Chapter Twenty-Two

Over the next few days, Brice and Janna settled into a routine. Brice cooked all the meals, with irregular results, and he also took care of the other household chores. He helped Janna bathe, carried her from room to room, and made sure she kept her leg elevated whenever possible. He also did the laundry, cleaned the house, and did all the shopping.

Long hours were spent in the office, into which Brice had another desk moved so that Janna and he could work in the same space. Although he insisted that she nap each afternoon, most mornings were spent at their separate desks, each embroiled in a different world, Brice, the world of high finance, and Janna, the world of the slender salamander.

Her confinement at the beach house unexpectedly improved her productivity on her dissertation. Brice had made sure that all of her materials were brought to her -- her laptop, tablet, notebooks, files, and even specimens. Any additional reference materials that she couldn't access online were brought to the beach house, usually by Chase, who'd become accustomed to traveling between the university and the coast.

Each day, four hours were spent ensconced in the office, typing away. Each day she was amazed at the progress she'd made. At this rate, she might finally finish her entire first draft before the air cast boot came off. On the tenth day of her recovery, she smiled as she sent her advisor an email containing completed drafts of the first three chapters. Tweety would be astonished at her productivity.

She leaned back in her chair to stretch her back, realizing that she no longer felt a twinge of pain in her wrist. The arm was still pinned to her side, and Janna was impressed at how skilled she had become at typing with one hand. Glancing up, she noticed that Brice was staring at his computer, his brows furrowed.

He picked up his phone and dialed his assistant. " Tony, it's Brice. I've been going over the paperwork for the Coffee City acquisition, and I'm alarmed to see that we still don't have Dawson's signatures. Is this deal going through or not?"

Janna rested her head in her good hand and watched the millionaire tycoon at work. Although she'd mostly learned to tune him out, what little she did hear of his conversations had surprised her. He never yelled, never demanded that anyone buy or sell so many thousand shares of whatever company. He must have been telling the truth about his mostly hands-off approach to empire management. Realizations like these made keeping her emotions in check that much more difficult.

"Is something going on I need to know about, Tony? You're usually more efficient than this. I know Dawson wasn't keen on selling, but--" Brice cocked an eyebrow, apparently amused by his assistant's pert answer.

Janna watched, consumed by desire for him. Right now it didn't matter that they'd broken up, that his most intimate touch lately had been the tiny kiss he placed on her forehead each night before bed. Last night she'd seriously considered moving her face up so that his lips would have landed on hers. She'd restrained herself at the last second, and wondered if she'd be able to stop herself tonight.

She realized that Brice was staring back at her, an amused smile on his handsome face. "Well, I'll leave Dawson in your more-than-capable hands," he told Tony with a laugh, then made his farewells. When he'd hung up, he brought his attention back to Janna. "And what exactly are you looking at? The slender salamander isn't enough to keep your attention?"

Janna grinned and realized again how good it felt to spend time with Brice. He'd been nothing but patient, abiding by her rules, keeping clear of her boundaries, and not for the first time since she'd agreed to stay in the beach house, she wished he'd ignore all those rules and boundaries and give in to temptation, just once. She now acknowledged that her resolve to keep her distance from Mr. Masterson was at its lowest point ever. It would be too easy to let herself love him wholeheartedly, to let go of the resentment she'd felt at his high-handed treatment. Why did she keep trying to stop herself anyway?

"How about some lunch?" he asked, and she nodded. He made his way over to her, about to pick her up and carry her into the dining room.

Janna panicked, wondering if he would be able to feel the effect he had on her body. "Stop," she said, picking up her crutch and standing. "I want to try and walk myself. My leg barely even hurts anymore, and I think it's time I started carrying my own weight if you'll excuse the pun."

Brice frowned but nodded, accepting her wishes. He followed behind as she slowly made her way down the hall and into the dining room. While she settled herself in at the dining table, he headed into the kitchen, returning with a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and a container of sliced turkey.

"Sandwiches again, huh?" she asked, and almost laughed at his sheepish grin.

"Yep, sorry. But I'm preparing something special for dinner tonight. Hopefully, that will make up for the paltry lunch." He headed back into the kitchen, returning with two plates, two glasses, and the carafe of water. Then it was back for the condiments, some lettuce, and some sliced tomatoes, carefully stowed in a plastic container.

They made their sandwiches and ate in silence, each watching the other. The tension in the room was climbing, and Janna wanted to succumb to the attraction between them. Although it was wrong to tease, she couldn't help herself. She took a bite, the mayonnaise overwhelming the sandwich and dripping down her lips. She put the sandwich down and licked her lips excessively.

Brice's attention was riveted on her, and she made sure to give him a good show. She moved her finger around the outside of her sandwich, catching the surplus mayonnaise. She then slowly sucked her finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it to get all the sauce off, then slowly pulling it out again.

Brice was nearly panting across the table, and he eyed her, confusion warring with desire on his features. "Why Miss Puchina, are you flirting with me?"

"No, I'm just eating my lunch, Mr. Masterson."

His expression said he didn't buy that. He set his sandwich down and pushed his plate away, watching as she finished her own sandwich and wiped her mouth delicately with a cloth napkin.

"Done?" At her nod, he said, "Time for your nap."

She stood, picking up her crutch. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he made no move to pick her up.