She stopped struggling and glared at him. ‘Fine, I promise.’
He wasn’t sure if he trusted her, but he was forced to release her.
He dug frustrated fingers through his hair. The prickle of shame was something he hadn’t felt in a long time... And didn’t like one bit.
‘Why don’t you grab a shower?’ he said, knowing he needed to buy time. And chill out before they had this conversation. Because something wasn’t right. About this whole set-up. And he didn’t like it.
‘I can take a shower later—’ she began.
‘You need your clothes to leave,’ he interrupted her. ‘Unless you plan to walk out wearing nothing but my shorts.’
The stubborn tilt of her chin became more pronounced. But so did that beguiling blush. That she wanted to leave was obvious. That he wasn’t going to let her only made the situation more weird. When was the last time he’d had to persuade a woman to hang around after sex, instead of trying to shoo them out of the door?
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But then I have to go,’ she added. And marched off to the bathroom.
Why are you in such a hurry?
The questions intensified at the sharp snap of the bathroom lock closing.
He waited until he heard the shower before he headed to the bathroom next door. After getting rid of the condom, he texted his housekeeping staff to locate his guest’s clothing and leave it outside his bedroom door. Then he had the fastest shower in living memory. After dragging on jeans and a sweater, he returned to his own bedroom, picking up the neat stack of her clothing on the way.
The shower had stopped, but he could hear her moving around in the bathroom.
Ordering the bedroom shades up—so he could get a much better look at her when she reappeared—he lifted the quilt, planning to sit on the bed and wait.
He tensed, spotting rusty stains on the white sheet.
He stared, struggling to process what he was seeing for a moment.
Was she on her period? But even as the innocuous explanation occurred to him, the memory of her—artless, sweet, that beguiling recklessness he’d assumed was all an act, and then how tight, how tense she’d been when he’d pushed inside her, slammed back.
The trickle of shame became a flood, but right alongside it was that traitorous desire. Intense, unstoppable, overwhelming. And the devastating feeling of protectiveness that had confused the hell out of him last night. But far, far worse was the feeling of responsibility. A trap that he had spent most of his adult life escaping.
And suddenly he knew exactly what had been off... Way,wayoff.
Right from the start.
When Eleanor MacGregor got out of the bathroom, she had a lot of explaining to do. Starting with why she hadn’t told him he was her first lover. And what the hell she expected to gain from that deception.
CHAPTER FOUR
THESHARPTAPon the bathroom door made Ellie jump, and her heartbeat ram into her throat.
‘I’ve got your stuff. If you want it, you’re going to have to open the door before the next millennium.’
Ellie frowned at her reflection in the mirror, the husky voice—edged with impatience—not helping to calm her down. A radioactive blush spread up her neck to highlight the beard burn she’d been inspecting on her cheeks.
‘I’ve not been in here that long,’ she shouted back, even though it had been a good half an hour since she’d fled into his bathroom. Unfortunately, even after a long hot power shower, she wasn’t feeling any less shaky.
How could her first time have been so spectacular, so overwhelming? And how did she get out of here now without having the ‘talk’ he’d mentioned? Because she didn’t want to talk about it. She felt disconnected from the sense she’d always had of who she was, and what she wanted. As if she’d given this man a glimpse of the woman she could be, but wasn’t sure she wanted to be. It was all so confusing. And having to talk to him, when he was the cause of it all, would only make it worse. The only saving grace now was he hadn’t figured out he was her first.
The knock sounded again. Harder this time. ‘Are you still in there or did you jump out the window?’
Very funny.She scowled at her reflection.The guy’s a comedian.
She sighed. Then headed across the marble tiles, wincing as she became aware of the beard burn in another more intimate part of her anatomy.
She opened the door a fraction and stuck out her hand. ‘If you could give them to me, please. I’d prefer to get dressed in private,’ she said, with as much frigid politeness as she could muster.