Edie and the CEO (Crimson Romance)

by Hughes, Mary

  She hobbled back and forth, fretting. Waiting anxiously for her man … rats.

  She put the teakettle on, rummaged around for cup and tea, and did not fret. Especially not about how they’d parted. The kettle whistled. Why did they always end up arguing? She dropped the teabag into the cup and poured. She wanted to argue with him right now. If her leg weren’t injured she’d be running after him to have a good fight with him, the kind he deserved, where she could grab him by the shoulders and scream in his face and then kiss him and kiss him … She dunked the teabag so fast water sloshed onto the table.

  Idiot. She tossed the bag away.

  Unless they fought because she was drawn to him, clashing like two gears going different speeds. If they could find a common speed, if they could ever mesh …

  The sudden shock of need made her thighs clamp, her whole body clench. She breathed through it. Compatible physically, oh yes. Unfortunately oh yes.

  But philosophically? He was from PC and she was from Mac.

  Although … even committed lovers disagreed. It was significant that, during the worst of their arguments, Everett never tried to make her feel wrong or bad. He’d even taken her side a time or two in the HHE tug of war. She never admitted she knew, because he might be embarrassed.

  She folded her hands around the hot cup. That wasn’t true. What she couldn’t admit was that Edith Ellen Rowan ever needed rescuing. How could her grandparents be proud of her then? She especially didn’t want to admit that it was the Evil Overlord who rescued her. Then she might have to see him, not as Mr. President Kirk, but as a kind and generous man.

  He might be embarrassed, right. She was

  the one who was embarrassed. He’d called it, all right — she didn’t accept help very easily.

  She owed him an apology. When he got back, she’d make it. What happened after, well, they’d see.

  Mind set, conscience relieved, but body still throbbing and pent-up, she sat down with her tea to wait.

  Chapter Nine

  To: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com

  From: ED@mythicmail.com

  Subject: Problem spotted

  It’s that trouble-making woman. How can you like her? Believe me, I’m your friend. It’s her, she’s the one.

  — ED

  Edie woke cramped and aching, and automatically checked her phone for the time. Two thirty in the morning. What was she doing on the couch? It was her turn on the bed. They hadn’t explicitly agreed to trade nights, and it would be hard for Everett to fit his great height on the couch. But it was only equal. She got up, shuffled to the si ^ algl>Itnk, drew a glass of water, and shuffled into the bedroom.

  The bed was empty.

  “Everett?” Her voice rang through the cabin in a distressingly echoey way. She speed-hobbled from room to room, even going so far as to check under the couch. No Everett.

  She hobbled to the door, swung it open. “Everett!” Snow blew into her face, her open mouth. She slammed the door shut and coughed. “Damn it, if you’re not dead, I’m going to name you Bill and take a whole movie franchise to kill you.”

  Her aching leg benched her. She fretted on the couch past three, past three thirty. Enough was enough. Leg or no, she was going after him.

  She’d just tossed on her jacket when the door swung open. A blast of cold air carried in a swirl of snow and a very white Everett.

  Edie turned. “What the hell — ”

  “Thhatt’s rats,” he stuttered between pinched lips, staggering into the room like his legs were stilts.

  “Where have you been?” She pushed the door shut behind him before attacking him with fussing, yanking off his ice-crusted coat and slapping the slush out of his hair a bit harder than necessary. “Where are your gloves?”

  “Lost ’em. Dumb.” A shiver passed through his big frame.

  Edie grabbed his arm and guided him to the couch where she pushed him down and cocooned him in blankets. “Let me see your hands.”

  He poked them out of the cocoon.

  She wanted to cry. His competent hands were dead white, along with his nose and the tips of his ears. “Damn it, you’ve got frostbite.”

  “R … rats. And n … no.” Everett’s words were accompanied by the castanets of his teeth. “N … not f … fr’ssbite.”

  “Of course not.” Edie threw off her jacket and started the kettle. “Take off your shoes.”

  “Stupid.” The word was huffed.

