. He’d buy her a house not far from his own, he’d decided. Then he’d hire a nanny to help with the baby so that Emma wouldn’t get too worn out in the early days and still get some much-needed sleep. Remembering how Naomi had fared just after she’d had Lawrence—how tired she’d looked, how much she’d complained to Piers that motherhood was just too much, that she’d felt trapped at not being able to come and go as she pleased—he experienced a deep pang of regret that he hadn’t been around more to help her. But in those days his determination to be successful, both professionally and financially, had driven him to be away from home much more than he might have strictly needed to be and eventually he’d paid the price for neglecting his young family. Piers wouldn’t let Emma suffer in the same way. OK, so she’d be a single mother, but he’d see to it that she and the baby didn’t go without a thing.

  ‘I’ve got an appointment tomorrow afternoon.’ Suddenly uneasy with his attention, Emma latched on to the solicitor’s letter and snatched it up off the Davenport. ‘The reading of my grandmother’s will.’

  ‘Miles will take you. Just tell me the time and I’ll arrange it.’

  He was being so polite, so solicitous, and Emma wanted to scream at his formal tone. If he was going to be so distant in every other way, why did he have to stand so close to her? So close that she breathed in the sexy, lingering scent of his aftershave with every breath and—most unsettling of all—the languid, virile heat from his body. Did Piers imagine for even one second that Emma was immune to all that? Did he truly believe that she had forgotten the unremitting lust that had overtaken them at the café and driven them back to the hotel so urgently, not even allowing them to make it as far as the bedroom before desire had its way?

  ‘Thank you.’ Miserable because he seemed to have wiped any recollection of that desire clean from his memory bank, Emma folded her letter and slotted it back into its cream envelope without another word.

  ‘Mrs Mayes is preparing lunch for one o’clock… That all right with you?’

  Sinking against the chair back, Emma nodded wearily. ‘That’s fine. Thank you.’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me for everything.’ Piers’s penetrating blue eyes appeared even more intense than usual. A muscle throbbed in the side of his smooth temple, making Emma aware that underneath that outwardly formal manner there was a lot more going on than she realised. Was he angry with her? She wondered why.

  ‘How do you want me to behave?’ she asked in frustration. ‘I’m here in your house, you won’t let me lift a finger to do anything and I don’t think you realise just how much I have to do at home—not to mention at my grandmother’s house! She spent over forty years in that house; can you imagine the clearing out I’ve got to do?’ It all welled up inside her then and tears spilled from her eyes before she had a chance to check them. Even the thought of going back to the little house she knew and loved so well to do that final task for her grandmother made her feel as if someone had ripped out her heart and carelessly put it back again broken and bruised. Before she knew it, she was sobbing hard.

  Piers acted immediately. Drawing her up from her seat where she sat head bent in despair, he gathered her close into his chest, kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back. All the while he crooned gently that he would take care of everything, that she mustn’t worry because everything was going to be all right.

  And then…everything changed. His lips moved helplessly from the top of her head to the side of her tearstained cheek beneath her softly scented dark hair, and Emma glanced up, surprised, and made a little sound, a sound raw with hope and longing and need…

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT WAS her eyes that undid him. It was a rare woman whose beauty intensified in distress but Emma was that woman. Her soft, honeyed gaze tore at Piers’s heart through the curtain of her tears and made him ache for something meaningful and good in his life again. Something like this woman, who could reach inside him like no other… Unable to help himself, he let his mouth descend on hers and drank deeply from the well of her essence, his passion and desire inflaming as she yielded to him with all the generosity of spirit he knew she had in her. And in that moment Piers wanted her as he’d never wanted another. When her small, slender hand started to caress the small of his back, circling his skin through his sweater as she pressed her pelvis flush against his, he tore his mouth from hers and groaned.

  ‘Emma…’ As he cupped her face between his hands, his glance could have started an inferno. ‘If you keep on touching me like that we’re going to wind up in bed for the rest of the afternoon and that’s not why I brought you here.’

  ‘I know.’ Because emotion was locking her throat, Emma’s voice was a bare whisper—a throaty sound that belonged to someone else. ‘But what if that’s where I want to be with you?’

  Vis
ibly affected, his mouth softening, Piers slowly let his hands slide down her face to her shoulders. ‘Are you sure, Emma? You’ve been through a bereavement; it’s understandable if you feel confused.’

  ‘I’m not confused, Piers…at least, not about this.’

  ‘Whatever you want, Emma, I’ll give you. You only have to ask.’

  His words giving her courage, Emma swallowed down the last of her tears and gently let her fingers glide against his lips. ‘I want you to touch me. I want you to make me forget this awful thing has happened for a little while. Will you do that for me?’

  Sliding in between perfectly laundered crisp white sheets, Emma shivered as she waited for Piers to join her. When he reached out to draw her into his arms, the heat of his skin seemed to scorch her everywhere it came into contact with her own. Her hands gliding over him, she loved the feel of hard, resolute muscle beneath skin that was surprisingly soft—his forearms and chest dusted with fine blond hair that was anything but rough. With exquisite tenderness, Piers handled her as if she was something infinitely precious that might break if he made so much as one wrong move, and Emma was deluged by her need for him. But underneath that undoubted tenderness was a river of passionate molten steel that was growing stronger at every touch, every stroke. While she sensed it and rejoiced in the knowledge, gasps of pure hungry pleasure broke loose unrestrained from Emma’s lips—soft, breathless, eager sounds that seemed to inflame Piers even more.

  The first time with her he’d been too hasty, too avaricious to take what he so urgently desired with any real finesse. Passion had made him its slave and he’d been mindless and reckless and possibly put her in a predicament that neither of them wanted. This time it would be different. Now, as Piers allowed his gaze to make a slow, sensual inventory of her loveliness, he silently acknowledged that her nakedness was a wonder to him—every delicious curve and line of her beautiful body a fascination. With waves of glossy dark hair rippling across the pure white pillow, her eyes growing darker and more inviting with every stroke and touch of his hand, Piers felt a raw shiver of pure delight shudder through him before he lowered his head to kiss her. As soon as he made contact an explosion of sensation washed over him, more deeply affecting than any kiss he’d ever experienced before. In her lips was enough magic to keep a man well contented not just in this life but in many other lifetimes too. She teased him with her tongue, sliding it damply across his mouth before melting him inside, then ran her hands up his arms and locked on to his biceps—a little press here, a sensuous slide there, the tips of her lovely breasts tantalising him with every brush against his chest. Everything about this woman aroused his desire. Her scent had surely been created just to drive a man wild, let alone what she did to him when she touched him.