Chapter Eight

After that bone-melting kiss, Xavier walked her to the bookcase in his office, punched a code into the side panel, and a section of the wall opened inward to reveal his apartment. She stepped inside with him and the door closed behind them.

She knew he didn’t use the apartment often, just for late nights at the office, and she’d been inside maybe a handful of times. That she was aware, only a few people knew it existed. It had its own private elevator that went straight to the parking garage and a back staircase for emergencies.

The space was an open floor plan, about fifteen hundred square feet, and clinically decorated. Bamboo hardwood, white walls, and gray leather furniture. Black tables accompanied the pieces. No art on the walls, but the living room had floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the Financial District.

He walked into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by an island. White cabinets and gray tile. He had an array of expensive machines she wondered if he ever used. Cappuccino maker, another coffee pot, heavy mixer, a cocktail dispenser.

He glanced at her. “Pull up a seat. I have a first aid kit around here somewhere. Standby.”

She climbed onto one of the high wrought iron stools at the counter while he rummaged in the cabinet closest to the fridge. Digging in her purse for her cell, she pulled it out and texted Kate, just in case her friend noticed she hadn’t come home.

“If that’s Kate, ask her to pack you a change of clothes for tomorrow. Joseph will stop by in the morning to grab them.” He set a bottle of peroxide on the counter along with a white box.

She sent off another text and put the phone away. “I’m fine, you know.”

He grunted. “Humor me.” He poured peroxide onto a swab, then eyed her. “Can you take off your glasses?” After she’d done what he asked, he stepped close enough for her to climb inside him. “This might sting. And it’s cold.”

She stared at his white dress shirt just inches from her face. He’d shucked the coat and tie. He smelled so good. Like light aftershave, rain, and warm male. He shifted, raising his arms, and the shirt molded to the edges and dips of lean muscles. One of his hands held the uninjured side of her head, the other perched over her temple, sandwiching her between two solid biceps.

The first swipe burned. The second seared and nearly launched her off the stool. “Ow.” Maybe the cut was worse than she’d thought.

“Sorry.” The quiet rumble of his voice pulled a shiver from deep inside her. Then, he…God. He blew gently on her temple, and the sweetness of the gesture slammed her eyes shut. “It’s pretty swollen. You’ll have a nice bruise, too.” His upper body eased away from her. “Are you okay? You’re quiet.”

“Yes.” No. He’d kissed her right out of her high heels and was now taking care of her. It had been so long since she’d experienced either, she didn’t know what to do. “Just a headache.”

“I’ll bet.” He poured two aspirin into his hand and passed them over with a bottle of water. After he put the supplies away, he came back to stand in front of her with an icepack. She went to take it from him, but he shook his head. “Let me.”

Again, he held her head, placing the icepack on one temple and stroking the other with his thumb. “Your pupils seem reactive. Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“No. Does stupid and helpless count as side effects?”

“If so, I have them, as well.” When she glanced up at him, emotions she couldn’t name swam in his golden eyes. He shook his head, his forehead wrinkling. “I’m very sorry this happened.”

She shrugged. “It’s not your fault. Or mine.” She pouted. “Still feel stupid, though.” She thought about the things Fern had said. “Am I really chipper and annoying? I don’t act like I’m perfect, do I?”

He gave her a placid shake. “Don’t you dare let her get to you. Our business correspondents, the staff, my parents…everyone adores you. She’s a lunatic trying to justify her jealousy. Nothing more.”

“Okay.” Yet, the woman’s feelings had to have originated somewhere.

His sigh ruffled her hair. “I was so worried about you that I did a press statement on the fly without getting nervous. Granted, I think I said three sentences, but that’s progress, right?”

Closing her eyes, she laughed. His self-depreciating humor always made her smile. He didn’t give himself enough credit. “I’m very proud. Soon, you won’t need me anymore.”

He went utterly still, and the thumb stroking her temple twitched.

She opened her eyes to find his gaze on her necklace. “I was only kidding. I’m not quitting. I may demand a stapler ban in the immediate future, but office supplies won’t chase me away that easily.”

