Claimed By The Boss

Her eyes drifted back to the tree line. “Can I take a rain check?”

She’d give him credit. The rejection barely fazed him. “Sure. But so you know, I have every intention of holding you to it. We will have dinner one of these nights.”

“If you say so.” But she already knew she’d turn down the next invitation as well.

They talked for a few more minutes, basically polite chatter so her refusal didn’t feel too unfriendly, before Kelsey went to work. For the next few hours she immersed herself in transcription until her brain couldn’t take the dark subject matter any longer and screamed for a break. Then, unable to look at the screen another second, she saved her document, grabbed her coffee cup and headed into the great room.

What she saw stopped her in her tracks.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALEX sat by the French doors.

Actually slumped was a better description. Kelsey rushed towards him.

“Are you all right?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Eyes closed, face paler than before, he was leaning forward with a hand cradling his forehead. His walking stick lay discarded by his feet. “It’s your head, isn’t it?”

“Go away,” he groaned through motionless lips. “I’m fine.”

“Liar. You look like you’re ready to pass out.” He looked up at her with glazed eyes, proving her point. “I’m calling your doctor. What’s his name?”

“No doctor.”

“Are you crazy? This could be a complication from your injury.” Like a blood clot or something. Her insides froze at the thought he could be seriously hurt and she hadn’t realized.

“It’s not a complication, it’s a migraine.” His eyes closed again. “I just need to sit for a while. Regain my equilibrium.”

From the looks of him, that might take a while. Kelsey didn’t think a person could look more miserable if they tried. She remembered when Rochelle, her second foster mother, would get migraines. She’d kick all the kids outside for the day, no matter the weather. “And no making noise either,” she’d order.

At her worst, Rochelle had never looked as miserable as Alex.

Remembering Rochelle made her think of something else. “Do you take anything? Some kind of prescription?”

Alex made a rumble deep in his throat. “Upstairs. In the bathroom.” He continued speaking that stiffjawed manner, as if the mere act of talking hurt.

“Do you want me to help you upstairs,” she asked, reaching for his elbow, “so you can take—”

“No!” He said the word forcefully, so much so he winced immediately, and dropped to a whisper. “I just need to sit. Alone. Please leave.”

“And let you suffer? I don’t think so. Where upstairs do you keep your prescription?”

“My bathroom medicine cabinet.”

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

She dashed upstairs, making her way to the bedroom next to hers. Alex’s room was exactly as she expected, chic and dark and very masculine. Rust, beige and brown, like a fall landscape. Magazines and books covered what looked like an expensive, king-size bed.

She walked into the bathroom, momentarily envious of the airy modern style. The scent of wood and clove hung in the air telling her Alex had been there recently. A plastic sleeve, presumably worn to keep his cast dry, hung from the shower rod and the mat in front of the shower stall was still damp. Suddenly she was assaulted by the image of Alex standing under the stream, water cascading down his body …

Blushing from the inappropriateness, she shoved the image away. Now was not the time to start some kind of weird, useless fantasy. She found the prescription bottle in the medicine cabinet. Grabbing it and a glass of water, she headed back downstairs.

Alex hadn’t moved. If he hadn’t shifted uncomfortably when she walked back into the room, she’d have thought him asleep. “Probably a little late for this to kill the pain completely, but it might help a little. Hold out your hand.”

He grumbled, but did what she asked.

Kelsey smiled at her victory. “Now, how about you lie down? Do you think you can make it to the sofa?”

“I’ve got a headache—I’m not paralyzed.”

Good to see the headache didn’t spoil his charming demeanor. She watched as he eased himself into an upright position. Body bent, shoulders and head stiff, he shuffled across the floor like an arthritic old man. It was all she could do not to wrap her arm around his waist and help him. In fact, if she wasn’t certain he’d bite her head off, she would have.

Instead, she followed quietly while he made his way across the room and eased himself onto the sofa.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to your room? You’d be more comfortable in a bed.”

“Too many stairs,” he mumbled. “I’ll be fine here.”

