Читать книгу The Italian's Christmas Secret - Sharon Kendrick - Страница 11
ОглавлениеKEIRA HAD TO work hard to keep up with Matteo as he battled his way through the deep snow because his powerful body moved much faster than hers, despite the fact that he’d insisted on bringing his suitcase with him. Thick, icy flakes were flying into her eyes and mouth and at times she wondered if she was imagining the small lighted building in the distance—like some bizarre, winter version of an oasis.
Despite putting on the big pair of leather gloves he’d insisted she borrow, her fingers felt like sticks of ice and she gave a little cry of relief when at last they reached the little house. Thank heavens she hadn’t imagined it because she didn’t like to think about Matteo Valenti’s reaction if she’d brought him here on a wild goose chase. He might have insisted on her borrowing his gloves, but even that had been done with a terse impatience. She saw his unsmiling look as he kicked a pile of snow away from the wooden gate and pushed it open, and she stumbled after him up the path to stand beneath the flashing red and gold lights of the illuminated sign overhead. She was shivering with cold by the time he’d jammed his finger on the doorbell and they heard some tinkly little tune playing in the distance.
‘Wh-what if...wh-what if nobody’s in?’ she questioned from between teeth which wouldn’t seem to stop chattering.
‘The light’s on,’ he said impatiently. ‘Of course somebody’s in.’
‘They m-might have gone away for Christmas and left the lights on a timer to deter burglars.’
‘You really think burglars are going to be enticed by a place like this?’ he demanded.
But their bad-tempered interchange was brought to a swift halt by the sound of a lumbering movement from within the house and the door was pulled open by a plump, middle-aged woman wearing a flowery apron which was smeared with flour.
‘Well, bless my soul!’ she said, opening the door wider as she peered out into the gloom. ‘You’re not carol singers, are you?’
‘We are not,’ answered Matteo grimly. ‘I’m afraid our car has got snowed in a little way down the road.’
‘Oh, you poor things! What a night to be outside! Come in, come in!’
Keira felt like bursting into tears of gratitude as Matteo’s palm positioned itself in the small of her back and propelled her inside the bright little hallway. During the seemingly endless journey here, she’d been convinced they weren’t going to make it, and that their two frozen figures would be discovered the next day, or the day after that. And hadn’t she been unable to stop herself from wondering whether anyone would have actually cared if she died?
But now they were standing dripping in a small hallway which had boughs of holly and strands of glittery tinsel draped absolutely everywhere. A green plastic tree was decked with flashing rainbow lights and from a central light hung a huge bunch of mistletoe. Keira’s eyes were drawn in fascination to the row of small, fluffy snowmen waddling in a perfectly symmetrical line along a shelf—her attention only distracted by the realisation that puddles of water were growing on the stone tiles beneath their feet. Years of being told to respect property—especially when it wasn’t your own—made Keira concentrate on the mess they were making, rather than the glaringly obvious fact that she and her bad-tempered Italian client were gate-crashing someone else’s Christmas.
‘Oh, my goodness—look at the floor!’ she said, aware of the faint look of incredulity which Matteo Valenti was slanting in her direction. ‘We’re ruining your floor.’
‘Don’t you worry about that, my dear,’ said the woman in her warm West Country accent. ‘We get walkers coming in here all the time—that’ll soon clean up.’
‘We’d like to use your phone if that’s okay,’ said Matteo, and Keira watched as the woman looked at him, her mouth opening and closing comically as if she’d only just realised that she had six feet three inches of brooding masculine gorgeousness in her house, with melting snow sliding down over his black cashmere coat.
‘And why would you want to do that, dear?’ questioned the woman mildly.
Matteo did his best not to flinch at the overfamiliar response, even though he despised endearments from complete strangers. Actually, he despised endearments generally. Didn’t they say that you always mistrusted what you weren’t used to? Suppressing a frustrated flicker of anger at having found himself in this intolerable situation, he decided he needed to own it. Better to calmly spell out their needs, since his driver seemed incapable of doing anything with any degree of competence. ‘Our car has become imbedded in the snow just down the road a little,’ he said, directing an accusing glare at the woman who was currently pulling off her bulky waterproof jacket and shaking her short dark hair. ‘We should never have taken this route, given the weather. However, what’s done is done and we can’t do anything about that now. We just need to get out of here, as quickly as possible, and I’d like to arrange that immediately.’
