After Hours

He turned his gaze reluctantly back to the reports. “Get the MedPak file out of the bottom drawer of my desk,” he told her more curtly than he’d intended.

If the brusqueness of the command bothered her, she didn’t let it show. Standing, she smoothed her skirt, drawing his eyes once more back to her gorgeous legs, and then walked over to the desk. The woman knew how to walk, Rhys thought with a mental groan.

She had the drawer open before he remembered the other file he’d shoved into it. “Angelique, wait!” he snapped, just as she opened the file she’d extracted to make sure it was the correct one.

She raised her head very slowly. The stricken look in her violet eyes made his stomach clench. She turned her gaze back down to the incriminating papers in her hands, hiding her expression. “You had me investigated.” Her voice was strangled, barely audible.

Hell. He rose slowly to his feet, hands spread apologetically. “Let me explain.”

She closed the folder and set it on the desk, the stricken look gone, wiped out along with all other emotion. “I’m sure I understand. As your executive assistance, I’m privy to a great deal of confidential information. It’s important that you know I can be trusted. I was surprised all along that you hired me without knowing more about me.” Her voice lowered, her face carefully averted from him. “I just wish you had told me, especially once we became—”

“Lovers,” he supplied bluntly when her words trailed away. “And I didn’t have you investigated because of the job, Angelique. It was strictly personal.”

She whirled to face him, her eyes flaring now with a particularly recognizable emotion—anger. “You invaded my privacy because you were curious!” she demanded incredulously. “Or was I good enough to work for you when you didn’t know anything about my past, but not quite good enough to sleep with until you’d found out everything? Well, how does it feel to find out that you’ve been to bed with the daughter of a criminal, Rhys?”

“Angelique—”

Quivering with fury he could only assume was fueled by genuine hurt, she slapped her hand down onto the desk. “You know, I actually believed you last night when you said you’d intended to take me to a public restaurant. But it wasn’t office gossip you were worried about at all, was it? You didn’t want this respectable reputation you’ve built for yourself to be endangered by the possibility of anyone recognizing Nolan St. Clair’s socially outcast daughter at your—”

“That’s enough!” Rhys caught her forearm in a grip that would have left bruises had he not immediately loosened it. “You know damn well I don’t care who sees us together in public. That I intended to take you to that restaurant. Don’t you? Don’t you?”

She looked up at him, a hasty answer quivering on her lips, then paused when their eyes locked. Her gaze fell first. “Yes,” she admitted in a reluctant mutter.

Satisfied with that minor victory, he released her. “I had you investigated because I was worried about you,” he told her grimly. “I’ve known for some time about your father, and I couldn’t care less what he did as long as his stupidity is not still hurting you.”

“You were worried about me? Why?” She searched his face anxiously, obviously trying to make sense of his unexpected confession.

Did he have to spell out everything to her? “Because you seemed so alone. Because it was obvious that something was hurting you and I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help. Because I care about you, dammit.”

Angie stared at him, chewing her lower lip as she considered his words. On one hand, she’d have found it easier to believe that he’d done what he had because of the natural concerns of an employer who must trust his assistant with so much. On the other, she’d never known Rhys to lie to her or to anyone else. If he said he’d invaded her privacy because he was concerned about her, she had no choice but to believe him.

He cared about her. She knew he was attracted to her, knew that their relationship was more than just a physical one. But she’d been very careful not to try to define it too specifically. Of course she’d known for some time that she was in love with him. But she’d never expected that love to be returned or to have a happy ending to this whirlwind affair.

No, she thought, looking away from the fire in his molten gray eyes. She couldn’t put too much faith in his words. He was… infatuated, perhaps, with her now, but for how long could it last? Eventually it would start to bother him that her father was in prison, that she, herself, had been investigated for collusion. Surely he wouldn’t want a woman with that type of scandal in her past as his wife, as the mother of his children.

Others had claimed to care for her. Her father—and look how deeply he’d hurt her, how badly he’d let her down. Her friends in Boston, who’d dumped her without a backward glance when it was no longer fashionable to be seen with her. Other men who’d wanted her, but had been unwilling to give what she had craved. How could she possibly put her faith in this troubled, complex man who had so much yet to learn about loving? She’d been hurt too badly. She was horribly afraid of being hurt again.

Her hands gripping her forearms as if in response to a chill, she turned away from him. “Rhys, I’d like to go home early today, if you don’t mind. I need some time alone.” It was the first time in the months she’d worked for him that she’d asked to leave early.

“Let me take you home,” he offered immediately. “We’ll spend the afternoon together. We’ll talk. We need to talk, Angelique.”

She couldn’t suppress her slight gasp of surprise. Rhys was willing to walk away from an important project because she was upset? Was it possible that he cared more than she’d allowed herself to believe? “I really need to be alone for a while, Rhys. I’ll see you in the morning, all right?”

He looked disappointed, but nodded resignedly. “All right. Call me if you change your mind about talking later, will you? It isn’t always necessary to handle everything alone, you know.”

She turned to make her escape before she gave in to the impulse to throw herself at him. Before she could slip through the door, she found herself whirled abruptly into his arms. “I’m sorry, Angelique,” he muttered, his dark eyes boring intently into hers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was only trying to help.”

Her heart thudded against him, her mouth going dry. Even after the emotional shocks of the past few minutes, her body still reacted to being pressed against his. “I know you were.”

His kiss was gentle, tender, indescribably sweet. She could have almost called it loving. When he released her, she was trembling, and she suspected that he was, too. “Call me if you need me,” he repeated huskily.

She couldn’t answer. Instead, she turned and fled.

LOCKED INTO THE REFUGE of her grandmother’s house, Angie sat wrapped in her soft warm robe, Flower on her lap as she stared at nothing. She’d been sitting in that position for several hours. Dinnertime had come and gone, but she hadn’t been interested in food. She was hiding, she willingly admitted to herself. Hiding from Rhys, hiding from her past, hiding from her own raw confusion. She was so safe here, surrounded by her memories and her grandmother’s things. She wondered hazily if she’d ever find the courage to step out of the snug haven again.

She hugged Flower to her until the cat struggled restlessly and jumped down, heading off in the direction of her food dish. Angie looked after her wistfully. There was only one problem with this cozy sanctuary, she thought. Loneliness. And not just for anyone. She was lonely for Rhys. It wasn’t hard to imagine herself being held in his arms at that moment, and the vividness of the mental picture made her ache dully for it to be fact.

Was he lonely? she wondered suddenly, gnawing on her already teeth-marked lower lip. Was he sitting in that sparsely furnished, eerily quiet house of his thinking of her? Feeling badly about what he’d done, wondering if she’d ever be able to forgive him?