Because he was off limits.
Capital O. Capital L.
Off Limits.
Chapter Three
“I look like hell,” she said it before he could. Not that he would. But still, it felt better to just put it out there. There was power in owning it.
“You do.”
He lifted a napkin from the tray and pointed an authoritative finger to the bay window seat. “Sit.”
She obeyed on wobbly legs, and gave him a wide berth, very aware of the fact that she needed a shower.
He ignored her keep-away vibes and followed her to the seat. He draped the napkin over her lap and then stood back with a grunt of satisfaction, before pointing that same bossy finger at the tray. “Eat.”
He didn’t say another word but did his bodyguard thing. He took a step back, elbowed his jacket out of the way, and dropped his hands into his trouser pockets. Drawing the expensive fabric dangerously tight over the groin area, creating interesting wrinkles and folds that Vicki was very determined not to notice.
Much.
It was hard to keep her gaze up and away when said groin was only slightly above her eye level. She was proud of herself for not staring and obediently lifted a perfectly crisped rasher of bacon and nibbled delicately.
Even though she wasn’t looking at him, she was acutely aware of his intent observation of her.
“Are you just going to stand there watching me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Gah, not the panty-melting Texan drawl. She had no defense against it this morning.
She ignored him and continued to work on that one piece of bacon. He had whipped up a good, old-fashioned fry up. Bacon, eggs done just the way she liked them—sunny-side up, slightly runny yolk—butter sautéed mushrooms, and fried tomatoes. Two slices of light brown toast—also exactly how she liked it—with a tall glass of orange juice, and a banana placed beside the plate. No coffee in sight. Which sucked, because if there was one thing Vicki would have killed for right now, it was a cup of coffee.
She opened her mouth to say as much but he stopped her with a single word. “No.”
“What?”
“You can’t have coffee.”
How the—
“I was not going to ask for coffee,” she straight up lied. A little freaked out that he had read her so accurately.
“You were.”
“Okay, say I was going to ask—and I’m not saying I was—how would you know that?” she asked, exasperated.
“Your eyes dropped to the OJ, you did a quick scan of the tray, and you frowned. Simple enough to deduce that you were going to ask about the lack of caffeine.”
Show off!
“I wasn’t going to say anything about the reprehensible lack of coffee,” she maintained, before doubling down on that untruth with an even dumber lie. “I was going to ask if you made this all yourself.”
“No, the maid you don’t have was happy to assist me.”
Sarcasm. That was new. She watched him closely but was disappointed to find not even a trace of irony or amusement on his face.
“Okay, why can’t I have coffee?” she asked, hating how whiny she sounded. But damn it. How was she supposed to function without coffee when she already felt like crap?
“The caffeine will elevate your blood pressure and make the hangover worse. Drink the OJ and water. It’ll cure the hangover faster. And eat as much you can. Especially the eggs. And definitely eat the banana.”
She listlessly picked her way through the plate. Downing half of the egg, a slice of toast, and a couple of sips of orange juice before looking up at him again. He had his RBF on. Resting Bored Face. His eyes slightly unfocused, chin up, his feet planted shoulder width apart, and hands now clasped behind his back.
His default setting.
Well, it was usually a toss-up between that, or the arms crossed over his chest stance, which he used to show her that he meant business. He seemed to prefer having his hands free, and she figured it was because he was always on, so to speak. When his hands were in his pockets, as they had been earlier, it meant he was more relaxed. Vicki usually only saw him relax at the end of his shift. When he was free of her and on his way out the door.
And why the hell did she know so much about his body language?
“I thought you had the day off.” She suddenly remembered and his eyes flicked down to meet hers.
“Technically, I’m still on duty from last night.”
“Surely babysitting a hungover woman in her own home isn’t part of your job description?”
“You asked me to stay, remember? And I wanted to be certain you were okay. Having you die of alcohol poisoning on my watch wouldn’t look too good on my resumé.”
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad!”
“It was pretty bad. You consumed a significant amount of alcohol on a near empty stomach.”