Falling For Her Boss

by Karen Rose Smith

  "My...my arm. I hit my elbow..." He started to get up.

  "No, Drew. Stay still. Does anything else hurt?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Veronica called your dad."

  Now the tears came to Drew's eyes. "He's gonna be so mad. He told me..." Drew bit his lip and the tears rolled down his cheeks.

  "It's okay, honey. He'll know it was an accident."

  "But he said..."

  Noah crouched down beside Francie, his expression unreadable. "How are you doing, son? Your dad will be here in a few minutes." When Drew didn't respond but tightened up into more of a ball, Noah said to Francie in a low tone, "Pierson almost bit Veronica's head off. If she'd told me what she was doing, I would have made the call. He hung up before I could talk to him. I'm going to call the paramedics. Then Pierson will know we've done everything we can."

  Noah was taking every precaution so the rink wasn't liable. Francie sighed, then spoke to Drew softly and soothingly. He seemed to be more worried about his dad's reaction than about his arm.

  The paramedics arrived first. They'd finished checking out Drew when Mr. Pierson came running into the rink. He glared at Francie and knelt down beside his son. "How is he?"

  The paramedic answered, "He seems to be fine except for his arm. We'll transport and get him X-rayed at the hospital. If you want to hop in the back with your son, you can."

  Pierson nodded absently. "Yes, of course." He stood and turned to Francie. "This is all your fault. I told you I didn't want my son on skates. But, no, you people are all alike. Anything to make a buck."

  Noah stepped up beside Francie, his demeanor calm. "This is not Ms. Piccard's fault. She had your son's interest at heart. And since you gave your permission—"

  "I never gave my permission."

  Noah frowned. "I saw the note myself."

  "You're only interested in saving your own neck because you know I can sue." He looked at Francie. "Did you see the note?"

  "No, I was away. Mr. Pierson, maybe we can settle this after Drew's taken care of."

  Pierson pointed his finger at her. "Yeah, so you can call a lawyer in the meantime. Well, go right ahead. You'll need one. Because I'll be back."

  Noah handed the irate man a business card. "You might get tied up in Emergency. That's my cell number."

  Pierson glanced at Francie. "I thought she was in charge."

  "She is. But I own the rink, and I'm the one who saw the note."

  Some of the steam seemed to seep out of Pierson, but the hard purpose didn't leave his expression. He spun on his heels and hurried after Drew and the paramedics.

  Francie felt as if she'd been hit by a herd of teenagers skating at high speed around the rink. First, her realization that she loved Noah, now this scene with Drew and his father.

  Noah came to her and she moved away. She wanted too badly to feel his arms around her, his lips on hers. She couldn't be close to him now and not betray her feelings.

  Noah took her by the elbow. "Let's go get a cup of coffee."

  She yanked her arm away, burned by his fingers. "I don't need coffee."

  His lips tightened when she wrapped her arms around herself. "Then let's go to the office and talk."

  "What about? The way I get too involved with my customers? So you can say I-told-you-so?"

  Noah surveyed the skaters starting the motion around the rink again. But a few were still watching Noah and Francie. "Let's take this someplace private, Francie." His voice was low, carrying a warning.

  "Private? We don't need to go anywhere private for me to hear what you have to say. And I'll save you the trouble of saying it. You were right and I was wrong. Tell me, Noah, did you stand by me because you care about me or to prevent a lawsuit?"

  She thought she saw pain, raw and sharp, flash in Noah's eyes. But a second later it was gone, replaced by icy anger that made his words wintry-sharp. "You believe what you want to believe."

  Instead of heading for the office, he strode across the foyer and opened the glass door to the lobby.

  ****

  Noah let the cold air sweep around him as he paced back and forth outside the rink. So many emotions battered him he felt like taking off at a fast run to escape them. But Pierson might call. And Francie might need him.

  Hell. Need him? She didn't even trust him. That hurt so damned much his chest tightened. She'd wrapped her arms around herself and backed away as if he might hurt her. The oath he let out was loud and clear, sailing deep into the parking lot.

