Chapter 40

I usually enjoyed Matilda's freshly cut grass smell. It was refreshing and natural, just like her character, and over the few assignments we'd shared I'd come to have respect for her abilities and to appreciate her kindness.

But when I walked into Charles' office her scent was overwhelming, enhanced by her happiness pheromones.

She had been very happy about something when she was talking to Charles in there and I struggled against my suspicious mind.

I felt like I knew them both well enough to think they weren't a very good match. But then again, I had no idea what Charles was thinking half the time. His Alpha logic defied my more intuitive way of thinking about people.

Still, I tried to believe nothing untoward happened and sat down to think about dinner. Charles sat and relaxed on the seat across from me, looking the same as ever.

There was no trace on his face to show he had slept somewhere other than his usual bed, nothing to show he had perhaps spent a night snuggling with me, and nothing to indicate he'd just been flirting with a colleague.

So maybe he hadn't? The only thing I knew for sure was that he'd fallen asleep on my couch and when I woke he was gone.

He smiled as he scrolled through his phone, looking for meal choices.

My mind felt suddenly on overload. The threat from the article, the man who was still out there stalking me, Charles who was maybe a friend now but maybe not? Either way, he was still embarrassed to be linked with me.

Then Jessica accused me of having bad intentions, as if I wanted to do this, and now there was a thing with Matilda.

What if he wanted a relationship with someone else, someone more suitable?

I was working myself up into a state of anxiety thinking about all the things going on in the past few weeks.

To my horror, I felt tears prickle my eyes.

"I'll pick three and you narrow to two, sound good?" he said, not looking up. "How about Italian, French bistro, and burgers."

"No French," I say, hoping the tension I feltl in my throat didn’t give me away.

"Then Italian it is! Shall we do that carbonara you like?"

"Please."

I watched him typing, feeling totally lost. How could a man who knows my Italian food order not care about me enough to see how badly his inability to recognize me as a worthwhile human was hurting me?

The tears were threatening again. I took a deep breath.

He looked up at that moment, his sharp blue eyes looking happily at me. I saw them instantly fill with concern.

"Elena? What's going on?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

He shifted forward toward me and I suddenly wondered how much of this concern was actually for me and how much was to make sure his living scent diffuser was functioning to it's fullest capacity while he chased beautiful female photographers.

I was going to cry. But I was not going to cry in front of him.

I bolted. I heard him stand behind me and call my name, but then I was out the door and striding as fast as I could past the reception desks.

I heard Amy's murmur of concern, heard Jessica scoff, and knew I couldn't stop to wait for the elevator. I yanked open the door and started down the stairwell.

My heels weren't high, but they also weren't very wide. My eyesight was blurring as tears finally released and poured down my cheeks.

I went down one floor, two floors, three, and as I rounded the stairwell past my old offices, I reached up to wipe some tears and missed a step. My vision, wet with tears, didn't properly gauge the next step and I slipped, my ankle buckling sideways.

The rest of my leg collapsed on the twisting ankle and I toppled forward, the hard concrete hitting my hands and arms and then a horrible knock on my forehead. My ankle was screaming in pain and I was rolling, hitting stairs as I went.

I stopped at the turn of the next stairwell, my own cries echoing around my ears through the concrete corridor. I groaned and moved.

Everything hurt, but the fingers and limbs I slowly tried out could at least flex. My ankle hurt horribly, but I could move my toes.

I groaned and curled further around myself.

"Hello?" A male voice echoed up the stairwell.

"Help," I managed a whimper.

I could hear slapping footsteps as whomever it was that had been in the stairwell came charging up the stairs.

"Oh my god," I heard a familiar voice say.

I tried to focus through the haze of pain and tears.

"Kevin?"

"Oh my god, Elena. What happened?"

"I fell."

He crouched next to me, his soft leather scent filing the air, his hands out as if he wanted to touch me but wasn't sure what to do. "Can you move? Should I call an ambulance?"

"I think I'm okay," I said. I reached out a hand and he took it gingerly. He pulled me gentlly as I tried to sit up.

"You really went down," he said, looking into my face. He helped me lean back against the wall, and looked into my eyes.

"Your pupils seem okay. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two?"

He sighed and to my surprise, put a hand to the side of my cheek. His hand was cool and dry, and it was gentle and full of tenderness.

I pulled back slightly. "Thanks, Kevin. I might just need a moment and then I'll get up, I'm sure."

He didn't take the hint. He came closer, his hand reaching again for my face. He leaned and inhaled my scent, coming closer still.

"Kevin, please, I need some air."

"Elena, I've been meaning to tell you..."

"She said she needs some air," a commanding voice boomed through the concrete stairwell loud and ringing.

Kevin and I both jumped and I saw Kevin's face blanch as he looked up at the suited figure that was striding silently down the stairs toward us. Kevin stood and backed away.

Charles strode right over me and backed Kevin against the wall. He slammed a hand next to Kevin's head with a whap that stung my ears.

Kevin flinched and wilted under the Alpha's glare, his eyes on the ground.

Charles' voice came cold and calm. "Thank you for helping this lady. I will take it from here."

Kevin hesitated, glancing at me. I gave him a quick smile. The hesitation infuriated Charles.

"Move!" he boomed.

Kevin tilted his head, showing his neck in submission and then grabbed the corridor handle and flung it open, storming through and out of sight.

When the door clanged shut Charles turned to me, his eyes a blue fire.

"Elena," he crouched down next to me, his hot hands wiping away the cool sensation where Kevin's hand had been on my face. His thumbs gently wiped away tears from my eyes. He touched the sore spot on my forehead.

Then he looked down at my body, squeezing my arms and calves until he got to my right ankle and grimaced.

"That's going to need a bit of healing."

His hands went back up to my face, holding it between his.

"You could have really gotten hurt."

I nodded, more tears beginning to spill down my cheeks. I knew I looked horrible, my nose always turned red when I cried and I could feel my hair sticking up around my head.

And yet, his eyes went soft, he leaned closer, his vetiver scent overwhelming my brain. I closed my eyes and relaxed, letting it wash over me, letting the heat from his hands on my cheek, now the back of my neck, relax me.

Soft, hot pressure was on my lips. His scent filled my nostrils.

His mouth moved on mine, lips gentle, calming my agitated spirit and making me feel something else entirely.

I kissed him back, slowly, feeling his beautiful mouth, my body suddenly humming with pleasure and need.

I lifted a hand and put it on his warm, chiseled cheek.

"Mm," I heard myself say as he pulled back. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me intently, so close I could see his dark eyelashes.

"I'll take care of you, just hold onto my neck," he said.

"What?"

Before I could register what was happening, he scooped me up into his arms.

I clung to his neck, my body supported and pressed against his chest by his strong arms.

"That's right," he said gently into my ear. "Just relax. I've got you."

I sighed and rested my head against his shoulder. The side of his neck was there in front of me and without thinking, without over-analyzing like I normally did, I leaned forward, inhaling the strong vetiver from his skin.

I pressed my lips against the soft, hot place I saw the pulse thumping in his neck.

His breathing hitched and he stopped mid-stairs.

"I'll never get you out of this stairwell if you do things like that," he said, his voice hardly effected by the fact that he was carrying all my weight.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I'll expect more as a thank you in about two stories."

What have I done? I wondered.

Whatever it was, it felt good, and it felt right. I smiled and relaxed my head back onto him, letting him carry me up the stairwell toward his office.