by Rose Francis
And she wasn’t exactly doing the greatest job of hiding her attraction.
What if he decided it was too much?
Despite his amusement at her wayward eyes, would he eventually fire her for being inappropriate, ogling him like she wanted to jump his bones? Or did he get off on it? Had he deliberately exposed himself to her a little just to mess with her head? If so, what kind of game was he playing? Was this some sort of test?
She sat down in the suggested seat, keeping her eyes on the table.
“What is this made of?” she asked as she registered the wood, and she was glad she managed to sound like she was actually interested.
“Cherry, laurel burl veneers, various other hardwood solids.”
She wondered if she was supposed to raise her eyebrows and nod as if she knew anything about furniture materials and the worth of this or that.
She gave no reaction, only nodding a little as if she’d processed his words, still staring at it.
“Naomi, are you sure you’re comfortable here?”
His voice seemed deeper, more penetrating somehow.
It had the quality of a finger lifting a downcast chin and made her eyes snap to his.
“Yes, very much so. I’m truly grateful for this opportunity, Mr. Davenport, and I appreciate how…humanely your workers are treated.”
He burst into laughter then.
“Did you expect a sweat shop of some sort?”
“No, I just mean—they have a lot of benefits I didn’t expect; I don’t think it’s normal for all their needs to be taken care of so thoroughly. Like, I know someone who works for a rich family, but she doesn’t get to live with them, much less have them feed her breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Your workers are well-taken care of, it seems, in every possible way.”
He nodded. “Everything you’ve seen extends to you, Naomi. Anything you need, let me know and I’ll take care of it.”
She had to look away again; she swore she heard something in his tone.
Was it her suddenly-filthy mind again?
Why had her thoughts rapidly plunged into the gutter? What was wrong with her?
But she already knew—the clean, masculine smell of him on top of the way he was sculpted like some god and spoke to her in such rich, almost caring tones was unraveling her.
It wasn’t fair that a guy of his means got to look and smell that good, that his eyes were such whirlpools of silver electricity, that his voice seemed to physically caress her.
How did anyone work around him without wanting to…?
She stopped herself.
Thank goodness she didn’t have to work too closely with him—bringing him coffee every now and then she could handle.
She momentarily wondered if what was happening now was routine—did all new workers have a one-on-one with him after their first day?
“So tell me about your ultimate goals, Naomi. I know this job is a temporary position for you. A stepping stone, if you will. Where do you see yourself eventually?”
Naomi felt jarred back to reality.
“Excuse me?”
“What is it you dream of in life? What are your ambitions?”
She had to stop and think; she had never really thought about anything like that in detail before.
And what was it he expected of her exactly? To say that she planned to run a multi-million-dollar corporation one day? To establish a line of bakeries?
“I’m afraid I don’t really know how to answer that,” she said truthfully.
“It’s a simple question, Naomi,” he said somewhat curtly.
“Simple for you, I’m sure,” she bit back before she could stop the words.
She regretted it immediately, even though she had to fight hard not to say the rest of what she wanted to say.
But she’d seen enough on her tour—it didn’t look like he had to work to get where he was; his family had clearly always been rich.
What would he know of having to fight for anything? About having to work hard for the most basic necessities? Had he ever had to choose between a week of groceries and a car repair?
His eyes burned briefly at her outburst but remained on her, unblinking, while he remained silent, still waiting for her answer.
What the hell was she supposed to say to him?
She didn’t want to look unambitious, but she never quite had the luxury of dreaming beyond the next minute.
For the most part, her goals had always been simple: get a job, find a place to live both she and Jenna were fairly happy with, get a better job, convince Jenna not to sell her soul, find her sister…
But surely there was an old dream she could pull out from somewhere?
To her dismay, she couldn’t find one.
“Please don’t think any less of me, Mr. Davenport…”
“I told you to call me Kevin.”
“If you don’t mind, the formal address is more comfortable for me.”
He nodded his agreement and waited for her to continue.
“My goals have always been pretty basic: keep a roof over my head. Food in my stomach. Stay alive. I just want to keep myself afloat.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t want anything, Naomi.”
“It’s not that. It’s just that my deepest needs are all kind of interpersonal. Relationships are most important to me, I guess, and it’s because of the way I grew up. I never had parents or anything—some foster parents, sure, but I’ve never had any constants my whole life. My roommate, Jenna, is the closest thing. So I’d like to maintain that friendship, if I can, for example. That’s one of my goals.”
Was it really? Hadn’t she sort of written Jenna off already?
“And I want to find my sister. She and I got separated as kids, and I’d like to reconnect with her.”
When she looked at him, she saw the remnants of compassion, then watched it slowly turn into skepticism.
“So you’re saying you don’t want anything more material out of life? No fantasy to fulfill?”
