by Noelle Adams
But she’d just fallen asleep.
Jonathan didn’t sleep, not for a really long time. He lay awake in bed, hour after hour, holding her in his arms.
Chapter Eight
Sarah woke up with a dull headache and a disgusting taste in her mouth.
She rolled over, blinking vaguely at the empty other side of the bed, her fuzzy mind noting that it was rumpled as if someone had slept there.
She rolled over to the other side and saw a bottle of water on the nightstand, like a boon from the gods. She grabbed at it and gulped down several mouthfuls, choking slightly since she hadn’t sat all the way up.
She made herself sit up then, even though her head pounded even more. She breathed and kept drinking the water until her mind cleared enough to realize where she was and how she’d gotten into this state.
She’d made a fool of herself last night.
She almost never drank. She’d never had much of a social life in high school or college—certainly not the kind that did a lot of partying. So the most she ever drank was a glass or two of wine at dinner on those few occasions she went out.
She didn’t know why she’d drunk so much last night—except she’d been feeling pretty and was determined not to be depressed over Jonathan’s lack of interest in her.
She closed her eyes, trying to recall if she’d done anything too humiliating, anything she couldn’t take back.
The water was lukewarm from sitting beside her bed all night, which wasn’t particularly pleasant, but at least it was wet. It was almost eight. Jonathan had probably gotten up more than an hour ago and gone down to breakfast.
Quite stupidly, she missed him.
As if her thoughts had summoned him, he walked into the room, dressed in wrinkled khakis and a black golf shirt and carrying a bottle of water.
“This one’s cold,” he said, handing it to her, as if nothing at all were strange about her condition.
She took it gratefully and gulped down a few more swallows.
“How do you feel?” he asked. He was rooting through a drawer, as if he were searching for something, but she could see him giving her a sidelong look of scrutiny.
“Like a fool,” she admitted croakily.
“Don’t. You just had a little too much to drink. Happens to everyone.”
“It’s never happened to me before.”
“You’ve really never been drunk?”
She shook her head and drank more water, this time mostly as a distraction. “I had very vanilla teenaged years.”
His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” His tone was warm, almost fond, but Sarah was hurt by the words just the same.
Evidently, he thought she was so boring she couldn’t even misbehave.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together. He was studying her again and must have noticed her reaction.
“Nothing. Just a headache.”
“You want some aspirin?”
“Not yet. Not sure my stomach could take it.”
“Do you remember anything from last night?” The words were strangely diffident, as if he were trying for them to not sound significant.
She was suddenly terrified, her queasy stomach tightening into a hard knot. Had she done something to Jonathan, said something she shouldn’t have said? Was that why he looked so wary?
“I remember some,” she said slowly, trying to sort out the tangle of images in her mind. “We were dancing at the club. I was having fun, I think.”
She had been having fun. She’d never been much of a dancer, but after a couple of drinks she’d lost her inhibitions. She’d felt wild and sexy, and she’d been thrilled by all the male attention she’d received.
It was an entirely new experience for her—that she might be the kind of woman that strangers were attracted to.
“I don’t think I did anything too bad or stupid,” she muttered, closing her eyes again as she thought. “I didn’t make out with a stranger or anything.”
“That’s good.” He looked more relaxed and he was half-smiling again. “No harm done then.”
Sarah was starting to feel a little better too, when she was hit by a crystal-clear memory. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “Did I…did I try to make out with you?”
She had. She remembered it now. She’d been babbling like an idiot and rubbing herself up against him like a horny tramp. “Oh, God,” she moaned again.
“Don’t worry about it.” He sounded matter-of-fact, unconcerned, but he was still rooting around in that drawer.
It wasn’t that big a drawer. What the hell was he trying to find?
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, covering her hot face with her hands. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he repeated, looking over at her at last. “I know enough not to take anything seriously that happens after that many drinks.”
“But I…” He was her boss, and not only had she behaved like a fool but she’d also talked to and touched him quite inappropriately. She had a horrific image of rubbing her leg against him, asking if he liked her stockings.
She looked down at herself. She was still wearing her stockings. And an oversized t-shirt that must belong to him.
She pushed her stockings down her legs like they were poisoned, yanking them off with little regard for their delicacy or expense.
“Seriously, Sarah,” Jonathan said, coming over to stand beside the bed and gently pulling her up to her feet by one arm. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s nothing I’m ever going to think about or hold against you. I’ve done silly things before too.”
She gazed up at him, her belly twisting again, but this time with a deep, fond emotion. His dark eyes were unusually intense, but so kind they made her want to melt. “I don’t think you’ve done silly things,” she murmured stupidly.
“Believe me. I have.” He let go of her and went back to the mysterious drawer of hidden treasures he couldn’t seem to get his hands on.
She watched him in silence for a minute. His thick, gentle voice sounded familiar, and she was starting to remember why.
