Everything You Are (9 page)

“Okay.” Ian nodded and gave a short goodbye before he hung up.

“What's wrong?”

His head lifted and his eyes found Jane's. Jane, sweet competent Jane, she was such a lovely distraction, a distraction that he couldn't afford right now, not when dealing with the Norway project. So it was good that she was going home, while he would go to the Norway alone. “I'm afraid our tour was just shortened.”

The sound of a crash burst out of the telly speakers followed by an explosion, and red and yellow flame filled the screen. Jane, sitting on the couch in her living room, yawned and from the corner of her eye glanced at the phone on the coffee table in front of her.

“What time is it?” Mark grabbed the phone and glanced at the display. “Almost nine o'clock.”

“Yeah, so?” She flicked a brown strand of hair off her face.

He grinned.

“Give me the phone back.”

Mark's grin widened as he lifted his hips and pushed the phone into the pocket of his slacks.

Jane pressed her lips tightly together. “Give it back.”

The phone started to ring.

“I wonder who that could be.” Mark innocently pursed his mouth as he blinked at Jane.

He knew very well who it was: Ian. For the last two weeks Ian had called her every evening around nine o'clock. The first time he had done it, it was for business, when he wanted her to find some information he needed the next day. But now, they mostly talked about trivial things, like what she had for breakfast and what she and Mark were up to. “Mark,” Jane growled out. “Give it back.”

“You two have become so cosy lately, talking on the phone every night like some lovey-dovey couple. Are you sure nothing happened in Italy?”

“I told you that it didn't.”

“I do wonder, is somebody's hymen still intact?”

“Stop joking and give me the phone. Now, Mark.”

“Then why are you so eager to talk to him?” Mark's eyes widened comically. “Don't tell me, Miss Bennet, that you have fallen in love with Mr. Thornton.”

Fallen in love with Ian? “Don't be stupid. Now give me the phone or I'll...” She furrowed her eyebrows, her eyes darting around as she tried to think of appropriate punishment. “Or I'll never talk to you about Ian or my day at work again.”

He glared at her for a short second. “You can be so mean.” He took the still ringing phone out of his pocket. “Here.”

As soon as she grabbed the phone, she was up and on her way to her room. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ian greeted her. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing special, just watching a movie.” She walked into her room, closed the door and made herself comfortable on her bed, with her free arm serving as a pillow. “What have you been doing?”

“The usual.”

“How many meetings did you have today?”

“I don't know. Six, eight.”

He sounded exhausted and fed up, but she had learned from Mr. Richardson that for Ian, having his days filled with business meetings from eight in the morning to eight in the evening wasn't out of the ordinary, and that after all those meetings he would, more often than not, go clubbing. “You sound tired.”

“I'm not feeling too well,” he said.

“Do you have a cold?”

“I don't think so.”

“Does your throat hurt?”

“No.”

“What's your temperature?”

“I don't know.”

“Well take it.”

“When did you get so bossy?”

Had she stepped over the line? But she was only worried about him. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“You really should take your temperature, you know.”

“I'll let you take it, when I come home.”

Which was, according to him, tomorrow at six. He complained that since his father was using the company plane, he would have to take a regular flight and he had already asked her to pick him up. The thought of seeing him sent a small shiver through her body and sped up her heartbeat. It had only been three weeks since they had seen each other, but it felt like months had passed and as if Italy, where they had walked the streets holding hands, was a lifetime away. There had been an intimacy between them then, not just in the touch of their fingers, but in the way he had spoken to her, the way he still spoke to her, every evening. As if he enjoyed hearing her voice, as if he was interested in her life and as if he valued her opinion. It was like they had a connection, a connection that shouldn't be between an assistant and her boss, a connection that strengthened through their evening conversation. A connection that she might just be imagining.

That was the main reason why her fingers nervously twirled the strap of her bag as she waited in the airport for Ian to appear.

A river of people poured into the hall from the arrival terminal and among them Jane searched for Ian's tall body. He should have been there five minutes ago. The crowd thinned and Jane pushed herself onto her toes. She finally noticed him.

He was strolling toward her, his eyes darting around, his hand holding the handle of a wheeled suitcase, pulling it behind him.

She stood there, unable to move, with bated breath. She hadn't forgotten how good he looked, or how smoothly and confidently he moved, but she hadn't expected that seeing him would make her heart race; that heaviness would squeeze her chest and that her body would urge her to run to him and throw herself around his neck. She had missed him but until that moment, she hadn’t realised how much.

His eyes landed on her and his stroll became a stride, while a smile stretched his mouth.

She could see joy written on his face and as he came closer, she could also see grey patches under his eyes and tiredness that slumped his shoulders. She took a hesitant step forward, her lips curving up into a small smile on their own.

He was almost there, just three steps away. Then two. And then it was one. He released the suitcase, which bumped against the floor, and then in the next second his arm was around her waist while his free hand cupped the back of her neck. He drew her against him and lifted her up before his mouth descended on hers.

Her mouth opened to the pressure of his tongue, her eyelids fluttered closed and her arms wrapped around his neck. She had tried not to remember that time in his parents' house when he had almost kissed her, she had tried not to imagine what his mouth would feel like, what he would taste like, and now she had his tongue sliding against hers, tasting the sweetness of the champagne he must have had on the plane. It was better than she imagined. Her arms tightened their hold. The kiss was short and intense and it ended far too soon.

Still holding her against him, his hand on her neck, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I missed you.”

