by Jenna Harte
For the millionth time that day, he stared at her as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He gave his head a quick shake and rolled his shoulders as if he was shedding a cloak of negativity. He didn’t smile when he looked at her again, but he wasn’t scowling either.
“What’s this?” He picked up her notebook.
“That’s mine.” She grabbed at it to get it back.
“A journal. Have you been writing about me, Nurse Lexie?”
Lexie would have been surprised and amused by his teasing, except she was more concerned with getting her notebook back. “Those are confidential. They’re Oliver’s stories. I’ve been writing them down for him.”
“As his grandson, I have a right to know about them.” He held the book in his far hand, up and away from her, which might as well been all the way to Timbuktu since his arms were so long.
“They’re his stories.” Lexie reached across his massive body. “It’s not up to me to share them with anyone.”
“If he told them to you, they can’t be secret.” He leaned away, extending his arm further from her.
“Great day! You are irritating, Drake Carmichael.” She blew out a breath, but didn’t back off on trying to retrieve her journal. “He told them to me. If you want to hear them, you need to ask him.” She grabbed the back of the swing and used it as leverage as she reached across his body. “Give it.”
“Come on. He told us about Kitty Jackson. And you told me about the light bugs.”
“Lightning bugs.” She lifted her knee blocked by his thigh and heaved herself toward the notebook.
“Whoa!” Drake banded his arm around her and jerked her to his chest just as her knee was about to land in his lap. Her face hovered inches from his.
“I’ve got important things down there.” Was his voice husky or were her ears ringing?
She tried to move, but he held her so tight, she only ended up straddling his lap. Oh, yes, he was large in many areas. She inhaled a jittery breath. “Yeah, well, give me my notebook.”
The air heated and thickened around her. She chanced a glance at his face, her breath hitching at the smoldering gray eyes staring back at her. Everything stopped as they held each other’s gaze. And oh, lordy, did he smell good. Not some rich man’s cologne, but something natural, like soap and pure man.
“Is there something you want?” His question was a dare.
“Yes.”
“So take it.”
They were no longer talking about her notebook, and the fact that they weren’t sent a delicious shiver through her. But even with temptation urging her on, her first thought was to grab the notebook. It’d serve him right and put him down a peg or two. But another part of her brain, the part that frequently got her into trouble, wanted to taste those firm, fierce lips daring her, and wanted to run her fingers through his thick jet-black hair.
He dropped the notebook and slid his hands to her hips, holding them in a fierce grip. He groaned, or maybe it was her. His lips were a whisper away, right there for the tasting. Anticipation thickened the air as she weighed her options.
“Lexie?” Claire’s voice drifted through the screen door. Lexie scrambled off Drake’s lap. She stumbled to the porch, grabbing the railing for support just as the screen door opened.
“There you are.” Claire stood in the doorway.
Lexie slowly turned toward Claire, hoping the flush in her cheeks, if the heat in them was any indication, was gone and her breathing back to normal. Claire’s eyes shone with surprise. How could she not know what they had been about to do? Lexie cast a glance to Drake, sitting on the swing, one leg crossed over the other and one hand nonchalantly extended on the back of the swing. But he didn’t look at Lexie or Claire, the only indication that he was as discombobulated and guilty as she was.
“Well…I…ah…I’m headin’ home.” Claire glanced at Drake and then back at Lexie. “Y’all behave now.”
Lexie’s winced, closing her eyes. Claire was chastising her.
Claire made her way down the porch steps to the driveway and her car. Lexie used the time to gather her thoughts. What the heck was she thinking? She should have taken the notebook. She grabbed it from the porch floor.
“I got my notebook.”
“But you didn’t get what you wanted.” His voice was low and smooth. Lexie imagined it had lured many women to his bed.
“Yes, I did.” She clutched the notebook to her chest.
He didn’t say anything, but the gleam in his eyes said, “Liar.”
