Holy shit. Cash watched Ella walk away, then turned and went back into the kitchen with his heart thudding in his chest in a way he wasn’t quite accustomed to. He liked—no, loved—women. Loved sex. And he was pretty good at it too.

But what he wasn’t good at was the emotional component. He could rock a woman’s world with his tongue, fuck her into oblivion with his cock, but he didn’t do the emotional stuff.

Ella Rossi needed the emotional component. He’d been unbuttoning her dress, revealing creamy skin and reminding himself that she was a virgin. But he’d noticed something as he’d kept going.

Arousal. Hers.

Because he wasn’t an idiot, and he could tell when a woman was getting excited. The shivers and shudders. The soft inhalation of her breath. And that moan there at the end, the barely uttered sound that had made all the hackles on his neck rise as if he were a predator scenting prey.

If he’d turned her around in his arms, she’d have gone limp. He could have kissed her. Could have peeled that dress right off her body and explored every inch of her.

Which he was not going to do. No way. No how. She was a virgin, and he was allergic to virgins. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago. No initiating a woman into sex for the first time. It gave them ideas.

He adjusted his cock—yeah, it was hard—and walked over to the kitchen to start something for dinner. It was still early, not quite five, but it’d been a while since he’d eaten and he figured Ella was hungry too.

He took out some chicken, pasta, and mushrooms. He’d make chicken marsala for dinner. It was a good seduction dinner. One that had served him well in the past.

No. He stopped in midgrab of the chicken and shoved it back into the refrigerator. He was not cooking a seduction dinner for this strange—and strangely appealing—woman. Instead, he grabbed the pasta and some butter, cream, and parmesan. He’d make an Alfredo sauce. Plain enough and delicious. He’d picked up some shrimp, so he’d put those in there too—

And, shit, that was also a good seduction dinner. Shrimp Alfredo, bread, butter and good olive oil.

Fuck me.

Cash hesitated for a long moment but finally grabbed the ingredients anyway. He wasn’t planning a seduction, and they needed to eat. He’d have cooked this for the guys, though he’d also have cooked hamburgers and steaks. But he liked the grill for those, and it was still raining outside.

So pasta it was. Not seduction.

He got busy putting water in a pot for the pasta, getting out a skillet for the sauce, and heating the oven for the bread. It took all of twenty minutes. He hesitated, fists on hips, wondering if he should start cooking or wait for her to emerge again.

He would have turned on the television, but he knew there was no signal right now. This cabin belonged to the second-in-command of HOT, Lieutenant Colonel Alex “Ghost” Bishop, and Ghost had told him that the satellite wouldn’t work if it was raining hard. This was Cash’s second trip up here, and he knew that was true.

He and Cowboy and Cage had stayed here once before, a few months ago. Before that, they’d stayed in a dive of a cabin a bit farther along the river. When Ghost offered this place, they’d jumped on it. It was much nicer than they’d expected. Ghost said it was a family property and refused to take any rent for it. Free was better than cheap, at least in this instance, so Cash and his buds planned to come here often.

Except here he was. Alone. Or not alone but with a surprisingly sensual virgin who’d managed to give him a hard-on by doing nothing at all.

Geez. He wasn’t desperate. He’d spent the past few nights with a cute dental hygienist he’d met at the grocery store. He’d have thought for sure he wasn’t ready for sex for a few days yet. Not that he would turn down a good lay if it came his way, but it wasn’t precisely front of mind at the moment. Or at least it hadn’t been.

He shoved a hand through his hair and turned back to the stove. The stick of butter sat waiting for him to put it in the pan. But once he did that, the sauce would cook quick. Butter, cream, parmesan. Toss with the pasta and, boom, dinner.

He flipped on the burner for the pasta water. Then he went to set the table. He didn’t light the candle sitting in the middle of it, nor did he pull out the cloth napkins from the drawer he knew they rested in. Nope, this chick was getting a paper towel. Hell, if this place had plastic cutlery, he’d have given her that too. And a paper plate.

