CEO's Expectant Secretary (5 page)

“What do your want for dinner tonight?”

What she wanted more than anything was a quiet dinner in Brock’s apartment at the office. But she knew that wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t let her near the office yet. She felt a deep sense of loss. They’d shared so many private memories there. “I’d like some good old American cooking tonight,” she said, thinking of one of the few places they’d actually gone to together—a diner with a delicious defiance against the carb-hating trend of the day.

“Mashed potatoes,” he said, and she heard the smile in his voice. “The Four Square Diner. Don’t spend too much time at the outlets. I’ll call later to firm up a time,” he said and hung up.

Elle glanced at the sexy leopard-printed sheath hanging
on the end of the rack. She wondered if she would ever be able to inspire Brock’s primal urges again.

After a jam-packed day, Brock stood to greet Elle at The Four Square Diner. He studied her face. “You overdid it today,” he said. “You’re tired.”

She brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you. You look gorgeous, too,” she said and sat down.

He couldn’t keep his lips from twitching. “You’re supposed to stay rested.”

She picked up the menu from the table. “There’s a difference between rested and going into a coma. How was your afternoon?”

“Good. The campaign for the Prentice account is going smoothly,” he said.

“Great. How do you like your new assistant?”

“He isn’t you,” Brock said.

She nearly dropped her menu. “You have a male assistant?” she asked, surprised.

“Careful,” Brock said. “You’re edging toward sexist.”

“The whole advertising business is sexist,” she said dismissively. “I wasn’t aware you’d ever had a male assistant.”

“I haven’t,” Brock said. “But this one is competent.”

“It might also negate any criticisms about your marriage to me,” she said. “Good strategy.”

Brock met her gaze, giving nothing away. The waitress arrived and took their order. After she left, Brock returned his attention to Elle. “What did you buy today?”

“Odds and ends,” she said, wondering how much
of an embarrassment he considered her to be. She’d often thought her grandfather had considered her an embarrassment until he’d found a use for her.

“What odds? What ends?” he asked. “Just tell me you bought a new robe that you won’t trip over.”

She smiled. “Yes, I did, along with a few other things. Do you have plans for this weekend?”

Brock shrugged. “The usual,” he said. “Work.”

She nodded. “There’s always that.”

She noticed him lift his hand to a man across the room. She recognized the man as one of Brock’s executives, Logan Emerson. The man nodded at Brock, glanced at her, then looked away. She’d always had an odd feeling about Logan. Brock hadn’t discussed his hiring with her and she’d always wondered at Brock’s motivation for bringing him into such a high-profile position at Maddox. Logan had never seemed to fit in.

“How’s he doing with the other account reps now?” she asked.

“Fine,” Brock said. “I’ve altered his duties a bit in the last few days. I think that will work out better.”

“Oh, really?” she asked. “What will he be doing?”

“I’ve assigned him to work more closely with personnel and computer security,” he said as their meal arrived.

“Wow,” she said. “That’s a big switch from sales.”

He nodded but didn’t make any further comment and a possibility occurred to her. “Computer security,” she mused. “He always seemed better suited for security. So quiet, so determined to stay in the background—he could be a private investigator.”

Brock’s jaw twitched, but he still added nothing. It suddenly hit her. “He
is
a private investigator,” she said. “Was he the one who told you about me?”

Brock stabbed his fork into his meatloaf. “And if he was?” he asked her.

She bit her lip, feeling her appetite for the open-faced turkey sandwich disappear. She adjusted her paper napkin. “That’s why you wouldn’t talk about him with me,” she said. “Did you already suspect me?”

Brock set down his fork. “You were the last person I suspected,” he said, his eyes as turbulent as a stormy sea.

She felt a twist of guilt and looked away. “I was almost relieved when you found out,” she confessed in a low voice. “Being pregnant made it even worse. If it hadn’t been for my mother needing the experimental treatments—”

“What?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “What experimental treatments?”

She finally met his gaze. “I wasn’t sure if Logan might have known something about my mother’s illness,” she said. “My mother is taking experimental treatments that are very expensive. There’s no way she or I could afford them, and insurance wouldn’t cover them.”

“Are you saying that Athos agreed to pay for your mother’s treatments as long as you spied on me?”

A lump formed in her throat. “Yes, he did. I’m ashamed of it, but I didn’t feel as if I had any other choice. I couldn’t risk losing her. She’s all I’ve ever had.”

