CEO's Expectant Secretary (8 page)

Her grandfather had given permission for her to attend a Christmas party at his home. Elle had been eight years old and her mother had bought her a red velvet dress with lace at the hem and collar. Elle had been so excited. She’d hoped to meet her father, but he didn’t show up. The other children had avoided her as if she were somehow less than them. The whole experience had been a disaster and she couldn’t wait to get home and tear off her dress, put on her pajamas and go to bed. She remembered the feeling of not belonging all too well. She had the same feeling right now.

She stood there for several moments in the dark, wondering if she should leave, and if she did, whether anyone would notice. Then she heard a familiar male voice in the background.

“Walter, great to see you. You really know how to throw a party,” Brock said as he walked within just a few feet of her. Her heart skittered at the sight of him.

“I met your wife earlier. She’s beautiful. You shouldn’t leave her on her own. Someone might steal her away,” Walter said.

Brock gave a forced laugh. “You’re right. Elle is beautiful. Do you know where she is?”

“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. The Missus was introducing her around,” Mr. Prentice said. “I remember Elle was your assistant.”

“Yes, she was,” Brock said. “When I realized we had feelings for each other, I decided we should make our relationship official. I didn’t want to muddy the professional waters.”

“Good move,” Walter said. “Keep business separate from romance. Congratulations again on your marriage.”

“Thank you,” Brock said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go search for my bride.”

Walter laughed and thumped Brock on the shoulder. “If anyone can find her, I’m sure it’s you.”

From the shadows, Elle watched as Brock pulled out his BlackBerry and sent a text message. Glancing around, he accepted a glass of wine from a server. He loosened his collar, looking impatient.

Elle wondered if she should step forward, but something kept her from it. Her wedding to Brock was all for show and she no longer knew if she could keep up the performance. Elle moved along the wall to the French doors and scooted through the crowd. All those years of being the Koteas’s dirty little secret played through her mind, and here she was again, having been Brock’s little secret. She felt like such a fraud. Brock didn’t really want to be married to her. She couldn’t help feeling like he resented her for the pregnancy.

Unable to bear the return of feelings she’d suffered since childhood, she dashed out the front door and asked the valet to hail a cab for her.

Although her mother didn’t know the whole truth about her relationship with Brock, she did know Elle’s history. She didn’t know that Elle had accepted a deal with her grandfather to keep her mother well, but she knew just about everything else. Elle needed to see her.

“What a lovely surprise,” Elle’s mother said as she
rose from the sofa where she’d been watching television to greet her daughter. She studied Elle from head to toe. “You look lovely. What are you doing here?”

Elle flew into her mother’s accepting arms. “What do you mean? Are you suggesting I usually look like a hag when I visit you?” Elle asked.

“Well, no,” her mother said, pulling back slightly. “But you’re not usually dressed to the nines. Want to tell me what this is about?”

“Can’t we just enjoy the visit?” Elle begged.

“Hmm,” her mother said doubtfully, dipping her head. “Sit down on the sofa and I’ll pour you some green tea.”

Elle made a face. “It smells like stinky socks,” she said, but sat down, anyway.

“It’s soothing,” her mother retorted, heading for the kitchen, “and the antioxidants are good for both you and the baby.”

Elle’s cell phone rang and she frowned, fumbling in her small bag.

“Is that your cell I hear?” her mother asked.

Elle silenced her phone. “Oh, you’re watching a Sandra Bullock movie. I miss our girls’ nights together,” she said.

Her mother reappeared with a cup of tea. “Who rang on your cell phone?”

“I’m not sure,” Elle said, reaching for the tea. “It stopped.”

“Uh-huh,” her mother said and sat down beside her. “Elle, what’s wrong? You know you can talk to me.”

Elle’s throat grew swollen with emotion. She’d carried so much during the last several months—the weight of
her mother’s illness, the deal with her grandfather, her secret affair with Brock and the pregnancy. And now, her misery over being married to a man who didn’t love her.

“I just wanted to see you,” Elle said. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to get over here during the last few days.”

“Hmm,” her mother said, but she slid her arm around Elle’s shoulders and hugged her. Thank God for unconditional love. Elle felt the tears back up in her eyelids.

