“I’m aware of that,” she replied steadily. “But someone has to when you can’t even get out of bed without falling on your face.”
He didn’t seem to have an answer for that. Taking advantage of the moment of silence, Angie turned and walked out, determined that he would eat before she left for home.
WHY HAD SHE COME BACK? Rhys wondered, climbing carefully back into the bed after another annoyingly shaky trip to the bathroom. Why was his assistant downstairs in his kitchen, making soup for him? They’d worked together for five months, and she’d never shown much interest in him other than as an employer. But today she’d shown more concern for him than anyone had since—when?
Thinking back, he decided the last time anyone had really cared that he’d been sick had been when he was sixteen and living with his last foster mother, Aunt Iris. She’d cared. Still did, for that matter. She was one of the only two people in the world who really gave a damn about him. He warned himself not to start thinking of Angelique St. Clair as a third person who cared about him. She was just an employee, an excellent assistant who allowed her dedication to her job to spill over to keeping her employer healthy. There could be nothing else between himself and his assistant. She was too young, too vulnerable, to get involved with anyone right now. And he—well, he’d never been any good at relationships. He’d long since stopped trying to build them.
He’d never been very good with people. Perhaps it was because he’d been shuffled from place to place so often as a kid. Always rather introverted, wary of becoming too attached to the families he lived with, because he knew his stay would only be temporary, he’d become more and more of a loner as he’d grown up. Vietnam hadn’t changed him for the better, though he’d met his only close friend there, Graham Keating.
Rhys knew the people who worked for him thought him cold, unapproachable, intimidating. That image had served him well, on the whole, ensuring their compliance with his instructions. But there were times even he had to admit that he was rather lonely. He’d never encouraged the attention of women he knew would want more than he felt capable of giving, but the type of women he’d limited himself to had never really filled the gap inside him. Never penetrated his shell of isolation.
Hearing Angie coming up the stairs, he gathered his wondering thoughts with a frown. He was getting maudlin, he decided irritably. Must be getting old. Or maybe it was the fever. He looked up as Angie appeared, carefully balancing a tray, her usually smooth brow creased in concentration, her full lips slightly pursed as she eased into the doorway. Her thick golden hair was somewhat disarrayed, her neat little gray suit wrinkled from a hard day’s wear. And he was hit by a sudden surge of desire so intense that he was relieved his lower half was covered with a sheet. Which made it difficult to attribute his responses to illness. Damn. What was this woman doing to him?
ANGIE STAYED UNTIL RHYS had eaten every drop of the soup. Even then she was reluctant to leave. “You’ll take your aspirin every four hours to keep the fever down? And the cough medicine. Don’t forget that,” she fretted.
“I’ll be okay,” he assured her, sinking deeper into the pillows.
“I’ve left my number on the nightstand. Promise you’ll call me if you need anything. I really won’t mind.”
“I’ll call. Now go home. You need to rest.”
He looked genuinely concerned about her. Angie tried not to be touched. “All right, I’m going.” Impulsively she reached out to lay her palm on his forehead, relieved that he seemed cooler than he had when she’d arrived. “Your fever seems to have come down, but you should still keep taking the aspirin.”
Rhys reached up to take her wrist, trapping her in her position leaning over him. “You’re fussing again,” he observed quietly, making her suddenly aware that his face was only a matter of inches
from hers.
“I—uh—I’m sorry. I—” Her voice trailed off as their eyes locked. She had to be misinterpreting his expression, she told herself frantically. He couldn’t seriously be thinking of kissing her. Could he? “I’d better go.”
“Yes, you had,” he agreed just a shade too adamantly. “Good night.”
She tugged her hand from his. “Good night, Mr.—uh, good night. I’ll call you tomorrow to check on you, all right?”
He shrugged, his scowl deepening. She knew he was annoyed that she’d so obviously avoided using his name. “As you wish.”
Making her escape with as much dignity as she could maintain, Angie knew she had a great deal to occupy her thoughts that evening. She wondered if she’d ever get to sleep.
4
ANGIE PICKED UP her telephone receiver three times Saturday morning before finally getting the nerve to dial Rhys’s number. She’d told him she’d call, of course, and she was anxious to know if his condition had worsened, but…
She couldn’t stop thinking about that strangely intimate moment when she’d thought he was going to kiss her. And she couldn’t shake the nagging curiosity about what it would have been like if he had.
Stop this, Angelique St. Clair, she ordered herself impatiently, defiantly pressing the first button. This is your employer you’re fantasizing about. How terribly unprofessional of you.
Rhys answered on the third ring. Though still hoarse, he sounded better than he had the day before.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he replied, confirming her guess. “Still got this damned cough, but other than that I’m on the mend.”
“That’s good news,” she assured him, wondering why she wasn’t more pleased. Had she subconsciously hoped he’d need her again today? If so, why? “You—um—do you need me to come over?” she heard herself offering anyway. “I could make you something to eat, run some errands, whatever you require.”
“No,” he answered rather curtly, then seemed to feel the need to soften the rejection with more explanation. “I’m back on my feet now—the dizziness is gone—so I can handle everything. There’s no reason for you to be here.”
I don’t need you anymore, he was saying. Not in his personal life, anyway. Rather let down by the realization that they were back to business as usual, though she should be relieved, Angie twisted the phone cord around her finger. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ll see you at the office on Monday?”
“Right. Oh, and, by the way—”