The couch was too small and too pillow-laden to accommodate his lanky frame, so he’d ended up with one leg propped on the floor. His cast rested on his chest, while his good arm lay slung across his eyes. The helplessness of his position tugged at her heartstrings.

“You can leave now,” he said.

She could. But she didn’t. Drawing closer, Kelsey noticed his skin was covered with gooseflesh. In spite of the fact the afternoon sun poured through the windows heating the room, he was shivering.

“You’re still here,” he said in a low voice.

“And you’re cold,” she replied back. “Would you like a blanket?”

“No.”

God, he was stubborn. What was he going to do, lie there and shiver? Did he know how pathetic that looked? She looked around for something she could use as a blanket. A dozen pillows and no throw. Remembering the extra blanket in her room, she ran up and got that, tucking it gently around his torso, being careful not to jar him too much.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“Because you’re shivering.”

“I mean, why are you sticking around?”

“Oh, that.” Why indeed? Truth be told, she couldn’t explain, other than it hurt her to see him suffering. “What can I say? I have a rescue complex.”

“In other words, I’m another cat.”

The medicine was starting to kick in. Still, even thick with sleep, there was no mistaking the resignation in his voice as if he didn’t believe someone could sincerely care. It made Kelsey think of the other night, when he was watching the rain.

Her heart ached a little more.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked. “Water? A phone?”

“I’ll be fine. You can leave with a clear conscience.”

“Thanks for the permission.”

He didn’t respond. Sleep had claimed him. Kelsey watched as his breathing slowly evened out.

Two hours later, she was still sitting in the living room, watching. She’d told herself she was only going to stay a few extra minutes. To make sure he was truly asleep before heading up to her room. But the longer she sat, the more she couldn’t tear herself away. Couldn’t stop studying his face. The way his brow smoothed in sleep or how his lips parted ever so slightly. Nestled among the pillows, he had a gentle serenity about him that, when awake, he hid from the world.

Unable to help herself, she tucked the blanket around him a little tighter. He smelled of clove and woods and sleep, and she had the overwhelming urge to lean closer and bury herself in the scent. Her fingers longed to stroke his cheek. Dear Lord, he was beautiful. She couldn’t deny her attraction if she tried. But beneath the attraction, she sensed something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The sensation stirred inside her, faintly, tentatively, afraid to make itself fully known. She was afraid too. Because she wasn’t sure if she wanted the sensation to go away.

Alex slept through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. At some point, Kelsey considered waking him so he could go to his room, but she didn’t. He looked too exhausted to disturb. Plus downstairs she could keep an eye on him.

At least that’s what she told herself.

She’d been joking about the rescue complex. Truth was, she didn’t know where this maternal streak of hers was coming from. As a kid, she sometimes helped the younger children with homework and stuff, but that was expected in a large household. But since moving out on her own, she’d focused solely on taking care of herself. Clearly something about Nuttingwood brought out her nesting instinct.

Something or someone?

After dinner, which she was pretty sure didn’t come close to Frutti de Mar standards, she returned to the great room to find Alex beginning to stir. “Hey,” she said softly, as his eyelids fluttered open, “you’re awake.” And feeling better, judging by the clarity in his gaze.

“You’re still here,” he greeted back, his voice still a little thick. “I thought you had dinner plans.”

That’s right, he walked away before the end of her and Tom’s conversation. “I took a rain check.”

“Oh.”

His response had a queer-sounding note she couldn’t pinpoint. “Good thing too,” she told him.

“Why’s that?”

Slowly, he shifted himself into a sitting position. With his hair matted on one side and a crease on his cheek, he looked perfectly and adorably tussled. Kelsey’s stomach twittered. “Well, for one thing, you’d have woken to a dark and empty house.”

“News flash—I’ve done that for years. Goes hand in hand with the hermit thing.”

The medicine still had a hold; his words were slurred and punchier than normal. Try as she might, Kelsey couldn’t help a smile. “Funny, that’s what Farley called you.”

Sleepy cuteness turned sullen. “I’m sure they call me lots of things.”

“What makes you think they talk about you much at all?”

“Try four hundred thousand, ninety-four search engine hits,” he replied. “Or have you forgotten already?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” she snapped. When Alex sat up, the blanket she’d tucked over him slid toward the floor. Instinctively she picked it up. “But not everyone is as—”

“Nosy?”

