Five
“The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world.”
Elliot’s lips parted, as Nadia looked right at him through the security camera.
He’d told her the house was under twenty-four-hour surveillance, but maybe she didn’t believe him.
Her head quirked and her hand slowly lifted in a shy wave.
A breath of laughter caught in his throat.
She was so damn cute and she was in his house.
He preferred watching her from a distance when she couldn’t see how much she rattled him.
A sharp knock landed on the door and he stashed his phone under the covers, like a kid sneaking a glance at a dirty magazine. His throat cleared. “Come in.”
“Mr. Garnet,” Martha called, peeking inside. “That woman said you weren’t feeling well, but I didn’t believe it. Is there anything I can get for you?”
Embarrassed he now had the maid worried about him, he considered coming clean but that would only add to his humiliation. “I’m fine, Martha. Thank you. As a matter of fact, why don’t you take the day off? I’ll probably just get some rest and be back to my usual routine tomorrow.”
The older woman hesitated, her creased eyes rife with confusion. “There’s a woman in your kitchen—”
“Nadia. She’s a friend. She’s staying in the suite at the end of the hall. If you could—before you go—just see if her room needs any attention.”
“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay? I don’t mind.”
“I’m sure.”
No need to have more witnesses to the spectacle he was making of himself. For God’s sake, he was a decade overdue for a day off. There was no need for sirens or a parade.
“I’ll just take your dry cleaning down.” She disappeared in his closet. “Your friend seems to think you have the appetite of ten men by the amount of food she set out to prepare.”
He’d noticed. It touched him she would go to such lengths, but he assumed it was more about repaying his hospitality than any real concern. “I’ll make sure the mess is cleaned up.”
Martha emerged with an armful of suits, her smile uncertain. “I’ll leave you to resting. Call if you need anything. Once I check her room, I’ll be on my way.”
“Thank you, Martha.”
When she shut the door he let out a breath.
Reaching under the covers, he felt for his phone.
Sliding his finger over the screen he frowned when he didn’t see Nadia.
The door opened without a knock and he threw the phone back under the covers, wincing as he used too much force and it slid clean off the mattress onto the floor.
Nadia stilled, brow arched as she held a tray laden with steaming items. “I brought you breakfast.”
He cleared his throat, trying not to look at his phone displaying the view of the kitchen from where it rested on the carpet. Perhaps if he ignored it, she wouldn’t notice. “Thank you.”
He scooted back as she carried the tray to the bed, resting the legs of the tray on either side of his knees. She handed him a linen napkin and he was distracted by the scent of autumn spices rising from the bowl of what looked like porridge. “Is this oatmeal?”
“Gruel. My dédanya’s recipe.” She squeezed his bicep, sending blood rushing to his lower extremities. “It will make you strong.”
Thank God there was a tray over his lap. “Dédanya?”
“Great-grandmamma. She made the best gruel.” Turning, she bent to scoop up his phone, glancing at the screen before handing it back to him. “I’m also making you soup for later, but I guess you figured that out with all your sneaky cameras.” She smirked. “Are you a spy, Elliot?”
His face heated as he tried to match her playful smile and failed. “Sorry. I … wanted to see if you needed anything.”
“I met your maid. She’s very nice, though I don’t think she was expecting to find someone like me in your kitchen.
” Making herself at home, she lowered herself to the edge of the mattress, her curvaceous body brushing his knee through the covers.
“Why is that? You must have women stay over from time to time.”
Distracting himself by searching for a spoon, he cleared his throat. “I don’t entertain much.”
“Yet you have all the cameras. I assumed a lot of people come to your home.”
People, not beautiful women. “Mostly employees.” And even that was rare.
“Do you not trust the people that work for you?”
She asked a lot of questions. “I don’t trust anyone.”
Her head tipped to the side, a dark curtain of chestnut waves falling down her arm. “Not even Asher?”
“I trust my partners, but that’s about it.”
“Yet you opened your home to me.”
Something he still didn’t understand the logic behind.
It’s because you’re pathetic and you’re using this as an excuse to get close to a woman who wouldn’t notice your existence otherwise.
“You needed a place to stay.” He took a bite of the gruel, surprised by the sweet flavor that filled his mouth. “What is this exactly?” He went in for another bite.
“Family recipe. I make it from spices and nuts. You have a great kitchen. It makes it fun to cook.”