A knock sounded at the door.

Her mother turned, frowning. “Security didn’t call. How odd.”

Elle knew who it was. “Don’t tell him I’m here.”

Her mother stared at her. “Who?” she asked. “Elle, who?”

“Brock,” Elle whispered and shook her head. “I just can’t deal with him right now. I just can’t.”

Her mother sighed. “Elle, this is ridiculous. You can’t hide from your husband.”

“Please,” Elle said.

“Is he abusing you?” her mother asked, grave concern on her face.

“Of course not,” Elle said.

“Just a minute,” her mother called and walked to the door. She opened it. “Hi, Brock. Elle and I were just talking about you.”

“I
searched for you at the party, but I couldn’t find you,” Brock said, looking at Elle. She was beautiful, dressed in a black, slinky gown that hid her pregnancy but accented her curves. Her eyes were smoky blue, her lips shiny and inviting. Her gaze, however, was cautious and guarded.

“I waited a long time, then I just followed a whim to visit my mother,” Elle said, her smile forced, her eyes dark with secret emotions. He wondered what was going on.

“Prentice said he and his wife were happy to see you,” he said.

“They were very gracious,” she replied.

Brock wasn’t quite sure how to approach Elle at this point. She clearly wasn’t interested in seeing him. That was a first. When they’d been working together, she
couldn’t get enough of him. He’d felt the same for her. He still felt the same for her, although he didn’t know when he would be able to fully trust her again. He had no doubt that she could sense that. Perhaps that was part of the problem.

He glanced at the television. “What are we watching?’

Elle’s mother cleared her throat. “A Sandra Bullock movie,” she said. “Would you like some green tea?” Brock blinked.
Green tea?
He would rather drink dirty water. “Thank you,” he said and sat down on the sofa. “I hear Sandra Bullock is up for an Oscar.”

“Not for this movie,” Elle’s mother called as she walked toward the kitchen. “But she’s my favorite actress.”

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Brock asked Elle in a low voice.

“Do you have any idea how insulting it was to have to make excuses for you for almost two hours?” she said. “If you expect me to be a Stepford wife like your mother, you can forget it. We should just end it now.”

“My mother,” he echoed, appalled. “Why would I want you to be like my mother? Trust me, I have no oedipal urges. What happened at the party?” he asked gently. “Did something upset you?”

“Aside from waiting for you endlessly,” Elle whispered, “I happened to overhear people say that the only reason you married me was because I was pregnant. Don’t even try to deny it because we both know the truth.”

Her desperation and vulnerability dug at him. “You and I both want the best for this baby,” he said.

“Yes, but you and I need—” She stopped and lowered her voice. “You and I need to have a relationship,” she whispered. “It can’t all be about the baby or it’s not going to work.”

“We have never had a shortage of passion, Elle,” he said.

“I want more than passion,” she said. “I want compassion, companionship…” She took a deep breath. “I want love.”

Brock felt his gut twist. “I can give you passion, compassion and companionship, but love is going to take a while. But I’ll work at it. I promise,” he said.

She stared at him with pain in her eyes. “I’m going to be blunt here. I don’t want a marriage like your parents had.”

Brock felt like she’d slapped him. “What the hell do you know about my parents’ marriage? You’ve never even met my father,” he said, a twinge of anger stinging a raw place inside him.

“You’ve obviously forgotten the earful your mother gave me,” she said. “Besides, if you’re a chip off the old block, then in a way, I
have
met your father.”

“Here’s the tea,” Suzanne said as she brought Brock’s cup to him, looking back and forth between Brock and Elle with concern. “It’s still a little hot.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“This is…nice,” she said, sitting down without taking her eyes off them. “Enjoying a movie with my daughter and son-in-law. Shall we watch the rest?”

Brock only made it through the chick flick because he was so distracted by what was happening with Elle that he could barely follow what was on screen. What
had gotten into her? He’d thought she would be excited about attending the Prentices’ cocktail party.

The interminable movie finally ended and Brock rose to his feet. “Time to go. Elle needs her rest and so do you,” he said to his mother-in-law.

“How thoughtful,” Suzanne said, taking his hand and looking directly in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re looking after Elle.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said to reassure her. “Thank you for your hospitality, Suzanne. Ready, Elle?”