The woman nodded, her bright smile remaining unfaltering. ‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible, dear. You won’t get a rescue truck to dig you out—not tonight. Why, nothing’s going to get through—not in these conditions!’
It was the confirmation of his worst fears and although Matteo was tempted to vent his rage, he was aware it would serve no useful purpose—as well as insulting the woman who’d been kind enough to open her house to them. And she was right. Who could possibly get to them tonight—in weather like this? He needed to face facts and accept that he was stuck here, in the middle of nowhere—with his incompetent driver in tow. A driver who was staring at him with eyes which suddenly looked very dark in her pale face. He frowned.
Of all the females in the world to be stranded with—it had to be someone like her! Once again his thoughts drifted to the luxurious party he would be missing, but he dismissed them as he drew in a deep breath and forced himself to say the unimaginable. ‘Then it looks as if we’re going to have to stay here. I assume you have rooms for hire?’
The woman’s wide smile slipped. ‘In December? Not likely! All my rooms are fully booked,’ she added proudly. ‘I get repeat trade all through the year, but especially at this time of year. People love a romantic Christmas on Dartmoor!’
‘But we need somewhere to stay,’ butted in Keira suddenly. ‘Just until morning. Hopefully the snow will have stopped by then and we can get on our way in the morning.’
The woman nodded, her gaze running over Keira’s pale cheeks as she took the anorak from her and hung it on a hook. ‘Well, I’m hardly going to turn you out on a night like this, am I? Especially not at this time of the year—I’m sure we can find you room at the inn! I can put you in my daughter’s old bedroom at the back of the house. That’s the only space I have available. But the dining room is completely booked out and so I’m afraid I can’t offer you dinner.’
‘The meal doesn’t matter,’ put in Matteo quickly. ‘Maybe if you could send something to the room when you have a moment?’
Keira felt numb as they were shown up some rickety stairs at the back of the house, and she remained numb as the landlady—who informed them that her name was Mary—opened the door with a flourish.
‘You should be comfortable enough in here,’ she said. ‘The bathroom is just along the corridor though there’s not much water left, and if you want a bath, you’ll have to share. I’ll just go downstairs and put the kettle on. Make yourselves at home.’
Mary shut the door behind her and Keira’s heart started racing as she realised that she was alone in a claustrophobic space with Matteo Valenti. Make themselves at home? How on earth were they going to do that in a room this size with only one bed?
She shivered. ‘Why didn’t you tell her that we didn’t want to share?’
He shot her an impatient look. ‘We are two people and she has one room. You do the math. What alternative did I have?’
Keira could see his point. Mary couldn’t magic up another bedroom from out of nowhere, could she? She looked around. It was one of those rooms which wasn’t really big enough for the furniture it contained. It was too small for a double bed, but a double bed had been crammed into it nonetheless, and it dominated the room with its homemade patchwork quilt and faded pillow cases on which you could just about make out some Disney characters, one of which just happened to be Cinderella.
There were no signs of Christmas in here but on every available surface seemed to be a photo. Photos of someone who was recognisably Mary, looking much younger and holding a series of babies, then toddlers, right through gangly teenagers until the inevitable stiff wedding photos—and then yet more babies. Keira licked her lips. It was a life played out in stills. A simple life, probably—and a happy life, judging by the smile which was never far from Mary’s face. Keira was used to cramped and cluttered spaces but she wasn’t used to somewhere feeling homely—and she could do absolutely nothing about the fierce pang of something which felt like envy, which clutched at her heart like a vice.
She lifted her eyes to meet Matteo’s flat gaze. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Spare me the platitudes,’ he snapped, pulling out the mobile phone from the pocket of his trousers and staring at it with a barely concealed lack of hope. ‘No signal. Of course there isn’t. And no Wi-Fi either.’
‘She said you could use the landline any time.’
‘I know she did. I’ll call my assistant once I’ve removed some of these wet clothes.’ He loosened his tie before tugging it off and throwing it over the back of a nearby chair, where it dangled like some precious spiral of gunmetal. His mouth hardened with an expression of disbelief as he looked around. ‘Per amor del cielo! Who even uses places like this? We don’t even have our own bathroom.’