“Curious,” she shot back, “as I am.” Her cheeks warmed remembering the whole exchange. Was he right? That once a victim of gossip, always a victim of gossip? She draped the blanket back over his legs. “Though if you ask me, moving up to a castle in the middle of nowhere, you’re kind of inviting speculation.”

“I’m here because I like my privacy,” he replied in a clipped tone that said the conversation was over.

Kelsey noticed him rubbing his eyes. “Head still hurt?” She remembered Rochelle’s migraines sometimes lasted for days, once getting so bad she ended up in the hospital on a morphine drip.

Alex grabbed the change of topic. “Some, but it’s definitely better. The medicine helped. Along with the sleep. A few more hours and I should be fine.”

Meaning she should take her cue and leave? “Are you heading upstairs?”

He shook his head, while at the same time closing his eyes and burrowing into the throw pillow. “Not yet. I’m comfortable right where I am.”

“Very well then, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Kelsey?”

He reached out and caught her wrist, an unnecessary gesture since she stopped as soon as he called out. “Yes?” she asked.

“Thank you.”

That was it. Two words and nothing more, but Alex’s expression was soft and sincere, and his eyes turned from metal to dove-gray, making the sentence sound like volumes. His grip stayed on her arm, simultaneously gentle yet firm. Kelsey could feel the pulse of each individual finger beating against her skin. Their cadence echoed the heart in her chest. A slow honey-coated sensation began twisting deep inside her, and she smiled.

“You’re welcome.” Reluctantly, she slipped her wrist free and headed upstairs.

“Did I really expect anything to change?” she asked Puddin’ the next morning. “I mean, so I helped him with a headache. Big deal.” One second of gratitude hardly changed anything.

“It was just for that one moment—” her skin tingled, remembering how his fingers encircled her wrist “—I felt like we understood each other, you know? That we connected.

“I should have realized it was my imagination.” For starters, she didn’t make connections. Not that kind anyway. And second, this morning Alex was still the dark, aloof man he’d been since her arrival. Worse, if that was possible.

“The guy’s been through the wringer, that’s for sure,” she said, hitting the save button. “I’d probably do the same thing if I’d been ripped apart like that. Makes you wonder what he’ll do when this book comes out.”

If the book comes out. Her gaze traveled back to the dwindling stack of yellow pads. This morning Mr. Lefkowitz sent an e-mail requesting a progress report which she was avoiding answering. With all the cross-outs and redirection, she’d transcribed maybe a third of the book. Certainly not a complete novel by any means. The editor wouldn’t be happy.

“If Alex doesn’t start producing soon, I’ll be stuck here till Christmas,” she said to Puddin’.

Did Alex even celebrate Christmas anymore? The image of a somber, undecorated Nuttingwood popped into her head, breaking her heart. Didn’t seem right he should spend the holidays isolated and lonely.

“Will you listen to yourself?” she said aloud. “What do you care how Alex Markoff spends his holidays?” This was a perfect example of why she didn’t do connections. Connections started you down the road toward foolish, elusive concepts like home and family and holidays …

And kindred spirits with stormy gray eyes.

“That’s it. Time for a break.” Her thoughts were getting way too out of control.

On the terrace, Puddin’ stretched and started to get up. Grabbing her empty mug, Kelsey sent a mock glare at the feline through the open French doors. “Don’t even think about coming inside while I’m getting coffee,” she told him, knowing full well he wouldn’t listen.

Coffee was the one area where she and Alex had an automatic accord. Apparently they were both caffeine addicts so by unspoken agreement the pot remained full and fresh all day. Usually Alex made the first pot, then midmorning it was her turn.

There was only one problem. Alex had put the coffee grinder on the top shelf. He had been leaving the machine on the counter, but today he must have forgotten. Too much on his mind, perhaps?

She set her mug on the counter, then dragged a chair from the table, making a mental note to remind him he promised to keep the machine within her arm’s reach. Not everyone loomed over six feet.

“You’re standing on my counter,” Alex said from behind her.

