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  It had been Cody’s.

  For a while, when she’d learned she was pregnant, she had stopped wearing the shirt to bed. Feeling as if continuing to wear it would be a betrayal of him, somehow. But when she’d lain awake night after night, she’d finally dug it out of her drawer and put it on.

  Her sleep had improved, but only marginally.

  ‘Want toast?’ Alex asked loudly.

  ‘Yes.’ She wondered if he cooked breakfast for his female guests.

  Doubtful. She’d arranged a few dinner meetings for him at the Echelon. Alex need only express a request and the staff there hopped. The breakfast, tastefully arranged on sterling, dome-covered platters, would arrive on a linen-draped cart. Like something out of a movie.

  She lowered her forehead to her knees and closed her eyes. Her fingers absently worked through the tangles in her hair.

  Speculating over who Alex shared breakfast with had never particularly pained her. Not until he’d broken his own record of loving and leaving them within a few weeks by continuing to see Valerie for months. On end.

  That had hurt. Seeing his smile whenever Valerie dropped by for an unexpected visit during which he always shut his office door. Normally, Alex never shut the door between his office and Nikki’s. Not even when he was firing someone.

  ‘Here. You got scrambled, anyway. Yolks broke when I cracked the shells.’

  She looked up to see Alex holding out a plate. Along with the eggs, there was toast. Cut in half diagonally and a little too brown beneath the red jam, but she was too hungry to complain.

  ‘Thanks.’ She started to take the plate, but he held it out of reach.

  ‘Scoot back.’

  She lowered her legs, flushing a little because Cody’s shirt was falling off one shoulder and the hem ended midthigh. She slid back on the bed, swiftly pulling the slippery silver sheet over herself as she did so. When Alex finally handed her the plate, his eyes were full of amusement.

  So she didn’t look at his eyes. She focused on the plate. Before she could set it on her lap, though, he whipped a red-and-blue-checked dish towel over her thighs. ‘Wouldn’t want to get strawberry jam on the sheets,’ he murmured.

  Without thought, Nikki snorted softly. ‘A little strawberry jam is probably the most innocent thing this room has seen on the sheets.’ She was cringing before the last word left her lips, and she shoved half a toast slice in her mouth to confiscate the jam.

  Alex had an unholy grin on his face when she finally was able to swallow. But he said nothing. Just handed her the tall glass of milk he held.

  She took a sip and set it aside on the nightstand, then started on the eggs. ‘They’re pretty good.’

  ‘Imagine that.’

  She took another forkful, glancing up at him. ‘Aren’t you going to eat?’

  ‘Already did.’

  ‘You, um, don’t have to stay here to keep me company while I eat. You must have things you need to do.’

  ‘Watching the ficus grow?’

  She felt her face flushing. ‘Calls. Huffington business. I still can’t imagine how you’ve stood being away from the office this long.’

  ‘Calling me a workaholic?’

  ‘Not in a bad way.’

  His eyes narrowed a little as if he found that tidbit interesting. In fact, he was looking at her as if he found her interesting. Like a financial report he was perusing, or something.

  She shoved a last forkful of fluffy eggs in her mouth and hurriedly swallowed. She grabbed the other slice of toast and handed the plate back to him, hoping he’d take it and go, and stop watching her that way with those dark eyes.

  ‘You didn’t finish your eggs.’

  ‘I’m full.’

  He exhaled. Shook his head and set the plate on the nightstand alongside the milk. ‘Finish. And don’t hide those eggs under the pillow, either,’ he warned. ‘When you’re done I’ll carry you to the bathroom.’

  Another mortifying coin to add to her purse of memories.

  She waited until he’d rounded the fireplace again before she chomped through her toast and finished the eggs. The milk was a little harder going down. If there had been a potted plant within reach, she would have strongly considered dumping some there.

  And even though she’d have dearly loved to put off having to prevail upon him again, she was at the mercy of her pregnant body. ‘Okay. I’m done,’ she called out finally. She knew she sounded as cranky as a two-year-old, but couldn’t seem to stop it.