‘Mary told us we could use the one along the corridor.’
‘She also told us that we’d need to share a bath because there wasn’t enough hot water!’ he flared. ‘Sharing a bath? Not enough hot water? Which century are we supposed to be living in?’
Keira shrugged her shoulders awkwardly, suspecting that Matteo Valenti wasn’t used to the vagaries of small-town English landladies, or the kind of places where ordinary people stayed. Of course he wasn’t. According to her boss, he owned luxury hotels all over his own country—he even had some scattered over America, as well as some in Barbados and Hawaii. What would he know about having to traipse along a chilly corridor to a bathroom which, like the rest of the house, obviously hadn’t been modernised in decades?
‘It’s an English eccentricity. Part of the place’s charm,’ she added lamely.
‘Charm I can do without,’ he responded acidly. ‘Good plumbing trumps charm every time.’
She wondered if he was deliberately ignoring something even more disturbing than the bathroom facilities...or maybe she was just being super-sensitive about it, given her uneasy history. Awkwardly she raked her fingers through her spiky hair, wondering what it was which marked her out from other women. Why was it that on the only two occasions she’d shared a bed with a man, one had been passed out drunk—while the other was looking at her with nothing but irritation in his hard black eyes?
He was nodding his head, as if she had spoken out loud. ‘I know,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s my idea of a nightmare, too. Sharing a too-small bed with an employee wasn’t top of my Christmas wish list.’
Don’t react, Keira told herself fiercely. And don’t take it personally. Act with indifference and don’t make out like it’s a big deal.
‘I expect we’ll survive,’ she said coolly, then began to rub at her arms through the thin jacket as she started to shiver.
He ran a speculative gaze over her and an unexpected note of consideration crept into his voice. ‘You’re cold,’ he said, his eyes lingering on her thighs just a fraction too long. ‘And your trousers are soaking.’
‘You don’t say?’ she said, her voice rising a little defensively, because she’d never been very good at dealing with unsolicited kindness.
‘Don’t you have anything else you can wear?’ he persisted.
Embarrassment made her even more defensive and Keira glared at him, aware of the heat now staining her cheeks. ‘Yes, of course I do. I always make sure I carry an entire change of clothes with me whenever I embark on a drive from London to Devon,’ she said. ‘It’s what every driver does.’
‘Why don’t you skip the sarcasm?’ he suggested. ‘And go and take a hot bath? You can borrow something of mine.’
Keira looked at him suspiciously, taken aback by the offer and not quite sure if he meant it. Without his cashmere coat he stood resplendent in a dark charcoal suit which, even to her untutored eye, she could tell was made-to-measure. It must have been—because surely your average suit didn’t cater for men with shoulders as broad as his, or legs that long. What on earth could Matteo Valenti have in his suitcase which would fit her? ‘You carry women’s clothes around with you, do you?’
An unexpected smile lifted the corners of his mouth and the corresponding race of Keira’s heart made her hope he wasn’t going to do a lot of smiling.
‘Funnily enough, no,’ he said drily, unzipping the leather case. ‘But I have a sweater you can use. And a soap bag. Here. Go on. Take it.’
He was removing the items from his case and handing them to her and Keira was overcome by a sudden gratitude. ‘Th-thanks. You’re very kind—’
‘Basta! Spare me the stumbling appreciation. I’m not doing it out of any sense of kindness.’ His mouth hardened. ‘This day has already been a disaster—I don’t want to add to the misery by having you catch pneumonia and finding myself with a wrongful death suit on my hands.’
‘Well, I’ll do my best not to get sick then,’ she bit back. ‘I’d hate to inconvenience you any more than I already have done!’
Her fingers digging into his sweater, Keira marched from the room to the bathroom along the corridor, trying to dampen down her rising feelings of anger. He really was the most hateful person she’d ever met and she was going to have to endure a whole night with him.
Hanging his sweater on the back of the door, she quickly assessed the facilities on offer and for the first time that day, she smiled. Good thing she was used to basics. To her the avocado-coloured sink and bath were nothing out of the ordinary, though she shuddered to think how Mr Cynical was going to cope. When she’d been growing up, she and her mother had lived in places with far worse plumbing than this. In fact, this rather tatty bathroom felt almost nostalgic. A throwback to tougher times, yes, but at least it had been one of those rare times when she’d known emotional security, before Mum had died.