“Look, I know there are all sorts of talented people born under various conditions, and how you begin doesn’t necessarily determine how you’ll end up. Right now, one of the world’s greatest pop stars of the future is probably being born in a slum somewhere. But I’m not a painter, can’t sing to save my life, and I certainly don’t have any inclination for sports…”
“It’s not always about talent, Naomi—some of the most talented folks in any of those fields you mentioned are not nearly as successful as their less talented, but more ambitious counterparts.”
“I know that, and I’m not saying being born talentless means I’m doomed to a boring, unambitious life. I know it’s usually the most driven ones who are left standing, regardless of how little talent they might have for the thing they’re actually pursuing. But even that relentless drive, that…gumption is a sort of talent. I’d argue that it’s something people are born with, even if some only get it activated later in life after external events force them to. But there’s a reason so many people are happy living simply; we all might have one—or even a few—things we can do pretty well, but most people aren’t spectacularly talented one way or the other, and generally, you don’t need to be to get by. And that’s what most people are okay with—just getting by. As lame as it sounds, that’s all I’m trying to do: get by. I’ve pretty much only had me to look out for me, Mr. Davenport, and if I don’t do it, no one else will. Therefore, I’m not striving for anything but to survive.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t believe you, Naomi; I don’t believe that’s all you want at all.”
What the hell was he getting at? And who did he think he was to tell her who she was or what she did or didn’t want?
“I believe you’re just afraid to want more because you don’t think you’ll actually get it. You don’t want to set yourself up for disappointment. And boy, you must have had plenty to bring you to this point—to the point where you can no longer even dare to hope.”
She almost stormed from the table right then, but remembered her rudeness earlier and didn’t want to push her luck.
“I know it’s probably hard to imagine, but I prefer to live simply: little drama, daily routine, predictability.”
Finally, she thought of something that might get him off her back.
“I guess outside of the basics, I imagine living as most other people—settling down into a family life eventually.”
His face finally relaxed a bit again.
“So you want to be a wife and mom. See now, that’s something.”
Was he being sarcastic?
“Don’t say it like that, and I certainly don’t mean anytime soon. My life, as it is right now, is nowhere near appropriate for introducing another person into it.”
He stared at her for a few more silent, uncomfortable moments, and she was glad when the eye contact was broken by dessert being set down before them.
“You’re a caretaker,” he said finally, just as she took a bite of the chocolate mint bar.
“What do you mean?”
“You said you like to nurture relationships.”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
She hoped her sudden agreeability made him drop it because he was getting to close to her deepest yearning, simple as it was.
I just really want a home, she hadn’t told him. More than anything, she wanted somewhere to belong.
But there was no way she’d say that out loud.
Thankfully, he let the matter drop.
She took two more bites of the dessert, then put down her fork.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get settled in my new quarters now.”
He raised his eyebrows and she fully expected him to tell her she can leave when he gave her permission to.
Instead, he said, “Of course! I appreciate you spending some of your off time with me. I look forward to getting to know you better, Naomi. I’ll try not to pry too much, but we’ll be working so closely together, you’ll have to forgive me if I overstep.”
Confusion filled her.
Why was he being so nice to her?
He was in the position to scold her, exert his authority over her, leave her vulnerable by firing her on the spot and shipping her back home. He didn’t have to deal with her issues and snappy mouth at all!
She was one hundred percent replaceable in an instant—no doubt there were tens of thousands of young girls more qualified and certainly more agreeable who could take her place.
But he was letting her get away with all sorts of insolence. Why?
Why was he being so tolerant?
He had to be up to something.
She softened her tone.
“I appreciate you inviting me to dinner tonight, Mr. Davenport. The food was better than anything I’ve ever had, and I look forward to working with you more.”
He smiled, and everything in her instantly melted.
She looked away and stood quickly, ready to take off like a bat out of hell.
She started walking away, and she was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t realize his footsteps had been behind her until she arrived at the threshold of her new bedroom’s door.
She expected his steps to continue past her room, but instead, as she started unzipping her luggage to unpack and settle in, she felt a pair of eyes burning into her back.
She turned and saw Mr. Davenport’s tall, muscular frame filling her doorway and paused what she was doing, the energy emanating from him and the directness of his gaze unsettling her.
She couldn’t put her finger on what she saw, but he looked intense.
Then, before she could even think of what to say to him, the corner of his mouth turned up, softening his look, then he was gone.
CHAPTER 8
KEVIN
Shit. That was close.
Kevin silently scolded himself for his transgression, knowing he had probably freaked Naomi out.
But he couldn’t help it—his eyes hadn’t had enough of her when their dinner ended, he wasn’t ready to let her go. He felt a pull to her he couldn’t resist.
He told himself to keep moving once their footsteps reached the guest bedroom door, but his legs wouldn’t listen; desire and longing ruled his body.
