by Tami Lund
“By unavailable, you mean…?”
“Exactly what you think I mean.”
Duane’s gaze swept over him again, probably wondering why he was fully dressed if Amelia were as unavailable as he was implying.
“I ran her a bubble bath,” he blurted because, in his photographer’s eye, it would be a hell of a gorgeous shot to capture. That rich, dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her body surrounded by bubbles that clung to her in the most tantalizing way…
Duane took a small step backward. “I don’t need those sorts of details about my sister’s sex life, dude.”
That wasn’t a whole lot of detail, which Elliot noted for future reference. Hell, Elliot could help Amelia hide from him indefinitely.
He stabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “I should probably get back to her…”
Duane held up his hand and shook his head. “When you’re, er, done, tell her to call me. It’s important.”
“Will do.”
Duane shook his head again and then lumbered down the path of brick pavers to the driveway, where he climbed into a sleek, black Escalade. Which was probably the only type of automobile he could actually fit into.
After locking the door, Elliot headed back through the house to the patio, where Amelia was balanced on one foot, her hand on the back of the lounger, her focus on the crutches he’d propped against the side of the house.
Elliot rushed to her side, wrapped his arm around her waist, and guided her right back to her chair.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I was trying to save you.” She sounded out of breath, as if the effort to even get to her feet had been taxing. Which should have warned her that she wasn’t ready to try to walk yet.
“Trying to save me?” He adjusted the ice pack on her knee and chuckled. “From what?”
“My brother.”
“Oh, right.” He grimaced. “Definitely wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley. The guy’s a freaking giant. I’m going to guess he went to college on a full-ride football scholarship.”
She shook her head. “He didn’t play. Had no interest in the sport. What happened? Is he still here? No, he must not be or else he’d be out here, probably yelling at me.”
“He’s gone.”
“How did you get rid of him?”
Probably shouldn’t tell her what, specifically, he’d implied in order to send her brother packing.
“I told him you were indisposed.”
“Indisposed? You mean he knows I messed up my knee? This isn’t good. He’ll—”
“Calm down, Amelia. He doesn’t know about your knee. I convinced him you were too busy to see him, that’s all.”
Too busy taking a bubble bath, one in which Elliot joined her, situating himself behind her so that she was snuggled between his thighs. Her firm, naked ass pressing against his—
“Are you okay?”
He gave himself a little shake and cleared his throat. “Fine. Why?”
“You’re suddenly flushed. Do you need to sit down?”
He smiled. “It’s adorable how you keep trying to take care of me when you’re the one who needs tending to.”
Her mouth opened and closed several times, but whatever she intended to say, she couldn’t get it out. She snagged her water glass and chugged the contents. “Did he tell you why he was here?”
“Nope.”
She gave him an expectant look, but when Elliot didn’t elaborate, she said, “Well? What did he say?”
“He’d like you to call him at your earliest opportunity. Which, as your caretaker, I’m going to insist be no earlier than tomorrow.”
By then, he planned to have an excuse for her not to call. Clearly, the longer he delayed the two of them speaking, the better for Amelia’s state of mind. She equated her injury to being weak, and he wanted her confidence to be at its peak when she spoke to her clearly intimidating brother.
“Caretaker?” she sputtered. “I don’t need—”
“Amelia, you hired me to do a job, so let me do it.”
“I hired you to be my administrative assistant. Nothing you’ve done so far falls under that job description.”
He shrugged. “You hired me to do the job, and this is my definition of doing the job.”
She didn’t have a reply for that one, and they fell into a brief, although not uncomfortable, silence. After a few moments, she said, “I need to go to the bathroom again. If you don’t mind carrying me upstairs and bringing the crutches so I can get myself situated for the night.”
He didn’t mind at all. In fact, he relished the task of sweeping her into his arms and holding her close to his chest. The way she laced her fingers behind his neck. The puffs of air as her breath fanned against his cheek. The tiny tremble that went through her body as he lowered her to her bed. The delay before she released her hold and he straightened and headed back downstairs to retrieve the crutches.
When he returned, he sat next to her on the bed and adjusted the height, dropping them as far as they would go. Good thing she was a tall woman, otherwise she wouldn’t even be able to drape her arms over these things. He and his brothers, while they didn’t have the bulk Duane did, definitely had the height.
He watched as she tried out the crutches, enjoying the view of her ass in those tiny running shorts while she hobbled around the room, familiarizing herself with the props.
“I’ve never had to use crutches before,” she admitted.
“They’re a pain in the ass, but they get the job done. And remember, it’s only temporary.”
Was it terrible that he hoped it wasn’t too temporary? He’d never imagined he would enjoy taking care of someone like this, but honestly—and weirdly—it was fun. She probably didn’t think so, which meant he wasn’t going to confess his odd feelings, of course.
“I think I’m good now,” she said, pausing near the bathroom door.
“I’ll wait here, make sure you don’t fall off the toilet or something.”
“How about I call you if I need your help?”
