Читать книгу Taming The Boss - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 21

“Almost there,” Eric said, his voice low and close to her ear.

All Sofia could do was nod miserably as she leaned heavily on his arm.

“I can walk,” Meryl protested weakly from just ahead of them.

“I know you can,” Steve replied, sounding almost normal, “but no one needs to watch you bounce off the walls.” With that, he swept his wife’s legs out from underneath her and cradled her to his chest.

It wasn’t much of a comfort that Sofia wasn’t the only one who’d suffered mightily on the flight to St. Louis. The landing had been a terrifying exercise in flying during a storm and there’d been no way to push back against a panic attack. It’d been so bad that she’d forgotten how to breathe and had actually blacked out for a second.

Steve had gotten sick and Meryl looked like she needed a doctor. Even Eric, who was no doubt used to flying all over the place in that tiny aircraft as well as riding the waves on his boat, looked a little green around the gills.

Sofia’s legs felt like rubber bands and her heart was still skipping at a weird rhythm—and they’d been on the ground for almost forty-five minutes. She hadn’t had the strength to protest when Eric had slung his arm around her waist and held her up. She leaned into him, barely managing to keep hold of the bottle of ginger ale. She wasn’t sure it was helping. She had no idea where her luggage was and she honestly didn’t care.

“I know it’s going to push us off schedule,” Eric said loudly so Steve and Meryl could hear him, “but I think we all need a break. Can we afford two hours?”

“No,” Meryl said, although she sounded like she was trying not to cry.

“Yes,” Eric said more firmly. “Look at it this way, Meryl—no one would expect us to have landed during that storm, anyway. We had a flight delay, that’s all. We still have all day tomorrow, too.”

Meryl moaned pitifully, which made Steve croon to her.

The sound made Sofia’s heart skip another beat, but not due to motion sickness. It was good, old-fashioned jealousy. God, she missed having someone who’d pick her up—literally or figuratively, it didn’t much matter—when life knocked her sideways.

Just then, Eric leaned down to her, his arm tightening around her waist and his voice for her ears only. “There’s your room, Sofia.”

And even though it wasn’t the same and Eric wasn’t hers, she leaned into him even more because she felt terrible and Eric was the strength she needed right now and whatever happened this weekend, they would always be friends. Even if she fell a little more in love with him, they were friends.

The Nortons’ room was across the hall from hers. “Where’s your room?” she asked as Eric fumbled with her key card.

“Next door.” He got her door open and basically set her inside, one hand still around her waist. He pivoted back to where Steve had gotten his door open. “Take as long as you guys need,” Eric said quietly, as if Meryl wasn’t right there. “It’s better to be late than be ill during the meetings.”

“I’ll be fine…” But Steve closed the door and cut off Meryl’s weak protest.

Eric pivoted Sofia into her hotel room. “I’m so sorry I’m such a mess,” she said, knowing it was pointless to apologize but apparently unable to help herself.

Eric snorted as he sat her on the bed. “I’m sorry the flight sucked. That was one of the roughest landings I’ve ever had. Wasn’t entirely sure the plane was going to hold together.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She’d wondered the same thing, right about the time she’d stopped breathing. “Maybe we can take the train home?” she said, trying to make a joke and failing.

“The weather is supposed to be clearer on Sunday,” he promised. “If it looks bad, we can make alternative arrangements.” Then he knelt before her and picked up one of her feet. Sofia was aware that her pretty new silk top was plastered to her back with sweat and the rain had done a number on her hair and she probably looked one step removed from a drowned rat. She certainly didn’t feel much better than one.

But then Eric moved. Slowly, he slid the cuff of her trouser up and pulled her brand-new Stuart Weitzman flat off her foot. There wasn’t anything strange about him seeing her bare leg. It was just a leg. God only knew he’d seen that and more back when they’d spent half a summer splashing in a pool.

But the fact that Eric was removing her shoes for her? Undressing her?

Heat flashed down her back again, which was just ridiculous. This was not a seduction. She looked like hell and felt worse and they were supposed to be getting ready for meetings with the mayor and the board of aldermen and she was not letting Eric distract her with all his tenderness and certainly not with these…

Eric’s fingertips gently caressed her calf and stroked along the top of her foot. The touch sent sparks of heat arcing up her body, burning her with desire. Her eyes fluttered shut and she had to brace her arms against the bed to keep from toppling into him.

His hands moved over her ankles, up her calves again. He warmed her skin with his palms, a strong and steady touch, and she couldn’t help but think back to that kiss in the car, the one that had managed to awaken every single sexual need and desire she’d locked away over the last year and a half.

With Eric kneading the muscles of her legs, slowly moving up higher and higher, she no longer felt clammy and sick. She felt…

Good. Warm and safe and cared for. God, she’d missed feeling this way.

“Sofia,” he said, his voice soft.