The sound of stainless steel clanging against plates
and the conversation of the other diners was a roar compared to the absolute silence between them.

“Why didn’t you tell me your mother was sick?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to.” She closed her eyes, thinking back to the times she’d shared with Brock. “I didn’t want my time with you tainted with any of my problems. Those moments we shared together—it was like you and I were on a private island and nothing or no one could trespass.” She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “Afterward, I had my work and you had yours, but that time together was precious. It had to be protected.”

Brock reached across the table, his hand covering hers. “I can take care of your mother’s medical treatments.”

She immediately shook her head, swallowing a quick taste of bitterness at the havoc her grandfather had created in her life. “No,” she said. “Let him pay. It’s the least he can do for all the trouble he has caused.”

Brock’s gaze gentled. “You’re lucky you have such a good relationship with your mother,” he said. “I admire your devotion to her.”

A
fter a long shower, Elle wrapped a towel around herself and ran the blow dryer through her hair. She would clip the tags off her new robe in just a moment, she promised herself, looking forward to the luxurious sensation of silk over her skin. She suspected there’d be no sensual pleasures in her near future. They were, after all, sleeping in separate rooms.

Closing her eyes and mind to her thoughts, she concentrated on the warm air dancing through her hair and over her shoulders. A few seconds passed and she opened her eyes, finding Brock standing in front of her, bare-chested with a small tray in one of his hands.

Startled, she dropped the dryer. “Oh, my,” she said, bending down to turn it off. As she leaned forward, her towel dropped to her waist. Swearing under her breath, she lifted it to cover her chest and stood.

“I knocked,” he said, his gaze sliding across her towel-covered body.

“I didn’t hear you,” she said, sensing awareness twist and turn between them. She felt heat rush to her face.

“I was downstairs and the housekeeper thought you might like some juice and cookies,” he said.

Elle smiled and took the small tray from him. Still holding on to her towel, she carefully set it on the dresser. “That was nice. She’s so sweet, but she fusses over me more than my mother.”

“Maybe because you’re so busy taking care of your mother,” he said.

“Maybe,” she said, too aware of his presence so close to her. She knew his body intimately. At the moment, he wore a pair of pajama bottoms that dipped below his ripped abs and belly button. She remembered sliding her hands over his wide shoulders while he kissed her deeply. It was all too easy to recall the sexy gasp he made when she touched him intimately.

“Elle,” Brock said. “What are you thinking right now?”

She bit her lip and looked away. “Nothing important. Nothing worth—”

He touched her arm and her denial stuck in her throat. It had been two weeks since they’d been intimate, and God help her, she’d missed him. Even through the morning sickness. She’d missed being with him, away from everything and everyone else.

“I can’t believe you still want me,” she whispered.

He pulled her toward him and the sensation of his strong chest against her nearly buckled her knees. She deliberately stiffened them.

“Why not?” he asked. He skimmed his hand down to the small of her back and pressed her into him.

The obvious strength of his arousal shocked her. She searched his gaze for clues to his emotions. “But after what I did,” she said. “How could—”

He moved his other hand up to the back of her head, sliding his fingers through her hair, tilting her head so that her mouth was completely accessible to him. “Let’s not overthink it.”

He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her possessively. Should she be asking for more than sex? she wondered. Maybe not, she thought as his tongue slid past her lips and caressed hers. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should stop thinking and concentrate on feeling. What did she have to lose?

Dropping the towel, she lifted her hands to the back of his neck and surrendered to the moment.

Brock gave a low, barely audible growl and pushed the towel to the floor. When her bare breasts pressed against his chest, she sighed. He groaned. He slid one of his hands over her nipple and she gasped, feeling a correlating electricity between her legs.

“Problem?” he asked, rubbing his lips over hers.

“I’m more sensitive since I’m—” He rubbed her nipple again and she sucked in another breath as she felt herself grow swollen.

“Should I stop?”

“Oh, please, no,” she said, surprised at the speed of her arousal.

“Is this safe for you?” he asked, going completely still. “For the baby?”

She nodded. “The doctor said—” She licked her lips. “He said we can do anything we did before.”

Brock swore under his breath and lifted his hands to her face. “Damn my soul, but I’ve missed you,” he said and took her mouth in a sensual, ferocious kiss that matched the way she felt about him.

