The Gem (D'Arth Book 4)

by Camille Oster

  Having finished nursing school, she hadn't realised how much of the work would involve not nursing, particularly on these private jobs. She'd always imagined herself in a hospital and that was probably still her aim. She'd been warned repeatedly how challenging nursing could be emotionally if not approached right, and she had certainly fallen into some form of pothole. She just didn't quite know what it was—besides the obvious attraction to a client. Her courses hadn't really covered the part: the what-to-do-when-your-client-is-ridiculously-hot problem. As a nurse, she should never, ever go there, but as a woman, she shouldn't either. Peter was a predator and there was no doubt about it. She wasn't entirely sure what variety, but he was some version of it, and she wasn't stupid enough to fall for that.

  Turning back, she leaned on the kitchen bench and watched him as he lay still, beautiful and serene. It as easy to watch him when he was sleeping; she could do it for hours. It was much harder when he was awake and there were sharp edges all over him.

  Tearing herself away, she checked out the fridge, discovering that there was nothing in there other than the Champagne which had been untouched since she first came there. She walked over towards the bed where Peter's jacket had been thrown across a chair. "I'm taking your card. You have nothing in the fridge."

  Only the barest grunt came from Peter and Shay wondered if he’d even understood her, but he’d been fine giving her his card in the past, so she would go with the assumption he wouldn’t mind. She would have to reiterate later when he was awake.

  Returning to the apartment after having taken her time at the Tesco Metro down the road, she unwrapped pork chops and placed the chocolate-covered ice creams in the freezer. The chops started smelling delicious shortly after they hit the pan.

  "What's for dinner?" came a sleepy voice from the bed.

  "Chops."

  "You say that so brutally."

  "It will taste better than it sounds."

  Shay mashed the potatoes, then plated the chop and vegetables, carrying two plates over to the bed, suspecting Peter wouldn't want to get up. She might actually cut the meat for him, too. He would love that, she thought sarcastically.

  "I feel like crap," he said when she placed the plate down on the bed next to him.

  "You overexerted yourself."

  "Why is this taking so long?"

  "Because healing is a slow process."

  Peter scooted up to sitting and speared a piece of meat with his fork. "You make the simplest food."

  "And I still make better food then you do."

  "I'm not saying it's bad. This is like fat and happy food."

  "Huh?"

  "See it all the time. Guys get girlfriends who cook them food like this and within months, they're all fat and happy, loved up in their suburban two up, two down. Ambition goes, self-respect goes, and then a long slide down into decrepitude."

  "That's a real cheery outlook on life."

  "I'm just calling it as I see it."

  Shay smiled. "Maybe that love fallacy, as you refer to it, is like a drug that just gets in the brain and make people stop caring about anything else."

  "Mock me if you wish," he said, pointing his fork at her. "I see it every year. These young guys come in, they're all ambition and testosterone, work every hour, do what it takes to get the job done, then girlfriend comes along and … "

  "Drugs them."

  "Then boom—fat and happy, and useless. And the girls, even worse. And it's not like it's exciting. There's no thrill of the chase, no anticipation of a first kiss or exploring new territory."

  "And you are like a regular intrepid explorer, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, well, there's a whole world outside a two up, two down townhouse."

  "Do you want an ice cream?"

  "No, unless you are prepared to make me happy tonight, I'm not letting you make me fat."

  "Suit yourself," Shay said and cleared their plates away, returning with an ice cream for herself. "What do you want to watch?"

  "I don't care," he said, clearly tired again. "You pick whatever dribble you watch."

  Shay turned on the TV and settled on a comedy sitcom.

  "Utter mindless drivel," Peter complained.

  "Oh, and this ice cream," Shay said teasingly, making deep groaning noises. "So good."

  Peter smiled with his eyes closed. "If I weren't so damned tired, I'd show you the meaning of good."

  "There is certainly nothing wrong with your self-confidence." Except the body cannot match it.

  "I've had no complaints. Besides, the injured man and the nurse torrid affair is a well-established theme going back to the beginning of time; it's practically a requirement." Even with his eyes closed, Shay could tell that Peter was teasing her.

  "Slightly frowned on these days."

  "Well, it wouldn't be torrid otherwise. An affair really isn't worth it if it isn't."

  She couldn't help images flooding her head, scenes that made her heat and flush. She had to look away because he always noticed when she blushed, which meant he would know exactly where her mind was at. Unlike most guys she'd met who wouldn't pick up anything so subtle, Peter seemed to notice everything, making her an open book under his scrutiny. "As this conversation is devolving quickly, I think it's time for me to leave, and you need to sleep."

  "Stay."

  "You don't need me to watch you sleep."

  "Yes, I do. And you've stayed before."

  "I've been working on the whole professionalism thing."

  "Over rated."

  Shay got up and smiled down at him. "Careful, Peter, I'm already trying to make you fat, don't push for me making you happy, too."

  "You might be the one who finally makes me change my ways."

  "A day neither of us wants to see, I'm sure," Shay said as she walked over to the table, pulling her jacket on. "Sleep tight, Peter."