Instead, he had to make do with stainless steel and porcelain.

The pot soon started to boil. He went over and turned it down, unwilling to start cooking when he didn’t know when she was coming back. He glanced at his watch—she’d been gone for forty-five minutes. Surely that was time enough to bathe.

He hesitated a moment before heading down the hallway to the master. The door was closed and he knocked. When there was no answer, he pushed it inward. The wedding gown lay in a heap on the floor. The door to the bathroom was open. But she hadn’t answered his knock.

“Ella,” he called out.

There was a small shriek, a splash, and then a tentative “Yes?”

His heartbeat slowed at her reply. Did he really think anything had happened to her in here?

“Just checking on you. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Hungry?”

“I… Yes, I think I could eat something.”

“Can you be done in twenty minutes?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll have dinner ready then.”

“Um, Cash…?” she called as he was headed toward the door.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

He closed his eyes. “No, I guess you don’t. Give me a sec.”

He strode into the nearest guest room where he’d stowed his duffel and yanked it open. He hadn’t brought a lot with him, but he had a few things. He picked up a pair of sweats and a flannel shirt. It wasn’t precisely cold out, but it could get cool at night. He went back to the master and tossed them on the bed.

“I’ve left sweats and a shirt out here on the bed. It’s the best I can do.”

“That will work. Thank you.”

He left the room, pulling the door shut behind him, and went back to the kitchen. He turned the water back to a boil, tossed in the pasta, and got to work on the sauce. By the time he had it all finished—pasta drained and tossed in the sauce, bread heated and cut into thick rounds, butter and oil set on the table—Ella appeared.

Cash did a bit of a double take at the sight of her. She’d scrubbed off the makeup and her hair was long, dark, and thick. She’d managed to dry it, but she had nothing to contain it with. It hung heavy and full and wavy over her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and sparkling, and her body in his clothes was practically dwarfed. The shirt hung to her knees. She’d rolled the sweats up, but they were baggy and she kept pulling them up.

Her feet were bare. Small feet that must surely be cold. He should have given her some socks.

She smiled at him, and his heart did a little leap-skip thing that was odd.

“Smells wonderful,” she told him. “I’m starved.”

“Are your feet cold?”

She glanced down. “Not yet. I’m still hot from the bath.”

“Let me know when you need socks. I’ll get you a pair.”

“Okay.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down. “It’s all ready,” he said. “Help yourself.”

She looked a little strange. But then she sat down and primly took the paper towel and laid it in her lap. She hesitated a moment, then picked up the two long pasta forks he’d set in the Alfredo and helped herself to a pile of food.

She didn’t touch the bread until he did, and then she eagerly dipped a piece into the oil and pepper before eating it. When she closed her eyes and moaned, he felt that sound all the way to his cock.

“It’s just bread,” he said.

She opened her eyes. “I know. But it’s so good. I didn’t think I’d be eating simple bread with oil ever again. Silly, maybe, but I don’t know what desert sheikhs eat.”

“Oh, I imagine Sheikh Fahd eats quite well. You would not be denied with him.”

She chewed the bread thoughtfully. “Maybe not. But I don’t want to find out.”

He rolled pasta onto his fork. “You don’t think this could have been solved in a different manner? That you could have just said no?”

She stopped the motion of rolling pasta onto her own fork and stared at him. “That was not possible.”

“Because your uncle wants you to marry the sheikh.”

She nodded. “Yes. My aunt and uncle both. They are…” She looked thoughtful. “They need the money that he will pay them for me.”

Something about how matter-of-factly she said it pissed him off. “You realize he won’t be paying them anything now?”

And they deserved it. People who sought to sell their own flesh and blood into a situation she did not want were no better than human slavers. And he’d seen enough of them in his line of work to last him a lifetime.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” she said softly. “But there was no other way. If I’d married him, I would have gone insane.”

He hated to hear her say that. Hated that anyone had to think of such things. But he did not doubt she believed it. Or that she would have lost whatever spark she currently had.

