accomplished. His only regret was that he hadnât reached Shannon sooner, before she became so sick.
âYou can make it up to me by not arguing about this,â he told her as he felt the limo ease to a stop in the underground garage of his Michigan Avenue office building, which also housed his personal penthouse apartment.
âAbout what?â she asked blankly.
The driver opened the door and Burke lifted her into his arms, exiting the car and heading for the elevator.
âWhere are we?â
âMy place.â
âWhat?â Her voice rose until it cracked, her head swinging back and forth as she glanced around. âWhy are we here? Why arenât you taking me back to my apartment?â
âBecause your apartment is substandard. The heat has been broken so long, you got sick. Thereâs no one there to take care of you; and unless my people have taken care of the problem already, youâre still missing a functioning door.â
The last part caught her attention and she quit wiggling around in his hold. âWhat happened to my door?â she wanted to know.
âYou didnât answer when I knocked, so I broke it down.â
Shannon watched Burke closely, his face only inches from her own. She noticed the five oâclock shadow lining his jawfrom a long day spent in the emergency room with her. His dark eyes were storm-gray and focused straight ahead as he walked. His arms around her were warm and comforting.
She should probably be outraged about the destruction of her door, she thought, but couldnât seem to work up enough energy for a good mad. And to be fair, heâd done it out of concern for her well-being.
But as grateful as she was to him for taking her to the doctor and helping her get treatment for a cold she didnât realize had gotten out of hand, she didnât think staying at his apartment was a good idea. She should go back home and deal with both her illness and lack of heating on her own.
For the first time in a long time, though, she couldnât think of how to broach her concerns. Heâd said she could pay him back for causing him so much trouble by not fighting. What kind of person would she be to argue with him now, after heâd done so much for her and asked her specifically not to argue?
âUm, Burkeâ¦â
His gaze darted in her direction, then back to the closed elevator doors as it whisked them silently skyward. âItâs killing you, isnât it?â
âWhat?â she asked, concentrating on the muscles of his jaw. She swore sheâd seen them twitch.
âYou donât want me taking you up to my penthouse, and itâs killing you not to say so.â His glance met hers for a long, drawn-out moment. âAm I right?â
The wind went out of her sails and the tension out of her bones. âIs it that obvious?â
âOh, yeah.â He laughed. âIâve figured out quite a bit about you in the past couple months, Shannon Moriarty. Stubborn and independent are vying for first place on your list of personality traits.â
âIâm not stubborn,â she insisted.
âBut you are independent.â
She shrugged a shoulder, letting her fingers twist aimlessly on the soft material of his camel hair coat. âThatâs not necessarily a bad thing,â she mumbled.
âOf course not. But itâs also not a bad thing to let other people help you out once in a while.â
The elevator doors whooshed open and Burke carried her across the hall and through a single doorway into a pristine, professionally decorated penthouse apartment. The sunken living room and part of the kitchen were visible from the small foyer area, and both reminded her of his office. Stark design, a lot of chrome and black, and very few personal items on display. To her, the apartment felt like an expensive hotel suite, where different guests could stay every night and never have any real
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