‘Sure,’ the disembodied voice said as her own clothes were dumped into her outstretched palm. ‘Breakfast arrived a while ago and it’s starting to fossilise,’ he added. ‘So when you’re dressed, meet me in the living area.’
It was an order, not a request.
Holding her clothing to her chest, she slammed the door shut.
She took her time getting dressed, not just to keep him waiting, but because the thong and lacy bra she donned first rubbed against places she had become a lot more aware of in the last hour.
Once she’d eased on her jeans and socks and her T-shirt and hoodie she felt more human again. More herself.
If only she had some foundation to cover the rough patches where he’d kissed her into oblivion. Or a comb to tame her insane hair.
Ten full minutes later, she ventured out of her hideout having run out of delaying tactics.
The bedroom was empty. Her lungs deflated, the relief tempered by disappointment. Which made not a mite of sense.
She found her boots beside the bed and her backpack on the nearby dresser. Stamping on the boots and slinging her pack over her shoulder, she wondered if she might be able to duck out after all. But as she headed towards the stairway he had brought her up the night before a cool voice echoed down the hallway.
‘You’re going the wrong way, Eleanor.’
She swung round to see his tall frame leaning against the arch leading into the living area.
Busted.
Her heart lurched back into her throat, her face blazing again. She could probably still make a dash for it, but something about the way he was standing there, waiting for her to run, made her determined not to.
When had she become such a coward? And what could he possibly have to say to her that could be more disturbing than what had already happened?
Lifting her chin, she made her way towards him. He turned and entered the room.
When she walked into the double-height living space, the staggering view of Central Park—the crisp autumn sunshine glinting off the skyscrapers in the distance—was nothing compared to the arresting sight of Alex Costa in a cashmere sweater and black jeans picking up a coffeepot from a table with a lavish breakfast laid out on it.
Her stomach rumbled.
He lifted his head, the nonchalant once-over causing goosebumps to riot over her skin. ‘How do you take your coffee?’
The off-hand question had giant knots forming in her already jumpy stomach.
How could she have slept with this man when he didn’t even know she didn’t drink coffee, that she preferred a strong cup of tea?
Her parents would be so ashamed of her. They’d lived such quiet, practical, steady lives. And they’d always wanted her to do the same. They’d kept her sheltered for so long that the wanderlust, the need to escape, had become all but overwhelming. She’d bucked against their strong moral code, believing it was too restrictive, and boring, and set her sights on getting away from Moira and ‘finding herself’... And now here she was, living the dream of being young, free and single in New York City only to discover she wasn’t nearly as brilliant or brave as she’d thought.
She swallowed down the grief—and embarrassment. ‘Milk, two sugars,’ she said, deciding she would need the caffeine hit to survive their ‘talk’. She’d thrown herself at this man and now she needed to own it.
He poured her a cup and doctored it accordingly. Then, taking his own cup, stood waiting beside the table. ‘You’ll have to come closer to drink it.’
He sipped his coffee as she crossed the room, watching her over the rim of his cup.
But as she picked up the coffee he murmured, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?’
She dropped the cup, the clatter of it hitting the table matched by the discordant kick of her heartbeat. ‘How...? How did you know?’
‘I figured it out,’ he said, and she noticed the edge in his tone for the first time.
She wrapped her arms around her waist. Was he mad about it? Why?
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he said again, his gaze narrowing, the brittle cynicism in his expression only confusing her more.
She hadn’t meant to deceive him. She’d been carried away on a tidal wave of sensation. But she could hardly tell him that, because it would give him more power. And he already had enough.