It never bothered him before, but having Isa here…
He soaped his hands and started cleaning his body, smoothing his palms over the part of his remaining leg. She knew about it, obviously, so she hadn’t been shocked to see that a part of him wasn’t there. But today, there was something about her seeing so much of it that caused typically bold Isa to blanch.
Most days, he was in his office, legs hidden beneath his desk. Maybe seeing him had driven home the idea that he was different than what she was used to.
What is she used to?
He didn’t know. On the phone last week, she’d been desperately hunting for a date. It didn’t add up. Isa didn’t seem the type to desperately do anything. She was as sure as she was ballsy. Except for today when she couldn’t look at him. To her credit, he hadn’t been the least bit warm to her since she’d started working for him. That cup of delivered coffee a few minutes ago might be the first nice thing he’d done for her. He’d even made sure to douse it with the creamer she kept in his fridge.
Hazelnut.
He’d poured a splash in his coffee yesterday, surprised at how good it was. Sounded like a sissy thing to him, but a few nutty, sweet sips later, he was hooked. He’d added some to his grocery delivery service so she’d have plenty on hand since he’d been pilfering hers.
He doubted one delivered cup of coffee could make up for his being the belligerent, insulting, handicapped billionaire who was content to wall himself in his private warehouse.
What he couldn’t get over was that it bothered him. He’d found himself wanting to be seen by her as…well, as old Eli. The Eli who had swaggered on both legs. The Eli who used to be quick to smile. His dad used to joke that he was a sensitive Marine “like your old man.” But Eli’s sensitivity had been buried in favor of hardening. Crystal had accused him of growing hard, distant. She had never understood that war required a hardness unlike anything else. He’d done what he needed to be a good soldier.
Now that he wasn’t a soldier, he wasn’t sure what it took to be a good man.
He pictured the guys in his unit and squeezed his eyes closed. The pain that had lanced his foot and seared up his calf when the grenade blew part of him to kingdom come was nothing compared to the pain he felt when his friends took their final breaths that day on the scorching hot earth.
And here he sat feeling sorry for himself like a pussy. Another reason he didn’t indulge the rooftop view. Moments like this one unveiled a broken part of him and he feared he’d hurl himself over the edge.
“Whatever.” He stood from the chair to finish washing and rinsing, balancing by holding on to the bar attached to the shower wall. Soapsuds swirled around his foot. A strong foot leading to a strong leg. Even his injured leg was strong. Thick, corded muscles leading up to thighs he’d worked through multiple pains to get that way.
He didn’t need Isabella Sawyer to approve of him. He didn’t need anyone’s approval, and never had.
He turned off the water and climbed out, gripping bars on the wall to aid him as he sat on the toilet seat and dried off.
“No more of this shit, Eli,” he muttered to himself as he rolled on the sock and attached his carbon-fiber leg. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch.”
He stood and wiped the mirror with the towel, looking long and hard at his face. Lines marred his forehead from frowning. He was sick of himself, sick of feeling trapped in his own broken body and filled with unjustified anger. He needed a change.
He ran a hand through his beard, which had grown thick and was now borderline unkempt. He scrubbed the towel over it to get the water out and pulled the trimmers from the closet.
About time he started looking like the man he used to know instead of the one he’d devolved into.
* * *
Eli was quieter than usual the rest of the morning and afternoon. Isa ordered lunch—Mexican—and opted to deliver it to him and let him eat in private. Plastic to-go container in hand, she stepped into the shadowed room, the only light sifting in through the windows courtesy of an overcast day. Eli didn’t have his desk light on, only the computer screen. He was hunched, squinting, his posture abysmal.
She told him as much followed by, “If you can unkink yourself, I have your lunch.”
He blinked over at her, frowning as per his usual, only now she could see more of his face and neck than she’d ever seen before. She’d heard the razor whirring away and she’d imagined a big reveal when he finally stepped out. He’d ducked into his room, then the office without stopping to show her. She’d resisted curiosity until now, when she had a justifiable excuse to come in here and face him. Because, seriously, could she have acted more like a hormone-fueled teenager staring at him the way she had earlier?
Eli sat up straight and pulled his shoulders back. His T-shirt molded over a chest and torso she could easily envision bare.
Purr.
“When is the last time you stood and stretched?” She handed over the container, a plastic fork, and a stack of napkins. She was determined to focus on her job, on anything other than the attraction vibrating in the air between them.
Did he feel it too?
His eyes went to his lunch, back to her, and then he asked in a low, rumbling voice she felt in her tummy, “When was the last time you stood and stretched?”
“I stretch once an hour.” Sort of. When she remembered. “I move around a lot, as you noticed the other day when you lodged a complaint about my heels.”
His deep blue eyes ran down her legs like a caress, lingering at the red heels she’d worn today. Red heels and a slouchy pair of army-green pants paired with a white button-down shirt. Casual and cool was what she’d been going for. Even dressed slightly down and less professionally than usual, with the way he looked at her she felt like she wore a tiny scrap of a dress instead.
“You trimmed your beard,” she said to get his eyes off her body.
His hand went to his face, blunt, wide fingers stroking his remaining facial hair. The back of his neck had a good trim as well, but he’d left his hair longish—the front falling rakishly over his forehead. The full beard and ruffled hair suited him, but this slightly cleaned-up version suited him as well. It was a weird thought to have since she didn’t know him.
Okay. This one-sided conversation was fun.
She was turning to leave when he said her name—his name for her.
“Sable.”
Anticipation bloomed in her chest at the rough sound of his voice. “Yes?”
She threaded her fingers together in front of her, waiting anxiously for what, she didn’t know. Just having his attention was its own reward.
Eli’s brows bent, sadness eking into his expression. His lips parted but no words fell out. His eyes flicked away, then to hers—holding her gaze with fierce intention.
“Did you order lunch for yourself?” he finally asked.
“No,” she answered, a bit stunned by the question. “I was going to go out.”
“Fine,” he growled. His features morphed, anger chasing away the sadness. He pried the lid off his food and fisted the fork, digging in for a bite while she stood idly by. Had he wanted her to join him? She was about to offer when he lifted his face, swallowed the bite he took, and said, “Take off the rest of the day while you’re at it.”