‘Me too.’
Her eyes jerked to his body, then moved to his feet.
Loafers. No socks.
She swallowed against the lump of apprehension building in her throat. He must be joking. Except Charlie didn’t look like the kind of guy who would strut into work wearing loafers without socks. And one brief look at his face told her that he was being serious.
Her limbs felt suddenly stiff and wooden. She had selfishly been hoping he would be absent at work for most of the day—actually, for most of their stay.
‘How nice,’ she said in a small voice, ignoring the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes.
But what else was there to say?
She could hardly tell him she wanted him to go to work—not when she’d made such a song and dance about him not being there to welcome Archie. And, anyway, deep down it was why she had come all this way, wasn’t it? So that he and Archie could spend some time together.
But she didn’t have to stand here and watch him gloat about it.
‘I’m going to take Archie to get dressed,’ she said abruptly.
‘He hasn’t finished eating.’ Charlie’s eyes met hers. ‘Why don’t you stay? Have some breakfast?’ He gestured towards the house. ‘Jian will prepare anything you want.’
‘I’m really not—’
‘Please, Dora.’ His voice softened too. ‘Could we just call a truce? Just while you eat? Or, if you’re really not hungry, just until you’ve drunk your coffee.’
Charlie gazed up at Dora, forcing his pulse to stay steady. He wondered if she had any idea how easy it was to read her thoughts. He could see the anger and resentment in her grey eyes. And the dark streaks of desire, like contrails in the sky.
A desire that mirrored his own.
He could feel it pulsing inside him, hot and urgent, crowding out all logic and sense.
His gaze snagged on her soft pink mouth and with an effort he kept it there. To let it drop to the smooth, enticing curve of her bottom would push his self-control to the edge of its limits.
She was maddeningly stubborn. Irrational and impetuous. In short, everything he avoided in a woman. And yet for reasons he couldn’t fathom, he wanted her with an almost unbearable hunger.
Really, Charlie, you can’t think of one reason?
Gritting his teeth, he moved his gaze, taking in her flushed cheeks and wary grey gaze. Yes, she was sexy and beautiful, and she was wearing miniscule pyjamas that showcased her mouthwatering body. But he had seen plenty of women in more provocative nightwear—beautiful, desirable women with soft mouths and smooth bodies. Women who didn’t look as if they wanted to throw a suitcase at his head.
‘Look, Dora. I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me too. But there has to be a compromise. We can’t keep fighting or avoiding one another. Not if we’re going to make this work for Archie.’
She stared at him, and again he could almost see the pros and cons ping-ponging back and forth inside her head.
‘What’s the catch?’ she asked.
‘Why would you think there is one?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Charlie. Why would I?’ She shifted the baby to her other hip. He was getting restless now.
‘There is no catch. This is your first day in Macau. Archie’s first day in Macau. I would rather, for his sake, that his two closest family members weren’t at war with one another.’
He waited, reluctant to push. Whatever else Dora might be, she was no coward. Cornering her only made her come out fighting. He thought back to their first encounter at Capel Muir Fellowes. Money clearly had no pulling power either.
Sensing that she was sifting through his words, trying to work out his agenda, he watched her in silence. When he had first learned of Della’s death he had briefly considered challenging her sister’s guardianship through the courts. The evidence against Dora was all there in black and white—and red, if you were talking about her bank balance.
But, even though he had access to some of the best legal brains in the world, he had quickly decided against it. There was a risk that it would get ugly. Worse, that it might become public—and he couldn’t take that chance.
Family unity meant strength; any division or dispute risked making the Lao family look weak, and his father had taught him that miànzi—face—was everything.