“Peyton.” His hands shook. Jaw ticking, he swept his gaze over her face. “I think I’m still unnerved. Forgive me.”

“Adrenaline crash. It happens.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue, but he said nothing.

“Talk to me. You’ll feel better.”

He stared deadpan at her. “I don’t think that’s wise in this circumstance.”

Because he suddenly looked lost, she set her hands on his waist. He sucked a harsh breath like her touch burned. Until now, she’d wondered if the blips of attraction she’d been experiencing were only on her end. But he had kissed her back in his office and she hadn’t been the one to start it.

“Honesty, always,” she reminded him.

A quiet exhale, and he set the icepack on the counter. His throat worked a swallow. “When you got that email, and again when we found out who it was, all that ran through my mind was insane, irrational fear. I keep thinking about what could’ve happened if we didn’t learn the truth or all the ways she could’ve easily gotten to you.”

Reaching up, he traced his finger across her forehead. “You bring out this protective side of me I don’t know what to do with, and I worry it goes beyond a normal office relationship. Friends, maybe, but it’s testing those limits, too.”

He studied her a beat. “I’m very attracted to you, Peyton. You have to know that, had to have seen it through the years. You’re too clever to have missed it. But out of nowhere, you started sending signals and I just…” His lips firmed into a thin line. “I can’t keep things professional or friendly when there’s no defense against you.”

And…wow. No, she hadn’t a clue he’d wanted her, and no, she didn’t know what to do now that she was aware. “X, I…” Curses. She couldn’t make her brain work when he said stuff like that and her body was aching to be against him again. “I didn’t have any idea, actually.”

He stared at her as if in total disbelief.

Slowly, she slid off the stool. He didn’t step away, which brought them in complete alignment, and every nerve in her body fired. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and she went with instinct. Wrapping her arms around him, she buried her face in his chest. After a moment, his arms enveloped her and he rested his chin on top of her head.

“I can’t run Gaines Industries without you.” His chest rumbled as he spoke, his hands skimming her spine in a caress. “Technically, I can, but I don’t want to. Everything that makes my professional life click is due to you. That’s why I can’t do anything to jeopardize what we have. Am I making sense?”

Perfect sense. To him, playing upon their attraction would splinter his world, crack his foundation. For now, she’d give him some space and let him sort it out. It would be a shame to waste their obvious chemistry, but she cared about him too much to disrupt his life. If they were meant to take a romantic course, she figured his will wouldn’t be enough to erect even a speed bump, anyway.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She offered a quick squeeze and stepped out of his embrace.

He nodded and checked her temple. “The swelling’s down.” He looked at her green dress and shoes, then frowned. “I think I’ve got something more comfortable for you to wear. How about a bath to relax? I can heat up some soup while you do that. Or run downstairs to the cafeteria?”

“Soup’s fine. And a bath sounds great.” She chewed her lip. “Are you sure you want me staying here? I can make Kate keep an eye on me.”

As an answer, he narrowed his eyes, crossed the room, and went into the bedroom. She followed. He opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a tee, tossing it on the queen-size bed in the middle of the room.

“I think that’ll be huge on you, but if you need jogging pants or something, just holler. There’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet. Help yourself to whatever.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, tension knotting his frame. His gaze pinged around the room, to the bed, on her, and back again like he was completely shocked to find her in his personal space.

“I repeat, I can go home and stay with Kate.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “No.”

“Then, breathe.”

His gaze jerked to hers. The air all but crackled between them. That kiss had lit a match and there was no undoing it. They were going down, one way or the other. She could only hope she didn’t ruin the career she loved or the friendship with him in the process. Truly, besides Kate, he was the closest thing to family she had.

“Breathe,” she repeated, for herself and him. “Why don’t you change, too? It’ll make you more comfortable.”

With a quick nod, he opened a couple drawers, pulled out a few items, and strode out of the room.

“You can have the bathroom first,” she hollered at his back.

“I’m good.”

Uh-huh. Grabbing the t-shirt, she walked into the adjoining bath and shut the door. This room, too, was white. Everything. Well, except the towels, which were navy blue and uber soft. And didn’t it figure, her living room could fit inside his bathroom.

