When Francie came into the rink early Sunday afternoon after dinner with her family, Noah was sitting at her desk. She zeroed in on the larger monitor there, rather than Noah, hoping to forget the strange way she felt whenever she was near him--hot and cold, excited and afraid. Thinking about Brent's reappearance in her life, her conversation with Noah and his decision to stay on awhile, had kept her awake most of the night.
Now, seeing Noah so at home at her desk... "Where did that come from?"
"It will be helpful with the new programs I uploaded. I can help you get acquainted with them."
Noah had discarded his suit coat, his shirt sleeves were rolled up his forearms, the curling brown hair on his wrists and farther up drawing her attention. He didn't look so stiff, so businesslike. He looked somewhat casual, sexy... She eyed the monitor.
Noah leaned back in the swivel chair, making it squeak. "If I do sell to someone who wants to keep the rink, if you do stay on, this new set-up will make your job easier. You have about forty-five minutes before the skating starts." He stood and motioned to the chair. "Play with it a little."
"Noah, I have better things to do."
"Are you afraid of innovation, Francie?" His tone challenged her as much as his green gaze.
She hedged. "I'm not tech savvy."
"Just follow the instructions on the screen for entering data." He crooked his finger at her. "Come here. I'll show you."
Deciding it was better to placate him for a few minutes than argue with him, she acquiesced. He stood, and she sat in the chair, all the while aware of his tall bulk behind her. His after-shave was subtle, woodsy. As he bent toward her and pressed a button, her heart raced and her stomach lurched. Reminding herself he would be around only a few weeks, she took in a breath, attempting to steady her pulse.
Noah pulled a few papers closer to the keyboard and showed her how to enter basic information. She followed his directions, but the attempt to steady her pulse was useless with him so close.
Relieved when she heard the familiar sound of skaters rolling on the floor, Francie glanced at the clock on the wall. "I have to get out there. Thanks for the lesson. It will come in handy."
Noah had perched on the corner of the desk to watch and instruct. He made no move to stand. "Francie, I really think this can help you."
She sighed. "I have a lot on my mind right now. New computer programs are the last thing I need to think about."
"I think it's more than that. You're afraid to try something new."
His probing green eyes penetrated all too deeply. She lifted her head, trying to keep her distance, trying to tell herself she didn't enjoy standing so close to him. "That's your opinion."
"Am I wrong?"
Francie had never been able to lie to anyone. Noah was no exception. She shrugged. "Maybe not."
"Why are you afraid?"
Maybe it was the gentleness of his voice that got to her. She looked down at his hand on her arm and he released his hold. "It's hard to explain. When most kids were out exploring, discovering, I was sticking to a regimen and a tight schedule. Anything new I tried, a new jump, different choreography, had to do with skating, not life in general. It was a safe world. A protected world."
He looked perplexed. "But you asked to manage the rink with no experience. That certainly was trying something new."
"No, that was desperation. I needed something to fill up my life, to absorb my energy, to help me...forget." She'd said at lot more than she'd intended to say. Upset that he could pull confidences from her so easily, she headed for the door.
"Francie?"
She stopped and turned.
"You'll get used to the new programs."
He wasn't challenging her now, he was offering her an opportunity to learn. She nodded and went to get her skates.
****
Francie stared at the grey-screened monitor, totally dismayed. She didn't know where Noah had gone, but she hated to tell him she'd lost everything they'd accomplished. What had she done? She thought she'd pushed the right button!
She sighed, leaned back in her chair, and laid her head against the back. She'd never had much time for anything but skating. Not only had she gotten up most mornings at 3:30 A.M. to drive to the rink for practice, but she'd had ballet class after school, too. Finding time to study had never been easy. Truthfully, academics had never been her forte. She'd had to work hard for the grades she'd achieved. But maybe that was because her attention had always been divided.
