Awakened by the CEO's Kiss

by Therese Beharrie

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  ‘I don’t mean that casually.’ His fingers clenched around his glass of beer. ‘Tia’s the strongest person I know, but she’s stubborn. Proud. We both are.’ He swallowed. ‘I think if this hadn’t worked out she’d have never let me help her again. Not out of stubbornness, but out of fear.’

  Brooke understood that better than most.

  After Kian had died, she’d felt helpless and so unlike herself. But she’d worked for a company that had thought three weeks’ leave was adequate to get her back to who she used to be.

  She had trusted those people. Thought they would know that the person she used to be no longer existed.

  They hadn’t.

  When she’d no longer been able to work at the capacity she—and they—were used to, they’d pushed her out. It hadn’t been that hard a push; it hadn’t needed to be. She had already been perched at the end of a cliff, ready to leave behind everything from the life she’d had with Kian, including her job. She’d only realised afterwards, when she’d been able to work through some of her emotions about the situation, that she’d felt betrayed.

  She’d taken a completely different approach when she’d started working for her current company. She didn’t trust them, and only saw them for who they were: colleagues and employers. Fear kept her from opening up even a tiny bit in case taking the chance and doing so would leave her in the same position she’d been in at her last company.

  So she nodded and said, ‘Don’t mention it.’

  Something in her tone must have told him how much she meant that because he obeyed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘ARE YOU GOING back to your car?’ Tyler asked when they’d finished dinner and she’d paid for their meal. She had insisted and, since things hadn’t moved away from the confusing and frankly absurd level of awkwardness between them, he’d agreed.

  ‘No, actually. I think I want to take a walk on the beach.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to. I would like some time alone, actually.’

  ‘It’s after ten p.m.’

  Surprised, she glanced at her watch. ‘Where did the time go?’

  ‘It’s been a long day.’

  She curled her fingers over the rim of her bag. ‘I should probably get home then.’

  He studied her. ‘How much do you want to walk on the beach?’

  ‘I don’t, really.’

  ‘Brooke.’ He waited until she looked at him. ‘How much?’

  It was a while before she said, ‘A lot.’

  ‘Then let’s go. You can walk ahead,’ he added. ‘You’ll get your alone time.’

  ‘Well, no. Insisting on that now makes me feel like I’m a terrible person when you’re being chivalrous.’

  He smiled. ‘You can still walk ahead.’

  She didn’t refuse his offer this time, though she stayed relatively close to him as they crossed the road to the beach. It was much quieter now, only the hardcore night owls strolling down the promenade, making their way to different parts of town where things were livelier.

  He took off his shoes when they got there, and he was done before her. Mainly because his shoes didn’t have any complicated straps.

  ‘Do you need help?’ he asked when she struggled to keep her balance and still couldn’t take her shoe off.

  ‘It’s fine.’

  As she said it, she lost her balance.

  Her hands flailed out, trying to find something to steady her. Being the gentleman he was, he became that something.

  ‘This is what I get for being stubborn,’ she said, peering up at him.

  Because, of course, he hadn’t simply offered her a hand when he’d seen her fall. He’d stepped forward, offering his entire body to stabilise her.

  He’d done so without thinking. Truly—it had been instinct. Now he wondered where that instinct came from. Did he really want to help her, or had his body simply wanted to feel hers? He hadn’t ever got the chance. Not during that week five years ago. Not until that kiss. And even then, it had only been a meeting of their lips before it ended.

  Now here he was holding her. And she was pressed against his chest, as if she were glued there.

  She didn’t move. At least not her body. Her face was an explosion of movement. Her eyelashes fluttered up at him. Her lips parted. Air, warm and smelling faintly of the mint she’d eaten after dinner, touched his skin. She breathed in deeply, sharply, and exhaled again, hitting him with the warmth of that air again, forcing him to wonder about her taste.

  Their kiss hadn’t allowed him to sweep his tongue into her mouth and truly taste her. Now, she would almost certainly taste like mint. But what about beneath that? His gut told him it would be something sweet, with the slightest hint of a kick.

  Except it wasn’t his gut. It came from parts of him he hadn’t cared about much in the years since he’d met Brooke. Not because he hadn’t felt anything for anyone, but because those feelings had seemed inconsequential. Nothing had come close to the spark he’d felt light up his body when his eyes had met Brooke’s and lingered.

  And this? This felt even better than that spark. Holding her in his arms, feeling her body against his, wondering about something as simple as kissing her.

  But nothing about this was simple.

  That knowledge had him gently straightening Brooke, ensuring that she had her balance, and taking a step back.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said after a moment, her voice shaky.

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  It was the same thing she’d said in the restaurant, about the situation with his sister. He’d known she meant it. Now, he hoped she knew he meant it, too.

  ‘Do you mind if I take off your shoes for you?’

  ‘If I say no, that would make me a fool, wouldn’t it?’ she teased.

