Chapter Four
A noise sounded in the hallway, and Layla stilled, the water settling around her naked body. She lifted slightly, and when a dark figure passed, and a closet door opened and closed, she sank back into the water. She had no idea how long she’d been luxuriating in the big Jacuzzi tub, but from the wrinkling of her fingers, she guessed it was time to get out.
She was about to reach for the plug when a shadow passed in the hallway. A soft knock inched her door open even more. “Layla?”
She sank deeper into the water and wished she’d had some bubbles to cover her nakedness. If he wanted to see her, no doubt he could. “Yeah.”
“You okay in there?” he asked, real concern in his voice.
Water splashed as she sat upright. “Just getting out now.”
“Okay, Gregory called, and the food is on its way up.”
Talk about service. A girl could get used to this kind of luxury. But she was only here for one night. By rights, she shouldn’t have agreed to stay, but she couldn’t let him hunker down at her place, either, and risk her landlord showing up. Plus, she had a hard time saying no to Parker. Or rather he wouldn’t let her say no. Damn bully.
“Coming now.”
She pulled the plug and reached for the big, fluffy towel, bringing it to her nose to inhale the fabric softener. While one part of her didn’t want to be here with the arrogant, but oh-so-hot guy, there was another part of her that was intrigued by him, his sterile house, and the way he felt responsible for her. She mulled that over for a moment, along with everything she knew about him, and a delicious idea formed in the back of her mind.
Pay him back for always ignoring you.
Okay, so maybe if he was forcing her to be here, she could use the time to annoy him, and make it impossible for him to overlook her. Really get under his skin before she left bright and early tomorrow morning while he still slept.
Game on.
She slipped from the tub, patted herself dry, and pulled on the shirt. Fresh laundry soap, and something else—rich and decadent—filled her senses. Her fingers worked the buttons all the way to her knees, as she did a slow turn to give herself a once-over in the mirror. The shirt was white and a little on the thin side, but not see-through. If she had bigger boobs that curved the cotton, she might be concerned with a bra. But she didn’t, so she wasn’t going to bother.
Besides, she wasn’t interested in getting involved with Parker, and she was hardly the kind of glamorous, big-breasted woman who could be found on his arm. She’d rather be flat-chested than pump herself full of crap just so some guy could get off on her boobs. Like she would ever change for some man. A laugh crawled out of her throat.
“Layla, everything okay?”
She covered her mouth to stifle the sound. Once she had herself together, she yelled, “I’ll be right out.”
As she searched for a brush, the elevator pinged from the other room. After a quick check at the door to make sure Parker wasn’t standing there, she slowly opened his top right drawer. Why did she feel like she was doing something naughty? She was only looking for a brush, for God’s sake, and since he didn’t pack a comb in her bag—her fault for not getting her bathroom things, but still—she had no choice but to borrow one of his.
Back at her place, her drawers were clunky and barely stayed on the rails, and she had to tug hard when opening them, but his slid open easily, smooth and slick like him. She almost laughed, until she saw the way his items were all lined up like obedient little soldiers, or junior software developers under his command. OCD much? She really would like to get hold of that list and add Stuck-Up-Suit to it.
She grabbed his brush and ran it through her long hair, tugging out the knots. As she struggled with a particularly rebellious one, she winced and noticed his medicine cabinet wasn’t shut quite tight. Should she? She stole another quick glance at the door, a nervous sensation dancing around in her stomach. Looking for his brush was one thing, but going through his medicine cabinet was just plain snooping. And wrong. Then again he’d looked over her files at the hospital, right? Invaded her privacy?
Ran her over.
Moving as quietly as possible, she gave a little flick to the corner, opening it a little more. Oops. What would she find inside? A box of condoms? Ointment for some rash that stumped a team of doctors? Inside, she found a bottle of aspirin and allergy medication. How anticlimactic. She at least expected to find a spare toothbrush for one of his girlfriends. Then again this was the spare bathroom. He probably kept all his personal stuff in the one off his massive bedroom.
“Layla.”
Parker’s voice was right outside the door, and she jumped back. She quickly shut the cabinet, and it hit with a hard thud as the bathroom door inched open. When her gaze met with a set of intense eyes, her pulse leapt. She blinked at him, trying to pull off innocence.
“You didn’t answer. I was worried,” he said.