Drake stepped into the cold shower, letting the water pelt the heat and ache away. He braced his hands on the shower wall, dunking his head under the icy flow. He wasn’t a man prone to teasing. Fun and lightheartedness were foreign to him; at least, he thought they were. So what the hell led him to take her notebook? He really didn’t care what she was writing. He had no interest in knowing his grandfather’s stories. And yet, he’d grabbed that book like he was a teenage boy trying to get the girl.
He hadn’t done that sort of thing even when he was a teenager. Then again, having her straddle his lap had been worth it. As small as she was, she fit perfectly around his thighs. Thinking about it sent another wave of heat straight to his loins. He shook his head. Taking action on the attraction between them was a disaster in the making, for more reasons than one. Aside from the fact she was Oliver’s employee and they were both living under Oliver’s roof, indulging with Lexie would cost him more than he was willing to pay.
There was no doubt she was outgoing and even adventurous. But that didn’t mean she was the type of woman to engage in short-term affairs, which was all he could offer. He’d seen how she gushed over Oliver’s story about Kitty Jackson. Apparently, she didn’t pay attention to the part where Oliver dumped Kitty and instead married and lived his life for money and power.
Not that Drake couldn’t blame him. They were the only things one could count on, that lasted. Lexie would probably argue you couldn’t take your money when you died, but you couldn’t take love, either.
So, a quick roll in the sack to relieve the sexual tension was out of the question. He considered calling one of his “friends with benefits” but doubted any would be willing to make a trip to Nowhere, Virginia. So, he’d have to do his best to ignore Lexie and hope the crazy attraction would subside.
He got out of the shower and toweled off. The air was warm, so he threw on a pair of boxers and went to sit on the balcony. Except for the cicadas, the night was quiet. And dark. He’d never seen so many stars.
As a little kid, before his parents died, he’d wanted to be an astronaut. His dad had bought him a toy rocket he’d treasured more than anything, especially after his parents’ death. He remembered the day Oliver threw that rocket away. “Your parents are dead, Drake. It’s time to suck it up and get over it.” Had Oliver told Lexie that story?
He ran his hands through his damp hair, annoyed at himself. There was nothing dwelling on the past could do. All he had was the future. And right now, his future was in ensuring a successful future for Carmichael Corporation.
Chapter Seven
Drake woke hungry. He’d spent the night dreaming of Lexie straddling his lap on the porch swing. Only in his dream, they were both naked, her full cupid lips doing marvelous things to him. He returned the favor, tasting every delectable spot on her body. He spent another cold shower that morning telling himself he was ridiculous. He wasn’t a stranger to lust and had long ago learned to control the itch of physical desire. By the time he’d dressed and gotten his libido under control, his hunger was for breakfast.
The house was quiet as he made his way to the kitchen. The coffeemaker sat on the counter next to a tin labeled “Coffee.” Once he had that brewing, he found a pan in the cupboard Lexie had nearly climbed in the day before and eggs in the fridge. He was nearly finished cooking when he noticed the pull of awareness that could only mean one thing.
“Claire will skin you alive if she finds you cooking in her k
itchen.”
He turned his head. Lexie stood in the doorway wearing soft cotton shorts and a sleeveless top, though he was more distracted by the peach-colored skin showing through, and the mass of sherry-colored curls he’d dreamt of running his fingers through. He desperately wanted to run his lips over all of it. He turned back to his eggs to keep from grabbing her and wrapping her silky-looking legs around his waist. “I get the feeling Claire wants to skin me alive anyway.”
“Tell me there’s coffee and I’ll forget I saw you.”
“It just finished brewing.”
Lexie crossed the kitchen to get a mug and poured herself a cup.
“Want some eggs?” He removed the pan from the burner.
“Are they runny? I don’t like slimy stuff on my eggs.” She crinkled her nose, an expression Drake found surprisingly alluring.
“They’re scrambled.”
“Then yes, I’ll try some.”