Clambering into the tiny bath, she directed the leaking shower attachment over her head and sluiced herself with tepid water before lathering on some of Matteo’s amazing soap. And then the strangest thing started happening. Beneath her massaging fingers she could feel her nipples begin to harden into tight little nubs and for a moment she closed her eyes as she imagined her powerful client touching her there, before pulling her hands away in horror. What on earth was wrong with her?
Leaving the plug in situ and climbing out of the tub, she furiously rubbed herself dry. Wasn’t the situation bad enough without her fantasising about a man who was probably going to make sure she got fired as soon as they reached civilisation?
She put on her bra, turned her knickers inside out and slithered Matteo’s grey sweater over her head. It was warm and very soft—it was just unfortunate that it only came to mid-thigh, no matter how hard she tugged at the hem. She stared into the mirror. And the problem with that was, what? Was she really naïve enough to think that the Italian tycoon would even notice what she was wearing? Why, judging from his attitude towards her up until now, she could probably waltz back in there completely naked and he wouldn’t even bat those devastatingly dark eyelashes.
But about that Keira was wrong—just as she’d been wrong in making the detour via Dartmoor—because when she walked back into the bedroom Matteo Valenti turned around from where he had been standing gazing out of the window and, just like the weather outside, his face froze. It was extraordinary to witness, that unmistakable double take when he saw her, something which never normally happened when Keira walked into a room. His eyes narrowed and grew smoky and something in the atmosphere seemed to subtly shift, and change. She wasn’t used to it, but she wasn’t going to deny that it made her skin grow warm with pleasure. Unless, of course, she was totally misreading the situation. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked uncertainly.
Matteo nodded in response, aware that a pulse had begun to hammer at his temple. He’d just finished a telephone conversation with his assistant and as a consequence he’d been miles away, staring out of the window at the desolate countryside and having the peculiar sensation of realising that nobody could get hold of him—a sensation which had brought with it a surprising wave of peace. He had watched his driver scuttle off towards the bathroom in her unflattering navy trouser suit, only now she had returned and...
He stared and swallowed down the sudden lump which had risen in his throat. It was inexplicable. What the hell had she done to herself?
Her short, dark hair was still drying and the heat of the shower must have been responsible for the rosy flush of her cheeks, against which her sapphire eyes looked huge and glittery. But it was his sweater which was responsible for inflicting a sudden sexual awakening he would have preferred to avoid. A plain cashmere sweater which looked like a completely different garment when worn by her. She was so small and petite that it pretty much swamped her, but it hinted at the narrow-hipped body beneath and the most perfect pair of legs he had ever seen. She looked...
He shook his head slightly. She looked sexy, he thought resentfully as lust arrowed straight to his groin, where it hardened and stayed. She looked as if she wanted him to lay her down on the bed and start kissing her. As if she were tantalising him with the question of whether or not she was wearing any panties. He felt he was in a schoolboy’s fantasy, tempted to ask her to bend down to pick up some imaginary object from the carpet so he could see for himself if her bottom was bare. And then he glared because the situation was bad enough without having to endure countless hours of frustration, daydreaming about a woman he couldn’t have—even if he was the kind of man to indulge in a one-night stand, which he most emphatically wasn’t.
‘Sì, everything is wonderful. Fantastico,’ he added sarcastically. ‘I’ve just made a phone call to my assistant and asked her to make my apologies for tonight’s party. She asked if I was doing something nice instead and I told her that no, I was not. In fact, I was stuck on a snowy moor in the middle of nowhere.’
‘I’ve left you some hot water,’ she said stiffly, deciding to ignore his rant.
‘How will I be able to contain my excitement?’ he returned as he picked up the clothes he had selected from his case and slammed his way out of the room.
But he’d calmed down a little by the time he returned, dressed down in jeans and a sweater, to find her stirring a pot of tea which jostled for space on a tray containing sandwiches and mince pies. She turned her face towards him with a questioning look.
‘Are you hungry?’ she said.
It was difficult to return her gaze when all he wanted to do was focus on her legs and that still tantalising question of what she was or wasn’t wearing underneath his sweater. Matteo shrugged. ‘I guess.’
‘Would you like a sandwich?’
‘How can I refuse?’
