George didn’t even glance her way.
Sophy stared at him in silent fury, then stalked across the room and peered at the screen over his shoulder. “Is this all you’ve got open?”
“I don’t multitask.”
“Is it saved?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” She stepped around to the side of the desk and pulled the plug out of the wall. Instantly the screen went black.
“What the hell?” At least he spun his chair a half turn to look at her then—even if the action did make him wince and grab his head. “What’d you do that for?”
“I should think that’s obvious. I’m saving you from yourself.”
“You could have just said, ‘turn off the computer.’“
“Oh? And that would have worked, would it? I don’t think so.” As she spoke she was methodically removing all the plugs from his surge protector, then looking around for some place to put it where he couldn’t just hook it up again. Her gaze lit on the file cabinet. She opened the top drawer, dropped in the surge protector, shut the drawer, locked it and pocketed the key.
George stared at her, dumbfounded. “Are you out of your mind? I need to work. That’s what I came home for.”
“Well, you’re not fit to work.”
“Says who?”
“Says me,” Sophy told him. “And Sam. You hired me to take care of you and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Then you’re sacked.”
“Throw me out. Try it,” Sophy goaded him. “You can’t. And I’m not leaving. I gave my word. And I keep it.”
“Do you?” George said quietly.
And all of a sudden, Sophy knew they were talking about something entirely different. She swallowed and wrapped her arms across her chest. For a moment her gaze wavered, but then it steadied. She did keep her word. Always. No matter what he thought. She lifted her chin and met his gaze firmly. “Yes.”
He looked as if he might argue with her. But finally he shrugged. “Maybe you do,” he said enigmatically.
She didn’t know what he meant by that, wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She kept her arms folded, her gaze steady.
“I have to get some work done sometime, Sophy.”
“Not tonight.”
“My head feels better.”
“Good. Not tonight.”
He looked almost amused now. “Are you going to stand there and say that until tomorrow?”
“If that’s what it takes.” She didn’t move.
George sighed and shook his head. “You’re a bully.”
And there was the pot calling the kettle black. She remembered so many times when she’d been expecting Lily that he had gently bullied her into taking extra good care of herself. But that was not a memory she wanted to dig into right now. Sophy just shrugged. “It’s time to go to bed.”
“Is that an invitation?” George’s brow lifted. He grinned faintly.
“No, it’s an order.”
He laughed, then winced at the effect it had on his head. But finally he pushed himself slowly up out of his chair and started to hobble slowly toward the stairs. He had to pass within inches of her to get there.
She wanted to step back, to give him plenty of space, to keep her distance while he passed. Yet she sensed that if she did, he’d see it as a retreat. And Sophy was damned if she was retreating.
She stayed where she was, even looked up to meet his gaze when he reached her and stopped to loom over her, so close that if she’d leaned in an inch or two she could have pressed her lips to his stubbled jaw.
He didn’t say anything, just stood there and looked down at her for a long moment. She could see each individual whisker on his jaw, trace the outline of his lips. She flicked her gaze higher to meet his eyes. He didn’t speak, but the air seemed to crackle with some weird electricity between them. Sophy didn’t blink.
Finally he limped slowly on toward the stairs. “Coming?” he said over his shoulder, with just a hint of sardonic challenge in his voice. “Or are you going to stay down here and set fire to my office?”
Sophy drew a breath and said with far more lightness than she felt, “Of course. I’m right behind you—ready to catch you if you fall.”
It was like climbing Everest.
And he couldn’t complain because if he did, Sophy would just say, “Told you so,” or something equally annoying.
He couldn’t even just go lie down on the couch again because when he finally got to the first floor she said, “Might as well go all the way up since you’re feeling so much better. I’ll get your crutches.”
At least the thirty seconds it took her to do that gave him a half a minute’s respite before she was standing there, holding them, saying brightly, “After you.”
Serve her right if he fell on her.
He didn’t. But not for lack of opportunity. Ordinarily he didn’t even think about all the times he clattered up and down the flights of stairs in his house. Tonight he counted every single blasted one of them.
There were twenty per floor. It felt like a hell of a lot more. The crutches didn’t help, which he already knew from his experience outside. And going down to his office hadn’t been a problem. He’d eased his way down by sliding carefully on the bannister. Not that he intended to tell Sophy that!
She stayed behind him the whole way, wordlessly watching while he made the laborious climb. She never said a word, but he could sense her eyes on him.
“Don’t feel you have to wait. Go right on up,” he said through his teeth.
“No hurry,” she replied. “I don’t mind.”
He did, but he wasn’t telling her that, either. So he just kept on going, aware as he did so that sweat was breaking out on the back of his neck and the palms of his hands. He hoped Sophy didn’t notice.
He thought she might have, though, because when they got to the second floor, she said, “Would it help if you leaned on me?”
“No, it would not.” Then, realizing he’d snapped, he gritted his teeth and added, “Thank you,” as lightly as he could.
Not that he wouldn’t like to put an arm—hell, both arms!—around Sophy, but not now. Not this way. Not under these circumstances. He used the railing for support as he hobbled down the hall toward the next flight of the twenty thousand steps that would take him to his bedroom.
“Maybe you should just spend the night here.” Sophy hovered behind him, sounding worried. “You could have this bed and—”
“You offering to share it with me?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so. I’m fine.” He wasn’t going to admit he couldn’t make it because, damn it, he could make it. He took the first step. Only nineteen thousand more to go.
In the end it probably didn’t take him as long as he thought it had. All George knew was that his bed had never looked so good.
Sophy had darted around him as he’d reached the door to his room, going in ahead of him and turning down the duvet and plumping the pillows. By the time she’d finished and stepped back, he was able to ease himself down onto the mattress, all the while trying not to make it look as welcome as it was.