  With the key, Shay let herself into Peter's apartment. This would be the last day of this assignment. She had agreed with Melissa that she couldn't extend and Peter really didn't need a nurse; she was acting more in the capacity of an expensive house keeper.

  Peter was sitting on the cream coloured couch when she got there, which was different. He did look stronger, more alert than yesterday.

  "You came home early," she said with surprise. She saw Peter take her form in, feeling self-conscious as his eyes studied her clothes.

  "It was clear yesterday that I couldn't handle a full day."

  "Probably a wise decision. A gradual return would be better. Are you hungry?"

  "Yes."

  Shay went to the kitchen, pulling out the chicken she'd bought yesterday out of the fridge and putting it on an oven tray with oil and spices, along with some potato and carrot chunks. "Dinner will be a little while." That part done, she sat down on the other side of the L-shaped couch. "You really don't need a nurse anymore."

  "No, probably not," Peter admitted. "I just wasn't sure how this would go." He would go back and forth, she noted, from serious honesty to playful deception at the drop of a hat.

  "If you manage your hours, it should be fine. How was it being back at work?"

  "It was good, I suppose. My accounts were in a shambles, but nothing irrecoverable. There has been a suggestion that I go to Hong Kong next week."

  "Not sure you're ready for that."

  "I'll see how I go over the next week. You could come with me."

  "No, I can't," Shay stated. "And if you need a nurse to watch you, you probably shouldn't be going."

  "Always have to be so reasonable, don't you?"

  "That is what you hire me for."

  "You could come with me outside of your professional capacity," he grinned.

  "I could, but I won't." Shay knew he was teasing her; he wasn't serious in the offer, knowing she would turn him down. Peter was bored and teasing her was the only entertainment going. "And why would you assume I didn't have plans already?" she said, getting up and returning to the kitchen. "For all you know,
I might have a hot date planned already."

  "Competition on the horizon, is there?" Peter asked, putting his feet up on the couch, watching as she worked in the kitchen. "Some young stud come along and turned your head?"

  "Might have," she lied.

  "No, there's not. You'd be blushing right now and you're not. You're bluffing."

  "Bluffing? This isn't a poker game."

  "Of course it is. And the stakes are the torrid affair we were talking about."

  "We were not talking about a torrid affair."

  "I recall it mentioned." He ran his finger along his lower lip, smiling. "With that thought. I might have to go have a shower and cool off."

  Shay rolled her eyes and shook her head as Peter got up and walked to the bathroom. A moment later, she could hear the water running behind the closed door. The thought of him undressing in there was incredibly seductive, probably as he intended it to be. With Peter, she wasn't sure what was happenstance and what was devise, so she assumed everything was devised. What she didn't know was how serious he was, or whether he was entertaining himself the best way he could think of. It really didn't matter. She would not be going there. She really could do without making her life harder.

  After drying off and dressing, Peter watched the news for a bit while Shay got their dinner ready. "Do you want to eat at the table or stay on the couch?"

  "Couch is fine."

  She handed his plate to him and sat down with her own. She had done really well. The potatoes were crisp and the gravy covered chicken was succulent. If there was anything like fat and happy food, this was it, and it reminded her of home, where they had done this every other Sunday. Her parents were probably a good example of the state Peter derided so much.

  Both plates cleared, Shay brought them back to the kitchen and cleaned everything she'd used, putting it away until the kitchen was immaculate, wondering if it would ever be used again. It was a waste of a really good kitchen, but Peter lived his life the way he wanted—which didn't include home-cooked meals.

  "You alright?" she asked when she returned to the couch. It was coming to the end of her scheduled time. She hadn't done anything for dessert, suspecting Peter wouldn't be receptive.

  "Yeah." Leaning back, he blinked slowly. "Thank you for coming. I've gotten used to having you here, I guess."

  "But now it's time for you to fly the coop, sunshine." Shay rose. "I’d better go."

  Peter followed her, putting his hands in his pockets. "Guess you're off the clock." Unexpectedly, Peter grabbed her, drawing her to him into a kiss. Shay was too surprised to react, being assaulted with the sensation of the kiss and the heady taste of him. His lips were soft, teasing her, his tongue running along her bottom lip. She didn't know what to do with all the sensations flooding her, along with all the questions peppering her mind. This was a step beyond boredom-busting, or maybe not. The heat of his body radiated through her clothes, making her skin contract with the electricity that ran along every part of her. "Don't go," he said when he broke the kiss, staying so close she could feel his breath on her lips, promising heat, surrender and sweetness.

  It would be so easy just to give in, let the temptation carry her away, draw her down into the heady intimacy he promised. She had no doubt he could make her forget her name if she let him. Irrationally, her nursing mind kicked in somewhere in the melee, saying he shouldn't overexert himself. The urge to reach across those few millimetres to his beckoning lips was so strong she didn't quite trust herself to resist, catching herself doing just that without conscious thought. Again pleasure soaked through her entire mind, flooding her body as he pulled her into his strong frame.