‘It’s very kind of Mary to have gone to the trouble of making us some, especially when she’s trying to cook a big turkey dinner for eight people,’ she admonished quietly. ‘The least we can do is be grateful.’
‘I suppose so.’
Keira tried to maintain her polite smile as she handed him a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, telling herself that nothing would be gained by being rude herself. In fact, it would only make matters worse if they started sparring. She was the one in the wrong and the one whose job was on the line. If she kept answering him back, who was to say he wouldn’t ring up her boss and subject him to a blistering tirade about her incompetence? If she kept him sweet, mightn’t he be persuaded not to make a big deal out of the situation, maybe even to forget it had ever happened and put it down to experience? She needed this job because she loved it and things to love in Keira’s life happened too rarely for her to want to give them up without a fight.
She noticed that he said nothing as he ate, his expression suggesting he was merely fuelling his impressive body rather than enjoying what was on offer—but Keira’s hunger had completely deserted her and that was a first. She normally had a healthy appetite, which often surprised people who commented on her tiny frame. But not today. Today food was the last thing on her mind. She broke off the rim of one of the mince pies and forced herself to chew on it and the sugar gave her a sudden rush, but all she could think about was how on earth they were going to get through the hours ahead, when there wasn’t even a radio in the room—let alone a TV. She watched the way the lamplight fell on her client’s face—the hardness of his features contrasting with the sensual curve of his lips—and found herself wondering what it might be like to be kissed by a man like him.
Stop it, she urged herself furiously. Just stop it. You couldn’t even maintain the interest of that trainee mechanic you dated in the workshop—do you really fancy your chances with the Italian billionaire?
A note of desperation tinged her voice as she struggled to think of something they could do which might distract her from all that brooding masculinity. ‘Shall I go downstairs and see if Mary has any board games we could play?’
He put his empty cup down and his eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You know.’ She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘Cards, or Scrabble or Monopoly. Something,’ she added. ‘Because we can’t just spend the whole evening staring at each other and dreading the night ahead, can we?’
He raised his dark eyebrows. ‘You’re dreading the night ahead, are you, Keira?’
A shimmer of amusement had deepened his voice and Keira realised that, not only was it the first time he’d actually used her name, but that he’d said it as no one had ever said it before. She could feel colour flushing over her cheekbones and knew she had to stop coming over as some kind of unworldly idiot. ‘Well, aren’t you?’ she challenged. ‘Don’t tell me your heart didn’t sink when you realised we’d have to spend the night here.’
Matteo considered her question. Up until a few moments ago he might have agreed with her, but there was something about the girl with the spiky black hair which was making him reconsider his original assessment. It was, he thought, a novel situation and he was a man whose appetites had been jaded enough over the years to be entertained by the novel. And Keira whatever-her-name-was certainly wasn’t your average woman. She wasn’t behaving as most women would have done in the circumstances. She had suggested playing a game as if she actually meant it, without any purring emphasis on the word playing, leaving him in no doubt how she intended the ‘game’ to progress—with him thrusting into her eager body. People called him arrogant, but he preferred to think of himself as a realist. He’d never been guilty of under-assessing his own attributes—and one of those was his ability to make the opposite sex melt, without even trying.
He focussed his gaze on her, mildly amused by the competitive look in her eyes which suggested that her question had been genuine. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Let’s play games.’
Picking up the tray, she went downstairs, reappearing after a little while with a stack of board games, along with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
‘There’s no need to be snobby about the vintage,’ she said, noticing his expression as he frowningly assessed the label on the bottle. ‘It was very sweet of Mary to offer us a festive drink and I’m having a glass even if you aren’t. I’m not driving anywhere tonight and I don’t want to offend her, not when she’s been so kind.’
Feeling surprisingly chastened, Matteo took the bottle and opened it, pouring them each a glass and forcing himself to drink most of his in a single draught as he lowered himself into the most uncomfortable chair he’d ever sat in.
‘Ready?’ she questioned as she sat cross-legged on the bed, with a blanket placed discreetly over her thighs as she faced him.
‘I guess,’ he growled.
They played Monopoly, which naturally he won—but then, he’d spent all his adult life trading property and had learnt early that there was no commodity more precious than land. But he was surprised when she suggested a quick game of poker and even more surprised by her skill with the cards.