She wasn’t sure if it was a question or not. And honestly, it didn’t matter. They were friends, weren’t they? And friends helped each other out. They had fun together. They comforted each other when things went wrong—and that plane ride had been very, very wrong.

Friends didn’t let something like a few billion dollars or a private jet or luxury clothing get in the way of a friendship.

And really, once the trappings of money were removed—weren’t they just a man and a woman? Weren’t they made to fit together?

God, how she wanted to be comforted. To be touched like Eric was touching her now. She wanted to be the one taking the attention and affection instead of giving them.

“Sofia?” he said again, his voice sending low flutters through her belly.

Really, no matter what the question was, the answer was simple. “Yes.”

His hands slid to a stop on the curve of her calves. Funny how she’d never really thought of calves as being particularly sensual until now. “Will you lie down and rest for a bit?”

She looked at him then. One of the most powerful men in Chicago—and quite possibly the country, to say nothing of the world—was on his knees before her, waiting for her answer. She uncurled her fingers from where she’d fisted the bedclothes and reached out to stroke his cheek. It was still early—not even eleven yet—and his jaw was smooth. “Only if you join me.”

His eyes widened as he sucked in air. “Give me a few.” With that, he pushed back off his heels. She heard a door open and shut and then she was alone.

Sofia dropped her head in her hands. She could still feel his hands on her legs, stroking and caressing her. She could still feel his arm around her waist, refusing to let her stumble through the hotel. For that matter, she could still feel his hand surrounding hers, holding on through the turbulence. He’d refused to let go.

She could still feel his lips against hers, his tongue tracing the path of her lips, her name soft on his breath. Eric had kissed her like she was the air he couldn’t breathe without.

He was taking care of her. He wanted her to rest.

He was going to come back in here.

And she still looked like hell.

That thought finally got her to move. She downed the rest of her ginger ale and took stock. This was a really nice hotel room—king-size bed with a plush duvet, a velvet-covered sofa next to a coffee table and a television almost as big as David had ever bought. She went to the bathroom—even the toiletries were top-of-the-line. Of course they were. Eric Jenner wouldn’t settle for less.

She recoiled at her reflection. Her hair had come loose from the bun and her makeup was shot. And yet, Eric had still sat there, staring up at her as if she were the only woman in the world. The shirt was a total loss, so she stripped it off, leaving her in only her camisole. And she didn’t want to nap—or do anything else—in these trousers. Quickly, she washed her face—but then she remembered she didn’t have her toiletry kit. Her luggage was being delivered separately by a bellhop.

She’d never stayed in a hotel that had bellhops who carried up one danged suitcase before. It was probably a great thing—but she really needed her stuff now.

She was using the facilities when there was a knock on the door. “One second,” she called out, washing her hands quickly. But then she heard voices, both male.

Wait, what?

She cracked open the bathroom door to see Eric standing in an open door that…led to his room? Oh. Oh. Her room was connected to his. Of course it was. He had an executive suite. And her room was right next to his.

It shouldn’t be a big deal, that he could walk into her room or she into his. It wasn’t anything more intimate than removing her shoes, for God’s sake. But it felt like the last barrier to truly spending the weekend in his arms had just been removed. They didn’t have to walk out into the hall where Steve and Meryl might hear or see them.

Eric said, “Yes, that one goes in here. The other one goes in my room,” as he looked up. When he saw her, his face softened as his gaze took in her face, her now-bare arms. He held up a finger to her, the universal sign for hold on.

She nodded and shut the door again, collapsing back against it. Their rooms connected. He wanted her. He’d already started to undress her.

She wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him.

But even as that thought occurred to her, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her color was almost back to normal and she didn’t look like she was on the verge of passing out again. Her hair wasn’t great, though, so she unpinned it and combed it out with her fingers. She couldn’t sleep with it pulled back like that, anyway.

She heard a door shut and then Eric said, “Do you need anything from your bag?”

“No,” she fibbed. “I’ll be right out.”

“No rush.”

Oh, but it felt like a rush. If she were going to throw herself at Eric—and that did look more and more likely—she would be jeopardizing her job and putting both of them in an awkward position. Steve and Meryl were right across the hall, so the risk of gossip spreading in the office was huge.

But damn it all, she needed him. She needed a weekend where she wasn’t going through the motions of looking fine. She wanted to be fine and she knew Eric could give her that. He already had.

Sofia took one last look at her reflection. The hair was okay. She would prefer a little under-eye concealer, but the whole look wasn’t too bad.

Have fun. Smile for yourself. That’s what her mom had said. And Eric? He’d said nearly the same thing, adding in that he wanted to take care of her. And it was so clear from his actions in the last few hours that he didn’t just mean a satisfying romp in bed. He really was taking care of her.

Her resolve set, she opened the door and stepped out.

The room was empty.