Holding the bowl in his palm, he practically inhaled the stuff. “Thank you. Feel free to use it whenever you like. This is delicious.”
She laughed, the sound overriding his appetite with other urges. “I’m glad you like it.”
Placing the bowl and spoon back on the tray he sighed. “Gruel. Interesting. I’m definitely a fan.”
“Wait until you taste the rest.”
He stilled, his body throbbing. Her lips pulled tight as she held his stare. She was talking about soup, right? Definitely soup. Had to be soup.
“Drink your tea before it gets cold.” He reached for the mug just as her knuckles pressed to his brow, testing his temperature. “You still feel warm and your skin’s flushed.”
“I’m sure I’m fine.” He couldn’t keep lying to her, although illness seemed a great excuse for the symptoms of arousal he couldn’t hide. But the last thing he needed was her thinking him fragile—although he wasn’t as sturdy as the men she was probably used to.
“Still, you’ll rest.” She stood, removing the bowl and surveying his room. “Do you want anything else?”
His gaze clung to the curve of her hips, the soft, nearly invisible hairs dusting the flesh beneath her belly button. “I’m sorry, what?”
“It’s not nice to stare, Elliot.”
Mortified, his stare jumped to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not … used to this.”
His heart thundered, and he diverted his attention to the mug in his hands, scalding his tongue.
He grimaced as the robustly potent flavor filled his mouth and forced himself to swallow when he wanted nothing more than to spit the tea back in the mug.
Maybe gruel was the only good thing she made.
If not for the trace of cinnamon, he wouldn’t be able to swallow whatever was burning the shit out of his tingling esophagus.
“You don’t like my tea?”
He forced it down and made a face, ensuring it stayed down. “It’s … different.”
“Well, you need it. Drink up. It will make you sweat out whatever bug you have.”
The mug suddenly seemed dauntingly large. And he didn’t want to sweat any more than he already was.
“I’m going to check the soup.” She carried the empty bowl to the door.
He frowned. Despite the luxury of her attention, it wasn’t right for her to do so much under false pretenses. “Nadia?”
She turned, too much trust in her gaze.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” She ran her own dance studio. He’d feel terrible if his playing hooky interrupted her schedule.
“Not today. My next class is tomorrow night. My days are usually free.”
Tell her you’re fine. “Well … thank you … for this.”
She smiled and left the room. Picking up his phone, he waited until she was back in the kitchen to dump the tea down the bathroom sink. Whatever that was, it was intense and more likely to make him sick than actually make him well—which he already was.
He sighed, not looking forward to a day wasted in bed. He should’ve just told her he wasn’t sick. Instead, here he was, shuffling around in his undershirt letting her wait on him hand and foot.
“You’re so screwed up.”
At precisely nine o’clock, his phone rang as it did every morning. Figuring a day off wasn’t so bad, he told himself it was a mental health situation so the workaholic in him would ease up. His thumb slid over the phone.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Good morning, sweetie. How’s your day going?”
“Good. I, uh, took the day off.”
“Oh, no. Are you sick?”
He shut his eyes. He couldn’t lie to his mother. “No. Just … relaxing.”
She laughed. “Because you needed a challenge? You already sound flustered.”
No one, not even the guys, knew him as well as his mother. She’d put up with his tireless attention to detail since before his toddler days and she was probably already wagering he’d be back in the office by noon. He never handled idleness well.
“I have a house guest visiting for a few days. A woman.”
The line silenced. “O—okay. Is this a girlfriend of yours?”
He laughed without humor. “No.”
“Who is she?”
“Just a friend who was in a bind.” The term friend might be a stretch, too. He didn’t want his mom getting her hopes up. “She’s a bit out of my league.”
She tsked, always his greatest champion even though she was also completely biased. “What makes you say that?”
While his mother, an ever-persistent optimist, only saw the triumphant moments of his existence, there were eons of painful interludes he’d managed to hide. Suffice it to say, his earlier years were enough to scar him for life.
“She’s just different.”
“Different is good, Elliot. You’re different.”
“I mean different in a good way.”
She tsked again. “Every difference is a good thing. We don’t need a world full of clones.”
He smirked, appreciating her justification. “She just got out of a relationship.”
“You like this woman.”
He sighed quietly, sparing his mom the hollow details. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Elliot, you have to take risks to get what you want in life. You, of all people, should know that. Look at your success.”
“I know, but some risks aren’t worth the consequences.”
“But are they worth the reward?”