Only with You (18 page)

She felt the now familiar heat of embarrassment that always made her fingers tingle, and she shook her hand. Normally she liked Brayburn’s copy room. It smelled like paper and productivity. And since she was the only one that used the one on the executive floor, it usually felt like her private haven when the rest of the office felt too chaotic.

But tonight her precious copy room felt like a prison holding her back from the bubble bath that awaited her at home.

Resigning herself to the battle ahead, she found a stool and carefully teetered up its wobbly steps toward the toner boxes on the top shelves, giving a little grunt of triumph when she managed to grab the box and crawl back down the stool without falling and shattering her tibia. She so did not need another ER visit.

But getting the box down was only the start of the battle. This wasn’t a simple open-the-door-and-drop-it-in type of deal. Sophie stared down at the indecipherable images masquerading as instructions. Why didn’t they just
tell
you how to change the cartridge?

What was this first picture supposed to be? It looked like a UFO sitting on top of a tractor.

“Need some help?”

Sophie closed her eyes. Of course he would be here. She didn’t even muster the energy to feel surprised. Even if she hadn’t known the rough voice by now, Gray was the only one who stayed in the office this late. He probably considered it a sacrilege to leave the office before the nightly janitorial crew had left.

“Go away,” she breathed, not turning to look at him.

Not exactly the cool professionalism she was hoping for, but she’d been trying for cool professional all week. It was Thursday, and her feet hurt, her hand was throbbing, and she just wanted to go home.

Instead of granting her request, he came up beside her and pulled the toner box toward him.

“Give that back,” she snapped.

“You need two hands to do this,” he said, apparently immediately understanding the hieroglyphics on the box.

“I have two hands.”

“Yes, but only eight fingers.” He still hadn’t lifted his eyes from the box.

She tried to pull the box back toward her. “CEOs do not change printer toner. Their assistants do.”

“What are you doing here so late?” he asked, finally turning his head toward her.

Her stomach gave a jolt at the eye contact, and in a second she went from irritated to hot and bothered. This whole desire-to-hump-the-boss thing was starting to get really inconvenient. Particularly since it wasn’t mutual.

“Oh, you know, just wanted to spend more time in your dazzling company,” she said with her biggest smile.

“I’m sure whatever work you still have can wait until tomorrow.”

“Not unless you want to hand-draw your sales report for the board tomorrow.”

His mouth clamped shut and she gave him a knowing look. “Exactly.”

“How can I help?” he asked, still not moving.

“By going away. Maybe falling out the window.” Losing the battle with her aching feet, Sophie finally relented and eased out of her shoes, surprised they weren’t filled with blood. She certainly wouldn’t have pulled out the new camel peep toes this morning if she’d known she’d be working a twelve-hour work day.

She let out a sigh of relief and wiggled her toes.

“I liked them on,” Gray said roughly.

For a moment she thought she misheard him, but the hot look he was giving her said otherwise, and was like a match on her already-frayed temper.

“Don’t do that,” she hissed, waving the spike of her heel at him. “Don’t you dare
flirt
after a week of acting like a robot.”

He batted the shoe out of his face and glared down at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Did we not share a meal on Friday night, Mr. Wyatt?”

His expression grew wary. “We did. And on Monday I had lunch with Beth Jennings, and on Tuesday I had dinner with Jeff Andrews. What of it?”

“Really? Did you cook for them? Did you nearly kiss them? Did you tell them that they were
worth something
?”

Her voice broke and she brought up her shoe again as protection.

“Sophie,” he said softly.

“Don’t. No pity. Not from you.”

“Put your damn shoe down.”

“No.” She waved it at him. “I have to put this toner in and then I’m going home and eating nothing but carbs and butter.”

Sophie told herself she was glad when he turned away. This was
her
copy room, and it wasn’t big enough for the both of them.

But instead of leaving, he pulled the toner box away and tore it open before she could respond.

“I’ll do it,” she said, trying to grab for it.

He batted her away as though she were a fly and, turning to the massive machine, opened a couple of hidden doors, slid a couple of panels, and in the span of a couple of minutes had replaced the toner and was putting the old one in the bag to be recycled.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, not quite willing to say thank you, but grateful all the same. She was pretty sure she’d be still trying to open the box.

The red light on the printer flicked to green, and the machine began methodically spitting out neat piles of hole-punched paper. They stood side by side in silence as they watched it work. Their hands were less than an inch apart. All she had to do was extend her pinky finger, and…

The machine slowed to a stop, and Sophie made a grab for the papers and her shoes.

“Thanks again for the help,” she said, backing out of the room.

“You’re done now, right? You can go home?”