He found a second plate in the cupboard and served them both.
“Where’d you learn to cook?” She sat at the table.
“You sound surprised.” He set a plate of eggs in front of her, avoiding her eyes.
“Didn’t you grow up having someone cook for you?”
“Yes. Didn’t you?” He sat opposite her, hoping the table would provide enough barrier.
“I guess I did, but when I was in high school, my mother made my brother and me cook dinner once a week. Did you ever have to cook?”
“I never had to cook. But I like to cook.”
“So you don’t have a cook now?”
“No.”
Lexie took a bite of the eggs. “Wow, these are really good.”
“Thank you.”
“No, really. What’s in them?”
“Usually cream, although you only had half and half. And a dash of sugar.”
“Sugar?”
He nodded. He was ridiculously pleased at her reaction. He couldn’t remember anyone being excited at an achievement of his since he was kid. “The trick is cooking them slowly and folding them, not scrambling them.”
Lexie gaped.
“I think I’m offended.” Actually, he was amused. Lexie was like an open book with her expressions. This particular one, with wide eyes and mouth rounded into an ‘O,’ was one of his favorites so far.
“I’m sorry. You just don’t strike me as the domestic type.”
“And how do I strike you?” This time, he looked into those emerald eyes, wanting to know for sure if the spark of attraction went both ways.
She grinned, and he felt it straight in his gut. “A take no prisoners, rule the world kind of guy.”
“Even a dictator has to eat.” He surprised himself by winking.
She laughed. “You’re right. So, where did you learn to cook?”
“Mrs. Monceau. She was our cook growing up.”
“Oh, right. The one you ate your meals with.”
“That’s right. She liked me more than Claire does.” He flashed a grin, enjoying the light conversation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked with anyone about anything that didn’t have to do with business.
“Don’t take it personally. I think she has a crush on Oliver.”
“That’s really frightening.”
“You’re right. So, was she nice?”
“Who?”
“Mrs. Monceau.”
“Yes. She still is. She still works for us. Well, my brother.”
“So your brother doesn’t know how to cook?”
Drake embarrassed himself by snorting. “I doubt it.”
“Out of the two of you, I think you’d have better luck with the ladies. Women like a man who cooks.”
“Do they?” In his experience, women were more impressed with his bank account than cooking skills. Then again, he’d never cooked for anyone but himself.
“So I’ve heard.” She scooped up another bite of eggs, wrapping those cupid bow lips around her fork.
Drake rolled the tension from his shoulders. “Derrick’s wife apparently doesn’t know about that.”
“He’s married?”
Drake nodded.
“Are you close?” The tentativeness came through in her tone, as if she’d already guessed the Carmichaels weren’t a warm and fuzzy kind of family.
“No.”
“What about your brother and his wife?”
Drake averted her gaze, gathered his plate and coffee cup, and headed to the sink. He wished he hadn’t brought up the subject of Derrick or his wife, although it effectively doused the sensuous feelings building since Lexie stepped into the kitchen. “I don’t make it my business to keep tabs on their marital relations.”
“Do they have children?”
He wasn’t used to having personal conversations. A part of him wanted to tell her it was none of her business, except that her probing seemed innocent enough. Or maybe she wanted to know as part of Oliver’s care. He wondered if she’d try to get Derrick to Charlotte Tavern. Good luck with that. “One boy, Tad.” He opened the dishwasher door.
“I’ll do that.” Lexie got up and cleared her plate. “You cooked. The least I can do is clean up. We need to hurry and hide the evidence so Claire doesn’t get mad.”
“Thanks.” He stepped aside so she could get to the sink, relieved he didn’t need to share any more about his family. “When will I be able to work with Oliver today?”
“When I’m done here, I’ll check on him. I usually like to get him out on the porch or in the sunroom before the heat and humidity get too bad.”