Gina was the scholar. And Francie had never resented her sister's ease in schoolwork. That was just the way it was. But that's why Francie had thrown herself into skating, something that seemed to come naturally, something she could practice and master almost effortlessly. Until winning had become more important than skating itself, until Brent had become more and more volatile, until she'd wondered if life off the ice existed.
She sat forward again, peering at the monitor, hoping it would tell her something soon. Hadn't Noah mentioned a HELP key? Now which one...? She pressed one, nothing happened. She pressed another. The machine beeped.
"Damn!"
Noah entered the office, grinning. "That wasn't you I heard, was it?"
A red flush crept up her face. "The kids have all left. At least for two more hours. You're not going to believe what I did."
His grin grew wider. "Uh-oh. Sounds like something terrible."
She threw her hands up. "It's not funny. I lost everything."
His brows arched and as he peered at the monitor from the opposite side of the desk, a lock of wavy hair fell over his forehead.
Though tempted to push it back from his brow, she instead returned her attention to the blank screen. "The information's not here."
She could tell Noah was trying hard to hide a smile as he came around the back of the desk. It wasn't funny.
She tried to squiggle her chair out of the way, but one roller hit the edge of the desk and her elbow brushed Noah's thigh. A current of electricity raced through her. Knowing there wasn't room enough for herself, the chair, and Noah at the computer, she began to stand.
He laid his hand on her shoulder. "Stay put. If you didn't delete, we'll have it back in a minute." His lazy smile along with his firm touch turned her stomach upside down.
She swallowed. "And if I did?"
He shrugged matter-of-factly. "If you deleted, you'll have to do it all over again."
"Not in my lifetime," she muttered.
He laughed and pushed a few buttons. The information she'd been working with flooded the screen once more.
"Where was it?" she asked in amazement.
His eyes twinkled. "Do you really want to know?"
She looked at the monitor, she looked at him, she felt the heat of his hand on her shoulder, and her mouth went dry. "No. It doesn't matter." Was that her voice, so low and thready?
Noah's face was very close to hers as he leaned toward the desk. "We should print this out."
When she turned to look at him, the top of her head brushed his chin. His lips looked firm, warm. The pulse on his jaw seemed to be beating in time with the increased rate of her heart. She slowly met his green gaze. He moved fractionally closer and her heart flip-flopped. If he kissed her, would she...
"Francie Marie. Have you had supper yet?"
Noah quickly moved to the side as Angela Piccard entered the office, a covered casserole in hand.
Francie felt her cheeks go hot. What had her mother seen? What had she thought? "Mama, what are you doing here?"
Angela plopped a potholder on the desk, setting the casserole on top of it. "Your father's doing our bookwork for last month. Gina went out again. So I brought you some left-over lasagna so you won't eat one of those hot dogs."
Her mother was still trying to make up for all the years Francie had been away. "I didn't eat yet. Thank you."
"Good." Angela smiled at Noah. "There's enough here for two."
"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Piccard."
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She brushed his words away. "Angela. Call me Angela." She adjusted the lid on the casserole. "I came for another reason. Francie tells us you're staying a while."
Noah's expression became guarded. "Yes, I am."
"And you're staying in a motel?"
He nodded.
"We have an apartment over our garage that's empty at the moment. You're welcome to stay there."
Noah glanced at Francie. "That's very kind of you, but if you can get a permanent tenant, I wouldn't want to stand in your way."
Francie didn't think Noah was comfortable with the offer. She didn't know if she was. They'd be working together at the rink. To have him in such close proximity other times... She wished her mother had discussed this with her first. Not that talking would have done any good. Angela Piccard always did what she thought best despite adverse opinion.
"Francie, tell him how nice it is," her mother directed.
Obediently, Francie said, "It's very nice."
Noah's lips twitched at her lack of enthusiasm and he seemed to relax. "Why would you offer it to me, Mrs. Piccard?" At her raised brows, he amended, "Angela."