  She as much as said she wanted to be married to McIntosh. She wanted to skate with him. Why didn't she just do it and save them both all this grief? Because she wanted to save the rink?

  This situation was the exact one Noah had avoided all his adult life. Somehow, he'd gotten sucked into caring about Francie and her family and her hopes and dreams. None of it should matter to him. But after the kiss McIntosh had interrupted, it mattered too much. So Noah had tried to stay away from her.

  How could he stop wanting her in his arms...in his bed...in his life?

  ****

  Francie saw Noah come back in as she rolled around the rink. He looked windblown and distracted, the beard shadow along his jaw making him look more rugged, more untamed. She might have spoken to him, apologized even, if he'd glanced her way. But he didn't. Instead he disappeared into the office and came out a few minutes later—suit jacket buttoned, laptop in hand—stopped to speak to Veronica, and then left!

  Francie almost rolled to a stop.

  If she went running after him, what would happen? Would he admit he cared about her? That's what she'd been trying to pull from him when she'd made her accusation. She hadn't realized it then, but she did now.

  She beckoned to Veronica when she caught her eye. Francie couldn't leave the floor when she was the only member of their personnel skating.

  Veronica rolled beside her. "You want me to take over so you can get something to eat?"

  "Where'd Noah go?"

  Veronica tilted her blond head and gave Francie a speculative look. "He said he was going back to his apartment to work. He didn't tell you he was leaving?"

  Francie felt her cheeks redden as she shook her head.

  "I know it's none of my business," Veronica said, "but if you want to leave, Theresa can come out on the floor with me. We've got plenty of people working tonight."

  "You covered when I was gone. You're covering Sunday."

  "I like being here. You know that. I feel like I'm playing, not working."

  Veronica did like helping to manage the rink as much as Francie liked doing it. She was also single and had no one to answer to, so odd hours weren't a problem. Francie's pulse raced as she thought about leaving and apologizing to Noah. Obviously he was angry with her. He could use some time to cool off. She could use some time to prepare herself to see him.

  "I'm not leaving now. I'll take off around eight and let you close up if that's all right."

  Veronica nodded.

  Francie was going to use the time to shore up her courage. She had to apologize to Noah.

  ****

  Francie ran up the steps to Noah's apartment, mindful of the red SUV parked in the driveway. Pierson's station wagon. She recognized the vehicle. Sure, it could be someone else. But who else did Noah know in Gettysburg? Should she barge in? This mess was her fault. She wanted to know how Drew was and why his father was here.

  Noah opened the door, his expression neutral. Wordlessly, he stepped aside so she could enter. Neither man looked particularly upset. Pierson rose from the sofa when he saw her.

  "How's Drew?" No matter what else was going on, the little boy was foremost on her mind.

  "Nothing's broken. His arm is bruised. He has to keep it in a sling for a day or two. It wasn't the arm that had him so upset."

  "But he said it hurt--"

  Drew's father raised his brows. "I'm sure it did. But I was just telling Mr. Gordon I jumped to the wrong conclusions. I want to apologize to both
of you."

  Francie breathed an internal sigh of relief. "You were worried."

  "That's the problem. I've been worrying too much."

  When Jud Pierson didn't explain, Noah did. "Drew did bring in a note. But his sister wrote it and signed it for him. His father knew nothing about it."

  Jud's forehead creased as he spoke. "It seems my daughter, who's fourteen and knows everything there is to know, decided this was one way to get back at me for, as she puts it, keeping her under glass! She's been fully recovered from her accident for six months now, but I'm still hovering. She didn't want to see me do that to Drew."

  "I imagine it's difficult to know when to protect and when to let go," Francie mused.

  Jud nodded in agreement. "It is. But I should have listened to my wife. For weeks she's been warning me that I can't protect our children from life."

  "Do you believe that even after Drew's injury?" Francie asked.

  "Yes," Jud answered wearily. "Drew as much as told me his fall was my fault. He said he was trying so hard not to fall, that's why he fell!"