  “And the rest.” She grabbed a bucket and filled it from the tap. The water was just a few degrees from ice but it would feel like fire on his “not-frostbitten” feet. She glanced at him to see if he was following orders.

  To her surprise, he was. Piece by sodden piece, clothes came out from under the huddled mountain of blankets. Everything was wet, even his undershirt — the thin white cotton that had molded so faithfully to his chest —

  No. Now was not the time to provoke her pent-up, aching, heavily throbbing … phooey.

  She lugged the bucket to the couch and stuffed his white feet in. Impressively, all he did was grimace.

  The kettle whistled. She retrieved it and slowly poured hot water into the bucket. Gradually, his feet gained color. He sighed.

  She left him to soak and made the rest of the hot water into tea. Before she let him drink, she lifted the mug to his mouth and blew its wafting steam into his lips until they were a healthy red. He really had the most kissable mouth … She tipped the mug so he could drink.

  “Stupid,” he muttered again.

  “I’m stupid?”

  “Me.” He shifted under the blankets to take the mug from her. “I was out too long. But I don’t have frostbite.”

  Edie stared his lips again, fascinated by the way they moved as he spoke. “What turned your feet white?”

  “Frostnip. Frostbite leaves cstb as permanent damage. And hurts a hel — rats of a lot more.”

  She watched him talk, her fingers aching to caress his warm, moving … cry her a whole river of rats. She grabbed a washcloth and briskly took it to his feet instead.

  “What hurts is my pride. The snares were empty.”

  “Not your fault.” She scrubbed his feet until they were pink. “You can’t control weather, or what animals do.”

  “I should be able to.”

  “What, you’re a demigod now? Nice promotion.”

  His mouth quirked. “What can I say? HHE has great career opportunities. President, then demigod, then chairman of the board, where I get a quarter mil, a Lexus, and my own small planet.”

  Then he slumped. “But it’s not godlike. It’s simple planning, something I can usually do in my sleep.” He clutched the mug. “I’m such an imbecile!”

  “Perfectionist much?” Gently, Edie took his feet from the bucket, wiped them dry and laid them on the couch. Then she sat next to his feet and started massaging.

  “We all have to have something to shoot for. Today perfection, tomorrow that small planet.” He set down the mug, laid back and shut his eyes. Almost grudgingly he added, “That feels good.”

  “I’m glad.” She switched feet, massaging each toe, then the ball, then using her knuckles on the side. “I heard from other people that you were hard on yourself at work. But I never saw it before this.”

  “Usually you’re too involved in your own work.”

  “Meaning self-absorbed?” Edie started massaging up his calf, which was nicely taut and muscular. Time for her apology, but … if she admitted she was wrong, would he use it against her? The potential vulnerability scared her.

  No, she trusted him. Time to prove it. “Maybe I’ve been a little blind. About the … office thing.”

  His eyes opened, a blue so deep she fell into them. He half-sat, reaching out to rasp a thumb over her cheek. The blankets dropped from his torso, revealing smooth skin over hard muscles — seen in her periphery because she was drowning in his eyes. “Edie, you’re one of the most caring people I know. Sometimes it makes you single-minded. That’s
hardly a fault.”

  “You have all sorts of excuses for me, but you’re hard on yourself.” As if the blankets had also dropped from her eyes, she felt like she was truly seeing him for the first time.

  “I’m not as selfless as you think.” He cupped her face. “I’d like to kiss you, you know.”

  She thrilled to the words. “What about company policy?”

  He sighed and dropped his hand. Shrugged the blanket back onto his shoulders. “I didn’t make the rules. But when I took the job I agreed to carry them out.”

  “Poor Everett.” Her fingers, still on his leg under the blanket, massaged slowly, gently past his calf to his thigh.

  He groaned. “That feels better than good.”

  “But you don’t just follow the rules, do you, Everett? If you did, I’d have been out the door years ago.” The thick muscle delighted her fingers. She kneaded his thigh, working her way up.

  “Edie. You’re killing me.” He stopped her hands with one of his.