He’d been speaking to her in that tone last night, all through her ridiculous antics. And he’d said things. She could remember them now.
He’d said he liked her. That she was pretty. That she was the most beautiful woman he knew.
And she suddenly realized why he was pretending to look for something in the drawer. He was self-conscious, uncomfortable, needed a distraction.
Jonathan Damon wasn’t a man who gave empty compliments. He was never charming, and he didn’t say things just to please or appease someone else.
He never said things he didn’t mean.
She was suddenly slammed with a blinding hope.
He’d been hard last night, aroused. By her. She remembered that now too. And he’d been so incredibly sweet, in a characteristically Jonathan way.
Maybe she’d been wrong about him. Maybe she’d been wrong about everything.
***
Jonathan left the room before Sarah could fully process the realization. Gordon came up shortly afterwards, with breakfast on a tray and some aspirin, which he said Jonathan had suggested.
Sarah ate what she could, and she was starting to feel better after she got dressed.
She wasn’t sure whether it was the shower, the aspirin, or the chaos of jittery excitement that had so thoroughly changed her condition.
There was lunch and croquet on the lawn that day, and the hours passed in a fuzzy haze. She smiled, chatted with strangers, and stood with Jonathan the whole time, fielding awkward questions like when they were going to tie the knot and whether they wanted children as smoothly and vaguely as she could.
Maybe it was her imagination, but Jonathan seemed different too. Less standoffish. More solicitous. He kept his hand on the small of her back when they were talking to other guests, and she loved how it felt there.
She tried to tell herself to be
reasonable, that just because he thought she was pretty—the most beautiful woman he knew—didn’t mean he had or could have serious feelings about her.
He was still her boss, after all, and that would always make things tricky.
Despite her mental lecturing, she was feeling increasingly bouncy anyway.
After croquet, she had a few free hours before the rehearsal dinner. Jonathan was pulled into some sort of discussion with his uncle, so she grabbed her ereader and headed to the secret garden.
She tried to read but couldn’t focus. She fiddled with her ring and kept thinking about Jonathan. What he might say, what she might say, how she could possibly find out whether there was any hope of a relationship with him. If there was any way to work it out with her job.
It made her nervous, since she didn’t want to be crushed. But she couldn’t help but put together hints and pieces in her mind and come up with the conclusion that she must be more to him than just an assistant.
She wanted to be so much more.
***
Jonathan couldn’t find Sarah, and it was starting to annoy him.
He’d showered and dressed in a dark suit for the rehearsal dinner, and it was nearly time for them to go down to dinner.
She wasn’t in the room. According to Gordon, she wasn’t in the house.
He tried to be reasonable and tell himself she’d just lost track of time. But she was never late. She was always responsible.
Something had happened or something had seriously distracted her.
He paced the bedroom, looking out the window onto the lawn and then looking out into the hallway in sequence.
He couldn’t imagine she would have gotten hurt. She wouldn’t have driven anywhere or done anything physical—not in the couple of hours between wedding events.
He’d thought she would have just taken a nap, since she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.
He’d seen her with Benjamin after the croquet was breaking up. Surely she wouldn’t have gone off with him.
She’d seemed different today, more responsive. There’d been an almost intimate look in her eyes.
As he’d been talking to family friends and family members on the lawn of his uncle’s estate, it had felt like she was really his fiancée.
It had felt like she was his.
Which was why he reacted so strongly to the fact that she might have gone off with Benjamin.
He went downstairs and asked Gordon again if he’d seen her.
Gordon hadn’t. He would get some of the staff to search the grounds for her if he liked.
Jonathan didn’t want to overreact, so he said they could wait a little while longer.
He went out onto the back patio to look out on the gardens and was surprised to see Benjamin, lounging in a chair and reading from an ereader.
Benjamin still had the beard and untrimmed hair, but he’d made some sort of effort for the occasion, wearing black trousers and a black dress shirt.
“What’s up?” he asked, evidently noticing Jonathan’s expression.
“Nothing. Just looking for Sarah.”
“I think she was going to read in the garden earlier. You might check out the walled garden in the east corner near the woods. That’s where she was reading yesterday. You better hurry, though. Lord Uncle won’t appreciate a late arrival to dinner.”
Jonathan nodded and headed in that direction, telling himself it was ridiculous to be annoyed that Benjamin knew more about Sarah’s doings than he did. Instead, he should just be relieved that she hadn’t been with him.
It took him a few minutes to actually find the walled garden and then another few minutes to find the door. At least it wasn’t locked.
He found Sarah immediately. She was stretched out on the hammock, sound asleep.
He smiled as he leaned over her. She looked absolutely scrumptious, her red hair spilled out around her face and her fair skin flushed from sleep. Her body was relaxed, one hand resting on her stomach.