"Francie and I know how impersonal motel rooms are, how sterile. Who wants to go back there at night? This is furnished and you'll have everything you need."
"Mrs. Piccard..." He caught himself again. "Angela, you know nothing about me."
"I know you're a reputable businessman. I know Craig spoke highly of you. That's all I need. I don't think you'll back up a van to the place and empty it in the dead of night. I'm a good judge of character." She paused and glanced at Francie. "Usually. This time I know I'm right. You're welcome to the apartment."
"Mama, Noah might feel freer to come and go at a motel."
Angela clicked her tongue. "Nonsense. That place is just sitting empty and I worry about someone breaking in. He'll be doing us a favor."
Noah studied Angela for a few moments. "All right. It sounds good to me. You're right about motels, and I see a lot of them. Cooking my own food is preferable to eating out all the time, too. When can I move in?"
Francie's mother grinned. "As soon as you'd like. I aired it out and put clean sheets on the bed this afternoon. It's ready." She took a key from her purse. "Here you go. And if you need something, don't hesitate to ask Francie or knock on our door."
After Angela left, Noah looked concerned. "She does know I might sell the rink, doesn't she?"
"Yes."
"Francie, I hope she doesn't think hospitality will change my mind."
Francie was hoping the rink itself would do that. "Mama's just being Mama. Don't be surprised if you find a casserole on your doorstep at night."
He shook his head. "There aren't many women left like her."
"You mean women who put everyone else's needs before their own?" Francie had done that with Brent and that had brought her only heartache.
"No. Women who know how to nurture."
He sounded so sad that Francie said, "Mothers usually have that knack."
He looked out the window instead of at her. "Not all mothers."
"Noah?"
His eyes were shuttered when he turned around. He pointed to the printer. "Let's print this out before something happens to it," he said gruffly.
****
Bearing a gift from her mother, Francie climbed the steps to the apartment above the garage. Noah had left the rink earlier than Francie to check out of his motel and move into the apartment. She'd been considering something all afternoon and decided now was as good a time as any to approach him. Maybe it was an impulsive decision, and maybe it was a mistake, but maybe it was a good financial opportunity, too.
Francie rapped on the door, hoping Noah would find her mother's pastry as tempting as her lasagna. She needed him to be in a receptive frame of mind. A January breeze swept by, making her shiver. She'd run up here without her jacket, thinking her sweater would be sufficient. When Noah didn't answer, she knocked again, louder.
He opened the door and she stepped back, gripping the dish in her hand so hard she probably set her fingerprints on it for life.
He was shirtless. Every muscle on his chest spoke of hard work or a daily workout. Curly chestnut hair waved in an uneven design across his chest. A narrow strip led straight under his loosened belt buckle.
She snapped her gaze back up to his face. His head was tilted, his eyes sparkling at her discomfiture. She backed up another step on the small landing. "I'll come back. I didn't mean to disturb you."
He motioned to the living room. "Come on in. You didn't disturb me. I was changing before I work out. But that can wait."
Her gaze drifted again to the open belt buckle.
His lips curved in amusement. "Honestly, Francie, come on in. I'll put a shirt on and we can talk."
Talk. That's why she'd come. Right? She followed him inside and held out the dessert dish. "Mama thought you'd enjoy this."
He took it and lifted the plastic wrap. A cone-shaped pastry overflowed with white cream dotted with pistachios and chocolate chips. Poking his finger into the filling, he tasted it. "This is wonderful. Perfect for an after-workout snack. It's a cannoli, right?"
"Right."
He smiled, then studied Francie for a moment. "But you didn't come here just to bring me dessert, did you?"
The man was too perceptive for her peace of mind. Brent could never read her with the ease Noah did. It was unsettling. Suddenly she was nervous. Something about her and Noah in the small living room, his upper torso naked... She glanced in the other direction and saw an assortment of weights and a skiing machine. "Do you take all this everywhere you go?"
"The skier folds. It all fits easily into the trunk."
