An Act of Persuasion(5)

It came crashing down on him, that perfect rush of ecstasy. He hugged her to his chest as his body poured himself deep inside her.

Alive. Still alive.

When it was over he collapsed against the couch. His arms felt too heavy to lift anymore and his legs were like big blocks of useless bone. Anna was still pressed against him, her now sweat-slick body stuck to his stomach and chest, while her head rested on his shoulder.

The loose mess of her hair tickled under his chin as together they struggled to get their heartbeats regulated.

He closed his eyes and, without being able to stop it, he felt himself drifting to sleep.

Surely, she would want to talk. All women wanted to talk.

And Anna would want to talk more than most.

When he woke up he was disoriented as he tried to place where he was. He hated the sensation.

In his life before going private, he’d trained himself so that, upon waking, he was fully cognizant of his surroundings and ready for action. For a man who rarely fell asleep in the same place two nights in a row this was an important skill.

Now his body determined when he fell asleep and sometimes it didn’t give him the benefit of foreknowledge. Traitorous machine.

He was in his office. On his couch. His pajama pants had been fully removed and were folded next to him, his robe had been wrapped securely around him and a throw blanket covered him from shoulders to feet.

Anna.

Maybe this was a good sign, he thought. Maybe falling asleep postcoital spared him a nasty scene. It was completely conceivable she also realized what a mistake they had made. It was possible she was as embarrassed as he was.

They could simply ignore that the sex had happened, or shrug it off as a temporary lapse in judgment. Between his illness and the stress she was under as both his assistant and live-in nurse, maybe she, too, needed a momentary outlet.

Some mindless, harmless pleasure. Enjoyed for a time, then it was over and forgotten.

He recalled the way she had felt in his arms, the way she sighed his name when she came. The way she had smiled at him as if she knew...

No, he wasn’t sure who he was attempting to delude with the hope that this incident was nothing more than an aberration. He didn’t buy it for a second.

Everything would change between them and it was his damn fault.

Brought down by a pair of skintight yoga pants. Who would have believed it?





CHAPTER TWO



Twelve weeks ago

ANNA STOPPED WHEN she entered Ben’s office and saw that he was dozing behind his desk. His color wasn’t good and the lines around his mouth had grown deeper. She could only hope his decline wasn’t a result of what they did on the couch a few days ago. She hated to think that maybe she had robbed him of the last ounce of energy he had left in his body.

She shook off the ridiculous idea and thought about how incredibly odd these past few days had been between them. She was still caring for him, cooking for him, handling his business for him. And he was still letting her. All without saying a word about...that night.

At first she had this crazy idea that maybe they didn’t have to talk about it. Maybe things had changed, and they could accept that change without having to rehash the obvious. They were lovers now. End of story. Anna was sure Ben would appreciate the least messy approach to making that transition.

Except she didn’t feel like his lover. She felt like...a ghost. An apparition without any real substance walking around his home.

Unless they were arguing—something they rarely did, but they seemed to be on the verge of it now. Because she was certain that, beyond what had happened between them that night, something else had shifted. She sensed he was hiding something from her and as much as she pressed him on it, he wouldn’t budge. There were moments when she feared that the doctors had told him something about his condition. A prognosis so horrible he wouldn’t share it with her.

That, too, seemed ridiculous. If his condition was worsening, the medical team would be giving him more aggressive treatment. It wasn’t as though Ben would simply surrender. No, he’d fight his enemy—in this case his body—to the bitter end before ever conceding defeat.

Ben Tyler would live. It was the only outcome she could, or would, accept.

And since he was going to live, and since they hadn’t done a very good job of simply making the switch from coworkers to lovers, it meant they would have to talk.

Anna had promised herself that she would wait until he initiated the subject. Since he had made the first move, it was his responsibility to step up and explain himself. All she needed to spark that conversation was a reference, a vague mention of what they did on that couch not five feet away from her, and it would open the discussion.