A Billionaire for Christmas(8)

He’d never really thought much about his schedule in the past. It suited him, and it got the job done. For a man in his prime, stopping to smell the roses was a metaphor for growing old. Now that he had been admonished to do just that, he was disgruntled and frustrated. He was thirty-six, for God’s sake. Was it really time to throw in the towel?

Pulling back the chintz curtains decorated with gamboling black bears, he stared out at a world that glistened like diamonds in the sharp winter sun. Every branch and leaf was coated with ice. Evidently, the temperatures had dropped as promised, and now the narrow valley where Phoebe made her home was a frozen wonderland.

So much for his desire to explore. Anyone foolish enough to go out at this moment would end up flat on his or her back after the first step. Patience, Leo. Patience. His doctor, who also happened to be his racquetball partner on the weekends, had counseled him repeatedly to take it easy, but Leo wasn’t sure he could adapt. Already, he felt itchy, needing a project to tackle, a problem to solve.

“You’re up early.”

Phoebe’s voice startled him so badly he spun around and managed to slosh hot coffee over the fingers of his right hand. “Ouch, damn it.”

He saw her wince as he crossed to the sink and ran cold water over his stinging skin.

“Sorry,” she said. “I thought you heard me.”

Leo had been lost in thought, but he was plenty alert now. Phoebe wore simple knit pj’s that clung to her body in all the right places. The opaque, waffle-weave fabric was pale pink with darker pink rosebuds. It faithfully outlined firm high breasts, a rounded ass and long, long legs.

Despite his single-minded libido, he realized in an instant that she looked somewhat the worse for wear. Her long braid had frayed into wispy tendrils and dark smudges underscored her eyes.

“Tough night with the baby?” he asked.

She shook her head, yawning and reaching for a mug in the cabinet. When she did, her top rode up, exposing an inch or two of smooth golden skin. He looked away, feeling like a voyeur, though the image was impossible to erase from his brain.

After pouring herself coffee and taking a long sip, Phoebe sank into a leather-covered recliner and pulled an afghan over her lap. “It wasn’t the baby this time,” she muttered. “It was me. I couldn’t sleep for thinking about what a headache this reconstruction is going to be, especially keeping track of all the subcontractors.”

“I could pitch in with that,” he said. The words popped out of his mouth, uncensored. Apparently old habits were hard to break. But after all, wasn’t helping out a fellow human being at least as important as inhaling the scent of some imaginary rose that surely wouldn’t bloom in the dead of winter anyway? Fortunately, his sister-in-law wasn’t around to chastise him for his impertinence. She had, in her sweet way, given him a very earnest lecture about the importance of not making work his entire life.

Of course, Hattie was married to Luc, who had miraculously managed to find a balance between enjoying his wife and his growing family and at the same time carrying his weight overseeing the R & D department. Luc’s innovations, both in fabric content and in design, had kept their company competitive in the changing world of the twenty-first century. Worldwide designers wanted Cavallo textiles for their best and most expensive lines.

Leo was happy to oblige them. For a price.

Phoebe sighed loudly, her expression glum. “I couldn’t ask that of you. It’s my problem, and besides, you’re on vacation.”

“Not a vacation exactly,” he clarified. “More like an involuntary time-out.”

She grinned. “Has Leo been a naughty boy?”

Heat pooled in his groin and he felt his cheeks redden. He really had to get a handle on this urge to kiss her senseless. Since he was fairly sure that her taunt was nothing more than fun repartee, he refrained from saying what he really thought. “Not naughty,” he clarified. “More like too much work and not enough play.”

Phoebe swung her legs over the arm of the chair, her coffee mug resting on her stomach. For the first time he noticed that she wore large, pink Hello Kitty slippers on her feet. A less seductive female ensemble would be difficult to find. And yet Leo was fascinated.

She pursed her lips. “I’m guessing executive-level burnout?”

Her perspicacity was spot-on. “You could say that.” Although it wasn’t the whole story. “I’m doing penance here in the woods, so I can see the error of my ways.”

“And who talked you into this getaway? You don’t seem like a man who lets other people dictate his schedule.”