“I’m okay. Getting kind of hungry actually,” she said, trying to distract him as his gaze went from the medicine cabinet to her—her bare legs specifically.
“Ah, your cuts. Did you want to bandage them first?”
“No, they’re not bleeding, so let’s eat. I can do them later.” She grabbed the sweatpants, tugged them on, and tied them snug at her waist. The soft wool socks were still in their paper packaging, so she opened them and pulled them on. She wiggled her toes, and that’s when she realized Parker was still standing at the door watching her.
“These are nice and comfy.”
He scrubbed his chin. “Ah, good.”
Plastering on an innocent smile—like she hadn’t been snooping through his things—she shook her hair from her shoulders and walked toward him.
“Mmm, smells good,” she said as she followed him to the kitchen, finding enough take out to feed an entire army.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” he said.
She widened her arms. “So you ordered everything on the menu?”
He shrugged and reached for a can of soda. He held it up. “This kind okay?”
“Perfect. Where are your glasses?”
He scanned the dark wood cabinets in the kitchen. “Ah…”
She peeked into the containers, checking out all the yummy food. “You don’t know?”
“Of course I know. I just forgot. I don’t normally eat at home.” He reached into the cupboard, produced two glasses, and handed one to her. She stifled her laugh as he rooted for plates and utensils.
When he finally found them, he set them on the kitchen island counter, and gestured for her to sit. She slid onto a plush leather stool but when she glimpsed her red, scraped knuckles, the room spun. She gripped the sides of the granite counter top and closed her eyes.
“Whoa, you okay?”
She slowly opened her lids and tried to regroup. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t like the sight of blood.” She blinked and turned her gaze away from her knuckles.
“Hang on.” Parker spun around and grabbed a paper bag near the sink. She examined the contents as he dumped them onto the counter in front of her, and her heart gave a little thump when she zeroed in on the bath salts. “Let’s bandage you up first.”
She picked up the gauze and turned the unopened package over in her hand. “Did you just buy these?”
“Yeah, give it here.”
She handed it to him. “When? I didn’t hear you leave the apartment.”
“The concierge. He did a delivery.”
“Oh, okay. That was nice of him.”
“His number is on the fridge. If you need anything at all and I’m not here, just call it okay.”
“I hardly think that will happen. I’m out of here tomorrow.”
“Right.” He took one of her hands in his, and she tried not to notice the size of them, or how hard he was trying to be gentle with her. She wasn’t a Barbie doll who could break for God’s sake, but the way he was trying to be tender made him look so damn adorable. Maybe she should cut him some slack.
His brow furrowed as he examined them closer. “Did they put ointment on them at the hospital?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He reached for the antibacterial cream, screwed the top off, and punched the opening. Big hands fumbled with the gauze. She flattened her hand on the countertop, and he put ointment on his finger and slowly applied it, rubbing light soft circles that generated heat deep inside her. Dammit. Her nipples puckered, and with her free hand, she tugged the shirt away from her body. He’d better not get the wrong idea. Her body might be reacting, but she didn’t want him. She didn’t even like him.
“Sorry if it hurts.”
“It’s okay. I’m kind of tough.”
“You? Tough?”
She straightened, taking offense. “Yeah.” She’d pretty much been on her own since her father left them at birth. Her mom checked out emotionally at the time, and eventually overdosed when she was only five. Layla briefly pinched her eyes shut. She never wanted to find herself uneducated, alone with a child, and penniless. After her mother’s death, she went to live with her grandmother, who wasn’t much of a caregiver and had developed early dementia. By the time she was a teen, she was the one working two jobs, taking care of her grandmother, and trying to save for school. There was no money left after her death. It all went in to paying back taxes on the house, and settling debt. “Are you saying I’m not?”
“Hell no. The women I know would never pick themselves up and go to class after getting hit by a car. They’d milk it for months. You’re tougher than any of them, and most guys.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
He angled his head and eyed her for a moment, staring at her like she was a string of code he was trying to figure out. “So you like being tough?”
It was either that or curl up in the fetal position and feel sorry for herself. Since she wasn’t one to lament about her lot in life, or indulge in a pity party, she struggled along. Someday, once she got her degree, things would get better. She was sure of it.