“What the—”

She nearly dropped the grinder. Worse, she nearly knocked her cup off the edge.

“One of these days I’m going to buy you a bell,” she grumbled.

“I didn’t realize my comings and goings were so important to you.”

“They are when you insist on scaring the bejesus out of me every time you show up.”

Coffee grinder in hand, she hopped off the chair, bringing Alex closer than she expected. Cloves and wood and awkwardness packed the kitchen. For what felt like minutes, neither of them moved, their bodies and gazes stuck in place. Kelsey found herself suddenly painstakingly aware of the stubble on Alex’s cheeks and the way his lips were dry but soft-looking. Eyes traveling upwards, she realized he was studying her too. Or so it appeared. His eyes had an expression she’d never seen before.

“I’m—I’m making fresh coffee,” she finally managed to stammer. What was it about his proximity that made her brain short-circuit? “How’s your head?”

His hand touched his temple as if remembering what she meant. She had the crazy urge to do the same. “Better. Nothing left but a dull ache.”

“Have you had anything to eat? An empty stomach doesn’t help.”

He broke the moment, moving away. “Are you always this concerned about other people’s welfare?” he asked, opening the fridge, “or just mine?”

“Are you always this suspicious of people’s motives? Never mind. Pretend I didn’t ask,” she added as he glanced over his shoulder.

With the atmosphere less charged, she returned to the task at hand, carefully measuring the beans into the grinder. A flick of a button filled the kitchen with a loud whir.

“Clearly you have no idea how awful you looked yesterday,” she continued over the noise.

“I’ve been having migraines my whole life. Last time I checked, I survived them all. Besides, I didn’t ask you to stay.”

“Silly me, putting your health first.” She turned off the grinder. “Next time I’ll leave you to suffer all by your lonesome.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re wel—watch out!”

Everything happened in slow motion. Alex had moved to her section of the kitchen and was reaching up to retrieve a cup from the cabinet. As he turned toward her, the outer edge of his cast smacked her coffee mug. The faded floral cup wobbled back and forth, then tumbled over the edge. Kelsey reached out to catch it, but moved too late. With a crack, the mug hit the floor and separated into three large pieces.

“No!” Her stomach churning, Kelsey dropped to her knees. Not her mother’s cup. She blinked, hoping when her eyes opened, the cup would somehow reassemble.

No such luck.

Alex’s legs appeared at her side. “I didn’t realize the cup was so close to the edge.”

“It’s ruined.” She looked up. His face was too blurry for her to read his reaction.

But she could read his voice. “It’s just a coffee cup.”

Just a coffee cup? Of course, that’s how he saw it. As just another old piece of kitchenware.

“I’m sure you can find a replacement—”

“How? Go back in time?” If she paused a second to think rationally, she’d realize Alex had no idea what the cup represented. How could he know that the last tangible piece of her childhood—her real childhood with her real mother—lay in pieces on his kitchen floor? Moisture burned her eyes. She was going to cry, and she didn’t care.

“Don’t you understand?” she snapped, swiping at her cheeks. Of course he didn’t understand. Living up here as a hermit, not caring if anyone cared about him or not. Why would he understand losing something precious? “It can’t be replaced. It’s gone. Ruined.” A tear escaped down her cheek. Angrily, she wiped it away. Dropping the pieces on the floor, she stormed from the room before she crashed completely.

“Kelsey!”

She ignored him. Nothing Alex could say would make a difference. All she could hear in her head were his words from before. “Just a cup, just a cup.” They echoed with each step on the stairway.

Once inside the sanctuary of the guest room, she slammed shut the door, pressing her back against it. Just a coffee cup. Alex was right. What was a faded, chipped-up piece of stoneware anyway? So what if she’d carried the stupid thing from foster home to foster home? So what if …

The floodgates opened as everything hit her at once—her solitude, her past, her grandmother’s crimes. Why didn’t anyone want her? Was she that unlovable?

Out of answers, she sank to the ground and gave in to self-pity.

How long she stayed there crying, she wasn’t sure. Thirty minutes. An hour. Eventually she stopped sniffling. What was done was done, she told herself. No amount of wallowing would change anything. There was nothing else to do but pick up the pieces and move on. She done so her entire life; she would do so again.

