Page 90 of The VIP Doubles Down
After breakfast in another sun-drenched room that overlooked the beach, Allie dragged Gavin into the office. As had happened in the city, a second desk had been set up for her, and she settled into the chair with a sigh of relief. When she had a desk to sit at, she knew where she fit into Gavin’s world.
He prowled around the room, picking up and setting down various objects. She swiveled her chair around. “Either sit down or find another room to pace in,” she said. “You’re making me twitchy.”
He looked up from the small glass display case he was holding. “I was considering writing in longhand again today.”
“Does that actually help?”
He showed her the case, which held a single black pen. “Stephen King wrote an entire book with this Waterman fountain pen. He says it’s the world’s finest word processor.”
The case had a small handwritten card displayed in it. Allie peered at the writing.
To Gavin. In the event of emergency, break glass. Best, Steve
“Stephen King gave his special pen to you?”
“We were at an awards ceremony together and got to talking about writer’s block. Back then, I couldn’t even imagine it. He warned me that it gets us all eventually.” Gavin’s lips twisted. “Afterward, he sent me this as a talisman to ward it off.”
Allie ran her finger along the case. “I’m surprised you haven’t used it already.”
“I was afraid it wouldn’t work, and then I would have exhausted my last resort.” He returned the pen to the shelf beside his desk and sat down, eyeing his computer as though it were a coiled rattlesnake.
Allie stood up. “How about I give you a nice shoulder rub? But it’s not physical therapy, just to be clear.”
His smile mixed gratitude with seduction. “I prefer to think of it as a sensuous massage from one lover to another.”
“Whatever works for you.” But his words stroked over her skin as she put her hands on his shoulders. He was wearing one of his seemingly endless supply of black cashmere sweaters over a pair of jeans, a look she particularly liked on him. Not to mention that the feel of his powerful muscles under the soft, expensive fabric was a treat all by itself.
As she kneaded his neck, she gave herself permission to evaluate his condition from a PT point of view. It was significantly improved from her first encounter with him. His body was coming back into balance, and the knots in his muscles were easier to work out. He should have come to Southampton sooner, since it was clearly good for him.
He moaned appreciatively as she worked, flinching only once when she hit an especially tender spot. After ten minutes, she switched to stroking him softly and bent to plant a kiss on his nape. “Now you should be relaxed enough to face the computer.”
He reached back to catch one of her hands in his, bringing it around to press his lips into her palm. “Thank you,” he said. There was such a freight of emotions in those two words. Gratitude, fear, resignation, and maybe, she thought, an acknowledgment that her presence helped him.
She blinked several times at the tears burning behind her eyelids and slid her hand from his grasp. “Glad it felt good.”
“Anytime you touch me it feels good.”
The tears stung her eyes again. She returned to her own desk, swallowing against the clot of longing in her throat. She wanted him to feel more than just pleasure at her touch.
She opened the files and began to work, although every now and then she slid a surreptitious glance over her shoulder to see what Gavin was doing. First, he clicked through what she assumed were e-mails, tapping out a short burst before scrolling onward. Then he sat scowling at the screen. Either it was an annoying e-mail or he was trying to work on Julian.
She pulled her attention back to her computer and got engrossed in reconciling some timeline discrepancies. As she finished correcting the various days and times, she realized she was hearing steady typing emanating from Gavin’s direction. She sneaked a look and discovered he was gazing at the screen with fierce concentration but no frown. Angling her chair, she pretended to be searching through some paper notes while in reality, she watched him.
His fingers flew across the keyboard. She could tell he was hitting the backspace key a fair amount, but it didn’t slow his pace. There was no tension in his neck and shoulders, just alertness and focus. He leaned forward slightly in the ergonomic chair, with his legs bent and his feet flat on the ground. If she’d wanted to give a lesson in how to sit properly at a desk, she could use Gavin.
She was dying to ask him if he was working on the Christmas story, but she didn’t want to interrupt his spurt of productivity. So she returned to her own work. Soon the sound of Gavin’s rapid typing became soothing white noise just like the muted roar of the ocean. Out of the corner of her eye, Allie could see Pie curled up in a swath of sunlight that fell across the deep cushion of an armchair. Contentment wrapped around her like a warm down comforter, and she had to remind herself of the warning she’d given the cat earlier that morning.
The typing halted. She swiveled to see Gavin stretching luxuriously in his chair before he ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it, as he scanned the screen in front of him.
“You’re a speed demon on the keyboard,” she said.
He didn’t respond, and she realized he was reading whatever was on the screen. He reached for the mouse and began scrolling. It must have been a full minute later when he swiveled toward her. “Did you say something?”
“Nope. Carry on.” She smiled.
“I know you spoke. I was just so engrossed in—” He stopped and slowly turned back to the screen to stare at it. “Jesus H.Christ, that’s eleven pages.” He stood up, his gaze still on the computer screen. “That’s elevennewpages. Of Julian.”
Allie wanted to cheer, but she decided to keep it low-key, as though his output was perfectly normal. “Are they good pages?”
