them tinted. I work in this car.’
‘Right.’ She hesitated, removing her arms from around his neck, and as she did he was aware of a sharp jab of loss. She’d put her arms around him for security but it had felt…good. But she wasn’t thinking about the sensations he was feeling. She was doing some forward projections. ‘No one can see in. How do I know if I get in this car I won’t end up in concrete shoes?’
Enough. ‘Robert, help me put her in the car—with force, if necessary,’ he told his bemused chauffeur. ‘And open the blasted windows! Mafia… Good grief!’
Then there was the medical clinic—a personalised service only available to New York’s mega-rich. Peta was almost hornswoggled.
‘You just roll in here and someone sees you?’ They were waiting for X-rays and the chairs they were sitting in were luxurious leather. Gorgeous!
‘Of course.’
‘There’s no of course about it,’ she snapped. ‘If I’d had this when Hattie…’ She took an angry breath. ‘Could Charles Higgins afford this sort of place?’
‘If the rent he pays is any indication, of course he can.’
‘I’ll kill him,’ she muttered and sat back and glowered the entire time her leg was bandaged.
‘You’re lucky. It’s not broken but it’s still badly bruised,’ she was told by the attendant doctor. ‘Stay off it. The nurses will fit you with crutches.’
Fine. Obviously still angry and with Marcus silent by her side, she hobbled her way to reception. And grew angrier still when Marcus paid.
‘I can pay.’
‘I’m very sure you can’t,’ Marcus told her gently. ‘It was my fault. Let me.’
‘Money,’ she whispered. ‘It solves everything. As long as you can screw the world to get more of it.’
Then there was the little matter of her clothes. With Peta safely resettled in his mafia car, Marcus directed Robert to Fifth Avenue.
‘I just need a wash and I’ll be fine,’ she told him, but he shook his head.
‘No. Charles is never going to admit you into his office looking like this.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing. It’s stupid going back there now to wait for a reception you’re not going to get. Let me help.’
Let him help more. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Was he crazy?
He didn’t get involved—he never got involved—and for him to make this offer…
She had no expectations of him, he thought. He could back away right now. There’d be no repercussions. He’d never hear from this woman again.
But he couldn’t. He stared down at the defiance in her face, and he saw the trace of desperation behind the defiance. There was no way he could walk.
He wanted to help. Come what may. For the very first time in many, many years, Marcus Benson wanted to be involved.
CHAPTER TWO
MARCUS thought he knew women. Marcus was wrong. And so was the shop where he took Peta.
One of the women he’d dated had told him once that the shop stocked fabulous business clothes but Peta hobbled in and looked around in suspicion. The shop assistants reacted the same way.
They smiled at Marcus. They were cautiously and patronisingly polite to the waif he had in tow.
Still, they were here for clothes. Not for pleasantries. Marcus didn’t have time to mess around.
‘Can you fit Peta out in something corporate?’ he asked the assistant and Peta flashed him a look of annoyance.
‘That makes me sound like a Barbie doll. Let’s dress her in Corporate today.’
‘Don’t you want me to help you?’
‘No.’
‘Peta…’
‘All right.’ As the assistant searched the racks for something suitable she flashed him a look that was half apology, but the defiance was still there. ‘I know. You’re being really nice. I’m being really stupid. But this feels…wrong.’
‘It’s sensible. Just do it.’
‘Try this,’ the assistant said, with a bright smile at Marcus. Peta was ignored. She held the suit up against Peta, but it was Marcus who was clearly expected to make the decision.
He might have, but he never got the chance. As the girl smiled across at Marcus, Peta lifted the price tag.
She yelped.
Marcus doubted if he’d ever heard a woman yelp before but she yelped. She pushed the suit away and stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.
‘What, are you crazy?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at the price. I can’t afford this.’
‘I’m paying. I told you. I ruined your clothes.’
‘Yeah, you spilled my drink over my five-buck shirt and you’re intending to replace it with stuff that costs three thousand dollars?’ She fended off the suit some more. ‘Three thousand dollars! Look, this seemed a really nice idea, and I’m delighted to have a bandage on my ankle and these neat crutches, but suddenly it’s out of hand. You’ve done enough. I can’t take any more. Can I leave? Now?’
She was backing towards the door.
‘You won’t get in to see Charles,’ Marcus warned. He watched the conflicting emotions play over her face and felt the same conflict himself. He’d been enjoying himself, he decided. It wasn’t half bad—millionaire playing benefactor to very attractive waif. But the waif was supposed to be grateful. She was supposed to smile sweetly and acquiesce.
This was like Cinderella saying the glass slipper didn’t fit. Or didn’t look right.
She was still backing, no mean feat on brand-new crutches, and the conflicting emotions were giving way to overriding distress. ‘I just have to deal with Charles my own way,’ she muttered.
‘You agreed to do this.’
‘I was stupid. I must have hit my head on the way down the stairs. So now, somehow, I’m standing in a swish store with a guy who has more money than I’ll ever dream about—and he’s offering to spend enough money on a suit to feed my family for a year.’
‘Your family?’
Her face shuttered even more, and the pain intensified. ‘I don’t need to talk about my family. I’m out of my depth. I need to leave. I’m sorry.’ She