“It’s what gets me through the day,” she said. He picked up her hand again and wrapped the gauze all the way around, then reached for the tape. When he said nothing in response, she asked, “What gets you through the day?”
“Grande Americano, extra shot,” he said flatly.
She laughed at that, even though she didn’t doubt it. “Not one of those girls you mentioned earlier? You know, the ones who aren’t so tough.” Shit, as soon as the words left her mouth, she gulped air, trying to take them back. “I mean…” Why the hell would she ask that?
“How’s that?” he asked, drawing her attention to her hand. Clearly he wasn’t about to answer her stupid question.
“Good.”
He crooked his finger. “Now the other,” he said, his voice a soft command.
She lifted her hand from her lap and held it out. “Your food is going to get cold.”
“That’s what microwaves are for.”
“Microwaved egg rolls are nasty.”
“Then I’ll eat yours.”
“No way. Egg rolls are my favorite.”
“Good thing I got ten of them.”
“Ten? Are you insane?”
His gaze lifted from her hand and slowly moved over her face. He leaned into her, his breath warm on her cheeks. “I’m beginning to believe so.” As they stared at each other, his eyes darkened, and his breathing seemed to change, become more labored. Her body responded to the intense gaze, and she shifted restlessly. As an unexpected burst of heat sizzled through her veins, her skin came alive. A tremor zinged through her, and she squeezed her legs shut. She’d once read a sexy book where the girl said her loins were on fire. She had no idea what that really meant until now.
She opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say, but then shut it again when his phone pinged. She let loose a breath, thankful for the distraction, and Parker blinked, like he was trying to snap himself back to attention as he reached into his pocket. Face completely sober now, he slid his finger across the phone.
“This better be important.” A pause and then. “I told him the numbers didn’t add up.” He stepped away as he talked, and Layla could only hear muffled sounds as he barked into the phone. Yikes, she certainly wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of his rants. No wonder there was a list of names for him.
As he talked, she divvied up the food. It was still hot enough that she didn’t have to nuke it in the microwave. She set the counter for two and even found some placemats in one of his pull-out cupboards, making it a little cozier. Her stomach grumbled as she waited for Parker to return, so she nibbled on the crunchy end of her egg roll. Delicious.
Five minutes later, he stepped into the kitchen and stood there for a long time staring blankly at the room as he ran fingers through his hair, like the short strands were the source of his anger.
“Um, you ready to eat?” she finally asked, breaking the quiet.
His hand fell, and he nodded. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” he said, but the fine lines creasing his forehead told a different story. It wasn’t her business, so she wasn’t going to ask. He came around to her side of the counter and looked at her plate. Dark brows pulled together. “You waited for me?”
“Of course.” When his frown deepened, she felt a little foolish. It’s not like they were on a date or anything, so she probably just should have eaten, but it didn’t feel right to go ahead without him. “You didn’t want me to?”
“You didn’t… I just.” He shrugged. “Let’s eat.”
They both reached for the plum sauce at the same time, and as his hand brushed hers, electrical jolts lit up her body. Good Lord, why was she reacting to him this way? He was a bully who annoyed the hell out of her and was the last thing she needed in her life. No way would she ever give her heart to a man, and risk him up and leaving with it. She’d let nothing distract her from her work or education. Paying her rent and getting her degree were the most important things in the world to her.
He withdrew his hand. “Go ahead.”
She grabbed the small plastic container and covered her egg roll and rice with the sauce, then handed it to him.
“You put plum sauce on your rice?”
“I like sweet things.”
His eyes fixed on her mouth, and the muscles in his neck grew taut. “Yeah, me, too,” he said, tearing his gaze away. For a moment she wondered if he was talking about food or something else—something sexual. He licked his finger, and once again she squirmed. “Eat up,” he said, like he was dismissing her.
Okay, being surrounded by luxury and more food than she could eat was clearly messing with her brain. Obviously, there was nothing sexual going on between them.
Good, because she didn’t want that, either. Pushing all unwanted erotic thoughts of Parker to the back of her mind—where they belonged—she picked up her fork and dove in with enthusiasm. She couldn’t remember the last time she had Chinese takeout, or so much variety to choose from. Where the heck did she start? She nibbled on a rib and followed it with a big drink of her soda to wash it down. They sat in silence for a long time, and her thoughts strayed back to the hospital.