She checked out her injury in the mirror and winced. The whole temple and part of her forehead was an ugly shade of purple. A small, jagged cut bisected the discoloration.

“That’s going to look so pretty tomorrow.”

With a sigh, she started bathwater in his enormous, square tub and eyed all the dials. Jet settings, shower, hot water, cold…and one button she couldn’t figure out. Curious, she pushed it and hard rock blared from an overhead speaker. Jumping, she squealed and smacked the button to shut it off.

“Of course, he has a stereo in his bathroom. Who doesn’t?”

He knocked. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, embarrassment heating her cheeks. “Your stereo tried to give me a migraine to go with a concussion, but I killed it.”

He paused. Laughed. “Soap’s in the bottom cupboard. Don’t drown.” His footsteps padded away.

Funny guy.

She surveyed the selection of products, and they all smelled like him—a combination of rainwater and light cologne. Which was not going to help in eradicating arousal.

Regardless, she used the body wash, soaked in blessedly hot water for twenty minutes, and toweled dry. The t-shirt was dark blue, had the Fallen Veterans logo on the back, and fell to her knees. It covered more than the dress she’d had on, yet she felt naked. She contemplated the thick gray bathrobe hanging on the door, and snatched it on her way out.

Xavier was standing at the stove, stirring a small pot when she emerged. He wore a black pair of sweats that hung low on his hips and a white t-shirt. His dark chestnut hair was in disarray as if he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly. She got more than a little breathless watching the fluid motion of his lean muscles. His casual attire, combined with the domestic task, did something naughty to her girly parts. Her ovaries cried uncle.

Forcing herself to snap out of it, she walked to the counter and put her glasses back on she’d left there. “Thanks to your soap, I officially smell like you, and I stole your robe, so I look like you, too. Just call me Gaines.”

A grin split his profile. “I doubt you—” His heated gaze swept her from head to foot. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I never looked that good.” Shaking his head, he returned to his task and poured soup into two bowls. “I’m afraid I have almost no food. I stay at the house more than here. Tomato soup’s about the best I could do, though I can run out, if you want.”

“I’m good with soup. I’m not that hungry.”

He paled. “You’re not nauseous, are you?”

“No, doc. I just don’t eat a big dinner.” When he still looked concerned, she sighed. “I’m fine. Sit, X. Eat something.”

Setting the bowls down, he wove around the counter and took the stool next to her. His feet were bare, and for some reason, she got incredibly turned on.

He caught her staring and looked down. “What?”

She shrugged. “Never noticed how big your feet are. Bet you don’t have to rent skis.” She made a point to take a bite of soup.

A bark of laughter filled the room, and he shook his head. “I have no clue how to respond to that, so I’ll keep mum.”

They ate and bickered over sleeping arrangements. He insisted on her taking the bed and he the couch, and she finally conceded just to shut him up. He was usually pretty easygoing, so on the rare occasions when he became argumentative, she just caved.

He rose and rinsed their bowls in the sink. “You have your choice of a movie or cards. There’s nothing else to do.”

“I can kick your butt at poker.”

Grinning, he shook his head and went to a living room shelf.

She walked to the windows and watched the pink and orange sunset behind the buildings. Stars were beginning to poke through the fading daylight and lights shone randomly in windows. To her left, part of the Bay could be spotted, shrouded in fog.

He came up next to her and crossed his arms, staring out quietly beside her. “I love this view. Second only to the balcony at my folks place in Napa.”

“My guestroom faced the other direction. I’ll take your word for it.”

Rubbing his jaw, he sent her a side-glance. “You can have mine next weekend when we drive up. Or remind me to take you closer to the vineyard. There’s a great hill to catch the sunset.”

Since it sounded romantic, she kept quiet. And she loved this side of him. As comfortable as he’d grown with her, he still measured his words carefully most days. But like this? He didn’t hesitate, just went with his gut, and she longed for more.

He shifted his feet. “I was in Paris once, the year after I graduated college.” The low quality of his tone had a melancholy note she’d never heard before. “I started in Rome, moved on to London, then hit Paris last. What they say about rose-colored glasses is true. The light’s different there. San Francisco’s sunset is close, but not quite right.”