  She simply began massaging his competent hand. “What have you done for the little guy that I don’t know about, Everett?”

  Her massage wrung another groan from him, as well as the truth. “Jack.”

  “What about Jack?” She rubbed his strong forearm.

  “He was on Bethany’s team. He wasn’t happy.”

  She stopped massaging to stare at him. “You moved him to my team?”

  “Yes.” Everett’s eyes almost dared her to say something insulting.

  “What else, Everett?” She slid her hands from under the blanket to massage his shoulders. She had to lean against his hard, hot chest, to get the proper leverage. Her fingers dug into rock-like deltoids. “Come on, tell me.”

  He groaned, said as if it were torn from him, “I had the wage freeze removed.”

  The freeze on the clerical staff, lowest on the corporate totem pole. No one cared about them except Edie … and now, she discovered, Everett. She crawled up his chest and whispered into his ear, “Why Everett, that was sweet.” She brushed his lips with hers.

  “Sweet?” He huffed. “Is Tarzan sweet? Are demigods sweet? I’ll show you sweet.” Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her flat against him, his hard chest imprinting her. A hand clasped the back of her head. Holding her tight, he crushed his mouth down on hers.

  Her belly furled with fiery delight. His tongue was hot wet velvet tracing her lips, flame thrusting between. Bright desire threaded her veins. She moaned and opened for him.

  He seemed to have not only forgotten company policy, but thrown it headfirst into the snow. His big hands ranged along her back, down her spine, cupping her hips, kneading. Returning to slide under her waistband. She could have stopped him at any point, but his touch was magical. By the time he dipped into the dimples of her derriere, fingers teasing the whisper of hair, she was limp with need.

  He sat and shifted her onto his lap. She wiggled against the thickness pressing up under his blanket. Either his boxers were made by the old Soviet tank division, or he was savagely aroused. She thrilled to it.

  Briefly she worried about the frostbite. But his body was hot and his mouth had started nibbling laps down her neck and she didn’t want to stop because when would he ever forget himself enough to do this again? She squirmed harder against him, raising his physical interest until the blankets slithered off and … good freaking genie-rubbing lamps.

  He was naked.

  Far from weakening or embarrassing him, it added a fierce edge to his masculinity. “Edie, my fireball, let me touch you.” His tongue dipped into the notch of her throat, breath billowing against her skin.

  She didn’t trust herself to answer. She took his hand and guided it under her shirt. He winnowed under her bra, cupped and kneaded and finally pinched until she moaned and strained into him. Until she grabbed his head and pulled.

  With one swift tug, he raised her shirt and bra and set to suckling her nipple. He drew hard, his mouth fiery hot. Her feet curled. Her fingers raked through his hair, demolishing the civilized ponytail. Loose chestnut strands cascaded through her hands. She gloried in the feel of it, raw silk and heat.

  She threw her shirt off. Straddling him, she grabbed his head again, holding him to her breast. “Make love to me, Everett.”

  His hands caressed her, his mouth roved over her. “Edie. Sweetheart. I can’t.”

  “What?” It took a moment. “What do you mean?”

  He feasted on her like a starv c li align="ing man. “I can’t make love to you.”

  She pulled away. His erection was still raging under her, so that wasn’t the problem … Then she knew, and was outraged. “Company policy, Kirk?” She jumped off him. Stared at his hips, her eyebrows lifting. No, that wasn’t the problem at all.

  “Edie, no.” He groaned, his arms out as if they still held her.

  “Then what?” Had he remembered she was the worker drone enemy? She bit back her tears, armored herself in anger. “You’re too good for me?”

  “No, sweetheart.” He opened eyes clouded with passion … and confusion. “I just don’t have protection.”

  “What protection?”

  “No condom.” He cheeks went ruddy. “That pregnant woman and her boss … I don’t want even the echo.”

  “Oh.” Edie paled. “I beg your pardon

  . You’re right, of course. Thank you. That’s … considerate.” She hugged herself, turning away. “It’s your turn on the couch tonight.”