“So your mom is going to be okay?” she asked.
He exhaled sharply, his knee briefly touching hers under the counter. “Yeah.”
She forked a heaping helping of rice into her mouth and looked at him. “Why do you say it like that?”
“It’s just… Well, she’s okay, and I’m glad about that, but this is the third time this month I’ve been called to the ER.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“I hate to say this, Layla. It’s going to make me sound like a prick.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She nudged him with her elbow. “I’m sure that name is already on the list.”
He scoffed. “Fine. It’s just that every time I go see her, she starts in on me about settling down and my cousins upcoming Christmas Eve wedding in Maine.” He tapped his mound of rice with his fork and added, “I wonder if she’s faking it, you know? She’s been healthy her whole life, so I don’t really know what’s all of a sudden bringing this on. I’m not a doctor and feel pretty shitty saying this, but I just can’t shake the feeling that she’s up to something.” He took a bit of food, chewed, and then added, “Let’s just say she has ways of getting what she wants, and right now she wants me married.”
“And that’s not something you want?”
“Ever,” he said. “And she knows that.”
“Then it does sound suspicious. What does your father think?”
He laughed, but there was no humor behind it as he cut into his chicken ball. “I would ask him, but he’s in Fiji celebrating his fourth honeymoon with a girl about your age.”
“Ouch.”
“Technically, they’re not married. Neither he nor mom have signed the divorce papers for some reason.” He went quiet for a moment, briefly lost in thought, then flashed those bedroom blues eyes her way. “No way am I calling someone younger than me Mom,” he said, and she guessed he was trying to make light of a situation that really stung.
With her stomach almost full, she slowed down and nibbled on a piece of broccoli. “Why does your mom keep bugging you about getting married? You’ve got lots of time. You’re only twenty-nine.”
He arched an accusing brow. “How do you know that?”
“You told me.”
“Oh, right.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m one of your groupies who hangs on every word written about you in that paper.” She held her hand up and ran it from left to right, like she was highlighting the latest headline. “Seattle’s most eligible bachelor.” His eyes narrowed, giving her a warning look, but he was obviously bothered by all the attention. Interesting, because causing a scene didn’t seem to bother him like it did her.
“Mom wants me married for two reasons. One is grandkids, and two is to bring someone respectable to my cousin Grant’s wedding next month in Maine.”
“She doesn’t think the girls you date are respectable?”
He shrugged. “Guess not.”
“You going alone then?”
“Most likely. Which means a full-on interrogation.” He pressed his palm to his forehead. “Christ, I am so not looking forward to that.”
She chuckled.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I guess you seem so hard-assed with everyone else, not the kind of guy to take crap from anyone, yet your mom really gets to you.”
“Mothers, right?”
Her stomach squeezed, missing hers so very much. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Right.”
“I wish I could bail, but Grant and I used to be close when we were kids.”
She looked at all the untouched containers of food as she recalled the tourism commercials for Maine. “I’ve never been to Maine.”
“Lucky you.”
She laughed. “That bad, huh?”
“Not if you like skiing and outdoor activities.”
‘”You don’t?”
“I just don’t have time for it anymore.” She didn’t miss the melancholy in his voice. She worked late shifts at the coffee shop and had often seen him leaving work late. The guy probably needed a vacation.
“Could be fun.”
His body stiffened, but there was a ghost of a smile on his mouth. “Did you miss the interrogation part?”
She laughed. “Right.”
“She just needs to accept that I’m not ever getting married.”
“Really, not ever?”
“No,” he responded quickly, definitively. Instead of pressing—what he did or didn’t do was none of her business—she asked about his cousin instead. “Why would anyone get married in Maine in December?”
“He and his fiancée live in New York, and there’s a ski lodge in Maine, not too far away, and I guess they wanted a romantic Christmas Eve wedding near the slopes.” A noise crawled out of his throat, and she could only assume he didn’t believe in romance, either.
“Sounds nice to me.”
“I figured you’d say that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Layla. You’re definitely the kind of girl who dreams of a big, romantic wedding.”
Truthfully, she’d never given much thought to getting married. She’d been too busy making it on her own, determined to make something of herself so she’d never end up in her mother’s position. No way, no how was she going to end up dependent on any guy, only for him to up and leave her high and dry.
