‘You can’t accept even a common courtesy?’ He raised his brows. ‘You don’t think a pregnant woman ought to be cared for?’
She was barely pregnant and her need for independence flared. ‘There’s a difference between caring for her and being over the top. You think I can’t even carry a bag? That a pregnant person can’t even work on a train? I think a woman should choose to do whatever she wants to.’
‘Physical safety matters. Tiredness matters. These things are real. Hormones, chemicals, affect the way a person feels, maybe even thinks sometimes. You can’t deny that there’s an impact just because you fear being perceived as weaker. That you’re less strong somehow.’
That wasn’t it. It was some dinosaur idea of looking after the little woman.
‘Hormones and chemicals don’t affect everyone the same way. Why penalise anyone pregnant with an arbitrary, blanket rule?’ she asked.
He just laughed. ‘People don’t want to be served by a heavily pregnant woman pushing a heavy trolley. They’re naturally concerned and want to help them. It’s not relaxing to sit watching a woman struggle.’
‘Struggle.’She glared at him.
He smothered a smile and shrugged. ‘I can’t help—’
‘Having an inflated sense of chivalry?’
He crouched before her, putting his hands on the arms of her chair and boxing her in. ‘It’s normal human behaviour. You give up your seat for the pregnant woman on the bus. It’s instilled in you from childhood. Isn’t it a sign of respect? That she’s doing something important?’ He leaned close. ‘It is literallyvital. It is the most important, most precious thing. So, yes, I’ll do whatever I have to do to care and protect both her and the baby and ensure both their safety.’
She stared into his eyes, touched yet wanting to rebel against him at the same time—tempted to fall forward and force him to embrace her. She’d snuggle in and want to stay there. That couldn’t happen. She knew he wanted the best for her but his power scared her. Not the power of his money or his resources but the powerhehad over her. Him as a man. He made her crave the one thing she’d fought so long to escape:security. But to have someone wrap her in cotton wool...
‘I don’t need you to do that. I can take care of myself.’ She needed to understand him and to help him see that she could manage alone.
‘Yeah? Well, you don’t have to.’
Hours later, it was a huge relief for Violet to escape into the bathroom to get ready for bed. The train she’d worked on in New Zealand hadn’t been an overnight train and there’d been no private bedroom compartments. She’d never actually slept on a train before. And to have to sleep next to Roman Fraser—like that was going to be possible. It would be too tempting to turn towards him and seek out his touch. He could make her feel so good. Memories flitted. Fantasies formed.
She furiously brushed her teeth, her hair and scrubbed her face clean. Then she braved the lion’s den. But she stopped in the main compartment.
‘What are you wearing?’ She glared at him.
He glanced down at his boxers. ‘Be grateful I’m wearing these. I don’t normally wear anything in bed. But in the circumstances...’
‘You went with tight knit briefs? That was so considerate of you.’
‘Well, I can see you put a lot of thought into your attire.’ He eyed her pyjamas severely.
‘I was meant to be in a staff compartment. Have you seen them? They’re very small. Four stewards to a cabin. Narrow little bunks.’
‘So having half of this bed will be luxury for you. So much more space.’ His lips twitched. ‘Or, if you would prefer, I can take the floor.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be a gentleman and stay on your side of the bed.’
He mock-bowed, then eyed her brushed cotton pyjamas again. ‘Christmas themed?’
‘They were on sale.’
‘I am not surprised.’
Yeah? Well, he could handle the disappointment. She figured the lack of sexiness was a good thing.
‘What are you doing now?’ he asked as she strode to the wall.
Violet tapped the central control panel, super-glad she’d had the training. ‘Turning down the thermostat.’
‘You’re feeling hot?’ Roman asked. ‘Or you want more of a winter vibe because you’re used to sun in December?’
‘I’m hoping you’ll get so cold you’ll cover up. Jersey. Sweatpants—baggy ones.’