Matteo wondered afterwards if he’d been distracted by knowing her legs were bare beneath the blanket. Or if he’d just spent too long gazing at her curling black lashes, which remarkably didn’t carry a trace of mascara. Because wasn’t the truth that he was finding his pocket-sized driver more fascinating with every moment which passed? She was certainly managing to keep her face poker-straight as she gazed at her cards and inexplicably he found himself longing to kiss those unsmiling lips.
He swallowed. Was she aware that her coolness towards him was fanning a sexual awareness which was growing fiercer by the second? He didn’t know—all he did know was that by the time they’d drunk most of the bottle of wine, she had beaten him hands-down and it was an unfamiliar experience.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Who taught you to play like that?’
She shrugged. ‘Before I became a driver, I worked as a car mechanic—mostly with men,’ she added airily. ‘And they liked to play cards when the workshop was quiet.’
‘You worked as a car mechanic?’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am surprised. You don’t look strong enough to take a car to pieces.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive.’
‘They certainly can.’ He picked up the bottle and emptied out the last of the wine, noticing her fingers tremble as he handed her the glass. She must be feeling it too, he thought grimly—that almost tangible buzz of electricity when his hand brushed against hers. He crossed one leg over the other to hide the hard throb of his erection as he tried—and failed—to think of something which didn’t involve his lips and her body.
‘Mr Valenti,’ she said suddenly.
‘Matteo,’ he instructed silkily. ‘I thought we agreed we should be on first-name terms, given the somewhat unusual circumstances.’
‘Yes, we did, but I...
Keira’s words tailed away as he fixed her with a questioning look, not quite sure how to express her thoughts. The alcohol had made her feel more daring than usual—something which she’d fully exploited during that game of cards. She’d known it probably wasn’t the most sensible thing to defeat Matteo Valenti and yet something had made her want to show him she wasn’t as useless as he seemed to think she was. But she was now aware of her bravado slipping away. Just as she was aware of the tension which had been building in the cramped bedroom ever since she’d emerged from the bathroom.
Her breasts were aching and her inside-out panties were wet. Did he realise that? Perhaps he was used to women reacting that way around him but she wasn’t one of those women. She’d been called frigid by men before, when really she’d been scared—scared of doing what her mother had always warned her against. But it had never been a problem before, because close contact with the opposite sex had always left her cold and the one time she’d ended up in bed with a man he had been snoring in a drunken stupor almost before his head had hit the pillow. So how was Matteo managing to make her feel like this—as if every pore were screaming for him to touch her?
She swallowed. ‘We haven’t discussed what we’re going to do about sleeping arrangements.’
‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Well, it looks as if we’ve got to share a bed—so obviously we’ve got to come to some sort of compromise.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘And I was thinking we might sleep top and tail.’
‘Top and tail?’ he repeated.
‘You know.’
‘Obviously I don’t,’ he said impatiently. ‘Or I wouldn’t have asked.’
Awkwardly, she wriggled her shoulders. ‘It’s easy. I sleep with my head at one end of the bed and you sleep with yours at the other. We used to do it when I was in the Girl Guides. Sometimes people even put pillows between them, so they can keep to their side and there’s no encroaching on the other person’s space.’ She forged on but it wasn’t easy when he was staring at her with a growing look of incredulity. ‘Unless you’re prepared to spend the night in that armchair?’
Matteo became aware of the hardness of the overstuffed seat which made him feel as if he were sitting on spirals of iron. ‘You honestly think I’m going to spend the night sitting in this damned chair?’
She looked at him uncertainly. ‘You want me to take the chair?’
‘And keep me awake all night while you shift around trying to get comfortable? No. I do not. I’ll tell you exactly what’s going to happen, cara mia. We’re going to share that bed as the nice lady suggested. But don’t worry, I will break the habit of a lifetime by not sleeping naked and you can keep the sweater on. Capisci? And you can rest assured that you’ll be safe from my intentions because I don’t find you in the least bit attractive.’
Which wasn’t exactly true—but why make a grim situation even worse than it already was?
He stood up and as he began to undo the belt of his trousers, he saw her lips fall open. ‘Better close those big blue eyes,’ he suggested silkily, a flicker of amusement curving his lips as he watched all the colour drain from her cheeks. ‘At least until I’m safely underneath the covers.’
