Desire Collection: December Books 1 – 4. Elizabeth Bevarly

he wanted to know why. Were the two linked? And how did she know her way around a diaper bag so well?

      Satisfied the baby was safe where he was placed, Piers rose and made his way through to the kitchen, where he could hear Faye clattering around. From the scent that tweaked his nostrils, she’d found one of Meredith’s signature rich tomato soups in the freezer and was reheating it on the stove top, tiny blue flames dancing merrily beneath the pot. Ever resourceful, she’d lit some candles and placed them in mason jars to give more light.

      Faye was in the middle of slicing a loaf of ciabatta and sprinkling grated cheese onto the slices when she became aware of his presence.

      “Bored with the baby already?”

      “He’s asleep, so I thought I’d come and annoy you instead.”

      “It takes a lot to annoy me.”

      “Casey seemed to manage it,” Piers said succinctly, determined to get to the root of her aversion to the infant.

      “He doesn’t annoy me. I’m just not a baby person,” she said lightly, turning her attention back to putting the tray of sliced bread and cheese under the broiler. “Not every woman is, you know.”

      “Most have a reason,” he pressed. “What’s yours?”

      Sometimes it was best to go directly to the issue, he’d found. With Faye, it was fifty-fifty that he’d get a response. Tonight, it seemed, he was out of luck.

      “Did you want a glass of wine with the meal?” she asked, moving to the tall wine fridge against the wall.

      “No, thanks, but go ahead if you want one.”

      She shook her head. Piers watched her move around the kitchen, finding everything she needed to set up trays for them to eat from. He’d always appreciated her competence and reliability, but right now he wished there was a little less polished professionalism and little more about her that was forthcoming. Like, who was she really? How did she get to be so competent around babies and yet seem to detest them at the same time? No, detest was too strong a word. It had been fear in her eyes, together with a genuine need to create distance between her and little Casey.

      “Are you scared of him?” Piers asked conversationally. “I can understand if you are. I was always terrified that I’d drop a baby if I ever had to hold one.”

      “You? Terrified?” she asked, raising a skeptical brow at him as she turned from checking the bread under the broiler.

      Under the candle glow, he could see the hot air had flushed her cheeks and was reminded again that Faye was a very attractive woman. Not that he was into her or anything. Liar, said the small voice at the back of his head. Half of her appeal had always been her looks, the other half had been her apparent immunity to his charms. It didn’t matter what he said, did or wore—or didn’t wear—she remained impervious to him. She also wasn’t in the least sycophantic—and not at all hesitant to bluntly tell him when his ideas or demands were outrageous or unreasonable.

      He realized she’d managed to deflect the question away from herself again.

      “You’re very good at that, you know,” he commented with a wry grin.

      “What, cheese on toast?” she answered flippantly, presenting her back to him as she bent to lift the tray of toasted golden goodness from the oven. Faye began piling the cheese toast slices onto a plate on his tray, taking only two small bits for herself.

      No wonder she was so slender. She barely ate enough to keep a bird alive.

      “I meant your ability to avoid answering my questions.”

      “Did you want cream in your soup?”

      And there she went again. She was so much better at this than him, but he was nothing if not tenacious.

      “Faye, tell me. Are you scared of babies?”

      She sighed heavily and looked up from ladling out the steaming, hot soup into bowls.

      “No. Did you want cream or not?”

      He acceded. “Fine, whatever.”

      As with everything Faye did, she paid meticulous attention to presentation, and he watched with amusement as she swirled cream into his bowl and then, using a skewer like some kind of soup barista, created a snowflake pattern in the cream before sprinkling a little chopped parsley on top and setting the bowl on his tray.

      “That’s cute. Where did you learn to do that?”

      “Nowhere special,” she said softly. But then a stricken expression crossed her face and she seemed to draw herself together even tighter. Her voice, when she spoke, held a slight tremor. “Actually, that’s not true. I learned it as a kid.”

      She bit her lower lip, as if she’d realized she’d suddenly said too much.

      Piers pressed home with another more pointed question. “From your mom?”

      She gave a brief, jerky nod of her head.

      Piers sensed the memory had pained her and regretted having pushed her for a response. But he knew, better than most people realized, that sometimes you had to endure the pain before you could reap the rewards. Oh, sure, he’d been born into a life of entitlement and with more money at his disposal while he was growing up than any child should ever have. Most people thought he had no idea as to the meaning of suffering or being without—and maybe, on their scale, he didn’t. Yet, despite all of the advantages his life had afforded him, he knew what emptiness felt like, and right now he could see a yawning emptiness in his PA’s eyes that urged him to do something to fill it.

      But how could a man who had everything, and yet nothing at the same time, offer help to someone who kept everyone beyond arms’ length?

      Something hanging from the light fitting above Faye’s head caught his eye. Mistletoe. Before he knew it, Piers was rising and taking her in his arms. Then he did the one thing he knew he did better than any man on earth. He kissed her.

       Four

      Shock rippled through her mind, followed very closely by something else. Something that offered a thrill of enticement, a promise of pleasure. Piers’s lips were warm and firm, and the pressure of them against hers was gentle, coaxing.

      Even though her mind argued that this was wrong on so many levels, a piece of her—deep down inside—unfurled in the unexpected warmth and comfort his kiss offered. Comfort, yes, and another promise layered beneath it. One that told her that she decided what happened next. That she could take this wherever she wanted to.

      In her bid to protect herself from further emotional pain, she’d always kept her distance from people. She knew how much it hurt to lose the ones you loved—how it had torn her apart and left her a devastated shell. How her attempts to fill that emptiness had only left her hurting all over again. How she’d shored up her personal walls until nothing and no one could get back inside into the deepest recesses of her heart ever again. And yet, here she was, being kissed by the man she worked for and feeling emotions she’d been hiding from for years. Wanting more. It was exhilarating and terrifying in equal proportions.

      Even as Faye’s mind protested, her body reacted. Her heart rate kicked up a beat. An ember of desire flickered to molten life at her core. Oh, sure, she’d been kissed before, but nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for this onslaught of need and heat and confusion.

      Finally her mind overruled her body, reminding her that this was not just any man in any situation. This was her boss. In his house. With a baby in the next room.

      Faye put a hand against Piers’s chest, her palm tingling at the heat that radiated from behind his shirt—at the firmly muscled contours that lay beneath the finely woven linen. Her fingers curled into the fabric, ever so briefly, before she flattened her palm and pushed against him.

      To