Drake nodded as Lexie rinsed the dishes. She bent over to put them in the dishwasher, giving him a stellar view of her round, firm backside. Christ. Desire washed through him like a tidal wave. All the reasons he told himself he shouldn’t touch her vanished. He couldn’t help himself, even if he wanted to. As she stood, he caught her arm and pulled her to him.
“I wasn’t going to say anything about last night.” He tugged one of the curls he’d dreamt about running his fingers through. It was softer, silkier in reality.
There were those wide, expressive green eyes again. “That’s probably a good idea.”
He was pleased to see the flash of heat in her eyes and the quickening pulse at the base of her neck. At least he wasn’t alone in this overwhelming lust.
“Perhaps you got what you wanted last night.” He referred to the notebook she’d finally gotten away from him. “But I didn’t. I spent the whole damn night dreaming of this mouth.” His thumb traced her plump, pink lower lip.
In the background, a door closed. “I smell cooking! Is someone cooking in my kitchen?”
Drake’s eyes narrowed as he continued to hold Lexie firm against his body, knowing the evidence of his desire pressed against her belly, and not giving a damn.
“Saved again,” he whispered as he released her and stepped away.
“You! You were cooking.” Claire wagged her finger at Drake. “In my kitchen.”
Lexie quickly returned to the dishwasher, not to avoid Claire’s wrath, but to get her scattered emotions back in control. Great day, what that man could do to her! When he held her so close, his eyes so dark and intent, she was sure her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. All she could think as she watched his full lips make promises was, Gawd, just do it.
“How do you know it was me?”
“Because Lexie is smart enough to know not to.”
“I was hungry. You weren’t here.” Drake was calm and cool. Like he hadn’t been all hot and bothered minutes before or affected by Claire’s tirade. How’d he do that?
“I’m here now, but no one is hungry, are they?”
“I’m sure Oliver is. Besides, you work for my grandfather, not me. I don’t expect you to cook for me as well.”
“Harrumph.” Claire glared at him with pursed lips.
Lexie closed the dishwasher door, hoping she’d pulled herself together. The accusing look in Claire’s eyes told her otherwise.
“Oliver hasn’t eaten yet. I’m just going to check on him.”
“Traitor.”
Lexie winced. “I guess you don’t want his recipe for scrambled eggs?”
“Out! Both of you. All y’all are getting on my last nerve.”
Neither Lexie nor Drake said anything as they were shooed out of the kitchen like chastised children. Drake headed toward the beau parlor. Lexie watched him for a moment and then went to her room to shower and dress before checking on Oliver.
Dressed for the day in cool, casual capris and sleeveless top, she entered Oliver’s room. “Did you know, Oliver, your grandson can cook?”
“Is he still here?” Oliver wasn’t grumpy, but not happy either.
“Yes.” Lexie prepared a syringe.
“I figured when I kicked him out to watch Jeopardy, he’d had enough.”
“He’s determined to make sure your company survives without you.” She wanted to suggest that Drake’s being there was an opportunity to spend time as family, but Oliver was as stubborn as Drake.
“Ah, he just wants to beat his brother.”
Drake had told Lexie as much the day before, but she couldn’t help think there was more to it for Drake. He wasn’t sticking around to help a dying man, but something about him made her think he was motivated by more than greed or competition. He cooked for himself when he didn’t have to. And he didn’t put Claire in her place, even though she deserved it. He had an expectation that people act according to the hierarchy, but he didn’t treat her or Claire as servants, but as people, though maybe he’d learned that while eating with the cook when he was growing up.
She had to wonder about the relationship with his brother and, in particular, his brother’s wife. There was something in his clipped tone that sounded like jealousy. Was Drake in love with his sister-in-law? Had he and his brother competed for more than the family business?
On the other hand, Drake had taken a genuine interest in his grandfather’s condition the night before. He’d eaten dinner with Oliver, even though it was clear it was unusual for him to do so. Perhaps Drake was seeking something more from Oliver than just the business.