A Wolff at Heart

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. I guess I should have.”

He frowned. “I’ll take you to the emergency room.”

“No, please. Nothing’s broken. You can see that. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks. And it’s not my right foot, so I’ll be fine to drive.”

Pierce had dealt with a fair number of sporting injuries over the years. He was certified in CPR. In fact, he could be called upon to stitch up a life-threatening wound if no help was at hand and hospitals too far away. When he took groups into the wilderness, his responsibility was to care for them in every way.

But seeing Nikki in pain made him a little woozy. Her fair skin was so soft and beautiful it was a crime to see it damaged. Her feet were long and narrow with high arches. Only when she moved restlessly did he realize he was caressing the bottom of her injured foot with his thumb.

Immediately, he dropped her leg, and then felt like a jerk when she gasped softly. “I’ve got plenty of first-aid stuff at my house, and you could use a break with a change of scenery,” he said. “No arguments.”

“I was born to argue,” she said, smiling at him despite her injury. “And besides...I have to be out of here by midnight or I have to fork over another month’s rent. So thanks for your chivalry, but I’ll be fine.”

He knew she was an independent, successful woman, but her stubbornness at the moment frustrated him. “I know a couple of guys who owe me a favor. You can trust them with your belongings, I swear. I’ll ask them to get the last few things out. Will that satisfy you?”

She gnawed her lip, clearly not used to letting someone else take the wheel. He understood self-reliance...hell, he even applauded it. But it was foolish not to accept help when help was at hand. Fortunately, Nikki must have come to the same conclusion. “Thank you,” she said. “That would be wonderful.”

He eased her legs to one side and stood up, situating her on the settee carefully. “Let me call and make sure they’re available. Don’t move.”

* * *

Even though her foot throbbed like a bad toothache, Nikki didn’t move. Not only because of her injury, but because she wanted to study Pierce while he wasn’t looking at her. She’d been right about his ability to sweep a woman off her feet. He’d lifted her as if she were no heavier than a child. And she was not a lightweight.

It was in his nature to take over. She could see that. But he was genuinely making an effort to defer to her wishes. Which endeared him to her, despite his innate bossiness. She should never have made this lame bargain. Pierce was too handsome, too charismatic, too everything.

Her plan to take time off and decide on the next step in her life had to be a priority. Giving in to a moment’s infatuation with a would-be client was impulsive and possibly foolish, neither of which normally described Nicola Parrish.

There was, however, some justification for her momentary lapse in judgment. Pierce Avery was the whole package: smart, funny, kind and strong. Heck, next to him a Boy Scout would look like an unmotivated slacker. Nevertheless, she’d do well to ignore the way her heart pitter-pattered when he touched her. The man was being solicitous, that’s all. And he wanted something from her, so even his attentiveness was suspect.

Pierce needed her in his quest for answers. And she suspected that he was single-minded enough to take care of any obstacles in his way, including but not limited to playing doctor for his injured lawyer.

She flexed her ankle experimentally, sucking in a sharp breath when pain shot up her leg. Already her foot was swelling. And throbbing. Dang it to heck and back. This was a complication she didn’t need.

Moodily, she watched her Galahad pace as he lined up replacements to finish her move. He looked far more relaxed today than he had when they’d first met in her office. An old, gray UVA football T-shirt clung to his broad, flat torso and exposed rippling arm muscles. His navy board shorts were well-worn, and when he bent over to pick up a pencil that had rolled out from under the desk, she glimpsed the waistband of his boxers.

More flustered than she cared to admit, she dragged her attention away from Pierce and decided to try standing up. She eased her good foot to the floor, swung her other leg around and gingerly stood, putting weight on her left leg. Not too bad. It was uncomfortable, sure, but with a couple of ibuprofen she’d be fine by morning.

Pierce ended his phone call and glared at her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s not a sprained ankle. I’m entirely capable of walking.” Although the prospect of having him carry her again was temptingly sweet.

“The sidewalk outside is hot enough to melt steel. How do you plan on getting to the car?” He crossed his arms over his chest as if daring her to argue with him further.