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
“I…actually, I don’t know.” He went quiet for a moment, lost in thought. “Maybe because you’re an artist, a dreamer, and I could just picture you as a little girl romanticizing a big, glamorous wedding.”
“Then you’d be wrong.” Switching the conversation from her to his cousin, she said, “A wedding at a ski lodge sounds cold, though.”
“Says the girl who gave her winter jacket away.”
“Hey. What I do with my jacket is none of your business.” She gave him a little shove. He didn’t budge, but her hand on his arm seemed to do something to both of them.
Silence ensued for a long time, then he cleared his throat and said, “You’d like Grant, actually. He and his fiancée both work at the New York History Museum. He’s a curator, and she’s an exhibit designer. You’d have a lot to talk about I’m sure. ”
“Oh wow, talk about a dream job.”
“I thought you wanted to open your own art gallery.”
“Yeah, but that’s a pipe dream, Parker. I don’t ever see that happening.”
“I think you could do whatever you set your mind to, Layla.” As she chewed on that, he gestured to the sauce. “Can you pass the soy sauce?”
She handed it to him and rubbed her stomach. “I’m so full I couldn’t eat another bite.” She hated to waste food. It was a precious commodity in her life. Maybe she’d box up what was on her plate and have it later, or tomorrow. “I think my eyes were bigger than my belly.”
He dished up more rice and covered it in soy sauce. “Jesus. You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”
“I don’t have a very big appetite.”
He nodded. “If you get hungry later, there will be plenty of leftovers.”
“I’ll just wrap what I have on my plate and heat it up later. Maybe for breakfast.”
He gave her an odd look. Even though it was early, she yawned.
He checked his watch. “Tired?”
“Apparently getting run over can do that to you.”
Guilt moved over his face and made her feel a little bad. He was distracted, worried about his mother, so she should probably stop with the teasing jibes.
“Maybe you should try to rest. I have work to do anyway.”
“Oh, okay.” All of a sudden the image of her inside his big penthouse suite alone didn’t sit well with her. Odd really, since she was used to being alone, thrived on it really. After serving customers all day, and sitting in a class full of students, she relished her quiet time with her paints.
He finished his plate of food, and she stood and started gathering the dishes. His hand closed over her. “I’ll take care of them.”
“Don’t you have to go?”
“Conference call. I can do it from here.”
“Okay.” She moved, but the sweatpants rubbed her knees, and she hissed. “My knees. I need to bandage them first.”
“Let me.”
Everything about him embodied control as he pushed the food to the other side of the big island, put his hands around her ribcage, and lifted her like she weighed nothing. As her sock clad feet dangled over the counter, he stepped up to her, his big presence making her feel so little. Reaching around her, he grabbed the bandage supplies, then glanced down at the sweatpants.
“I can’t get at your knees.”
“Right.” She laid back and lifted her hips, shimmying her pants down her thighs until her knees were exposed. The long dress shirt he’d given her kept her covered from the thighs up.
He grabbed a fistful of his hair. “Ah, that will work, too.”
“What?”
“You could have just pulled them up from the ankle.”
“Oh, right.”
Gawd, I am so freaking stupid.
What the hell had she been thinking? Here she was showing her damn innocence in front of a rich, sophisticated man with more sexual experience in his pinkie than she had in her entire body. Sure, there was that one time she’d fooled around with Jimmy Rayburn after school, but other than that clumsy groping incident, she was pretty damn dense when it came to things like this.
And she didn’t even have any panties on.
She reached for the band of her pants to pull them back up, but he stopped her. “Don’t,” he commanded, his voice brusque and harsh.
“Don’t what?”
As he stood over her, oozing sex and power, he bit out, “Don’t lay back like that ever again.”
“Oh, okay.”
She looked over his face, took in the deep concentration lines around his eyes as he bent to examine her knees. He might be taking care of her cuts, but the way he was looking at her felt very personal. Too personal. The sooner she got away from him and out of his penthouse the better. Here she thought she’d stay and torture him, but the only one being tortured was her as he studied her with those intense eyes, making her feel so needy and…aroused. Damn him.
She swallowed as his hot breath spilled over her thighs. Heat flashed, and suddenly she couldn’t seem to breathe. A sound she had no control over crawled out of her throat.
He lifted his head. Their eyes met and locked.