  Teased. As if she hadn’t felt her world shift only seconds ago, as he had. But he could pretend to be unaffected, too.

  ‘Are you a fool?’ he asked mildly.

  ‘I’m sure the answer to that changes in each situation, but for this one? No.’

  He was smiling as he lowered himself to the ground to take off her shoes. He wasn’t sure why. It seemed his emotions were on a cross-country ride, going from panic and desire to amusement and calm in too little time for him to process.

  Though the strap of one shoe was already undone, she hadn’t managed to actually take off the shoe. He did that, then started on the next.

  Seconds into the task, she leaned closer to him, resting her hand on his shoulder. Before that, he had been able to pretend that her proximity wasn’t affecting him. He couldn’t any more. He felt electrocuted, and he was grateful for the dark so she couldn’t see his hands shaking.

  Desire covered his skin as if it were in the breeze that passed them. But he refused its call. Refused to allow himself to feel as though he were a teenage boy unable to handle his hormones.

  When he straightened and she smiled and thanked him, he felt very much like that teenage boy. Zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds, and then all the way back again.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, frowning.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘You seem...strange.’

  ‘That hardly seems like the kind of thing you should say to someone who’s helped you.’

  ‘That’s probably true. Although we’ve already established that I’m not good at saying what I’m supposed to say when I’m supposed to say it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I asked you to come out for dinner with me even though you work for me.’

  ‘I thought we’d already settled that?’

  ‘We have,’ she agreed. ‘I’m just pointing out that there are some flaws in my
being.’

  He laughed softly, though he wasn’t sure why.

  ‘But now that the truth’s out am I really your boss?’ she asked. ‘Technically, your sister’s my employee.’

  ‘Does that mean I don’t have to do the job then?’

  ‘Huh,’ she said. ‘Good point. We should probably still work within the confines of an employer/employee relationship.’

  He was certain she didn’t mean that in the way he took it, but he couldn’t help but agree. It was best if they stayed as boss and employee. Sure, she was right: it wasn’t the traditional relationship. But for the sake of his sanity, he would cling to it.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ he replied.

  ‘I thought it might.’

  Her words hung in the air between them as they walked in silence.

  * * *

  There were no more impromptu dinner requests, no more inappropriate comments, and certainly no more touching after that night. Brooke made sure of it.

  Except she did it in the only way she knew how: she avoided being at home.

  She left before Tyler arrived and came back late enough that if he was still there, she would warn him about working too hard. Fortunately, she had enough work to warrant the long hours. Her latest project was going well, but she still had a lot to do before the app launched in three weeks. So Brooke kept busy.

  Still, she couldn’t get Tyler out of her mind. Mainly because he kept doing stuff for her that made her think about him.

  A few nights after their dinner, she came home to a note.

  Walked Mochi today. Twice. He’s the kind of dog who needs it. Might be useful to know for the future.

  Tyler

  She was relieved. At first. But when she thought about it, she felt only guilt. Because she was Mochi’s owner; he was her responsibility. And it wasn’t because she needed to work that she was neglecting him. She was doing it because she didn’t want to see Tyler.

  So the next day she took Mochi for a walk before she left for work and left Tyler a note of her own.

  Walked Mochi before I went to work. I can do it again later, so you don’t have to. He’s not your responsibility.

  Brooke

  She was already at work when she thought back to the note and wondered if it sounded defensive. And as soon as that occurred to her, she couldn’t get it out of her head. More than once, one of her employees checked to see if she was okay.

  She did not appreciate it. Nor did she appreciate Tyler’s note when she got home.

  Walked Mochi this evening so you don’t have to. Also put a lasagne in the fridge. You can freeze the rest when you’re done.

  Tyler

  PS I’m here to help you with your responsibilities. That’s exactly what you’re paying me—well, Tia—to do.

  She was so annoyed that she almost refused to eat the food. But she had nothing ready-made in the fridge, and calling out to get food would take too long. She was hungry, and cooking wasn’t an option—when was it ever?—so she dished up a portion of the lasagne.

  It was the best thing she’d eaten.

  Damn it.

  ‘Why does he keep doing this?’ she asked Mochi as she lifted a forkful of lasagne from her second helping. ‘I don’t want him to be nice. I would honestly prefer him to be a complete and utter jerk who isn’t competent at his job.’

  And he was more than competent; her house was in a better state than she could ever make it herself.

  ‘Hell, I’ll take the aloof and distant guy he was when we met. Except even then he was thoughtful. He made me food that very first night! And now he makes the best lasagne in the world! The cheek!’

  Mochi tilted his head, as if to say, I don’t see the problem here.

  ‘Is this why you like him? Because he’s nice?’

  Mochi didn’t answer.

  ‘Well, it won’t work on me.’

  She finished her meal, washed the dishes, then went to the garden to play catch with Mochi for a little while before bed.

  As it usually did, the garden calmed her. It was the first thing she had done in the house. The space had been the reason she’d bought it after all.

