When she handed him the keys, her fingers brushed his palm. The two of them were close enough that he could inhale the not-unpleasant scent of overly warm feminine skin. He flashed for a moment to a vision of the both of them showering together. Holy hell. Not an auspicious time to get hard.
He backed away as casually as he could. She handed him a slip of paper with the address and the code. “Thank you for doing this.”
Trying to ignore his baser instincts, he cleared his throat. “Have you had any luck with the records?”
She perched on the edge of her desk, one leg swinging. “You’re lucky we live in the high-speed age, Mr. Impatient. Something came through on my laptop just a little while ago. I’ll print out the attachments and bring them to dinner. With both of us looking at them, surely we can spot any anomalies.”
His arousal faded as he once again felt the crushing burden of knowing that something terrible had happened when he was born. Did he really want the answers? No, but he didn’t really have a choice.
“I won’t be long,” he said, striding from the room before she could read his unease. “See you in a few.”
* * *
Unloading the truck was a piece of cake since he could carry boxes directly into the unit Nikki had rented. It occurred to him that she was literally storing away a large part of who she was while she tried to relax, unwind and decide the next step her life would take.
In that way, their situations were similar. Pierce, who had been comfortably assured that his life’s course was mapped out, was suddenly faced with putting his assistant manager in charge of the business in order to wade through deep, unknown waters. He wasn’t his father’s son. Even now, with plenty of time to get used to the idea, he was incredulous.
As he drove back, he tried to imagine how he would react when he found out the truth of his birth. But the problem was, he had no idea how to spin that. No scenario made sense.
Nikki was waiting for him on the stoop when he got back, her face tilted toward the sun, stylish black sunglasses hiding her expression. He put the truck in Park and got out. “All done?”
She nodded, handing him a water bottle. “Yep. I feel a little sick to my stomach.”
“How come?” He sat down beside her, their hips practically touching. Her arms and legs were pale in the afternoon sunlight. Workaholics were rarely suntanned.
“I hope I’m doing the right thing. I love it here in Charlottesville. But I keep thinking there’s something more. Something I’m missing.”
“Marriage and kids?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Doubtful. Kids require attention, and I’m not sure I can change my ways. I’ve worked flat out for all of my adult life.”
“For what?”
“Validation. Fulfillment. Rent money. How about you?”
“My dad and I own and operate an outdoor adventure company. He pushed and prodded me until I finished a business degree, but that was merely a means to an end for me. I could never have stomached sitting at a desk all day. I’m an adrenaline junkie. More action. Fewer words.”
Three
Nikki wondered if he meant that last bit to sound suggestive. Was he flirting, or was her overheated imagination reading subtext where there was none? It wasn’t difficult to imagine Pierce practicing his philosophy of life in the bedroom.
She swallowed hard, envying him his casual confidence. She had worked incessantly since she was sixteen, terrified of the prospect of being broke and alone. Though she had found help along the way, much of her success could be attributed to sheer cussedness and an unwillingness to give up.
Her savings and retirement funds were sound. And even with this hiatus, her checkbook wouldn’t suffer too much. But in her desperate push to achieve fiscal security, she had occasionally forgotten how to have fun. With big, sexy Pierce Avery sitting on her doorstep, literally, the prospect of playing hooky was suddenly irresistible.
His body was a thing of beauty, strong and muscular and perfectly proportioned. It came as no surprise to know that he spent his days outdoors in physical activity. He carried himself with the masculine grace of an athlete. Though he was a large man, he was neither clumsy nor inelegant. Sitting so close, she could study his hands—the long fingers, broad palms, neatly trimmed nails. It occurred to her that Pierce was the kind of man who could sweep a woman off her feet and carry her up a flight of stairs without effort.
When her breathing grew choppy, she knew she was in trouble. “I suppose we should get back to work,” she said, wincing at the unmistakable wobble in her voice.
Pierce didn’t seem to notice. He stood up in one fluid movement and held out a hand to help her to her feet. “I’m ready if you are.” When his warm grasp engulfed her smaller hand, her knees trembled. Wow. This was a heck of a time to fall victim to an entirely inappropriate infatuation.
He released her at exactly the right moment, leaving her to wonder if all that dizzying attraction was on her side only. He held open the door and followed her into her office.
“I guess the desk needs to go on first, doesn’t it?” she asked, trying to sound businesslike and professional instead of like a teenage girl with a crush on the star quarterback.
“It does,” Pierce agreed, eyeing her dubiously. “I don’t want to offend your womanly sensibilities, but wouldn’t it be better if I call one of my buddies to help me with this?”
“I’m stronger than I look,” she insisted. “I’ll get this end and you take that one and walk backward. We can set it down in the doorway to catch our breath before we go the last bit to the truck.”
It was clear he wanted to argue, but she was ready to be done with all this and go home. Now that the moment was actually at hand, she felt hot tears sting her eyes, despite her professed lack of sentimentality. This cozy suite of offices and the square footage upstairs had been a happy, comforting place—a spot where she had found her stride, cut her teeth, learned to trust in herself.
She watched as Pierce felt for a handhold at the corners nearest him. “Use your legs to lift,” he said, “not your back. On my count. One, two, three...”
Just as she picked up her end, a small, furry rodent darted from its hitherto undisturbed hiding place, scrambled over her bare ankle—yuck—and disappeared into a gap where the baseboard met the wall.
She shrieked and dropped the desk, feeling an instant stab of pain when the unforgiving wood landed on her shoe.
* * *
“Holy hell.” Pierce set down his end gently and lunged forward, lifting the desk to free Nikki. Her face twisted in a grimace of pain. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the settee, seating her with her legs across his lap. “Let me see how bad it is,” he muttered. “Why in God’s name did you drop the desk?”
Embarrassment colored her face a rosy red. “A mouse ran over my foot. I hate mice.”
Her left foot had taken the hit. Gently, he untied the shoe and eased it off. They both sucked in a breath at the damage. If the heavy furniture had landed an inch to one side, it would have crushed several bones. As it was, it had caught the edge of her big toe, ripping skin and bloodying her foot.
He held her heel in his hand. “Do you have any first-aid supplies? Any ice?”
She shook her head. “I unplugged the mini fridge yesterday. My assistant wanted it for her college-aged daughter. And I’ve never kept any medicine here.