With each second that passed, she felt her temperature rise, her heart beat faster. She wanted more, so much more. Squeezing the muscles of his arms and drawing his tongue into her mouth, she couldn’t keep still. She wriggled against him and he slid his leg between hers, lifting it high between her thighs, rubbing her where she was already wet and aching.

She slid her hands down over his ribs to his flat abdomen and pushed her fingers beneath the waistband of his drawstring pants. Brock lifted his hand to her breasts, flicking his thumbs over her nipples.

The sensation made her dizzy. She pushed his pants over his hips, wanting more of him, craving ultimate closeness.

“It’s too fast,” he muttered as she closed her hand over his shaft.

“Not for me,” she said.

“Oh, Elle,” he said, picking her up in his arms and carrying her into his bedroom. He set her on his big bed and pushed his pants the rest of the way down. His gaze fixed on hers.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about having you in my bed here,” he muttered and slid his hand between her thighs, finding her secret wetness. His mouth dipped to hers, his tongue taunting and exploring the same way his fingers were teasing her femininity,
making her breathless and almost shockingly needy for him.

The wanting in her tightened like a strong coil, pushing her higher and higher. She stroked desperately at his flexed arms and shoulders. His harsh breaths mingled with hers.

“Brock,” she said, a mixture of a plea and demand.

One second later, he slid inside. His gaze, dark with arousal, held hers as he thrust. Unable to hold back, she arched toward him and felt herself come apart in fits and starts. He kept thrusting, driving her higher than she’d thought possible until one last time, he stiffened inside her and his climax vibrated all the way to her core.

She held on tight, stunned by the ferocity of their lovemaking. His heart pounded against hers and his breath blew over her bare shoulder. She felt his strength and power in every cell of her being and never wanted to let go of the sensation.

After a few more breaths, he let out a long sigh and eased to his side, still holding her in his arms. “From now on,” he said, “you’ll sleep in here with me.”

The next morning, Elle was awakened by a sound. She opened her eyes to the sight of Brock dressed and picking up his BlackBerry from its charger. A tiny ray of sunlight peeked through the shade on the window.

Shaking off her sleepiness, she sat up. “Where are you going?”

He glanced at her. “Where I go almost every Saturday,” he said. “To the office. I need to review some new suggestions that came in yesterday for one of our major accounts. No need for you to get up. I’ll be back late this
afternoon. Enjoy your day,” he said and walked out of the room.

Elle stared after him, stunned at his perfunctory attitude. Frowning, she halfway wondered if he was the same man who’d made love to her with such passion last night. Last night he’d acted as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Today he acted as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

She’d felt the enormous connection between them click back into place last night. She’d been sure their lovemaking represented a turning point. Now she wasn’t sure at all. Brock was so distant. Even when they’d been having their affair in the office, he’d acted warmer than this. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself as if she felt a sudden chill.

He still didn’t trust her, she realized, feeling a knot form in her stomach. She shouldn’t be surprised. Even though he had sold her on the idea that they could overcome what she had done for the sake of the baby, he clearly wasn’t there yet. She couldn’t help wondering if he ever would be. Sinking back down onto the bed, she dozed for a while, trying to escape her lost, afraid feelings. After some bizarre dreams, Elle threw off the covers and jumped out of bed. She refused to be a wuss. There were much worse things she could be facing. Now wasn’t the time to cower under the covers. Now was time to try to make her marriage work, and she’d start with the house. Today she would work on redoing the den.

The first thing she ditched was the heavy drapes. The housekeeper gasped when she saw Elle on a chair, pulling them down.

“Mrs. Maddox, what on earth are you doing?” Anna asked.

“Brock told me to pick a room and redecorate it. I’ve chosen this one,” she said.

The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “Oh, my. Has he, uh, discussed this with the senior Mrs. Maddox?”

“I don’t think so,” Elle said. “But he said he didn’t think his mother would mind if I redid one room. It won’t be as if I’m taking over the entire house.”

“True,” the housekeeper said, nodding. The rest of her expression didn’t agree with her nod.

Elle sighed. “Do you think I shouldn’t? I don’t want to offend her.”

“Technically, the house belongs to Mr. Maddox. Mrs. Maddox has lived here since her husband passed away, but by all rights, Mr. Maddox is the master of the house and since you’re his wife, your wishes should be respected.”