She faced him and leaned a shoulder on the glass. “I’ve never been. Always wanted to travel abroad, but never got around to it.”

Frowning, he turned and mirrored her pose. “Why? You speak, what, four different languages?”

She shrugged. “College was a struggle to make ends meet and, to be honest, I was scared to go anywhere while Brian was serving. Mark’s depression was too severe to take a trip after graduation. Well, then they both died and…I dove into work.”

He stared at her like he had never seen her before. “I give you two weeks vacation a year. Do you need more?”

“No.” She waved him off. “I only use one and don’t travel alone. If Kate can go with me, sometimes we take a few days up the coast. Besides, you and I go on business trips often enough.”

“That’s work. Not pleasure. What do you do when Kate can’t go?”

“Stay home. There’s lots to do here.” Which was an excuse. Truth was, the only thing sadder than vacationing alone was vacationing at home. Alone.

He rubbed his chest as if it hurt. “Why don’t you travel by yourself? If you research, there’s safe ways to do it.”

Because if something happened to her, she had no one at home who’d know, who’d miss her. And why wouldn’t he let up on this? “Non ha senso nel vedere bei posti se nessuno è lì per vivere con voi.”

“I hate it when you do that.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s like you know I won’t care for the answer, so you give it to me in another language. What was that? Italian?”

“Yes.” She leaned her head against the glass and decided it didn’t matter if she told him. She often got the impression she was just one of his many charities. “I said, there’s no point in seeing beautiful places if no one’s there to experience it with you.” She straightened. “Wipe that look off your face. I didn’t kick your puppy.”

Wounded golden eyes stared back at her as his throat bobbed with a swallow. “I don’t have a puppy, but I’m pretty sure you just kicked me in the gut.”

She rolled her eyes and moved to the couch. Plopping on the cushion, she glanced back at him. He was still rubbing his chest. “Am I going to beat you at poker, or what?”

In silence, he made his way over and sat at the opposite end, setting a deck of cards between them.

It took him a round, but he snapped out of his Pity Peyton Party and they discussed other things. By eight-thirty, the day had caught up to her and she was less useful than a limp noodle. She called it a night.

Lying awake, she stared at the shapes on his ceiling and felt more lonely with him in the next room than she ever had at home. It took an hour to get to sleep because even the sheets smelled like him.

The next thing she knew, his quiet, rumbling voice called her name and a warm hand settled on her shoulder. She blinked up at him where he sat on the mattress by her hip. She glanced at the clock, noting it was almost midnight, then at the chair in the corner, which suspiciously had a blanket on it as if he’d been sleeping there.

“What’s the French translation for you snore?”

“What?” She shifted onto her elbows. “I don’t snore.”

“You’re right. You don’t. This is just a concussion check.” His endearing, half-awake grin came close to knocking out her irritation. Close, but no cigar.

“As soon as I get a cup of coffee in me tomorrow morning, I’m gonna kill you.”

“I’ll put it on the calendar. Go back to sleep now.”

Huffing, she rolled over and shut her eyes. His footsteps padded on the floor behind her, but he didn’t leave. After a moment, a whoosh sounded, followed by the scratching of material on material in the silent room. He had been sleeping in the chair. Was he really that concerned?

“X, you know what happened today wasn’t your fault, right? And trust me when I say, I’m okay.”

He didn’t respond for the longest time, and when he did, it was nothing more than, “Goodnight.”

The second time he woke her, he demanded to know who the president of the United States was, and he laughed at her irritated response of, “It doesn’t matter. It should be Betty White. She has my vote.”

The third time he woke her, he had one hand on either side of her shoulders and was leaning close enough she could count his eyelashes. He looked exhausted and his hair stood up at a hundred different angles.

“Hey, you were slower to rouse this time.” His fingers skimmed her cheek, a barely there caress that bespoke of heartbreaking tenderness. “Do you know where you are?”

“Your bed.”

He inhaled. Hard. His eyes snapped shut. Blowing out a measured breath, he looked at her for a beat. A battle waged in his expression until he leaned forward, kissed her forehead, and returned to the chair.