  A warning alarm finally sounded. She was going to be in his bed in a moment if she didn't stop this and a large part of her wanted to enact the images that had intermittently been creeping into her mind the last few weeks. But she knew she would never forgive herself if she did and it would stay with her as a failing cropping up every time she was offered a new assignment. Falling asleep, twice, had been bad, but this would be deliberate and in a whole new category. This was her first assignment and she was stronger than this.

  "No," she said, tearing herself away. "I can't. I won't."

  Peter stepped back, his lips looking so bruised and delectable she almost changed her mind. A half smile spread across her lips and he chuckled. "Good girl," he said and took another step back. "See you around, Shay McPherson."

  The chances were unlikely, she said silently when she looked back a last time and headed out the door. Her body burned with adrenalin and her finger shook when she reached for the elevator button. Knowing she had done the right thing, she still mourned what she was missing out on by doing it. She was certain spending a night with Peter would be unforgettable, but it would also have an uncomfortable and long lasting aftermath, and for some reason she cared what he thought of her—and for what she would think of herself afterwards. Sadly, there was still a part of her brain arguing the trade-off.

  Chapter 17

  * * *

  Staring out at the view, Peter sat at his desk, slowly swivelling back and forth on his office chair. He ran the tip of the Montblanc pen along his lower lip. There was a restlessness in him that he had assumed was related to his frustrations with healing. Over the last week, he had grown stronger. He no longer needed to take naps in the sick bay in the early afternoons, but he was still not back to his old self. His racquet ball gear was sitting gathering dust and his gym instructor has probably forgotten his face, but he had learnt not to push himself past what he could do. This wasn't like anything he'd experienced in the past where persistence and determination won through. Pushing through the weakness only made him weaker and he had to bide his time—a skill he wasn't particularly good at.

  He'd had a girl over to his apartment the other night and it had gone well, but it hadn't been as fulfilling as he'd anticipated. Nerves at his body's capabilities, he'd reckoned. Since then he hadn't done it again.

  Tonight he was having dinner with the partners, which he was looking forward to. They always proved entertaining evenings and it was where strategic direction for the company was hammered out. A while back, Peter had been approached about running the American operations, and he'd had to think long and hard about it, but in the end, this company was European and this was where the game was. The American office was a satellite cash cow, and although he would manage the whole operation, he would be out of the loop, side-lined and forgotten. Besides, he had no desire to be that close to his mother.

  "Are you coming to this meeting?" Phillipa, the new intern asked. She had only worked there a few months and she was about the same age as Shay, but somehow much younger. Phillipa adored him and would do absolutely anything he asked, including undress if he asked her to, but there was no challenge in that—and he didn't do charity.

  "I'll be there in a minute," he said, turning back to the view. Something was off and he couldn't place his finger on it. Perhaps his discomfort came from effectively being directionless. He had achieved everything he'd set out to do. He'd been offered partnership, making his fortune and prospects set for the rest of his life. He was the best in the industry and the shattered award proved it to everyone. What was there left to achieve? There was still the thrill of the chase—larger clients, more complex accounts. There was the development in Shanghai which could prove interesting and lucrative, but in essence, he'd made it—beyond a doubt.

  Rising, he went off to the meeting, where his accounts team would present their ideas to him, hanging on his every word, hoping he was impressed and their careers would be fast tracked.

  The wine had flowed at dinner and Peter had enjoyed it. The politics ran through the group like a vicious undercurrent, cementing alliances and subtle attacks. Mr. Casov sat back, smoking a cigar in the private dining room at the Dorchester.

  "The east is growing," Mr. Casov said. "There's still money in the US, but the new battle ground is east." Casov was only reiterating things
he'd said before. The man was quiet for a moment, thinking. Casov was ruthless at developing business and it was his instincts that had made Grossman Altitude the force it was today. "We need to put more resources there. We're too dependent on the Hong Kong office."

  "There's always the Japanese office," Westerner said.

  "The people are too insular. They see nothing outside Japan. The Americans are flooding into Shanghai. Luckily the Chinese don't trust them. We need young, hot talent to place in China."

  Peter's mind travelled to Marco D'Arth, the young gun at Jamieson Poole. He was clever and he was ambitious, and although he had neither the experience nor skill to take Peter on, the kid had beaten him in the game for Alex. "There is some talent out there we could steal," Peter said. There was also Alex herself, but it was a fraught idea, going back on a decree he had himself placed on her.

  Casov smiled. "You have someone in mind?"

  "Yes."

  "See what you can do." Technically D'Arth was the enemy, but strength had to be respected, even if undeveloped and unpolished, exactly as Alex had been before she'd given it all up. It was such a waste, but she'd made her choice—one Peter could never truly understand.

  "Shall we move on, boys," Casov said, butting out his cigar.

  There were no female partners Grossman Altitude. There had been Cassandra, but she was now running the American operation.

  They walked down the road as the burlesque club they sometimes frequented was within walking distance. Normally, Peter rarely walked anywhere, particularly down the crowded streets of Marble Arch where the streets teemed with the life of London. Casov liked girls, not the cheap tawdry kind, but the more refined tease of the burlesque. It was a good show and the girls had attitude in spades.