Desire Collection: December Books 1 – 4. Elizabeth Bevarly
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am,” she answered simply.
“Good, you deserve nothing but the best. Take a seat, I’ll be right back.”
He was as good as his word, returning from the kitchen a moment later with plate laden with cheese and crackers.
“Sorry there’s not much of a selection,” he said with a wink. “I haven’t had a chance to get out to the grocery store.”
Faye laughed out loud. “As if you ever go to the grocery store yourself.”
“True.” He nodded. “I’ve led an exceptionally privileged life, haven’t I?”
But he’d known loneliness and loss, too, despite all that privilege. And, while he hid it well, she knew that he missed his brother more than words could ever say.
“On the other hand, you also provide employment to hundreds of people, with benefits, so I guess you can be forgiven for not ever doing your own shopping.”
Faye put her glass down and helped herself to some cheese and crackers. It was probably better to put some food in her stomach before she had any more champagne. She had a fast metabolism and the light lunch she’d prepared hours ago had most certainly been burned up by now. A delicious aroma slowly began to filter through from the kitchen.
“Have you been cooking?” she asked.
“Just a little thing Casey and I threw together.” He chuckled at her surprised expression. “No, to be honest, it’s one of Meredith’s stews that I found in the freezer. I thought we could eat here, in front of the fire. It’s kind of nice to just chill out for a bit, don’t you think?”
Faye nodded. It wasn’t often that she chilled out completely. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe the knowledge that she’d be leaving soon, but she felt deeply relaxed this evening. The plate with cheese and crackers seemed to empty itself rather quickly, she thought as she reached for her glass again. Or maybe she’d just been hungrier than she’d realized. When she apologized to Piers for having more than her share, he was magnanimous.
“Don’t worry. You have no idea how many of them I had to sample before I got the combination of relish and cheese right on the crackers,” he assured her.
He poured her another glass of champagne and she looked at the flute in her hand in surprise. Had the thing sprung a leak? Surely she hadn’t drunk all that herself?
As if he could read her mind, Piers hastened to reassure her. “I won’t let you drink too much. Responsible host and all that. Besides, I know how much you like to remain in control.”
“I’m not worried,” she protested.
In fact, she’d rarely felt less worried than she did right now. A delicious lassitude had spread through her limbs and there was a glowing warmth radiating from the pit of her belly. She curled her legs up beside her on the sofa and watched the flames dance and lick along the logs in the fireplace. She’d hated fire since the accident—hated how consuming it could be, how uncontrolled. But being here at the lodge these past few days had desensitized her from those fears somewhat. The curtain grille that Piers always pulled across the grate created both a physical and mental barrier to the potential harm that could be wrought. Of course, he’d have to put stronger barriers in place once Casey became mobile, she thought. If he stuck with his plans to keep the baby, she reminded herself.
But that was a problem for another time. And not hers to worry about, either, she told herself firmly. Tonight’s goal was to chill out, so that’s what she most definitely was going to do.
The latter part of Piers’s remark, about her liking to remain in control, echoed in her mind. Was that how she portrayed herself to him? In control at all times? It was certainly the demeanor she strived to create. It was her protection. If she had everything under control, nothing could surprise her. Nothing could hurt her.
Being totally helpless in the face of the gas tanker skidding toward their car on the icy road that night had left scars that went far deeper than purely physical. Her whole life had imploded. By the time she’d recovered from the worst of her physical injuries, the emotional injuries had taken over her every waking thought.
Faye’s transition into foster care had been a blur and, as a salve to her wounded, broken heart, she’d poured herself into the care of the younger children in the home. The babies had caught at her the most, each one feeling like a substitute for the baby brother she’d lost. The baby brother who may have still been alive today if she hadn’t begged her stepdad to let her drive that night. For the longest time she’d wished she’d died along with her family. That the tanker driver hadn’t been able to pull her free from the burning wreckage of their family sedan.
Subconsciously she rubbed her legs. The scar tissue wasn’t as tight as it used to be, but it remained a constant reminder that she’d survived when her family hadn’t.
“You okay? Your legs sore?” Piers asked.
It was the first time he’d said anything about her injuries since he’d seen her undress the night he’d arrived.
“They’re fine. It’s just a habit, I guess.”
She waited for him to ask the inevitable questions, like how she’d gotten the scars, had it hurt and all the other things people asked.
“Would you like me to rub them for you? I guess massage helps, right?”
She looked at him, completely startled. “Well, yes, it has helped when I’ve tried it before—but I’m okay, truly.”
A flutter of fear, intermingled with something else—desire, maybe—flickered on the edges of her mind. What would it be like to feel his hands on her legs, to feel those long, supple fingers stroking her damaged skin? She slammed the door on that thought before it could gain purchase and swung her legs down to the floor again.
“Shall I go and check on dinner?” she asked, rising to her feet.
“Not at all, sit down. Tonight, let me wait on you, okay?”
Reluctantly, Faye sat again. “I’m not used to being waited upon.”
“Then this will be an experience for you, won’t it?” Piers said with a quick grin. “Now, relax. Boss’s orders.”
He went to the kitchen and she caught herself watching his every step. She couldn’t help herself. From the broad sweep of his shoulders to the way his jeans cupped his backside, he appealed to her on so many forbidden levels it wasn’t even funny. It was easy in the office to ignore his physical appeal. After all, at work she was too busy ensuring everything ran smoothly and that potential disasters were averted at all times to notice just how good Piers looked. So exactly when had her perception of him changed? When had he stopped simply being her boss and become a man she now desired?
As Piers sliced a loaf of bread he’d defrosted earlier, he wondered if Faye had any idea of how much she revealed in her expression. These past few days it was as if the careful mask she wore in her professional life had been destroyed and he was finally getting to see the woman who lived behind the facade. He put the slices in the basket he’d put on a large tray earlier and turned to lift the lid from the pot simmering on the stove.
The scent of the gently bubbling beef-and-red-wine stew made his mouth water. It was funny how living in isolation like this made you appreciate things so much more. He’d never take any of his staff for granted again. Not that he’d made a habit of it up to now, but it was time to show additional gratitude for the foresight the people around him displayed. Of course, that’s why he employed those very people in the first place—without them he could hardly do his job properly, either.
Which brought him very firmly back to the woman waiting for him in the main room. Tonight he’d seen a window into her vulnerability that he hadn’t noticed before. It kind