That was a fair compromise, unfortunately. He could still rush in and be her hero if need be. He grabbed her phone and carried it over to the bathroom, placing it on the counter next to the toilet.
Waving his own phone, he stepped out of the doorway. “Okay, you have my number. Call me anytime.” He gave her a cheeky grin.
She shook her head, but he didn’t miss her lips twitching. “Let me know if you can’t find anything.”
“Will do. Good night, Amelia.”
“’Night.” He waited until she closed the door behind her, then he headed out into the hall.
First stop, he checked out the bathroom she’d indicated he could take over. It was long and narrow, with two sinks and a huge bathtub at the end. The tile was white, the walls taupe, with dark brown towels as an accent color.
He found the linen closet across the hall, but before grabbing the bedding he would need, he nosily inspected the rest of this level. Three more bedrooms and one other bathroom, which was a Jack and Jill situation with access from two of the three bedrooms. One room, the one with the most windows, was a home office, while the other two were devoid of furniture except for a bookshelf and Rubbermaid storage boxes.
She had way more space than she needed. Or used. But she said she’d gotten a really good deal on the place, plus she loved to golf. And as the COO of a multimillion dollar company, she undoubtedly made enough money to afford a dwelling like this.
Something about it felt off, though, and once he was back downstairs and dropped the blanket, sheets, and pillows onto the couch, he realized what it was.
It didn’t feel like a home.
His parents’ place was the same size, and yet it felt cozy. Comfortable. This house was…stark. Empty. Half the rooms were unfurnished and the kitchen bare—before he’d gotten ahold of it, anyway. It didn’t feel lived in.
That was what it was. She probably spent the vast
majority of her time working. Hell, if he’d take her computer bag up to her, she’d probably boot up her laptop and work until she fell asleep.
Which was exactly why he deliberately did not do that. The woman needed a break, and not only because she was in pain thanks to her knee. She worked too hard, and she wasn’t even enjoying it.
She’d told him she wanted to go into PR, and yet she was the COO. A more powerful position, sure, but not the one she really wanted. He recalled how intimidated Sarah with an H had been. Did Amelia act aloof to hide her disappointment in her career choices?
Much as he acted like he didn’t care that everyone thought he was a no-good layabout?
The sun was dropping in the sky, changing the colors and tone outside. It was gorgeous the way the beams shot through the trees and the shadows spread across the course.
He dug his digital camera out of its bag.
Time to forget about everything else for a while and do what he loved.
Capturing nature at its best.
Chapter Eight
Amelia woke to a throbbing pain in her leg. She lay on her back—a sleeping position she was not a fan of— with her injured knee propped on a pile of pillows.
Where was Elliot?
She glanced at her phone. It was just after six in the morning. He was probably still sleeping. Good thing he’d thought to bring her crutches. She could at least get to the bathroom and take care of her insistent bladder.
While she was in there she ran a bath because, well, what the hell else was she supposed to do? She wanted—no, really, it was a need—coffee. And her laptop. But she recognized that most people did not start their workday at 6:00 a.m., so she was trying to be considerate and not wake him.
But once the bath was done, she had no choice. Her knee had swollen larger than it was yesterday. Apparently taking a steamy, hot bath had not been the wisest choice.
Now, she needed an ice pack as well as coffee, her laptop, and a healthy dose of painkillers.
Breakfast would be nice too.
Lord, she hated feeling helpless.
She also hated feeling beholden to someone else. She supposed they were the same thing, more or less.
She still hated it.
After struggling to dry off and put lotion on her body and then hobble to the dresser to dig out an outfit for the day—her casual clothes had never seen so much use—she collapsed onto the bed and typed out a text to Elliot.
He was in her doorway in an impressively short period of time. “What’s wrong?” He was breathing heavily, like he’d sprinted up the stairs, and he wore a pair of blue plaid boxer shorts and nothing else.
Well, except for all those sharply defined muscles on his chest. Damn. She was able to tell in his suit that he was cut, but she hadn’t realized his body was quite so…beautiful.
Was it appropriate to think of a guy as beautiful? How about if the guy was her new admin?
Yeah, she didn’t think so either.
Too bad.
“Were you awake?”
He shook his head.
“Wow, you wake up fast.”
“When someone texts ‘SOS,’ yeah, I tend to jump out of bed.”
She dropped her gaze to the comforter. “Sorry. It’s just…” She flapped her hand at her gigantic knee.
“Holy shit.” He rushed across the room and dropped onto the side of the bed, staring at the monstrosity. “I think we need to take you to the emergency room.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I took a bath. Obviously, heat is not good for this sort of injury. I just need ice. And ibuprofen. And coffee. And my laptop to help take my mind off it.”
“All right, come on.”
He slid his arms under her knees and her back, and then she was resting against all those sharply defined muscles, and yes, it was entirely possible that she snuggled against his chest. Just for a moment.
Okay, maybe for the entire trip down the stairs.
Which took far too little time.
“Where would you like me to put you?” he asked.