“Almost. I just need to put them in the report binders and get them into the conference room.”

“I’ll help,” he said, following her to her desk.

“Would you stop? I can do this!”

“I know, but it’s my project you’re working on. I’ve given you too much to do. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s not too much,” she muttered as she awkwardly tried to open the binder with her maimed hand. “It’s just this damn splint. It slows me down.”

“All the more reason for me to apologize. You wouldn’t have the splint if I hadn’t forced you to help cook,” Gray said quietly. He gently pulled the binder from her hands. “I’ll do this part. You just hand me the paper.”

She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but he was being so damn decent, and telling him off felt needlessly petty. She
hated
when he was nice. Which, she had to admit, was more often than she gave him credit for.

Once again, the task went twice as fast with his assistance, and by the time she laid the last binder at the head of the conference room table, it was only seven thirty, not midnight, like she’d feared.

She moved toward the door only to find Gray standing there watching her. She quickly turned to the window rather than face him, her pulse humming with…something.

It wasn’t anger. Her temper from earlier had mellowed, and she was no longer itching to start a fight.

She was wanting something much more dangerous than a fight.

“I’ve never seen the view from up here at night,” she said. There. That was a safe topic. Very platonic.

Except Sophie hadn’t bothered to turn on the conference room’s light, preferring to work by the city lights outside. She regretted that decision now. The darkness was decidedly romantic.

He shoved his hands into his suit pocket and came to stand beside her as they stared out at the Seattle skyline. It was a clear night, and the city felt both peaceful and alive. “This is one of my favorite times in the office,” he said. “I do my best thinking up here after everyone’s gone.”

Sophie gave a rueful smile. “And here I’ve gone disturbing your peace. As usual.”

“As usual,” he agreed.

Sophie couldn’t help the wince. At what point would his rejection stop stinging?

She turned to go, leaving him to his dark solitude, but he grabbed her hand. “Don’t.”

He stared down at their joined hands for several moments before very slowly lacing his fingers with hers. It was one of the sweeter and strangely most erotic sensations of her life. Holding hands wasn’t supposed to be sexy.

But holding hands with Gray was.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, two mismatched souls holding hands in the moonlight, but she didn’t want it to end.

“Gray,” she whispered, still not looking at him. “I—”

“Don’t, Sophie,” he said, giving her fingers a squeeze.

It was hardly the first time that Gray had silenced her, but she was getting damn tired of it. For once she hadn’t been about to pry or pester or annoy him. She’d just wanted to talk. Hear his voice. And he denied her even that.

She peeled her fingers away from his and walked out of the conference room, back to her desk. Her eyes were watering as she picked up her purse and began stuffing her belongings into it.

So the man wanted quiet? She’d give him that. He wanted solitude? He could have that too.

In fact, he could pretty much have those things the rest of his life, because no woman in her right mind would—

A firm hand jerked her around so roughly that her purse fell to the ground. Sophie’s eyes went wide as she stared up into his angry face. This was a Gray she hadn’t seen before. There was none of the earlier gentleness, and the soft look in his eyes had been replaced by something hot and fierce.

His mouth was on hers before she could move.

She stiffened for the briefest of seconds before relaxing into him. Sophie heard herself gasp at the unexpected rightness of it. She’d thought about this moment. Dreamt about it. She’d expected it to feel wrong.

But there was nothing wrong about the mouth moving slowly over hers, his lips taking hers in quiet demand. She tentatively kissed him back, and when his hands slid up her arms to cup her face, she slid hers around his waist, pulling him even closer. Their bodies fit together like the last pieces of an impossible puzzle.

Gray groaned, using his lips to coax open her mouth and slide his tongue against hers in silky rhythm. There was nothing slow and gentle about the kiss now, and she clawed at his back and kissed him like he was the last man alive.

Her hands moved to the buttons of her shirt, but she only had half of them undone before she realized that he was one step ahead of her. Her blouse was fully unbuttoned, and he was roughly tugging it down her shoulder. His mouth moved to the crook of her neck as his hand found her breast over her lace bra and they both moaned.

“God, Sophie,” he said against her neck. She wanted to tease him that there was supposed to be no talking, but she didn’t feel like teasing. At least not that kind.

Her uncoordinated hands had finally undone the last of his shirt buttons when they heard the unmistakable sound of keys jingling in the hallway.

Please keep going
, she silently begged the owner of the keys.

But the jangling stopped right outside the office doors.

“The janitor,” Gray whispered, pulling back abruptly. Sophie was unprepared at the sudden loss of his support, and stumbled off-balance, catching herself on the side of her desk.