Swiping the moisture from her cheeks, she sniffed back the last tear and pushed herself to her feet.

The house was unusually quiet when she came down the next morning which, given its usual silence, said a lot. Perhaps yesterday’s outburst scared Alex out of hibernation, and he was, at that moment, in town looking for men in white coats to carry her off. A fresh night’s sleep made her realize how disproportionate her reaction must have looked to him. Of all her missteps, this might be the one that finally helped him get rid of her.

Puddin’ was in his regular spot when she entered the office. She gave the napping cat a quick glance, sat at her desk, and while she waited for the computer to boot, drank coffee from a substitute mug, telling herself the change in flavor was all in her head. As usual, Alex’s writing sucked her in, chasing away other thoughts. She welcomed the distraction, losing herself in today’s words. It wasn’t long before her absorption made her oblivious to anything but the story.

She didn’t hear the door push open or the footsteps approach the desk. In fact, she didn’t notice a thing until she heard a thump on the wood in front of her. Pulling herself out of her typist’s trance, she looked toward the desk and blinked. There, in the middle of her papers, sat her coffee mug. Chipped and cracked, but whole again nonetheless.

“I doubt it’ll hold liquid,” Alex said. “But you can put it on a shelf or something.”

She ran her finger along the rim, feeling the gaps where the pieces were unevenly glued together. If the thing looked like a battered piece of junk before, it looked like a pre-schooler’s craft project now. A lump stuck in Kelsey’s throat. Unable to trust herself with words, she settled for raising her gaze.

Alex’s face was soft, reminding her of the day before. In the entranceway. “The cup means a lot to you.”

Throat constricted, she nodded.

“I thought so. Consider it payback for the migraine.”

“It was my mother’s,” Kelsey called out. She found her voice as he reached the door. Though he hadn’t asked for an explanation, she wanted to give one. Wanted to explain why she’d reacted so poorly. “She died when I was four. This mug is the only thing I have that belonged to her.”

Kelsey imagined him wondering what kind of family left a child nothing but a battered coffee cup, but he said nothing. He simply nodded in a way that told her he understood. At least the gratitude filling her insides made her feel like he understood. “Then good thing I had glue.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling up at him. “A very good thing.”

CHAPTER FIVE

STOP being a coward.

Kelsey stood outside Alex’s bedroom door for five minutes with her hand poised to knock. Much as she didn’t want to, she couldn’t put off this conversation any longer. Mr. Lefkowitz wanted a status report. After days of dodging his e-mail requests, she got a phone call. A very testy phone call. “I hope the reason I haven’t heard from you is because you’re too busy typing,” he said as soon as she answered. That had been the high point of the conversation.

She knocked.

Alex’s answer came back deep and distracted. “Yeah?”

Pushing open the door, she poked her head into the room and saw him seated at his desk near the window. Dozens of crumpled yellow balls littered the floor around his feet. He was working. A good sign. “Sorry to bother you.”

“But you’re going to anyway. What is it?”

“Mr. Lefkowitz called. He wants to know how the book was coming.”

Alex didn’t look up. “I’m sure you filled him in on all the details.”

“Actually I told him you were making great progress and were almost finished.”

That got his attention. He turned sideways to look at her. “Did you now? And why would you say something like that?”

Kelsey shrugged. Why indeed? She wasn’t quite sure except as soon as she heard Mr. Lefkowitz’s irritated voice, she felt the overwhelming urge to take Alex’s side. True or not.

“Are you making progress?”

“Depends on how you define progress.”

“Moving forward.” Having pages to type. The last notebook was nearly transcribed and still no new ones had appeared. Which wouldn’t be so terrible, if he was busy editing what had already been written, but as far as she could tell that wasn’t happening either.

“Interesting definition.” Tearing the top sheet from the pad, he added it to the collection of yellow wads on the floor.

Kelsey watched it arc and drop. “So I lied to Stuart.”

“If you say so. Why would you tell him something you didn’t know for certain?”

“I thought I was doing you a favor.”