  Francie suppressed a grin at Pierson's amazement. "How does he feel about skating now?"

  Jud gave her an exasperated smile. "He wants to join your beginners class next Saturday. I told him when the doctor gives his okay, he can skate." Offering his hand to Noah, Jud asked, "No hard feelings?"

  Noah shook the man's hand. "Of course not. In your situation, I would have reacted the same."

  Jud shook Francie's hand, then went to the door. "Maybe one of these days, you'll see our whole family at the rink."

  Francie was almost sorry to see Jud Pierson leave. She was alone with Noah, and she had an apology of her own to deliver. She just wasn't sure how to go about it.

  Noah stood by the door, watching her expectantly. He didn't offer to take her jacket, and she wasn't surprised he was letting her make the first move. After all, Noah was a cautious man.

  She jammed her hands into her pockets and tentatively took a step toward him. His blue T-shirt struggled across his chest, molded to his muscled upper arms, fitting like a second skin. It looked soft, probably from a thousand washings. His gray sweatpants hung caressingly against his thighs. She almost broke out in a sweat. Sensuality and power radiated from him. With her desire for him as well as the love blooming in her heart, she was speechless again.

  Her hesitant step must have been enough of a first move. Still frustratingly neutral, he said, "I would have called you. About Pierson."

  "I wasn't sure you would. Not after what I said."

  He shrugged, as if what she'd said, what she'd felt, didn't matter in the least. "No one can fault you for being honest."

  "But I wasn't. Being honest, I mean."

  No expression crossed his face, but the light in his eyes changed, making them greener, deeper. Maybe he wasn't so immune to what she had to say.

  Being truthful had never seemed so risky. "I only said what I did to push you. To try to find out if you do care."

  He approached her slowly, studying every feature of her face. "Would I put up with your stall tactics if I didn't care? Would I have come to New York? Would I go up in flames when I kiss you?"

  Her knees shook. "I don't know. I guess that's what I was trying to find out."

  "Touch me, Francie. Touch me and find out exactly how much I care."

  She lifted her hand and reached toward his chest.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Noah hadn't meant it as a dare. To his surprise, it had been more of a plea.

  The control he'd managed all week snapped like a chain with a weak link. The weak link was his desire for a woman who could melt his resolve with the simplest expression, the simplest touch.

  And this time her touch wasn't simple. She was taking him at his word and touching him with fingers that wanted to explore, that wanted to take him deeper into passion. She played across his collarbone, then with curious intent, brushed along his shoulders to his upper arms...with both hands.

  The T-shirt was so worn he could feel every nuance of her fingertips, and he couldn't imagine having a more vigorous response if she'd played on his naked skin. Naked. Suddenly he wanted her naked in his arms more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

  He reached for the plackets of her jacket, opened it wide, and gazed at her breasts heaving up and down with the same excitement he felt. He wanted to feel them in his hands, touch them with his tongue. Moments later, her jacket and sweater landed on the floor. She wore a sport bra, and as his gaze lingered on it, Noah decided it was sexier than silk and lace. She blushed, and all he could think about was setting her free, seeing her naked and on his bed beneath him.

  Just the thought hardened him and took his breath away. What would the actual experience do? His mind and body raced ahead while he slid his fingers under her bra and lifted it over her head. It sailed through the air.

  The wind rattled against a window. The coffee pot clicked. His sight and hearing were acutely sensitive, the pads of his fingers tingling with longing to wisp across her bare skin. But there was something he wanted to do first, even before kissing her. He took her ponytail and carefully pulled the band that was holding it away from her face, away from her shoulders, away from his fingers.

  When her beautiful black hair was loose, he slid his fingers through it. Like the cling of silk, it caressed him. He could no longer stand the waiting. He took her mouth with the hunger and desire he'd been denying too long.

  Kissing him back, she met him stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust, sweep for sweep. She trembled in his arms, reminding him she was precious and responsive and--for the moment--his.