Her desk.
Horrible reality flooded over her. She had nearly just had sex with her boss in the office.

Who does that?
she screamed at herself.

She heard a key turn in the lock, and she’d barely pushed her arms through the shirt Gray tossed at her when the door opened.

The fluorescent light spilled in from the hallway, and Sophie squinted against its harshness.

A very startled-looking janitor blinked at them as Sophie held her purse in front of her half-buttoned shirt and tried to look natural.

“Mr. Wyatt?” he said, clearly confused.

“Hello, Walter,” Gray said in his usual calm voice. “Come on it. We were just finishing up a couple of sales reports.”

If Walter suspected anything, he was too kind to show it, because he merely nodded and gave her a shy smile before wheeling in his cleaning cart.

“I’ll drive you home,” Gray said quietly in her ear. But she knew that tone. This wasn’t the Gray who had cooked dinner for her, and it certainly wasn’t the Gray who had kissed her senseless.

This was the cold Gray. The one from the elevator.

She should have known that any kind of intimacy would only blow up in their faces. This was the type of man that pushed away anyone who got beneath his defenses. Gray was already fully dressed, looking for all the world like he’d just come from a nice business lunch instead of fondling his secretary on her desk.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice crackling as she finished buttoning her shirt.

“Sophie—”

“This was the worst kind of mistake. Don’t even try to deny it.”

And he didn’t. Just stared at her with cool gray eyes. “Yes, it was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

Sophie gave a curt nod and grabbed her shoes to keep from having to make eye contact. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said brightly, before heading toward the door without looking back.

He said nothing.

By the time she exited the elevator, she was a sobbing mess.

This job at Brayburn was supposed to be her path toward respectability, and she was messing everything up.

Nobody would respect the girl who fell in love with the boss.

S
ophie Claire, are you listening to me?”

Sophie switched her cell phone to her other ear as she threw yet another rejected shirt on the bed. Her entire wardrobe was office-ready, but not even remotely first-date-ready. When had
that
happened?

“Sorry, Mom, what?”

Phone conversations with her mother were trying on the best of days, and painful when her mother was attempting to coax Sophie into yet another “self-improvement plan.”

Marnie let out the smallest of dignified sighs. “I was saying that Blair has an opening this weekend and is willing to take you on as a client. Don’t you think a little change to your look would be nice? I’m thinking darkening the blonde to something more natural. Maybe getting rid of the length? You’re not sixteen anymore, you know…”

“Brynn’s hair is the same length as mine,” Sophie said as she held up a green dress in the mirror. She made a face and tossed that in the reject pile. Mint green only looked good when she had a bit of a tan. Not something she could claim at the moment.

“Hmm, is it?” her mother was musing. “I suppose so, but Brynn wears hers straight, so it’s more age-appropriate.”

“Well, Brynn is older than me,” Sophie said with sham cheerfulness, “so when I’m her age, then we can have this chat, okay?”

“So what should I tell Blair?”

Tell him to take a flying leap. Or her.
Sophie had no idea what gender her mother’s beloved hairstylist was, and she really didn’t care.

“Mom, I’ve got to go. I have another call coming in.”

“You do not. Who is it?”

“Good-bye, Mother. I’ll see you Sunday,” Sophie said, hanging up before her mother could attempt to launch her next campaign for Sophie’s betterment.

She tapped her phone against her chin as she surveyed her bedroom. There were now more clothes discarded on her bed than there were clothes in the closet, and she still didn’t know what to wear. For that matter, she didn’t even know what this date entailed.

Michael seemed like a decent enough guy. He was one of Will’s friends from college who’d just moved to the area, and Will wouldn’t set her up with a creep.

And yet, she hadn’t heard from him once since he’d first called to ask her out, despite his promise that he’d call with more details. He’d probably forgotten, since, being a guy, he had about three wardrobe options to choose from instead of a thousand.

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. She had two hours until he was supposed to pick her up. Would it scream “high-maintenance” if she called and asked where they were going? A restaurant was a restaurant, but what if he was one of those creative types who had planned a picnic? She certainly wouldn’t be able to think about getting romantic if she had the Seattle spring breeze blowing up her cute skirt.

Screw it. Finding his number in her phone’s address book, she took the plunge.

The creaky voice that picked up was so unlike the masculine voice she remembered that she had to double-check that she’d called the right number.

“Michael?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Sophie Dalton.”

A pause.

“Oh shit.”

Sophie closed her eyes. “You’re sick, huh?”

“More like half-dead. I haven’t moved in two days. I completely forgot about our date.”

Sophie began hanging up dozens of shirts. The only thing she’d be wearing tonight was her sweats. “No worries,” she said. “You can’t help being sick.”