  She glared at his legs through the fireplace when he passed by again.

  Alex didn’t comment on her expression, since she could see, courtesy of the mirror across from her, that it was very much still in place when he stopped next to the bed. ‘Do you need anything from your suitcase?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind setting the whole thing in the bathroom, I’ll pull out what I need.’

  It took him all of two seconds to do that, then he leaned down and slid his hands beneath her.

  It was as startling as it had been every other time he’d carried her, and she closed her hands nervously over his shoulders as he straightened. ‘You’re going to regret this before long,’ she said.

  ‘Should have rented a crane to heft me around.’

  His hands tightened a little as he turned.

  And there was their reflection in that dratted mirror. It wasn’t even a plain old mirror. Of course not.

  Not in this place. The thing was bordered by etched engravings that in the light of day were clearly entwined bodies.

  Then Alex was moving, carrying her past the mirror and setting her on the closed lid of the commode. Before he shut the door, giving her privacy at last, his gaze skipped over the interior of the bathroom.

  More mirrors.

  ‘This place is something else, isn’t it?’

  Nikki nodded, but he was already gone.

  She sighed. Looked at the multitude of reflections. It wasn’t the place that kept putting impossible thoughts in her head.

  It was the man.

  Chapter Five

  One day down. How many more to go?

  Alex rinsed the soap from the last glass and stuck it upside down in the plastic rack next to the sink.

  It barely fit alongside the rest of the dishes they’d used that day. He turned off the faucet, dried his hands on his thighs and looked at the stack of work that had arrived by courier a few hours earlier. He’d moved it as well as all his other papers away from the stove, to keep from spilling anything on them, but other than that, he’d accomplished little work besides opening the courier pouch to glance through what was inside.

  It wasn’t Nikki’s fault that he’d gotten little accomplished. She’d pretty much worn herself out just using the shower, where he’d placed a sturdy seat so she could bathe without standing. When she’d called to him that she was finished, she’d been pale and tired, the tart woman clearly tucked away for a while.

  He’d set her back on the bed, which he’d straightened while she’d bathed, and she’d promptly rolled on her side, presenting him with the back side of her jeans and deep blue sweater.

  A back side, from the thick rope of her wet hair that began at her nape and ended at the middle of her spine, that looked surprisingly narrow for a woman carrying a soccer ball in the front.

  Fortunately, she’d spent most of the day napping, blissfully unaware of Alex’s apparent dive into lecherousness. She’d wakened barely long enough to eat lunch and dinner. Now, he figured, she’d sleep the night through.

  He pulled up the bar stool to the counter. Instead of pouring a glass of bourbon this time, he leaned over and punched the button on the coffeemaker. In seconds, a narrow stream of coffee began pouring into the glass carafe. Too impatient to wait for the pot to fill, he pushed the carafe aside and stuck his mug beneath the stream instead. Several drops hit the hot base and hissed, spitting and bubbling. As soon as his mug was full, he shoved the carafe back in place and turned to the mess of reports an
d correspondence spilling out of the pouch.

  After firing his latest assistant, he’d grabbed Miriam, the senior staff member in his payroll department, and told her she was responsible for his office until he found someone else. She’d obviously just collected everything that had come across his desk and forwarded it without even attempting to handle any minor matters herself.

  He’d already opened and read through the one letter that had leaped out at him simply by virtue of the return address.

  Trust his family to send a cool letter on engraved RHS letterhead warning that not only had they not given up their investigation into adding Huffington Sports Clinics to their holdings, but they were stepping up their efforts. The matter would be voted on at the next board meeting. If it passed, RHS

  would take steps to acquire his company. One way or the other.

  They shouldn’t have had a chance in hell, of course. Alex had told his father that when the matter arose months earlier. No damn way. Huffington was privately held. By him.