Elle met his gaze with a hint of a mutinous expression that didn’t bode well for the ride home. He could feel the chill already. “Yes,” she finally said and gave her mother a hug. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she promised and joined Brock as they left the condo.

They walked to his car in silence and Brock ushered her into the passenger seat of his Porsche. He rounded the vehicle, slid in and started the engine. “I think we should start this conversation over. First, I apologize for being late tonight. This prospective cosmetics account is almost more demanding than the Prentice account.”

Glancing at her, he noticed her arms were crossed firmly and her jaw was set. But after a long silence, she finally gave a heavy sigh. “Apology accepted. In the future, however, I would appreciate it if you would keep me better informed about delays.”

He nodded. “I can do that. Now, about us…it’s going to take time, Elle,” he said.

“Exactly. With the schedule you keep at the office, it’s going to be difficult for you to put in any time on our marriage.”

Brock had heard something similar from his ex-fiancée just before she’d left him. His gut tightened at the prospect of Elle doing the same. He’d hoped that since she’d been his assistant, she would understand his devotion to the company. He’d also hoped that because of all the nights they’d shared, she would somehow know, deep down, that his drive for his company was part of his blood, part of his very being.

“Are you complaining about my work hours?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. “I resent that. I’m not complaining. But let’s look at this a different way. If you were trying to build a business relationship with me, how much time would you put in?”

He blinked at her challenge.

“I’ll take a wild guess and say you might want my relationship with you to last at least as long as your relationship with Prentice,” she said.

He took a deep breath as he pulled into the driveway. “Of course I want our marriage to last,” he muttered. He parked in the garage and turned to her. “What are you trying to say?”

“It’s easy,” she said. “If we both want our relationship to work, we both need to put in the time.”

“We spend every night together,” he said.

“Asleep,” she said.

“We don’t sleep for the first two hours.”

She let out a quick breath. “We need to be about more than sex,” she whispered, her eyes dark and tumultuous.

“Are you saying I don’t satisfy you?” he demanded.

She bit her lip. “I’m not saying that, but maybe we
should put the emphasis in our relationship on something else,” she said. “For a while.”

“You want to date,” he concluded, incredulous. But when he gave it some thought, it made sense.

She licked her lips and he felt himself grow hard. He had felt that mouth against his, sliding down his throat and chest, down lower, taking him to insane heights….

“We never did that, Brock,” she said. “We never just…dated.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Does that mean we sleep together or not?”

“That’s up to you,” she said. “If we waited for a little while to—” She broke off. “Do you still want to sleep together while we figure this out?”

Brock decided to leave the ball in her court, since this was her idea. “I’ll let you decide,” he said, rising from the car and crossing over to open the passenger door. “Dinner tomorrow night?”

“I’d rather hike on Sunday,” she said.

Brock swallowed.

“Is that okay?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said. He could last. He’d suffered far worse than unmet sexual need in his life.

Less than an hour later, Brock slid into bed and Elle curled against him. “Thank you,” she whispered, her lips against the back of his neck. He felt her breasts against him, her hand over his abdomen. He wondered if he would be able to stand this all night long.

Brock took a deep breath. He’d grown accustomed to making love to Elle every night. After all, she was
his wife. She stirred his passions and was incredibly responsive. Why should he deny himself? Or her?

He knew, however, that she wanted him to use some restraint. It would take every bit of his determination, but he would damn well do it. Elle was worth it. And so was their marriage.

Sunday afternoon, Elle climbed up a trail behind Brock. She inhaled deeply, disgusted with her lack of physical fitness.

“You okay?” Brock asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Sure,” she said breathlessly.

He turned around and came to a stop. “You don’t sound okay,” he said, searching her face.

She put her hands on her hips as she tried to catch her breath. “It’s the altitude,” she said.

He grinned. “Not the exertion?”

She scowled at him. “The climb has been straight up.”

“I thought you could handle it,” he said.

“I can,” she replied and took a deep breath.

His blue eyes flickered over her. “Let’s take a break and drink some water.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m pregnant,” she said.

“I’m thirsty,” he said, sitting down as he pulled out his bottle of water. “Aren’t you?”

