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A hand pressed to her thudding heart, Jenna said, “Dax. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Apparently.” He slapped both fists low on his hips, billowing out the sides of a sheepskin jacket. “Answer me. What are you doing?”
“Rearranging.” She bit her bottom lip. This was the first time he’d objected to any of her changes. She’d washed and moved curtains, rearranged pictures, added touches of color and interest with items she’d discovered in boxes in the garage. She’d even added a Christmas wreath to the front door and bowls of apple-scented potpourri to the tables. Last night, he commented on how good everything smelled and she’d been giddy with pleasure.
Now he was angry. And she had no idea why.
“You have no business moving furniture.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
“Well, I do.”
“All right then.” She pushed at the end of the sofa, edging the heavy item slowly back into the former position.
“Stop!”
She did. “Do you or do you not want this divan back where it was?”
“I don’t give a rat’s…behind where the couch is.”
She blinked at her bewildering boss, lost until he continued.
“You’ll hurt yourself. Show me where you want it. I’ll move it.”
“Oh.” He was upset for her sake? Her insides turned to mush. Dax had the most unusual way of showing kindness. She touched his sleeve, surprised to feel the rigid muscle through all that cloth. “You’re not angry because of the change in furniture, are you?”
“Why would I get mad about that? The place never looked better.”
She smiled, her confidence soaring. Since taking this position, Jenna had discovered something about herself. She was actually good at many things her mother would consider below her station. She was good at them and she enjoyed them, too. She was starting to believe in herself in a way she’d never dreamed possible.
She was also learning some things about her employer. He struggled to express his true feelings, hiding his tender side behind bluster. But the evenings when he listened to her read to Gavin or helped his son with his homework, or even during those times she’d caught him in the nursery talking softly to Sophie, she’d learned the truth he tried to hide. He was a good guy. And Jenna was starting to like Dax Coleman. A lot.
“The fireplace should be the focal point of this room,” she said. “So if we move the sofa there—” she pointed “—and a chair here and here, we’ll open up the space and draw the eye to this beautiful stonework.”
Dax contemplated momentarily. “I see your point.”
“And the Christmas tree will be positively glorious there.” She moved to the side of the fireplace, lifting her hands above her head in imitation of a tree. “See?”
“Couldn’t ask for a prettier tree.” Then as if he hadn’t meant to say such a thing, he gave a curt nod. “Let’s get it done.”
But just the small hint that Dax thought she was pretty soothed an ache in Jenna’s mind.
Biceps bulging and with barely any effort, he moved the furniture as she directed. Once she reached to help and he swatted at her with a growl. She hopped back, laughing, more confident now.
“You don’t scare me.”
Green eyes danced. “Then why’d you jump?”
She tossed a throw pillow at him. He caught it with one hand and growled again. “Careful, lady.”
“Or what? The big bad wolf will get me?” She laughed, feeling free and a little excited.
Dax started toward her. “He might.”
A delicious shiver raced up her spine. She grabbed another pillow, holding the square bit of fluff in the small space between them. Dax snatched the pillow away, advancing. With a squeal, Jenna wheeled away. Her heart thudded and her blood zinged. This was one big bad wolf she wouldn’t mind being pursued by.
She glanced back. Dax loomed above her, arms raised, hands forming claws like a bear. He roared.
Jenna screamed and jerked to the side. Her calves encountered a table she’d just moved. She lost her balance and tumbled backward. Dax caught her upper arms and yanked. He was amazingly strong. She was propelled forward and slammed into his chest.
“Are you all right?” He glared down at her, green eyes glittering.
“You saved me.” Teasing, she pitter-pattered a hand against his heart. “My hero.”
She’d meant it as a joke, as part of the silly game they were playing, but as soon as she touched him, all frivolity fled. She was aware of her body pressed against his, aware that she liked the feel of his arms around her.
