“But they were my only clothes, until I can claim on my insurance or they find my pack.”
“They have found your pack,” he said. “That’s why I came back, to let you know.”
“Really?” She clung to the news. Was it possible that a little of this nightmare was over? There would be no money left, but if she at least had the rest of her belongings she wouldn’t be so powerless, so reliant on his charity. “Did they find my passport?”
“No,” he said, dashing the vain hope. “Everything of value was gone, and the clothes had to be destroyed, because those little bastards dumped the lot in a field full of starving goats.”
“I see.” Katie bit in to her bottom lip to stop it quivering, the flicker of pity in Caine’s dispassionate gaze and the persistent hum only adding to her misery.
Well, that’s me totally screwed, then.
* * *
Jared clamped down on the dumb urge to comfort her. She looked utterly devastated at the news. The vibrant temper that had made her look so magnificent, so indomitable, just moments before was gone.
Against his better judgment he stepped toward her, close enough to detect the citrus scent of the shampoo in her wild hair. “Can I make a suggestion?” he murmured.
She looked up at him, her green eyes like liquid pools of misery, reminding him of the girl she’d been five years ago. He’d crucified her then, for shattering his control. Recriminations swirled in his head now. He’d tried to put the blame for that episode on her at the time, because he’d never crossed that line before—not since he’d been a kid himself and controlling his urges had been impossible.
Neither of them was a kid anymore, though. And, if they were going to co-habit without giving in to the obvious chemistry between them, they needed to address the elephant in the center of the room. Or rather the dragon, he thought, as flames flared in his gut.
The thought of what she didn’t have on under her robe tormented him—making it virtually impossible for him to keep his mind on their conversation, and not on the many things he had imagined doing to her all through the night after having her slim body plastered against his back on the ride to the villa.
He saw the flare of knowledge in her eyes, as if she had read his mind, before she tensed and stepped back. “I don’t want you paying for my clothing,” she said.
His temper kicked in. “Tough. It’ll be days before the insurance money comes through,” he said. “And you’re not wandering around in a bathrobe,” he added forcefully. “I’m not a saint.”
Her eyes popped wide before a vivid blush suffused her face. Awareness crackled in the air around them like a physical force—and it occurred to him he might have made a tactical error admitting he wasn’t immune to her. But he had assumed she knew. How could any woman not know, especially one as wild and reckless as her?
She looked genuinely shocked, though. Either that or she was an actress of Oscar-winning potential.
“I see,” she said again, her slender neck moving as she swallowed.
Was her mouth as dry as his?
Did she have any clue how much he yearned to ease the drooping neckline of her robe the rest of the way off her shoulder and torment the elegant line of her collarbone with his teeth?
“If I accept the clothes...” Her labored breathing contradicted the stubborn set of her jaw. “I want to pay you back for them.”
No way.
“And I don’t need a ball gown—as I’m not going to any ball.”
He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, struggling to subdue his temper and the heat in his groin.
“I’ll allow you to pay for the clothes.” He’d have the stylist work out a reduced bill. “But only if you attend the ball with me.”
Her brows wrinkled. “Why do you want me to do that?” she asked, protesting a little too much. And he knew, however much she tried to deny it, she was as aware of him as he was of her.
While he knew that was not good news—because having an affair with Dario’s sister-in-law was the very last thing he had planned to do—his crotch didn’t seem to be in agreement.
“Honestly?” he said. “I don’t trust you to stay here unattended. And I have to attend to make sure the security operation is running smoothly.”
“You can’t force me to go with you,” she said, not denying she planned to bolt at the first opportunity. Her chin took on a belligerent tilt and he could see she was expecting him to try.
Anger burned at the evidence of her low opinion of him. He’d brought her here for her own good—and he wasn’t in the habit of bullying women.
But then he recalled her testimony during Lloyd Whittaker’s trial. And it occurred to him that her experience of men hadn’t always been the best. It had come out loud and clear during the trial. Whittaker’s attack on Megan had been the culmination of a long campaign of bullying and harassment against his elder daughter. At the time, Katherine’s testimony had suggested she had been mostly spared because Whittaker had ignored her. But maybe the truth was more complex.