blonde pressed again. “You still have my number, don’t you?” She reached out and lightly touched his arm.
Rafe lifted a brow. “It’s on my speed dial,” he assured her.
Lauren tried to turn her sudden snort into the semblance of a cough. “Sorry,” she mumbled, as they both glanced at her in the mirror.
Rafe’s gaze met hers. She quickly looked away as his eyes narrowed a little, but could feel his gaze still on her.
“This is my secretary,” he announced suddenly, as if he’d just remembered she was in the elevator, too. He put his arm around Lauren’s shoulders to turn her toward them. “I think you’ve spoken with her on the phone. Lauren, Nancy. Nance—Lauren.”
Lauren politely stuck out her hand. The blonde had reluctantly grasped it, when Rafe added, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass on lunch today. I’m taking Lauren home. She’s been sick—vomiting and all that.”
Heat swept up Lauren’s face as the other woman snatched her hand away. Nancy stepped back, glanced around the mirrored box as if looking for a way out, then jabbed at the panel.
The elevator jolted to a stop. “I need to—ah, get out here,” the blonde said, edging around Lauren. With a final, “See you, Rafe. Call me!” she disappeared down the hall.
Rafe pushed a button. The doors slid shut again. A distressingly upbeat version of “Sleigh Ride” came on. Lauren glared at Rafe’s pseudo-innocent look in the mirror, and her hands clenched by her sides. “I’d appreciate it,” she said icily, “if you wouldn’t use me as some kind of blonde repellent.”
His eyes crinkled in amusement, but his tone was reproachful as he asked, “Now would I do something like that?”
“Yes!” Annoyed with his antics, Lauren turned toward the panel. “And I have better things to do than to fool around, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to the office and—”
He caught her hand to prevent her pushing the button just as the elevator shuddered to another stop. The doors slid open on the street level. Rafe latched on to her arm. He marched her through the lobby and out of the main entrance into the crisp December air.
Horns blared, traffic roared by on the busy street in front of them. A Salvation Army Santa rang his bell with incessant cheerfulness in front of the building next door, making Lauren wince. Rafe paused on the sidewalk a moment to tug her scarf up over her ears, pushing her hands aside when she tried to stop him. Then, satisfied with his efforts at keeping her warm, he took her arm again, urging her toward the parking structure.
Lauren’s feet slipped a little on the icy pavement. His grip on her arm tightened to steady her.
“You should have worn your boots,” he murmured, glancing disapprovingly at her low heels.
Lauren spat out her scarf and raised her chin as far as possible to tell him, “You didn’t give me the chance! They’re under my desk.” If that wasn’t just like the man, she fumed, retreating back into the wool as the cold Chicago wind nipped her nose. To blame her when he was the one at fault….
He caught her hand as she slid again, and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Tucking her under his shoulder, he almost carried her across the frozen sidewalk. “And what about your gloves?” He raised his brows and gently squeezed her cold fingers with his warm ones for emphasize. “Are those at your desk, too?”
Lauren pressed her lips together. He knew they weren’t; he’d scolded her for not wearing them when she’d come in that morning. So she decided not to answer that question, concentrating instead on trying to keep her balance.
When they reached his sleek black car, she did try to tell him once again that she could get home without his help, but he ignored her, unlocking the door to stuff her gently but firmly inside.
Knowing there was no changing his mind, Lauren crossed her arms and watched the city roll past the window. When he slid a disk into his CD player, she gave him a sidelong glance. Music pulsed from his speakers, a heavy rock song, and he tapped on the steering wheel to the beat.
Her eyes lingered for a moment on his hands, following the movement of his long fingers. Her gaze slid up to his face, following the sharp angle of his jaw up his cheekbone to his eyes. His dark lashes half shielded his gaze, which were fixed on the road ahead as he cut through traffic. As always, he looked completely confident, sure of where he was going and what he wanted.
She knew she didn’t need to give him directions to her apartment. After all, Rafe was the one who’d found it for her. A short time after she became his secretary he’d condemned her first place sight unseen as being in a “dangerous” area. He’d then recommended her present address which he considered much safer; Rafe had grown up in the city, and he knew his Chicago. The rent for the converted Victorian was a little more than Lauren had wanted to spend, but after listening to his horror stories about her first location for an entire week, she’d ended up plunking down the money with a minimum of fuss.
Obviously pleased with his victory, Rafe had helped her move. But then he hadn’t come around again until the Christmas season, when he’d turned up on her doorstep with a tree for her. He’d arrived with one last year, too, and Lauren wondered if he planned to do the same this Christmas. She was trying to think of a polite way to ask—without making it sound as if she expected him to buy her a tree—when they pulled up before her building.
Lauren sighed in relief, thankful the short drive was over. Now he could get back to work. She turned to him as she opened her door. “I really appreciate—”
“You sit right there,” he ordered, switching off the engine. “I’m taking you up.”
The house had been divided into four apartments; Lauren’s was one of two on the second story. As they climbed the outside stairs that had been added to provide a separate entrance, she worriedly tried to remember if she’d straightened up that morning—or if she’d left the place a mess. Probably, the latter, she thought gloomily. She hadn’t felt very well this morning, or last night either for that matter.
She paused on the landing with her key in hand, hoping to head Rafe off. “Thank you for—”
“Here, give me that,” he interrupted, removing the key from her grasp. In less than five seconds he’d opened the door, nudged her inside, and followed right behind her.
Lauren entered reluctantly. Her gaze darted around as she struggled to remove the wool tourniquet Rafe had tied around her neck. The apartment had an open design with the kitchen, dining and living rooms all combined into one big living area. The place didn’t look too bad, she decided, glancing toward the kitchen. She’d left a couple of cupboard doors open and her breakfast dishes were in the sink, but no big deal.
Relieved, she looked up at Rafe to try to thank him again, and caught him staring at her folded laundry, piled on a nearby chair. Right on top of the pile was her white cotton, size 34A bra.
A hot flush crept up her face. Lauren sidled over to the chair, intending to tuck her bra beneath her other clothes. But just as she picked it up, Rafe took off again.
“Where’s your thermostat?” he asked, striding across the living room. “It’s in the hall, isn’t it? Let’s get the heat up in here.”
He disappeared down her hallway, and