Elle sank onto a rock and also pulled out her water. She drank down the cool liquid quickly.

“You should make sure to keep hydrated,” Brock said.

“I will,” she said, downing almost all of the bottle.

“Want mine?” he asked.

“No, I’m good,” she said.

He pulled an extra bottle from his backpack and offered it to her. “I want to make sure my wife and baby have plenty of water.”

She finished hers and accepted his. “Thanks from both of us.”

He enclosed her hand in his. “Let’s go back down,” he said.

“I feel a little like a wimp. I didn’t expect to get this tired this soon.”

“You’re pregnant,” Brock said. “You’re feeding and breathing and doing everything for two.”

Elle couldn’t resist smiling. “Thanks,” she said, drawing strength from the clasp of his hand. “Let’s go back down.”

“Good. Now tell me, when you were a little girl, what did you want for Christmas?”

Elle did a double take. “For Christmas? A father,” she said, unable to keep the words from escaping her mouth.

Brock stopped midstep. “A father,” he echoed. “I’ll always be a father to our child,” he promised.

“Will you show up at most of his soccer games or her ballet recitals?” she asked.

He took a quick breath. “Yes, I will.”

She nodded and started to walk again. “That’s good,” she said, making her way down the trail.

“When you were a little girl,” Brock said, “what kind of husband did you want?”

“I dreamed of Prince Charming sweeping me away to a fairytale kingdom with a huge castle with housekeepers
and cooks. But I was in charge of the babies,” she said. “We didn’t have nannies because the prince and I took care of our children.”

Her childhood dream moved him.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Elle said.

Brock pulled her against him. “Not crazy at all.”

As they made their way down the last part of the path, Brock asked half a dozen more questions.

“What are your favorite movies?” he asked.

“I hate to say it,” she said.

“Sandra Bullock movies,” he said.

“Yes, and Julia Roberts. I like girl-power movies. Comes from being left in the shadow of my father and grandfather,” she said.

“Understandable,” Brock said. “Your favorite flower is the rose. And you especially love a multicolored arrangement.”

She stared at him in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“I got you flowers a few times. I caught you smelling the roses more than once.”

“I didn’t know you’d noticed,” she said, meeting his gaze.

“I didn’t notice as much as I should have,” he said. “But I noticed a few things. I’ll notice more in the future,” he promised.

She rested her forehead against his. “What’s your favorite flower?”

Surprise rushed through him. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“Think about it,” she said, smiling.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Wild flowers?”

“Hmm. I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re not going to argue with me about my favorite flower, are you?” he challenged.

Elle sighed. “Okay,” she relented. “So which sports event are you dying to attend?”

He laughed. “Lots of them, but I can’t make time for them all,” he said. “Would you go with me?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” he said, pulling her into a hug and sliding his hands down over her butt, lifting her against him. “You never quit making me want you,” he said.

Elle brushed her lips over his. “Who, me?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “You.”

That night as she snuggled in his arms, Brock wanted her more than ever. His need for her alarmed him, but the sensation of her skin against his and her clean, sexy scent distracted him. He resigned himself to another night of frustration and forced his eyes closed.

Seconds later, he felt her hand drift over his chest, down to his abdomen. He caught that wicked, curious hand just before she touched him where he was hard and wanting her. “No teasing,” he said in a low voice.

She lifted her lips to his, her eyelids fluttering to a sultry half-mast. “What if the teasing will be followed by satisfaction?”

“I thought you wanted us to take some time—”

She rubbed her mouth against his, sliding her tongue just inside. “I want you, too, Brock,” she confessed. “It’s hard for me to stay away from you.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, loosening his grip on her
hand. Two breaths later she was touching him intimately and kissing him as if there was no tomorrow. He wondered if he would ever get enough of her.

They made love that night and when Brock awakened in the morning, he was caught between wanting to take her again and giving her a break. He wanted Elle too much. She got under his skin.

The following week, despite their discussion, Brock came home late every night. Elle refused to be a nag. She occupied herself by visiting her mother and grandfather, and continuing with redecorating the house. On Friday, Brock left before she rose, but Elle decided to take breakfast in the sunroom, anyway.