His Secretary's Little Secret

by Catherine Mann

  None of that seemed to matter, though, when it came to figuring out how to settle down, based on his history with Dana, Laura, Naomi... Damn, he was depressing the hell out of himself.

  So where did that leave him with Portia?

  Once on the stone ground that surrounded the pool, he grabbed a plush lounge chair and pulled it beside Xander. Easton sat in the middle of the lounger, facing his brother. Xander’s ocean-colored eyes flicked to him.

  Xander had taken on the wildlife preserve in memory of his wife’s passing. Reviving the then struggling refuge had been her passion.

  This place meant the world to both brothers.

  “What’s the deal with you and Portia?” Xander’s tone was blunt and businesslike—the commanding voice that won him boardroom battles left and right.

  “What do you mean?” The answer came too quickly out of Easton’s mouth.

  “Don’t play dumb with me. I was out for a walk with Rose and I saw the way you looked at Portia when you both got into the truck earlier.” He sipped his bourbon, fixing Easton with the stare of an older brother.

  “Why didn’t you say hello or offer to help out?”

  “You’re trying to distract me. Not going to work. So what gives between you two?”

  Easton chose his words carefully, needing to regain control of the conversation before his brother went on some matchmaking kick that would only backfire by making Portia retreat. She was prickly.

  And sexy.

  And not going to give him the brush-off another time. She’d been avoiding him more than ever recently and he was determined to find out the reason.

  “Easton?” Xander pushed.

  “She’s an attractive woman.” Not a lie.

  “A cool woman, classic. And she’s been here awhile. She’s also not your type. So what changed?”

  She absolutely wasn’t the sort to go out with a guy like him. And yet there was chemistry between them. Crackling so tangibly he could swear he was standing in the middle of a storm with the heavens sending lightning bolts through him. She clearly felt the same way, except the next morning, once the storm had passed, she’d insisted it couldn’t happen again. He’d thought if he waited patiently she would wear down.

  She hadn’t.

  Until today. “And what would my type be?”

  “You really want me to spell that out?” Xander’s crooked glance almost riled Easton.

  Almost. Then he reminded himself he was the chill brother normally. He was letting this business with Portia mess with his head.

  “No need to spell it out. I’ll get defensive and have to kick your ass.”

  “You can try.”

  Easton smiled tightly. As kids, he used to lie in wait for Xander, always trying to best him in an impromptu wrestling match. He won about half of the time, which wasn’t too bad considering his older brother had shot up with height faster and Easton hadn’t caught up—and passed him—until they were in high school. Now, they had exchanged the good-natured physical wrestling for well-placed banter.

  Silence between the brothers lingered, allowing the chorus of nocturnal creatures to swell. Not that he minded. Easton and Xander could both get lost in their own thoughts, with neither of them rambling on with nonsensical chatter. He’d always appreciated the ability to hang out with his brother without feeling the need to fill every moment with speech.

  Easton had to admit Xander was right. Easton had always dated women who were more like him, free-spirited, unconventional types.

  Date?

  That didn’t come close to describing what had happened between him and Portia.

  And maybe that was the problem. What had stopped him from asking her out on a date? Before that night, he’d wanted to keep their relationship professional. But after they’d crossed that line... He’d been trying to talk to her about that night. But he’d never done the obvious. Ask her out to dinner...and see where things progressed from there.

  He’d always been a man of action and speed. But why not take things slowly with her? He had all the time in the world.

  Easton didn’t know where things were heading with Portia, but he wasn’t giving up. He hoped that dating was the right plan and considered asking Xander for input. Usually he and his brother told each other everything, relied on each other for support—hell, they’d been each other’s only friend when they’d been traveling with their parents. Easton needed a plan. And his brother was good at plans, and Xander had far more success in the romance department.

  Except right now Easton wanted to hold on to the shift in his relationship with Portia. Keep that private between the two of them. He didn’t want to risk word getting out and spooking her.

  Because, yes, something had changed between Easton and his brother too since Xander had married Maureen, and Easton couldn’t figure out what that was. His brother had been married before and had loved his wife, mourned her deeply when she’d died. Still, Easton hadn’t felt he’d lost a part of his brother then, not like now.

  So yeah, he wasn’t ready to share yet.

  Or maybe it had nothing to do with his brother.

  And everything to do with Portia.

  * * *

  Up until realizing she was pregnant, the most anxiety-inducing moments in Portia’s life had been when she’d fretted about taking care of her brother and paying bills.

  This morning had combined all of her anxieties. Her secret pregnancy coupled with arriving to work a half hour late. She’d been sick for what felt like hours and it had thrown her off schedule. Portia was never, ever late. Tardiness drove her insane. Since the morning sickness seemed to be getting significantly worse, she might have to move up her appointment with the doctor to next week. That made her stomach flip all the more since it would mean facing the uncomfortable reality of having to tell Easton.