  “Yes, of course.” A pause. “Good night, Edie.” His voice was soft.

  She made for the bedroom, her leg — and other parts — throbbing.

  The bed was cold.

  Chapter Ten

  To: ED@mythicmail.com

  From: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com

  Subject: Re: Problem spotted

  Dear ED,

  I’d think you sound jealous, but that’s impossible — you don’t even know if I’m the opposite sex!

  No worries. I like this woman a lot … and maybe even more than like her … but I don’t trust her. Well, I do trust her, actually. But even if you were jealous, you’d have nothing to worry about, because she doesn’t like me. Not like I like her. She’s always fighting me, when she’s not ignoring me or worse.

  What I’m trying to say is that you are my friend. Please believe that, ED.

  — Prez

  Monday morning Edie woke in a strange bed, weak sun high in the sky. Her head ached and her eyes stung and her heart hurt and she remembered the near miss lovemaking with Everett.

  Not lovemaking. Sex. She threw back the covers and got dressed.

  He’d stopped because he didn’t want them to end up like Aurora and Leadbottom. Sweet, caring … and annoying. Everett had a wild, sensual side that Edie liked. A lot. She’d like to see a lot more of it.

  Her grandparents would also like Everett’s wild child when she brought him home to meet them …

  She had not just thought that.

  The instant she left the bedroom she felt the cabin’s emptiness. “Rats! Scourges and plagues of rats!”

  He was gone again. His coat couldn’t have dried out all that much in a few hours. “Frostnip my cute ass. The man is an amputation waiting to happen.”

  She didn’t even think about her gashed leg, just threw on her coat and jammed her feet into her boots. He’d gone outside with frostbite, barehanded since he’d lost his gloves. The man’s skull must be full of dancing hamsters. Like refreezing thawed meat, frostbite was way worse the second time.

  She thought of Everett without those fine hands, and nearly f li a frostb cried.

  Throwing open the door she sucked in a breath to shout his name. The air froze her lungs and her eyebrows froze. When had frigid become WTF? No wonder Everett had looked so ghastly. She had to find him. She slammed the door shut and dug into her clothes bag. Extra pants lined her jeans, another pair of socks insulated her feet. She wound a scarf around her head and jammed a hat over that. Better prepared, sh
e went outside.

  Everett’s tracks led away from the cabin. She followed them through a stand of trees into a large clearing, dismayed to see them trail far into the distance. Damn his provider-instinct hide. She wanted to find him before he was so frozen that she’d have to ride him back like a sled. Although if she turned his hard body over she could ride him other ways … whip her with Cat 5, when had she gotten so sex-on-the-brain?

  The cold quickly tired her but she pressed on. At least her aching leg no longer ached, numb now. That was good news, wasn’t it? Probably not, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her.

  She lost his trail, backtracked, and found a barely perceptible path. Ten minutes passed, and twenty. Her breath froze her nostrils raw. The snow swam before her eyes.

  How had Everett made this trek, not once or twice, but three times?

  The path wound into a thick stand of firs. There she lost his trail entirely. She plowed forward, frantic, hoping to rediscover it on the other side but when she broke through the trees there was nothing but pristine snow.

  She scrambled back the way she had come, her breath quick steamy puffs. The last clear prints were at the edge of the forest. She bent, hands on knees, chest aching, eyes swimming … spots. On the snow.

  She dropped to her knees. Dark red spattered the snow around Everett’s footprints. She jerked off one glove to touch it. It was cold. She took a pinch of red snow and rubbed it between her fingers. When it warmed, it was sticky. She raised her trembling hand to her nose and sniffed. Flinched.

  Blood.

  “Everett,” she screamed. It rang on the crystal-cold air.

  She ran, vectoring from the prints through the trees, out into a clearing. Still no tracks but she kept plowing forward, up a steep incline, anger and fear pushing her to crest the top.

  Pain seared her thigh, knifed her side. She pressed hands to her flank and paused, panting in shards of brittle air. She peered through ice-crusted slits.