Then, he made sure to, at the very least, stand behind the threshold while he got his last glimpse of her, but he knew there was no way he didn’t intimidate the poor girl—his large figure filling the frame of her bedroom doorway.
Hopefully, she hadn’t gotten too spooked.
Still, he knew he had at least one thing going for him: Naomi was heavily attracted to him, no matter how much she was obviously trying to fight it.
He’d seen the way her eyes ravished his body, getting stuck on his chest or his muscular forearms. He’d seen those warm brown eyes gazing at his lips as if all she wanted to do was take them between hers, and his dick had responded with an interested twitch.
He’d seen the rapid rising and falling of her chest as her breath quickened, her mind and body betraying her general modesty.
God, it took even more control in those moments.
He felt himself swelling in his pants at the increasing signs of her desire, and he had to find ways to bring himself back to neutral at their dinner because despite all of the indications of her attraction—how clearly she wanted him—for whatever reason, she wasn’t ready to go in that direction, and there was no way he was going to push her.
I need to do something about this, he thought as he made his way up the stairs to his own bedroom. I need to put the brakes on whatever is taking over me, fast.
Says who? his father would say, but he wasn’t like his father; he didn’t gorge himself on things just because they were there.
But Naomi wasn’t just there—she radiated a heady combination of vulnerability and strength from her unassumingly beautiful face, her curvy, feminine body, her stiff yet sensual body language.
He’d met plenty of strong women before, and women who pretended to be strong. He’d met lots of fragile, vulnerable women too—both those who gave in to their frailty and those who fought hard against it.
He’d met women who had the same things going on as Naomi, yet none of them had ever made him feel the way he felt toward her.
She set off a primal response in him and almost made him feel like some basic caveman. All he wanted to do was was protect her, help her, hold her in his arms and soothe her. He wanted to provide for her, make her feel comfortable and safe.
What the hell was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be feeling this way!
He had only meant to help out a damsel in distress, and it wasn’t even his first time doing it.
So why her? Why now?
How was it that this time, his desire to help went far beyond just satisfying the girl’s most immediate, pressing need? How was it he wanted to help Naomi with things she hadn’t even presented as problems? How was he supposed to work with her and pretend he also didn’t find her distractingly attractive?
Maybe he just needed to get laid, in general. How long had it been since the last time?
He’d been so busy with work lately, he’d lost track.
Perhaps that’s all this really was—a biological response to a need that could easily be filled by available pickings.
If he were a simpler man, he might have accepted linking his physical and sexual attraction to Naomi to everything else he was feeling, but he knew far better than that—attraction didn’t always come with this burning need to protect; in fact, it rarely did.
It was why he had to eventually break things off in his last long-term relationship—no matter how well-matched he and his ex were on paper, he couldn’t care for her the way she needed; he never softened toward her in the way she required him to.
He didn’t care about her day when she yapped on about it, he didn’t notice the things she wanted him to notice—new blond highlights and wardrobe changes—and he didn’t respond the w
ay she wanted when she tried to make him jealous once.
The only time he reacted in a protective way was when someone tried to snatch her purse.
He had stopped the guy with a well-timed extended foot and sent him sprawling, then punched the guy’s lights out.
She had purred for him after, letting herself gaze at him with openly loving eyes, concluding that he cared about her after all, but all he could think was, It could have been anybody. And it was true—had she been a stranger, he would have done the same.
He was pretty good at recognizing when he was being manipulated by a crafty member of the opposite sex, but anytime he came across a true damsel in distress, he was ready to help—but only in that moment.
Then Naomi showed up and suddenly, he was struck by the need to give her everything he possibly could, far beyond a moment.
Knowing he had such an overwhelming reaction to her, he knew it was a mistake bringing her into his home, then inviting her to dinner with him, but he wanted to be with her so much that he let his own needs rule, and now he was deeper in because there was no way he’d push her away now.
He usually tried to respect the boundaries of the workplace—especially when dealing with someone working so closely with him and in such a subordinate position because it was one thing to have a fling with someone who was almost an equal—an associate met at a board of trustees meeting or some heiress—it was quite another to screw with a vulnerable employee.
He’d had young, attractive personal assistants before, and he had made the mistake of indulging in a seduction once, then he had to let the girl go with a hefty severance package.
He knew his effect on women and always figured it was just a matter of time before he got propositioned.
Even his latest assistant, now on a two-week vacation while he indulged in a fairly leisurely work-from-home period was on her way out.
Recently, he noticed something in the twenty-two-year-old’s bright blue eyes that put him on guard.
He saw her as a child, and he was happy to help her in her quest to finish paying for college, but he knew there was no way he was going to keep working with her. She was great at her job, but now that she was giving him those eyes, and now that he had Naomi, it was time to let her go.