“You okay?” Pressure brewed between her legs as he studied her, and she slammed her knees together. She took in a painful breath, her blood turning to lava.
“Yeah, sight of blood and all,” she managed to get out.
With exquisite gentleness, that seemed contrary to everything this man represented, he cupped her chin, his fingers warm on her flesh, and he turned her head. “Look the other way,” he said, his voice lacking the command it once held. “The sooner I get this done, the better it is for both of us.”
“Ah…” What exactly did he mean by that? “What?”
He coughed. “I need to get to that conference call.”
“Yeah, of course.”
His hands closed over her knees, and he slowly spread them. Oh. My. God. Everything about this felt naughty, erotic—not at all like when she was in the emergency room—and damned if she didn’t like it.
“Can you just open a little more, Layla?”
OMFG.
With her eyes averted, she inched her thighs open to give him better access to her knees. Could he see all the way up to her privates? She gripped her shirt and tucked it between her legs, just in case.
“I’m going to put the ointment on it now. Sorry if it hurts.”
Oh, it was already hurting.
She jumped at the touch of his finger, but it wasn’t because it stung. What the hell was going on with her?
“You need to stay still.”
At the briskness in his voice, she turned her face back to his and pulled in a breath at the way his gaze was moving over her legs. The muscles along his jaw bunched and relaxed again as he clenched and unclenched, and her body convulsed at the barrage of sensation sizzling through her veins.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m trying.”
He finished applying the ointment and secured the gauze and tape. Even though his hands were big, he moved with skill, agility. Once he was done, he stood back to examine his handiwork.
“Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for making me go to the hospital. I probably wouldn’t have gone otherwise.”
“You shouldn’t be thanking me, Layla. I’m the one who hit you, remember?” He looked over her knees again. “Not the best, but it should last through the night.”
She laughed. “Not the way I sleep.”
“No?”
“No, I toss and turn and kick the blankets on and off. One minute I’m on my back, then my stomach. My hair, the sheets, everything is completely mussed by morning. You’ll see.”
A tormented look flashed in his eyes and disappeared just as fast. “Okay,” he said, then went quiet. Too quiet.
She glanced around, struggling to think of something to say, to break the trance he seemed to be in. “Well, I should let you get to that conference call.”
He put his hands around her ribcage, his mouth close to the shell of her ear, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath, and he lifted her from the counter.
He set her down, and she wobbled. Big arms snaked around her back. “You okay?”
“Just dizzy for a second.” She reached down and pulled her pants back up, tying them at the waist, even though she’d be removing them before bed. They were way too big and heavy to sleep in.
“Let me get you into bed.” He stiffened. “I mean, let me help you. I don’t want you falling in the hall. The floors were just done, and blood is a bitch to get out of them.” He grinned, but it was forced, and she had to give him credit for trying not to be such a complete ass.
She rolled her eyes. “I can make my own way to bed.”
“Oh, I know you can, but I’m taking you.”
“Park—”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and a low growl sounded in his throat. “Do you really want to keep doing this?”
“No. Fine. I need to brush my teeth.”
“I have a spare brush in the bathroom.”
“I didn’t see—” She slammed her mouth shut before she gave away that she’d been snooping. He walked with her to the bathroom and put both her hands on the vanity.
“Stay put,” he commanded and disappeared. He came back with a brush and facecloth.
He left her alone, leaving the door cracked, and hovered in the hall while she brushed her teeth and washed her face.
She pulled the door open and found him leaning against the wall, arms folded, legs crossed, and the sexy image of the brusque and arrogant man had her toes curling. She was about to push past him.
“Ready?” he asked, the challenge in his eyes warning that he’d put her over his shoulders and carry her if he had to.
Accepting his challenge, she tried to walk past him, even though the last thing she wanted was to be over his shoulders—but the damn bully would have none of that. He slid his arm around her waist, and she tried not to think about how good it felt as he led her to the spare room. Once in the room, she pushed away, hurried to her bed, and slid under the covers. The fresh scent of the sheets filled the room, as she pulled her hair out from under her neck, letting it splay over the pillow.
He stood there for one moment, just staring at her. Finally he turned. “G’night,” he said gruffly. The light went off, draping her in darkness, and he stepped into the hall. “I’m going to leave your door cracked in case you need me.”
“What would I need you for?”