  Dr. Lourdes.

  Her boss.

  Damn.

  Refocus. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Easton’s schedule needed to be organized for the day. That wouldn’t happen if she didn’t collect herself right now. Tugging on the sleeves of her light pink cardigan, she stepped into the office, ready to do prep work for Easton’s arrival.

  Blinking in the harsh white light, her tumultuous stomach sank. Easton sat behind his desk, already at work.

  His collar-length dark hair was slicked back, blue eyes alert and focused on a stack of papers in front of him, full lips tightly pressed as he thought.

  She drew in a sharp breath, another wave of nausea and dizziness pressing at her. He looked up from his desk, his clean-shaven face crinkled in a mixture of concern and...surprise? She realized he was the one all put together this morning and she was the one feeling scattered and disorganized.

  This sudden reversal robbed her of her focus. His eyes traced over her, his head falling to the side in concern.

  “Are you okay? It’s just—you are never late. In fact, you arrive to everything at least fifteen minutes early.” He set his pen down, eyes peering into hers.

  She swallowed, her throat pressing against the top button of her off-white button-up shirt and her strand of faux pearls. Part of her wanted to lean on him, confide in him and get his support. But how? She didn’t have much practice in asking for help.

  “Uh.” Stammering, her mind blanked. “Yeah. I just... I think I may have the stomach flu. I haven’t felt this bad in ages.”

  She put a hand to her stomach as if to emphasize her symptoms. But really, her palm on her stomach just reminded her of the life growing inside her and how difficult telling Easton was going to be.

  “I think that is going around. Maureen called out with the same symptoms. Should you go rest?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve got crackers and ginger ale on hand. Anyway, how’s our little patient doing this mor
ning, Doctor?” She added the last part to keep a professional distance between them.

  “Walking around, even attempting to take flight. X-rays show no breaks in the wings and there are no missing feathers, so I’m guessing it’s a strained muscle that will benefit from rest. Then back into the wild.” He ran his hands through his hair, his athletic build accented with the movement.

  “That’s good to know. Your risky climb saved his—or her—life.”

  “His,” he answered simply.

  Oppressive silence settled between them. She hated this. There had been a time, not even that long ago, where conversation had felt easy and natural between them. But since the tropical storm, she’d looked for every reason to put distance between them. This morning was no different. “If you’re busy with patients, then I’ll get to some transcriptions.”

  “Actually, I’m not busy with patients. Let the transcriptions wait.” His voice dropped any pretense of nonchalance. Determination entered his tone.

  “Okay. But why?”

  “Let’s talk.”

  Every atom in her being revolted. Talk? How could she begin to talk to him? She wasn’t ready. She needed more time.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We don’t talk. We work.” She fished the planner out of her oversize bag and waved it in the air.

  “I think talking is an excellent idea.” A small, hungry smile passed over his lips, blue eyes shining with familiar mischief.

  Why did he have to be so damn sexy?

  “Please, don’t make things more awkward than—”

  “Go out with me on a date.”

  A date? With Dr. Easton Lourdes? The world slammed still. “A what?”

  “A date, where two people spend time together at some entertaining venue. Tomorrow’s not a workday, so it can be afternoon or evening. I don’t want to presume what you would enjoy because honestly, you’re right, we haven’t spoken very much. So for our date, what do you think about a wine-tasting cruise?”

  She couldn’t drink, not while pregnant. She winced.

  “Okay,” Easton said, moving from behind his desk, “from the look on your face I’ll take that as a no. Concert in the park with a picnic? Go snorkeling? Or take a drive down to the tip of the Keys and hang out at Hemingway’s old house or climb to the top of the Key West Lighthouse?”

  “You’re serious about wanting to go on a date?” What would she have thought if he’d made that request months ago? Or if she weren’t pregnant now? What if he’d made that request when she had the luxury of time to explore the possibility of feelings between them?

  Except she didn’t have time.

  He sat on the edge of his desk, a devilish look in his eyes. “Serious as a heart attack.”

  She could see by his face he meant it. Totally. He wanted to go on a date with her. She’d spent two years attracted to him while never acting on it in order to maintain her independence and now—when the last thing she should be doing was starting an affair with him—he was asking her out.

  Her emotions were clouding her judgment. Their impulsive night of sex had flipped her mind upside down. Their attraction was every bit as combustible as she’d expected. It had stolen her breath, her sanity. She’d even entertained pursuing something with him. For a moment, she’d not cared one whit about her independence. But fears had assailed her the next morning. Heaven knew if he’d suggested a date then, she would have run screaming into the Everglades, never to be seen again.

  Okay, maybe that was overstating things. Or maybe not.

  But it did bring up the point that now, things were different. She really did need to talk to him soon and come up with a plan for their baby. Meanwhile, though, maybe she could use this time to get to know him better on a friendship level and find the best way to tell him about their “love child.”