He leaned down and gently touched her shoulder. “Sarah.”
She mumbled and tried to roll away.
“Sarah,” he said again, louder. He shook her very gently.
She came awake suddenly, her eyes popping open and her slow breathing hitching into a gasp.
He felt strangely tender, strangely protective—as if this lush, generous woman was his to take care of.
Her blue eyes focused on his face, and she smiled up at him sleepily.
He smiled back.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice breaking on the second word.
“You fell asleep.”
She blinked at him. “Why are you all dressed up?”
“It’s time for dinner.”
“Oh.” She looked away from him, clearly processing this piece of knowledge. Then, “Oh. Oh no! I fell asleep. What time is it?”
“It’s seven-thirty.”
“I’m late!” She grabbed his arm and used it to haul herself to her feet. “I’m not even dressed. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, still smiling rather goofily.
“Your uncle will be upset. You go on to dinner, and I’ll get dressed really quick.”
They started walking quickly, pausing only to lock the garden door and put the key behind the stone.
“I’m not going to go to dinner without you. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” she insisted, “Your uncle takes these things seriously. And this is an important dinner. Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”
She sounded really upset and was starting to get out of breath, since she was practically running down the garden path toward the house.
“I didn’t know where you were,” he explained, lengthening his stride to keep up with her.
“I know. It’s not your fault. I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorr—” He cut off the word, since she obviously wasn’t listening, so focused was she on getting back to the house as quickly as possible.
It took a few minutes to get to the house and then another minute or two to sprint up flights of stairs to their room.
Then she yanked her shirt and skirt off and dropped them on the floor as she hurried toward the closet.
Jonathan wanted to be a gentleman but couldn’t help but stare at her shapely back, bottom, and legs, covered only in a skimpy lace bra and panties.
She grabbed an evening gown of bronze silk and pulled it over her head, letting the slinky fabric slide over her curves. “Can you zip?” she asked, hurrying over to the case on the dresser where she kept her jewelry.
He walked over as she pulled out a pair of antique-looking earrings and fumbled to put them in her ears.
He reached down toward the zipper of the dress that was hanging open. Her smooth back was completely exposed, except for the lace strip of her bra.
He stared down at the graceful contour leading down toward her waist and rounded hips. Her hair was wildly tousled, swaying over her shoulders as she fiddled with her earrings.
Jonathan experienced a surge of yearning so powerful he could barely process it.
He wanted this woman—he wanted her—so deeply he momentarily couldn’t breathe.
It wasn’t just physical. He wanted her in every way.
He wanted her to be his.
“Jonathan, zip,” she urged impatiently, looking at him over her shoulder.
He zipped her dress up and dropped his hands.
She turned around, working on the clasp on her necklace that matched the earrings. “Do I look okay?” she asked anxiously.
His eyes devoured her. The slinky bronze dress flattered her figure and brought out the paleness of her skin, the vividness of her hair. Her skin was a little dewy from her haste, and her hair was sexily mussed.
“You look…” She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He swallowed. “Fine.”
“Are you sure? Do I stink?”
She smelled like Sar
ah and sunshine and grass, and it roused something primitive in his body, in his heart. “You smell fine.”
Her face twisted in distress. “I wanted to look all gorgeous tonight, but we don’t have time. Let’s go.”
“Sarah,” he said, stopping her with a hand on her arm. “Wait.”
He wanted to tell her she did look gorgeous, that he’d never wanted anyone more.
She turned around and gazed up at him, her expression changing from impatience to something startlingly soft.
His chest clamped down around his voice. “You need to put on some shoes.”
***
Cyrus Damon shot Jonathan a cool glance as he and Sarah slipped into the huge ornate ballroom, which was set up for a formal dinner party.
They were twenty-minutes late, and his uncle wasn’t likely to let that go unnoticed.
Fortunately, they were sitting on the very end of the main table, so they didn’t make a huge scene taking their seats.
The guests were still on the salad course, and they hadn’t missed any of the toasts, so Jonathan was satisfied that their lateness wasn’t a big deal.
Sarah stirred her salad in her plate and slanted him an anxious look. “I’m so sorry.”
“Stop it, Sarah,” he said under his breath. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’m supposed to be helping with your uncle, not getting him mad at you.”
“He likes you. He won’t be that annoyed.” When she still looked worried, he took her face in one hand. Murmured, “I mean it, Sarah. It’s not your job to please my uncle.”
Her eyes were wide and soft. “It’s not? I thought that’s why I was here.”
It was. That was the whole point of his ruse. No wonder she was so flustered. She wouldn’t know he didn’t care about the ruse anymore. That he wanted it to be real.
But had no idea how to make it so.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said thickly, putting his hand down before he did something stupid like pull her into a kiss.
“Okay.” She looked down at her plate, then back up to him. She smiled and reached over toward him.