She knew Della would want her to go. And she knew Archie had an immutable right to know his father’s family as well as his mother’s.
But she was scared. Scared of losing her family.
Right now, she mattered to Archie—and she didn’t want to stop mattering, like she had with everyone but Della.
And she was scared of this man. Of his sense of purpose, his implacability. Scared, too, of this confusing and unsettling connection between them.
But was it such a big ask? Surely she could do this? She could offer up a few weeks of her life in exchange for all those sacrifices her sister had so willingly made for her.
‘Okay,’ she said, not meeting his eyes. ‘But I can only do two weeks at the most—and maybe not even that long.’
It was just something to say, really—a tiny spoke in the wheel of the juggernaut that was Charlie Law—but she needed him to know that he couldn’t have everything his own way.
‘We can finalise the details further down the line,’ he said blandly.
She was no more reassured by the reasonableness of his manner than she had been by his relaxed dr
ess code.
‘I need to go now,’ she said abruptly.
‘Of course. Let me show you out.’
It wasn’t necessary. Even in her distracted state she could have found her way to the lift. But he was already moving. Keen to make her escape, she swung round and began to follow him, but as she did so the fringing on her bag caught on something.
She stumbled, and would have fallen, but with lightning reflexes Charlie caught her, his hands sliding round her waist and holding her upright.
Her fingers curled into his biceps and for a second she stared at him wide-eyed, a prickling heat chasing her pulse round her body. He was so close she could see the starburst of black in the brown of his iris.
Too close.
All the air was punched out of her lungs. His skin was as flawless as his features, and his scent teased her senses. He smelled of rosewood and cardamom and clean sheets.
Oh, but she wanted to taste him...to run her tongue over that beautiful unsmiling mouth.
Her heart was beating so hard she thought her ribs might break. She could feel his gaze, and his warm breath, and then his mouth almost touched hers, and her lips parted, and she was leaning into him, letting the heat of his body envelop her.
The lift bell pinged loudly, scaring her so that she breathed in sharply. Instantly she felt his hands tense around her waist, and before the doors were even half-open he had released her and taken a step back.
His face was expressionless, but his eyes were dark and mocking. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said softly. ‘I may be my father’s son, and your charms are unquestionable, if a little one-dimensional for my taste. But I’m not my father, so I’m afraid you’ll have to ply your wares elsewhere.’
Ply her wares!
Dora stared at him, her skin shrinking with horror both at his words and at her own behaviour.
‘Well, I’m not my sister—and your charms are not just questionable, they’re non-existent.’
Hating him—hating him more than she’d ever hated anyone in her life—she sidestepped past him, and walked as fast as it was possible to walk without running into the lift.
His dark eyes trapped hers. ‘I’ll be in touch, Ms Thorn.’
Meeting his gaze, she felt her heart slam against her ribs. It was a promise, not a threat.
As the doors closed, she leaned back against the walls, shaking from head to toe.
It was bad enough that she had leaned in to kiss a man who despised her. What was infinitely worse was the fact that she’d agreed to spend two weeks under his roof in Macau.
CHAPTER THREE