  Francie tightened her arms around Noah so she wouldn't fall, so she wouldn't be swept away. He was solid and hot and hard and everything she needed right now. The intimate taste of his mouth, the slick heat, the devouring hunger taught her truths about passion she had never known. She had needs and wants and desires that Noah could more than satisfy. As a man, he didn't just need pleasure, he wanted to give it, too. Plucking at his shirt, she pulled it from his waistband. When she stroked his back, he rocked his hips against hers.

  Need moistened her. Passion drove her to rub against him to find fulfillment. But Noah wanted more than pleasure inhibited by clothing. Still kissing her as if she were air for breath, food for hunger, salvation itself, he deftly unsnapped her jeans, grated down the zipper, and pushed the denim from her hips. The weight of the fabric took the jeans to her ankles. She kicked them away, reaching for the band of Noah's sweatpants at the same time.

  Everything escalated. Need. Desire. Necessity. Hunger. Love.

  She loved Noah. Nothing mattered more. Nothing else mattered at all.

  His hands pulled; hers pushed. He stripped off her panties; she lifted his shirt. Heat and electricity and desire crackled around them as Noah swung Francie into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  He sat on the side, holding her in his lap, kissing and caressing and making her world spin. He broke the kiss only to duck his head, string kisses along her chin, down her throat, lingering, though blazing a path she knew would end at her breasts. The anticipation was almost as thrilling as the kisses themselves.

  Circling her nipple, closing in, tempting, teasing, he would approach it until she could almost feel his tongue. Then he reversed direction, widening the circle again. She let out a moan of frustration and he chuckled--a deep, sexy laugh that surged through her like pure lightning.

  "Noah," she pleaded.

  Her husky murmur stopped him for a moment, and he studied her face, kissed her nose, her cheek, her chin, then homed in exactly where she wanted him. His tongue flicked her nipple teasingly. She arched toward him. Leaving that nipple, he went to the other, tormenting her the same way.

  She said again, "Noah." This time louder, with more urgency.

  He opened his mouth and laved the peak of her breast with a velvet rasp that made her moan. The sparks inside her that had begun with his kiss and spread to
every part of her, ignited into small flames licking at her nerve endings. She could feel them everywhere. They danced, jumped, coalesced into one large flame that made her burn, pant, long for the experience to go on forever, yet also yearn for its completion.

  Noah's manhood was hard and fiery under her thigh. When she moved her leg, he groaned and she knew she could make his fires come fiercely alive too.

  His mouth was heaven, but she leaned away so she could give him pleasure. She had to be an equal in this. That was so important. Would he let her?

  When she pulled back, he asked, "Am I hurting you?"

  She caressed his cheek. "Oh, no. But I want to make you feel good, too."

  His face was dark with passion, his gaze alight with the same flames she felt. "You are."

  She played her fingers across his lips. "I want to give you more."

  He smiled and gave her a hungry, devouring kiss. They lay beside each other on the bed, his arm around her, her hair cascading over his shoulder. Now she had the full territory of his body to discover. Rough landscape, muscled terrain. After she explored that, she headed toward the velvet heat that could fulfill her.

  She touched him, and he gave a deep guttural sound that was primal and exciting. As she trailed one finger down the heated length of his arousal, he sucked in a breath. Wrapping her hand around him, she counted the beats of his pulse against her palm. They were fast, anticipatory, rushing toward release.

  She looked at him and searched his green gaze for what she wanted to find. She saw hunger and need. But she couldn't tell if there was love. How could a woman know unless a man said it? And she wanted it to be said freely. She wasn't about to ask. Not now. Not when she wanted to believe he felt as deeply as she did.

  After she released him with a brush of her fingers that sent a shudder through him, she stroked his thigh and nuzzled his bronze male nipple.

  He growled, "Enough, Francie," and rose above her.

  He caressed her breasts and dropped kisses on their crowns. Stroking lower, he grazed her navel and slid his hand between her thighs, nudging her legs farther apart.

  The excitement, the passion, the love, coursed through her. Shivers danced up and down her arms. Her legs trembled. She waited expectantly.