“What are you going to do?” Lord, she sounded like a middle school girl with her first crush.
“Make breakfast.”
The idea of him puttering around in her kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, making her sustenance, was shockingly erotic.
Hell, maybe it wasn’t so shocking. She’d read plenty of romance novels with chefs as the main character, so, yes, a man who could cook was definitely hot. Bonus that he looked the way Elliot did.
“How about I sit at the counter? I can prop my leg on the stool next to me.”
His face scrunched up, but he headed into the kitchen and placed her on a barstool and then gently lifted her leg until her foot was propped against the one next to her, since her knee still wouldn’t bend. He nodded approvingly.
“Let me get you an ice pack.”
“And painkillers,” she reminded him.
“And coffee and your laptop,” he added, and she laughed.
To her disappointment, when he brought her computer, he returned with a shirt and actual shorts on his body. Which was still gorgeous to behold, although if one were taking a poll, she would definitely vote for boxers only.
In no time at all, she was set up with all the essentials and the perfect vantage point with which to watch as he whipped together omelets loaded with both veggies and meat. Oh, and lots of cheese. She probably wouldn’t need to eat for the rest of the day. Hell, normally she drank a gallon of coffee and ate a yogurt with granola and called it good.
The only negative in this scenario was the fact that she didn’t actually get any work done. Oh, she opened her laptop, she made a valiant effort for a couple of minutes, but her gaze kept lifting, and the next thing she knew, she’d lost track of a chunk of time. But she’d thoroughly enjoyed the view, so that counted for something, right?
“Working hard?” he asked, sliding a plate laden with a steaming omelet across the counter to her.
She cleared her throat. “I’ve never had anyone cook for me before. At least, not outside of a restaurant.”
“If it helps, I’ve not cooked for anyone other than my family before.”
Did it help? Did she really need to know that? “Why not?”
He lifted one shoulder, let it fall, and then turned to the stove so that he could put together his own omelet. “The last serious girlfriend I had was in college, and we both lived in the dorms, so not exactly conducive to date night in. Since then, my relationships have been too short to reach the point of cooking to impress them.”
Was he comparing their relationship to a romantic one?
“Well, thank you. I feel privileged. Also, this is fabulous, so any time you want to exercise your skills in my kitchen, you go right ahead.”
Chuckling, he slid his breakfast onto a plate, poured himself a glass of orange juice, then walked around the counter to sit on the stool next to her foot.
“The swelling is already going down,” she pointed out.
“Good.”
She finished eating and tried to focus on clearing out her inbox, but his proximity was terribly distracting. Normally, she would have put in an hour’s worth of work by now, and she hadn’t even finished reading emails from yesterday yet.
This was concerning if she planned to keep him on as her admin. What happened when she returned to the office? She supposed it might not be so bad, since the frosted glass on her office wall made it impossible to see the desk he would occupy right outside her door. Out of sight, out of mind, hopefully.
He shoveled the last bite into his mouth and then scooped up both plates and began cleaning the kitchen.
Damn, he was the total package, wasn’t he?
Of course, in her gimpy state, he didn’t really have a choice, but still, it was nice to watch. And fantasize.
The willingness to cook and clean, without grumbling about it and without being directed to do so, had now moved to number two on her “What I Wa
nt in a Man” list.
Great sex was, of course, number one.
“All right,” he said, and tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to go for a jog before we start our day.”
“Oh. Okay.” Why did she feel so disappointed? Was it because he was leaving her alone? Or was it because she enjoyed a good run and couldn’t join him?
Maybe both.
“Do you need anything before I take off?”
She shook her head.
“You good here, or do you want me to get you settled somewhere else?”
“Would you mind taking me to the sunroom? And grabbing the crutches, in case I need them?”
“Nope.” He lifted her into his arms again, and she decided that this was certainly the silver lining of being injured.
After he left, she called Chelsea. The woman would either already be in the office or in her car on the way in. “Hey,” her friend answered, sounding breathless. Maybe Amelia had called a little too early and she was in the middle of her morning workout. Oops.
“Good morning. Is the office still standing?” Amelia asked.
“Yeah, but what happened yesterday? You disappeared. You never leave the office before six.”
She grimaced. “I…had an accident.”
“Started your period,” Chelsea said knowingly.
Amelia considered telling her the truth, but instead she said, “Did you talk to Duane yesterday?”
Amelia could hear noises in the background, like Chelsea was moving around. There was a sound like a door closing, and then Chelsea said, “Yeah. He said he went to your house and some guy answered and—holy shit. Elliot? Are you… sleeping with Elliot?” Her voice dropped to almost a hiss.
“What? No! How did you jump to that conclusion?”
“Sarah said you left with the guy who was your last interview of the day and never came back. And then Duane said some guy answered your door, and the way he described him sounded a lot like Elliot. He said the guy said you were indisposed and made it very clear how you were indisposed.”
“He did?” Elliot told her brother they were having sex? Really?
Wow, she should probably be a little more upset over that.