  Maybe his clinics despite their innovativeness had become successful enough to have drawn the eye of his staunchly conservative family. But in the scheme of things, his shop was small potatoes compared to RHS.

  It wasn’t business that was motivating the chairman of the board of RHS. His father. Alex Reed, Sr.

  The bane of Alex’s existence. It was personal. Alex was becoming too successful in his own right, so it was time for his father to shut him down. Teach him a lesson.

  Just as he’d warned when Alex left the family’s suffocating ‘fold’ more than twenty years earlier.

  Didn’t matter that so much time had passed. His father was a patient man, and he never forgot a promise, even one of ruination.

  On the good side, the only maneuvering power RHS had over Alex was in blocking his current attempts for expansion through some acquisitions of his own. Macfield Technologies, specialists in equipment design and manufacturing, combined with Huffington’s existing stronghold in sports medicine, would position him well through the next few decades.

  Without Macfield?

  Competing with the major health systems, like RHS, that were finally getting on board with newer thinking in the field of sports medicine, would be nigh impossible for Huffington within the next few years.

  Alex needed Macfield. And Macfield desperately needed an infusion of capital. If RHS beat Alex to that particular punch, he might as well sell out to them, too.

  The thought was intolerable. He’d rather sell the company he’d founded off to the lowest bidder than see it be swallowed whole by the Reed family empire.

  He rubbed his forehead, staring at the latest missive from RHS.

  There was only one way his old man could have learned about Alex’s interest in Macfield. Alex had mentioned it to Val nearly a year earlier, when he’d first started courting standoffish George Macfield.

  And despite her intention to stay away from his cousin, Hunter, she probably hadn’t. Not when he’d shown up in Cheyenne last summer. Val had never kept secrets well from Hunt. And Hunt well, Alex’s cousin had never been good at keeping secrets from the family.

  ‘Alex?’ Nikki’s voice was soft. Faint.

  Alarm propelled him into the dim bedroom. ‘What’s wrong?’ She was propped up on one hand.

  She’d undone her braid and her hair flowed in a dark shadow over her shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just need to use the bathroom.’

  He realized he’d carried in both his coffee mug and the letter. He exhaled and set them both on the nightstand. ‘Don’t be sorry.’ He’d have another twenty dozen gray hairs to add to the ones he already possessed from the adrenaline rush that was barely subsiding, but he’d live. He leaned over and picked her up.

  Another jolt ripped through him when her hair rippled over his arm.

  It was softer than he expected. He quickly carried her into the bathroom and deposited her on the small padded bench next to the vanity. In the light of the bathroom she looked wan. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling okay?’

  She was staring fixedly at the floor. ‘Give me a few minutes.’

  Her embarrassment was palpable. He stepped outside, pulling the door closed.

  A moment later he heard the faucet running, and he retrieved his father’s letter and the coffee and put them back in the kitchen. But a soft, distinctive sound made him spin on his heel.

  He didn’t bother knocking on the door.

  He just pushed it open.

  And there she sat, hunched over the commode, wretching.

  ‘Jesus,’ he muttered, ignoring the teary look she shot him before she hastily turned away. He grabbed a wash-cloth off the stack piled on a glass shelf built into the mirrored wall, and wet it.

  ‘Go away,’ she begged. ‘Please.’

  He ignored that, too, and pulled the bench closer, to sit on the end of it. He reached out to grab her hair back and handed her the wet cloth. Irritation coated his concern. ‘Shut up, Nik.’

  She flushed the toilet and buried her face in the cloth, her nausea apparently abating for the moment.

  ‘You’re the only person besides Belle who’s ever called me that.’ Her voice was muffled.

  His knuckles grazed the knitted collar of her sweater. It was soft. But her hair was softer. Her legs were folded beneath her, and she looked painfully small curled miserably on the floor the way she was.

  ‘If you want your sister here,’ he promised quietly, ‘I’ll find her.’

  ‘She’s on her honeymoon.’