“Still, I should have called,” he said with a nasty cough.

“Please. You sound like a tuberculosis patient. I’m sure you had other things on your mind.”

Like dying.

“I’ll call you later this week for a reschedule?”

“Absolutely,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “I hope you feel better.”

Sophie tossed her phone into the pile of clothes and sat on the edge of her bed. She waited for the expected rush of disappointment.

It didn’t come.

If anything, she was bummed that it was the first sunny Saturday of the year and she had no plans. But she was oddly indifferent to being dateless. Michael was probably a nice enough guy, but if she was honest with herself, she’d only agreed to go out with him for one reason.

To forget The Kiss.

It had been almost two weeks since she’d nearly jumped Gray’s bones in the office, and the two of them had been circling each other like wary cats. He’d retreated behind a mask of ice, and Sophie had responded like a petulant four-year-old, needling him in every way that she could.

But neither one had mentioned what happened that night. Just like they hadn’t mentioned the dinner at his house, or the emergency room visit that had followed. It was like two eighth graders who couldn’t have a straight conversation and needed a mutual friend to pass notes.

Except there was no mutual friend in this case. And they weren’t immature eighth graders. They were scarred, wounded, emotionally crippled adults.

Who could not be more wrong for each other.

Sophie’s phone began to vibrate, and she groaned as she dug it out of the pile of halter tops and miniskirts. Probably her mother calling to remind her not to swear on the first date. Or any date.

Finally finding her phone, Sophie stared down at the name and number.

Definitely not her mother.

“Hello?” she asked. This had to be a pocket-dial.

“Sophie.”

Not a question. He’d called her intentionally.

“Gray,” she replied, relieved that her voice sounded calm. “I am not coming into the office on a Saturday, I don’t care how far behind you are on your plan of taking over the world.”

“That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh,” she said, flopping back on the bed. “Finally got up the courage to use my call-girl service, then, huh? I’ll have you know, I’m not cheap—”

“Would you like to come to a dinner party tonight?”

All of Sophie’s snark flew out the window and she sat up in confusion. “You mean like a date?”

He cleared his throat nervously. “Well, I mean, there’d be other people there. My friend Ian and his wife. Maybe their son, although I think he might be off at a birthday party or something.”

Sophie stared at the generic flower print hanging above her dresser in disbelief. “You want me to come with you to your friend’s house? For dinner?”

“That’s what a dinner party usually means.”

She pulled the phone away from her ear and frowned at it briefly. “This is sort of out of nowhere for someone who had his tongue down my throat and then didn’t talk to me for two weeks.”

“You didn’t talk to me either, Sophie. And don’t think I don’t know you swapped my coffee for decaf and pulled all the cheese off my sandwich before giving it to me. Very mature.”

Yeah
…not her best moves. She’d been desperate to provoke him.

“All right, I’ll go,” she said simply.

“You will? You don’t have plans?”

“No,” she said on a sigh. “I was supposed to have a date tonight, but he got sick.”

“You were going on a date?”

There was something low and menacing in his voice, and Sophie couldn’t hide a smile. Maybe the man wasn’t so indifferent after all. “Yes, Grayson. A date. But he has consumption, so I’m free now.”

“What?”

“Never mind. What time?”

“Is an hour too soon for me to pick you up?”

“Gee, I’m glad I wasn’t a last resort or anything.”

He was silent for several seconds. “It took me this long to work up the courage.”

“Oh.” The admission melted her annoyance slightly. Okay, it melted it
completely
. She was practically mush. “I can be ready in an hour.”

“Great,” he said, not bothering to hide the relief in his voice. “Bring a sweater or something. Ashley is insisting we sit outside even though it’s barely sixty degrees out.”

“Honey, in Seattle, this is practically beach weather,” Sophie said, pulling out a pair of blue capris, a white tank, and a yellow cardigan she’d stolen from Brynn. “Now go away. I need some time to don my hooker gear.”

“Don’t forget the boots,” he said before hanging up in her ear.

Sophie did a ridiculous little happy dance when she hung up the phone, before taking a deep breath and telling herself to pull it together. It was just a dinner party. With chaperones. Not a marriage proposal.

But it was the first time that Gray had been the one to initiate spending time together. And for a man whose emotions needed a wheelchair, that
had
to mean something.

“Holy crap,” Sophie said as she took in the treelined drive of Ian’s house. “Is it a requirement that all of your friends be fellow CEOs or pirates?”

