Beauty and the Brooding Boss / Friends to Forever: Beauty and the Brooding Boss / Friends to Forever

A knock sounded on her door. “Kelsey?”

What now? Grabbing her tank, she thrust it back on and opened the door. “What?”

A pair of very contrite eyes met hers, killing every ounce of her earlier acrimony. “Is Stuart really paying you extra to work here?”

“If I say yes, will you use it against me?”

His mouth had come dangerously close to curving into a smile. “I’ll try not to.” He looked around at the bare bones bedroom, checking out the setting like it was the first time he’d been there. “You’re very neat,” he said all of a sudden.

“Makes packing easier.” As well as moving on.

Alex nodded, and in her mind she wondered if he wasn’t agreeing with both points.

The coffee mug he had repaired sat crookedly on top of the bureau. He walked over and picked it up. “Not my best repair job in the world, that’s for sure. I notice you don’t use it, so I was right—it doesn’t hold liquid.”

“I didn’t try.” She’d been afraid to find out lest it fall apart again. After seeing it smashed to bits, she wasn’t about to take any chances. Even now she was fighting the urge to slip the mug from Alex’s grasp. “Why are you here? Did you knock on my door merely to confirm my pay rate?”

“Ah, so he is paying extra.” Setting down the mug, he continued his tour, stopping at the window. His broad shoulders filled the frame. “How much?”

The appropriate answer would be “none of your business,” but the truth came out without second thought. “Triple.”

“Triple.” He took a moment to let the answer sink in. “Says it all, doesn’t it. That why you took the job? For the money?”

“Yes.”

The look crossing his face as he turned was a mixture of surprise and admiration. “I appreciate the honesty. Though I have to say, you don’t strike me as the mercenary type.” He cocked his head to study her better. “What’s your story, Kelsey Albertelli?”

Now was the time to tell him to bug off, same as he did whenever she asked a personal question. “It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“Now who’s prying into whose private business?”

“Point taken,” he replied with a nod. Sincerity marked every feature and Kelsey realized, with more than a little admiration, that he wouldn’t press her for more. He was respecting her privacy.

Her chest swelled. She wasn’t used to respect. The notion that someone would honor her privacy made her feel … well, special, she supposed. She stared into Alex’s eyes, feeling herself being drawn in.

The two of them were a lot alike, weren’t they? Both keeping the world at arm’s length, rather than offering or asking more than necessary. Her chest went from being tight to feeling warm and full. The feeling grew bigger and started inching its way outward, down her limbs and to her toes. A nebulous longing to be closer gripped her. Suddenly sharing her story didn’t sound all that horrible.

“My grandmother, she—”

“No need to explain.” He held up a palm. “You’re right. I was prying.”

Kelsey smiled. Again she appreciated the respect, despite the fact it restored their distance to arm’s length.

“And thank you,” he continued, “for covering with Stuart. I’m not used to—well, it’s been a long time since someone did me a favor for no reason.”

“I understand.”

“I know.” His long assessing look reached deep inside her, stirring emotions she couldn’t identify.

And wasn’t really sure she wanted to.

A week later, Alex had a doctor’s appointment to check out his arm. Since he couldn’t drive his stick shift, Kelsey drew chauffeur duties. Normally she wouldn’t mind, but she’d failed to factor in what it would be like sharing an enclosed space with Alex. His long frame mere inches from hers. His body heat mingling with hers the entire trip, filling the air with his scent. His hand rested on the armrest, close enough to her that when she touched the gearshift, the underside of her forearm would brush across his knuckles. Thank goodness, she chose to take her car rather than Alex’s sports car. Driving a standard, with the distraction of continually touching him—no matter how lightly—would result in them ending up in a ditch somewhere.

Since silence only exacerbated the situation, she forced conversation. Fortunately, Alex was in a talkative mood. At least, talkative for him. After exhausting the weather and road conditions, she decided to take a risk and ask something she’d been dying to know since her arrival. “May I ask you a personal question?”

Of course, the moment she said personal, wariness crept into his expression. “What do you want to know?”

“How did you break your arm?”

“Oh, that.” Relief returned to his face. “Stuart didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head. “He only said you broke it.”

“Well, score one for discretion.” He sounded surprised. “I tripped over a root and fell while walking in the woods.”

“You were by yourself?” Obviously. “How did you get help?”

“I broke my arm, not my leg. I made my way back to the house and called an ambulance.”

Somehow Kelsey doubted the scenario went quite as smoothly as he described it. Navigating a wooded path with a broken arm … Poor man must have been in tremendous pain. “And you had no one to help you.”

“You’re assuming I wanted help.”

She thought of the other day. “No, I’m assuming you could have used help.”

“Didn’t we cover the problems with assumption the other afternoon?”

“Was this before or after you were lying incapacitated on the sofa?”

“I would debate your use of the word incapacitated, but in this case I got myself to the hospital just fine.”

And came home by himself to an empty house. She knew Alex chose to live that way, but the idea of Alex alone and in pain made her sad. “What about painkillers and medication and all that?”

“I managed.”

“I’m sure you did.” Managed. It sounded so … lacking. Like he was getting by with the bare minimum.

You should know, Kelsey. Manage had been the story of her life. Manage and adapt.

Why then, did manage suddenly feel inadequate?

“So is that when you started writing longhand?” she asked, pulling herself back to the conversation.

“No, I’ve always written by pencil. Started when I was teaching and would scribble notes between—”

“You were a teacher?” She nearly hit the brakes.