  ‘You think she’d rather not know about this?’ He smoothed his hand down her hair, combing his fingers through it.

  She sighed, seeming to lean her head back into his touch for a moment. But then she must have realized it, for she put a few inches between them. She lowered the cloth and bunched it in her fist. Her neck drooped tiredly, like some flower stem under a heavy bloom. ‘Why are you being so nice, Alex?’

  His pause was infinitesimal. ‘I’m a nice guy.’

  She shook her head a little and the motion worked its way down to where his fingers were still entwined in her hair. ‘No. You’re not. You’re a lot of things, but nice just for the sake of it has never been one of them.’

  ‘Suppose anyone would feel that way if I’d fired their sister.’

  ‘You didn’t fire Belle. You put her on a leave of absence.’ An enormous sigh lifted Nikki’s shoulders, only to leave her drooping even more. ‘And if you hadn’t, she wouldn’t have gone to work for Cage and they wouldn’t be on their honeymoon right now.’

  Alex was glad things had worked out well for Belle. ‘I’d have rather fired Scott Langtree. The guy was slime.’

  ‘Can’t fire a patient,’ Nikki murmured. ‘He proposed to her, you know. Convinced her that he was free to marry. Until his wife showed up, my sister believed him.’

  Alex eyed Nikki’s locks. Under the overhead light, he could see glints of gold among the red.

  Another thing he hadn’t noticed before.

  ‘She didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘She was humiliated enough to have fallen for his line. Why would she have told you that when you’d called her on the carpet for becoming personally involved with one of her own therapy cases? She knew she shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place, whether or not he was still married.’

  Langtree’s affair with one of Huffington’s junior physical therapists had caused a minor furor.

  Particularly when Langtree’s wife got vocal in the media about her football player husband’s behavior.

  Huffington didn’t need that kind of reputation, and Alex had been forced to act on it. ‘You were angry with me for censuring Belle.’

  ‘Everyone who works at Huffington knows the rule against fraternizing. Among staff and patients.’

  ‘You sound like you’re quoting the personnel policy manual.’ His hand had reached the ends of her hair, and the locks curled around his fingers. ‘Is that why you quit? Because you were
mad about it?’

  More than half a year had passed by then, though.

  ‘I was angry with the Langtrees. I was hurt for Belle, because she really had thought she cared about him. And, no, that is not why I resigned.’ Nikki stretched her hand out to set the cloth on the sink.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Does this happen often?’

  ‘Not anymore.’ She pressed her hand over her forehead. ‘I had pretty bad morning sickness early on.’

  He remembered how sick Valerie had been before she’d lost the baby. ‘Maybe we should call the doctor.’

  ‘No. No. I’m fine. Really.’ Nikki dropped her hand and looked up at him, as if to convince him of the truth of it. ‘I’m feeling better already. Truly.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, next time just say you’re going to hurl.’ Her eyes, as deep a blue as the sweater she wore, slanted up at him, vaguely shocked. Her lashes were tipped with the same gold glints that shone in her hair. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that ‘hurl’ was even in your vocabulary.’

  ‘Ivy Leaguers throw keg parties, too.’

  Her brows rose. She suddenly tilted her head, sniffing suspiciously. ‘Have you been drinking now?

  Or are you teasing me?’

  If his nerves were a little more unknotted, he’d have been amused. ‘Neither.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Believe me. I’d know.’ He stood, shoving the bench back as he stood. ‘Ready to go back to bed?’

  ‘I want to brush my teeth.’

  He dragged the bench forward again until it was situated in front of the sink. He ignored her frown and lifted her onto it.

  ‘I could have managed that.’

  ‘Yeah. I know.You’re the original independent woman. Never need a man for anything.’ He handed her the pink toothbrush that was upended in the clear glass on the sink next to his white one, and turned on the water for her. ‘Except that.’ He flattened his palm briefly against the bulge of her abdomen. ‘Don’t think you did that without a man. Speaking of whom, where the hell is he?’