  She just had to ignore the electricity that sizzled between them every time he looked at her.

  “Key West,” she said. “Let’s take the drive to see Hemingway’s house.”

  * * *

  The romantic ride he’d planned just yesterday to Hemingway’s house had somehow gone awry.

  What should have been a leisurely scenic drive down the heart of the Florida Keys was getting him nowhere with Portia. He wanted her to open up to him, to reveal something about herself. But she was totally clammed up and he was on fire to know more about her. To find a way past her defenses and back into her bed. To pull her clothes off, slowly, one piece at a time and make love to her in a bed, at a leisurely pace rather than a frenzied coupling in a bathroom during a storm.

  And she’d gone into her Ice Queen mode again.

  Which had never overly bothered him before but was, for some reason, making him crazy now. Yes, he burned to know more about her than what she took in her coffee—although these days she seemed to enjoy water with fruit slices more than her standard brew. He needed to get her talking.

  And he also needed to power his way past this slower moving traffic into a clearer stretch of road.

  Checking the rearview mirror, he slid his vintage Corvette into the fast lane, getting out from behind a brake-happy minivan. As they passed the van, he noted the map sprawled out on the dash. That explained everything about the somewhat erratic driving behavior.

  He used the opportunity of an open road to check out Portia, noting her slender face, porcelain skin and pointed nose. The edges of her mouth were tensed slightly. Her hair was gathered into a loose ponytail, not completely down, but definitely more casual than her usual tightly pulled-back twist. The hairstyle had led him to believe getting through to her today would be easier.

  Apparently, he would have to work harder at getting her to reveal her thoughts. And work harder at restraining the urge to slide his hands through her hair until it all hung loose and flowing around her shoulders. He remembered well the feel of those silken strands gliding through his fingers as he moved inside her—

  Hell, there went his concentration again.

  He draped his wrist over the steering wheel and searched for just the right way to approach her. Often times the simplest ways worked best. Maybe he’d been trying too hard.

  “When my brother and I were kids traveling the world with our parents, we became masters at entertaining ourselves during long flights. I’m thinking now might be a good time to resurrect one of our games.”

  She tipped her head toward him. “Oh really? What did you two play?”

  Ah, good. She’d taken the bait.

  “Our favorite was one we called Quiz Show. I was about ten when we started playing. I was determined to beat my older brother at something. He was still so much taller, but I figured since we were just a year apart, I had a fighting chance at taking him down in a battle of the minds.”

  “Tell me more,” she said, toying with the end of her ponytail, which sent his pulse spiking again.

  “We’d already been on a transcontinental flight and then had to spend ten more hours in a car. So we’d burned out on books and toys and homework. We started asking each other outrageous questions to stump each other.”

  The result? Two very tight brothers. He hoped to re-create that experience with Portia. To learn something about her. “Would you like to play?”

  “Uh, sure. You go first, though, and I reserve the right not to answer.”

  “Fair enough.” A natural quizmaster, he paused, thinking of his first question. One that would help them flow into more personal topics. “What do you do for fun?”

  “Are you being rude?” she asked indignantly.

  Well, hell. “What do you mean?”

  “You said the questions were meant to stump the other person so your question could be taken as an insult.”

  “Damn. I didn’t mean that at all. How about consider this as a new game, our rules. I mea
nt what does Portia Soto do for fun? To unwind? Because I don’t know you well and I’m trying to get to know you better.” He needed more than just raw data. He wanted her quirks, her idiosyncrasies. He wanted to figure out his attraction to her. Once he did, then he could put those tumultuous dreams to rest.

  Or know whether to pursue an all-out affair.

  She shot him a sideways look, her ponytail swishing, the ribbon rippling in the wind. “Okay, I see what you mean. But you have to promise not to laugh at my answer.”

  “I would never. Unless you tell me you make to-do lists for fun. Then I might.” He kept his tone casual, his grip on the leather steering wheel light.

  “I may be a Post-it note princess, but that isn’t my ‘fun’ time. No. I actually like to draw.” She said the words so quietly that they were almost swept away by the wind.

  “You draw?” He spared her a sidelong glance, noting the way her cheeks flushed, even beneath her oversize sunglasses.

  She nodded, pony tail bobbing. “I do.”

  “Well, what do you like to draw?” He pressed for progress.

  She took a deep breath, hand floating in the air as she made an uncharacteristically theatrical gesture that drew his attention to her elegant fingers. “Oh, you know, the usual kinds of things. Animals mostly. Lots of animals. People, too. Their faces especially. I like the small details.”

  “You are just full of surprises, Ms. Soto.” He bet her way of noticing made her a brilliant artist. Nothing seemed to escape her gaze. He liked that about her. He was finding he liked a lot more about her than he’d realized. Apparently before now his absentminded professor ways had made him miss things. His attention to detail wasn’t as fine-tuned as hers.