"Is everything here okay? You've found what you need?"
His eyes grew dark and hot at her question and her breath came faster. There was something powerful about Noah, something exciting. She wondered what he was thinking.
But his words were commonplace. "The apartment's great. Much more welcoming than a motel room. It almost feels like a...home."
That sadness was there again that made her want to reach out to him. She looked at the surroundings through his eyes. Her mother had sewn the navy and peach floral slipcovers herself. The sofa and armchair took up a good portion of the room. The navy and russet braided rug covering the dark parquet floor added to the homey feel. Francie herself had embroidered the framed crewelwork of the four seasons on the wall. Stitchery was one of the few ways she could sit still, relax, and let stress slip away.
The wooden dinette set in the kitchen was the same light blue as the cabinets. Navy and white cafe curtains hung at the window. The surroundings were pleasant, cheerful.
"I'm glad you like it. Sometimes in winter it gets a little chilly up here..."
"Your mother brought me an extra blanket."
Francie would bet a week's pay that Noah slept in the nude. She wished she could keep her gaze away from his chest, ignore the urge to run her fingers across it, through the hair. Blast it! What was the matter with her?
She nodded to the dish in his hand and stuffed her hands into her jeans pockets. "If you're not going to eat that now, you should refrigerate it."
In a few steps, he'd opened the refrigerator and poked the dessert inside. It was the only thing on the shelves. "Tomorrow I'll have to go grocery shopping. Where's the closest store?"
Francie gave him directions. Then curiosity got the better of her. "You really cook?"
He gave her a mock frown. "I'm thirty-six years old. How do you think I survived all these years?"
"Fast-food restaurants?" she teased.
He chuckled. "Your brothers know how to cook, why shouldn't I?"
It was a fair question, requiring a fair answer. "You just don't seem like the type."
His expression sobered. "I was on my own a lot growing up. I either cooked or didn't eat."
"No brothers or sisters?"
"Nope."
More than curios
ity made her ask, "Do you have much family?"
He pushed the toaster closer to the small microwave oven. "None."
Her heart hurt for him. Family meant so much--support, comfort, love. She couldn't imagine doing without hers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry--"
The cell phone on a side table chirped, startling Francie.
Noah looked relieved. "I'd better get that."
Glad for the interruption into a conversation he didn't want to have, Noah listened to one of his managers. However his gaze was on Francie as she roamed around the room and stopped to examine the skiing machine. Something was bugging her. And she was bugging him. Those damn big brown eyes that had widened so innocently at the sight of his bare chest. He couldn't help but feel a few moments of male satisfaction, but other feelings and urges had quickly taken over. There was passion in Francie. He could feel it. Deep, wild passion she restrained. He'd had a glimpse of it concerning the rink. And when her eyes had fallen to his loosened belt buckle, he'd seen it again.
A man. A woman. Attracted to each other. How simple it could be. How complicated. He sighed and repeated to himself, No involvement with Francie. She deserved more than he could give. Her questions about family had brought home more than anything how different they were. They came from two different worlds.
Noah concentrated on his manager's problem. "Call the insurance company and make sure about liability coverage. But I don't see any reason to increase it now or to switch companies. City Mutual is competent and easy to work with. Let me know if you have any more questions."
When he hung up, Francie said, "I'd never think of calling you after hours."
"Apparently you don't call much at all, or you would have known Craig had left."
She picked up one of the round five-pound weights, balanced it on her hand, then set it back on the floor. "I try to handle problems myself."
"Craig told me that."
Her gaze locked to Noah's. "He's really all right?"
"Yes. He went back to accounting."
"Accounting?"
"He and I had an accounting firm before we bought the rinks."
"Why did he sell out? He never talked as if he was considering it."
"He had some personal problems, Francie. That's all I can say." Craig was the one person with whom Noah had a bond. He wouldn't discuss his friend's problems with anyone, not even Francie.
Falling For Her Boss Page 4