“Then I guess you had to run away.”

She smiled, just the corners of her mouth tilting up in a shy little smile, and he had to harden his heart not to feel anything. “It was my only choice. But without you, I wouldn’t have succeeded at all. So thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Cash.”

Heat crept through him. He was used to saving people, but somehow he didn’t feel like he’d done enough to save her. Not yet anyway. He’d picked her up off the side of the road, but he’d done nothing significant to get her out of her situation.

“Have you thought about what comes next?” he asked, certain that she hadn’t.

She stuffed a forkful of pasta in her mouth. When she moaned, his senses went on alert. How many times could this woman moan about simple things like food and touch? Worse, why was it affecting him so much?

“Oh my God, this is delicious. Simply delicious.”

Cash frowned a bit. “It’s good, but it’s not that good.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “I haven’t had pasta in so long I can’t remember—trust me, this is delicious.”

“Why haven’t you had pasta? I thought you said your heritage was Italian.” Not that Italians had to eat pasta all the time, but all the Italians he’d ever known ate it with some regularity.

“My aunt thought I would get fat.”

He was really starting to hate this aunt of hers. Ella didn’t have any meat whatsoever on her bones. She was thin and small and looked like she’d blow away in a stiff breeze.

“Eat as much as you like,” Cash told her. “But don’t make yourself sick.”

She grinned as she reached for more bread. “I’m going to stuff myself silly.”

He wanted to laugh but he didn’t. “Okay, so what’s next, Ella? After today? Where do you want to go?”

The flicker of delight died in her eyes and he kicked himself for making it happen.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t. Could we maybe not talk about this tonight? Please?”

“The problem isn’t going away just because you don’t address it.”

She twirled the fork on her plate, eyes downcast. “I know. But I’ll think about it tonight. I’ll have a better idea by morning.”

He could see the exhaustion and stress lining her face. He wasn’t going to be an asshole to her, not when she’d been through so much. Besides, he was here for three days. If it took her that long to figure it out, then fine.

There was still the matter of his car—the hole that’d been shot into it and the fact that her uncle’s people knew to look for it. He couldn’t very well drive away from here as if nothing had happened, no matter what.

“They’re going to be looking for you, Ella. I can’t guarantee they won’t find you here.”

She bit her lip. “I can’t go back. If I do…” She shrugged, but it was a sad gesture.

“We’ll figure something out. I won’t let them take you.”

Though earlier he’d told her he wouldn’t interfere. Way to go, Cash.

She studied him for a long moment, tilting her head to the side. “Are all American men like you?”

He frowned. It was an odd question, and yet he thought she was sincere. In truth, he didn’t know what she meant by it. “You live in America. What do you think?”

“I don’t leave the estate much,” she said softly. “I don’t encounter many people.”

His dislike of her aunt and uncle was growing exponentially. “How long have you lived there?”

“Since I was eight and my aunt and uncle took me in after my parents died.”

Fourteen years ago, or so she’d said earlier. So she was twenty-two. Young.

“You didn’t go to school?”

“I had tutors. My cousins and I did, I mean.”

“But you’ve traveled, right?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been on supervised trips to the mall with my cousins a few times. But not in a couple of years now.”

What she was telling him was mind-boggling. “You haven’t left their estate in two years?”

She looked small again. As if she were folding in on herself. “No.”

“Jesus,” he muttered. She’d been a prisoner. There was no other word for it. He’d spent the past few years freeing people from hostage situations—and Ella had been enduring a gilded prison so near the nation’s capital that it was shocking to think nobody had known about it.

But why would they?

He needed to know more about her. “You have no idea what to do now that you’ve left there, have you? You had no plan. Hell, you’ve already said you have no money. What do you expect you’ll do? Get a job at a grocery store or something?”

Her face was red. “I told you I’ll think about it overnight. I’ll figure something out.”

He could only shake his head. “I don’t think you will, Ella. I don’t think you have the first idea what happens next.”