“A roundabout way of saying there could be trouble,” Elle said, then lifted her hand. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to comment. No need for divided loyalty.” She turned her attention back to the room. “I’ll try to tie in some of the colors from the other rooms, but I want to make this room comfortable for Brock. I want him to feel like he can relax here.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Anna said.

“The drapes have got to go, though,” Elle said. “And most of the furniture and knickknacks.”

“As you wish,” the housekeeper said. “But please let Roger do it. Mr. Maddox would have my head if he saw you on that chair.”

Elle spent the next several hours packing up knick-
knacks while Roger hauled away anything that weighed more than a tissue.

“I don’t want to impose, but if you would like some suggestions, Mrs. Maddox used some decorators,” the housekeeper said.

“Thank you. I could use some suggestions, but I know someone who has a great eye and I owe her a visit,” she said, thinking of Bree Kincannon Spencer. Bree’s friendship was another casualty in the dirty little corporate war her grandfather had instigated. Although Elle knew Bree might not forgive her, she needed to apologize to the woman who had trusted and befriended her. The prospect made her nervous, but it was necessary. “This is a lot of furniture. Are you sure you can find a place to store it?”

Roger nodded. “No problem. We’ll find a place.”

“Thank you,” Elle said and smiled. “Both of you.” Then she went upstairs to her room and dialed Bree’s cell, expecting to leave a message that might very well be ignored.

“Hello?” Bree said breathlessly after several rings.

Surprised at the sound of the woman’s voice, Elle temporarily lost her words.

“Hello?” Bree repeated. “Elle?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Elle said, pacing from one end of the bedroom to the other. “Listen, I know you probably hate me. If I were you, I would hate me, too, but would you be willing to give me a few minutes of your time to explain? Nothing will excuse what I did, but your friendship really meant a lot to me. I would just like you to know what really happened.”

Silence stretched from the other side of the line,
making Elle’s stomach knot. “I understand if you don’t want to, and I know you’re probably busy with Gavin today, since it’s a Saturday—”

“I sent Gavin to play golf,” Bree said. “He needed to take a break from his new business and I know he’s missed playing but he didn’t want me to feel neglected. I had to insist.”

“You’re so lucky,” Elle said in a low voice, thinking of how Brock had left before she’d even made it out of bed that morning.

“I could probably meet you in an hour. Gavin won’t be back until five. There’s a little café down the street from us. Would you like to meet there?”

“Yes, thank you, Bree. This means a lot to me,” Elle said.

An hour later, Elle walked into the café, spotting Bree at a table. The young woman stood and Elle immediately saw a new confidence in her. Elle remembered when Bree had enlisted her help with a makeover to get Gavin’s attention. Bree had spent so many years without self-confidence that she hadn’t realized what a true beauty she was. But now she was a radiant, happily married woman—and a woman who had been betrayed by Elle. Elle felt another twist of nerves ripple through her.

“Bree, thank you for coming.” Elle’s voice trembled, but she was determined. “I’m so, so terribly sorry for what I’ve done,” she said, and then the whole story about her grandfather and her mother’s illness just spilled out.

Fifteen minutes later, Bree reached for Elle’s hand. “Oh, my God. How terrible. Why didn’t you tell me?”
she asked. “I would have helped. You know I have the money.”

“I couldn’t,” Elle said. “And I felt so trapped and afraid. Every day looking in the mirror, I just hated myself more and more. And then when Brock and I got involved—” Elle felt her voice break again.

Bree looked at her in sympathy. “Gavin told me Brock looked devastated when he got the news from the P.I.”

Even though deep down, Elle had suspected that Brock would have been hurt by the news, part of her had wondered if it might have stabbed his ego more than his heart. Now, she couldn’t be sure.

“Well, the good news is that you and Brock are married, so everything is fixed,” Bree said cheerfully.

Elle didn’t say anything, but Bree must have read her expression.

“What’s wrong? Brock must have forgiven you, right?”

“It’s not that easy,” Elle said. “We’re working on things.” She bit her lip. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

Bree’s eyes rounded. “Oh, my goodness. Are you excited? Is he? I mean, I know it’s been a muddy swim getting here, but a
baby.
”

Elle realized more than ever how much she had missed Bree during the last few weeks. “I’m getting there,” she said. “I’m just getting over morning sickness.”

“As someone whose marriage didn’t start out perfectly, the only thing I can say is hold on. Things can change for the better. They certainly did for me. For a while there, I never believed Gavin would love me, but I wouldn’t doubt it for a second now.”