Gray gave her a sidelong glance before parking next to an enormous fountain. Yes, an honest-to-God
fountain
. At someone’s house. Sophie was suddenly relieved that she’d had the foresight to be waiting on her front porch when Gray had picked her up. No way was he going to see the inside of her studio apartment now. His best friend probably had showers bigger than her entire home.

“Ian’s an attorney,” Gray said as they climbed out of his car. “He owns his own practice.”

“Jeez, no wonder my parents didn’t want me to drop out of law school. Do these people have their own stable? A carriage house?”

Sophie didn’t know much about real estate, but Ian’s address alone screamed “money.” Medina was one of Seattle’s richest suburbs, with many of its homes located near the water. It was minutes from downtown, and yet far enough away to have a view of downtown.

In other words, rich-people heaven.

Not her scene.

“Quit being a snob,” Gray said, as he led her along the walkway toward the front porch.

“I’m not,” Sophie said, trying not to squirm when he briefly set his hand on the small of her back. She wished she better understood what this was. A dinner party at his college friend’s could hardly be considered a date. But he’d invited
her
. Not Brynn, not some perfect potential girlfriend.

That had to mean something. Damned if she knew what. He’d barely spoken to her on the ride over. An open book he was not.

“I’m not a snob,” she said again, resisting the urge to see if the perfect hedges were fake. “It’s just intimidating, you know?”

“You weren’t intimidated at my place.”

“Well, sure, but your place, while nice, is hardly on par with this,” she said, gesturing to the enormous grounds and slice of waterfront view poking around the right side of the enormous white house. “No offense.”

“I don’t have need for all this space,” Gray said distractedly. “Not for one person.”

Sophie paused and stared at the back of his gray polo shirt. “Are you telling me you
could
afford this? If you wanted to?”

Gray glanced back and gave her an exasperated look. “What is with you? I’ve seen your parents’ house. It’s nearly as big as this. I’m guessing you hardly grew up on food stamps.”

“That’s my parents’ money,” she said defensively. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but cocktail waitresses can’t exactly afford Bentleys. And it’s not like Brayburn’s paying me all that much. Perhaps we should discuss a raise.”

Gray grabbed her hand and pulled her none too gently up the brick steps to their front door. “Just behave. Please.” He gave the door an impatient knock.

Sophie ran a finger over the door frame. “White. How is this possible? How can they have a perfectly white front door without a single scuff or speck of dirt?”

The pristine white door in question swung open, and Sophie’s first thought was that Gray was right. She had been a prejudging, stereotyping snob.

Ashley Porter was wearing cuffed jean capris, a plain white T-shirt, and those boat shoes that Sophie thought only people in the Hamptons wore. But the shoes were well worn, and the T-shirt had some sort of red stain near the hem. Hardly the immaculately groomed housewife that Sophie had been fearing.

The woman herself was beautiful in a completely unintimidating sort of way, her dark brown hair worn in a short pixie cut that only woman with perfect features could pull off. She had clever, friendly brown eyes and a wide mouth completely devoid of lipstick.

“Took you guys long enough,” she said as she ushered them in. “We were wondering how long you were going to stand in our driveway arguing.”

Sophie blushed, but the other woman’s voice held no accusation.

Ian wandered into the foyer with a beer in hand and gave Sophie a friendly hug as though they were old friends instead of total strangers. “Good to see you, Sophie. I see you’ve met Ash, my nagging shrew of a wife.”

Ashley shook Sophie’s hand before giving Gray an enormous hug, looking a bit like a friendly fairy cuddling up to a grumpy bear. Then Sophie glanced at Gray’s face and almost stumbled. Not only was he
enduring
the hug, he was actually smiling. And the relaxed affection was unlike anything she’d seen on his face before. She felt a sudden liking for these people she barely knew for being people he could relax around.

“You have a beautiful home,” Sophie said as she followed them into the kitchen. The inside was even more stunning than the outside. Ashley’s decorating taste ran toward soothing neutrals, which perfectly accentuated the floor-to-ceiling windows and the stunning view of Lake Washington.

“Thanks,” Ashley said with genuine pride. “I wish I could say it’s always this clean, but the truth is I took advantage of Ryan’s slumber party today to get everything back in order. Gray mentioned we have a six-year-old son?”

Sophie nodded.

“We lucked out and got a calm one, but that doesn’t mean my life doesn’t revolve around tripping on soccer balls and pulling action figures out of the sofa cushions.”

Her voice lacked any real irritation, and Sophie felt a spurt of jealousy. Ashley seemed to have it all. Handsome, successful husband, great kid, beautiful home. And even in her casual clothes, she had an air of confidence that Sophie had spent years trying to fake.

“Ian, did you fix the grill yet?” Ashley asked distractedly as she wrestled with a corkscrew.