  When they’d started dating, Kian had told her they would get married someday. It had been a ridiculous thing to say at the start of a relationship, but they’d been young and he’d been her first boyfriend. And sure, the fact that her parents had met and fallen in love almost instantly had had some effect on her. They were the happiest couple she knew—of course it would affect her. So she hadn’t run away, as her instinct now would be, from a silly man and his silly romantic proclamation.

  For her birthday that year, Kian had given her a framed landscape design.

  ‘For our home,’ he’d said, ‘when we’re married.’

  He had still been studying back then, but his talent had been evident. He’d died before the world could truly take advantage of that talent, which had made his gift so much more meaningful. She was one of the few people who had an original Kian Jansen design. It would have seemed almost rude not to follow through.

  It had taken years after his death, but she’d done it, and she was proud.

  Though it might not be the best garden for a dog, she thought, as she accidentally threw the ball into the pond and Mochi jumped in after it.

  He brought the ball back to her with a wagging tail and a drenched body.

  She heaved out a sigh. ‘We probably need to sort you out now, don’t we?’

  She left him outside when she went to fetch his leash. She was about to go back out when the doorbell rang. Wondering who it could be, so late, she peeked through the eyehole and saw Tyler.

  It took her a couple of minutes—and another ring of the bell—to answer.

  ‘Tyler?’ she said, acting surprised. She probably wouldn’t win any awards for it. ‘What are you doing here? It’s almost nine p.m.’

  ‘I left my wallet here.’

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. The movement made his muscles ripple. Not that she noticed.

  ‘Can I get it?’

  ‘Sure.’ She opened the door wider.

  ‘Thanks.’ A second later, he asked, ‘Where’s Mochi?’

  ‘Outside,’ she said with a sigh. ‘There was an accident.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re fine. We were playing and I threw the ball in the pond and he went to get it. So...’ she lifted the leash ‘...we’re going to have a bath before bed.’

  ‘That sounds like an exciting way to end a long day of work.’

  She snorted. ‘Exactly!’

  ‘I can help,’ he said. She noticed the words came tentatively. ‘If you want.’

  ‘Oh, no. It’s fine. I mean, I was just going to bring him into the bathroom...’

  ‘Wet?’

  She hadn’t thought about that. ‘Well, I don’t know if I can do it in the garden. A couple of the outside lights aren’t working and I forgot to buy bulbs to replace them—’

  ‘And you didn’t think to ask your housekeeper?’

  She paused. ‘That does sound like something I should have done, doesn’t it?’

  He watched her for a moment, then said, ‘Brooke, you hired me because you needed help. So why don’t you want me to help you?’

  Because I’ve been thinking about the way you held me on the beach every day since. Because I can remember the heat of your touch, the strength of your body. Because you’re the kind of man who helps his sister out but does it in the least dishonest way possible. Because you helped me take off my shoes, even when I was too stubborn to ask you at first. Because you walked with me on the beach after, and you walked my dog, and all of it feels like asking you to help would be more intimate than I can stand right now.

  ‘I’m not used to help,’ she said honestly, because she was s
till processing all the other stuff—she hadn’t expected her brain to be quite so honest at this time of night—and she didn’t particularly want to process it.

  ‘You hired me.’

  ‘Because I need help. Which, yes, I know makes me seem stupid for not asking for it, but...but it’s a habit, okay? I had to learn how to rely on myself and now it’s a habit. I didn’t have to for the longest time. First, my parents did everything for me. Then Kian. And when he died, I—’

  She broke off at the expression on his face. Replayed everything she said. When she realised she’d spoken about Kian, her face heated.

  It wasn’t because she was embarrassed to talk about him. It was more that she hadn’t realised she had talked about him. And sharing his name or her experiences before and after his death, didn’t feel like something she should be sharing with Tyler. Again, it felt too intimate.

  ‘Kian?’ Tyler prodded softly.

  Of course he did.

  And what other choice did she have but to tell him?

  ‘My husband. He died five years ago.’

  * * *

  Tyler’s mind spun with this new information. He hadn’t thought he would hear anything like it from Brooke. She had closed up on him since that day at the beach. Not that she had been an open book that night, but she had been easier than this. He had known it even though he hadn’t seen her since the beach. And it was part of the reason he’d doubled back this evening.

  Oh, he’d definitely forgotten his wallet. But he could have easily collected it the next day. When he convinced himself to go round at nine p.m., he wondered if his subconscious hadn’t been the thing to make him leave his wallet behind. He wanted to check on her, make sure she was okay. Perhaps see whether she was still as affected by their night at the beach as he was.

  Her notes seemed to indicate otherwise, but it was entirely possible that she was deflecting her feelings—or that he was grasping at literally anything to make the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, his possibly married boss, less alarming.

  But she wasn’t married. She was a widow. Had been for five years. Which might have made his pining a little less creepy if it hadn’t caused other questions about the time they’d spent together five years ago.