There was a fog in her mind, consisting of wonderful candy clouds in a rainbow of colours, and there were blue eyes, the clear blue of the summer sky, penetrating through the fog. His eyes. He was her boss and she his assistant.

“Jane?”

She cleared her throat and managed to put on a shaky smile while she loosened the grip she had on him. She readjusted the glasses that stood askew on her nose. What was she supposed to say? “Welcome home.”

He lowered her to the ground and his arms released her, while his eyes, crinkling at their corners, smiled down at her. “Glad to be home.”

“Sebastian!” a woman’s voice came from behind them.

Ian grimaced, grabbed the suitcase and looped his arms with Jane's. With long quick steps, he dragged her with him, forcing her to almost run beside him.

“Yoo-hoo, Sebastian.”

Jane glanced backwards and saw a girl in a fur vest and skinny jeans balancing herself on pumps as she hurried after them, two hulks in black suits at her side. She looked familiar. “Isn't that that actress from that movie about some singer?” What was it called, that movie?

A few people rushed toward the actress and blocked her way.

“Because of her jabbering, I couldn't get a wink of sleep.” Ian guided Jane toward the sliding doors a short distance away. “She wouldn't leave me alone.” He sighed. “We only met once, at some party I can't even remember, but she acted as if we are best friends.”

Jane looked at him, frowning. Was that why he had kissed her? Because he thought that he couldn't get rid of the actress any other way? And here she had been, thinking that he kissed her because he -- what? Because he was interested in her? How ridiculous! He might like her. No, she was certain that he did like her, just not that way. His type were beautiful blondes with big breasts, not average-looking brunettes with flat chests. They passed through the large door and stepped outside into the warm spring sun. She wiggled her arm away from his. “This way.” She pointed at the parking lot.

They reached the car she had borrowed from the Thornton motor pool. She could choose any car from the parking lots ten to twenty five, Mr. Richardson had told her, and she had picked out a small white Fiat 500, beside the Clio the only hatchback among the large limousines.

“What is this?”

“A car.”

“I know it's a car.” He narrowed his eyes, but the sternness of his gaze was spoiled by the yawn that forced his mouth open. He covered it with his hand. “I told you to take something out of the Thornton garage.”

“I did.” She unlocked the car.

“Couldn't you pick something less… tiny?” He yawned again and walked around the car to put his suitcase into the boot.

“I don't want to drive those huge cars.” She offered him the key card.

He shook his head. “I'm too tired to drive.” He gently pushed her away as he slid into the passenger seat.

She went around the car and got into the driver’s seat, glancing at him.

With a scowl on his face he pushed the seat backward. With his big body he looked like an adult in a child’s chair.

She smiled and buckled her seatbelt.

“You did this on purpose, didn't you?”

“No.”

He bent his legs, shifted his body slightly sideways, while he leaned his head on the headrest. He yawned again. “Next time take a bigger car, please.”

“Yes, sir.” She started the car and drove off.

“You sound as if you are making fun of me,” he accused her.

She peeked at him. He didn't seem angry, just exhausted. “You look like you haven't slept for days.”

“Not for days, just for a night,” he said, a hint of sluggishness in his voice. “They organized a celebration and forced me to join.”

“Who, the Norwegians?” She directed the car toward the ramp.

“Yes. I thought why not, since I would be able to take a nap in the airplane, but that woman blabbered in my ear the whole time, even though I politely asked her to remove herself.”

She glanced at him again, to see that he had closed his eyes. “Mr. Richardson said that you could go days with little or no sleep.”

“I used to be able to,” he said and then a small pause before he added, “I'm not as young as I used to be.”

He said that as if he were in his sixties, not in his thirties. She turned on the radio, adjusting the volume so that the music was a comfortable murmur in the background and focused on the drive. .Using the highway it took her half an hour to reach the garage of his apartment building. She had been stealing glances at him all through the drive, and then after she parked, she turned toward him. He looked young and angelic with his features relaxed and so harmless. And there was a flush on his cheeks. Did he have a fever? She touched his forehead.

His eyes opened.

“You’re hot.”

“Huh?”

“You are hot,” she repeated and withdrew her hand.

He blinked and then a wide, naughty smile slowly stretched his mouth. “You finally noticed, huh?”

She rolled her eyes and then gave him a serious look. “I think you have a fever.”

“I'm not sick.” With his hand he rubbed his face. “Just sleepy and worn out.”

“But you have a temperature.”

He hid the yawn behind his hand, then said, “My temperature increases when I'm under stress or tired.”

She touched his forehead again then her hand slid down to his cheek. His stubble tickled her. “You are quite warm. Are you sure it's from stress?”

“I do have a slightly sore throat. You should make me some tea and nurse me back to health.”

“You’re a big boy, can't you nurse yourself back to health on your own?”

“I could, but I don't want to.”

He was joking and when she had picked him up at the airport, she hadn’t planned to go up to his apartment with him, but she accompanied him up with the intention of making him tea and giving him an aspirin, just in case he was getting sick. She busied herself in the kitchen.

He went to shower. “To wash off the travel dust,” he said.

She didn't find any aspirin in the first aid kit he had in one of the cabinets in the living room, but she had some in her handbag. She carried it, and a cup of steaming tea, into his bedroom.

With a towel around his waist he sat on the side of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head bent and another towel in his hand. He was dozing off.

Her eyes slid over his shoulders then down his torso, over the damp skin to the light trail of hair on his navel before they lifted to his face and the wet hair that hung over his brow. Heat flushed her face. She swallowed. “Hey.” She nudged him.

He flinched then straightened. He rubbed his face.