acquaintances,” he went on. “Next it’s France.”
“You have friends in Paris? My parents honeymooned there. It’s supposed to be a gorgeous city.”
“I sponsor a charitable institution in the north.”
Her eyebrows lifted as she sat back. “What kind of charity?”
“Children without homes. Without parents.” To lead into what he really wanted to know—to see if she’d rise to any bait—he added, “I like to give where I can.” When she bowed her head to hide a smile, a ball of unease coiled low in his stomach. With some difficulty, he kept his manner merely interested. “Have I said something funny?”
“Just that Mama always said you were a good man.” Those glittering blue eyes lifted and met his again. “Not that I doubted her.”
Mateo’s chest tightened and he fought the urge to tug an ear or clear his throat. This woman was either a master of flattery or as nice as Mama obviously believed her to be. So which was it? Cute or on the take?
“Mama is my biggest fan as I am hers,” he said easily. “Seems she’s always doing someone a good turn. Helping out where she can.”
“She also plays a mean game of Briscola.”
He blinked. Cards? “Did you play for money?” He manufactured a chuckle. “She probably let you win.”
A line pinched between Bailey Ross’s brows. “We played because she enjoyed it.”
She’d threaded her fingers around the worn denim knees of her jeans. Her bracelet was expensive, however—yellow-gold and heavy with charms. Had Mama’s money helped purchase that piece duty free? If he asked Bailey straight out, what reply would she give?
As if she’d read his mind and wasn’t comfortable, his guest eased to her feet. “I’ve held you up long enough. You don’t want to miss your flight.”
He stood too. She was right. She wasn’t going to admit to anything and his cab would be here any minute. Seemed his curiosity with regard to Miss Ross’s true nature would go unsatisfied.
“Do you have family in Sydney?” He asked as they crossed the parquet floor together and she covered another yawn.
“I was raised here.”
“You’ll be catching up with your parents then.”
“My mother died a few years back.”
“My condolences.” He’d never known his mother but the man he’d come to know as Father had passed away recently. “I’m sure your father’s missed you.”
But she only looked away.
Walking alongside, Mateo rolled back his shoulders. No mother. Estranged from her father. Few possessions. Hell, now he wanted to write her a check.
He changed the subject. “So, what are your broader plans, Miss Ross? Do you have a job here in town to return to?”
“I don’t have any real concrete plans just yet.”
“Perhaps more travel then?”
“There’s more I’d like to see, but for now, I’m hanging around.”
They stopped at the entrance. He fanned open the door, searched her flawless face and smiled. “Well, good luck.”
“Same to you. Say hello to Paris for me.”
As she turned to walk away, hitching that ratty knapsack higher on one slim shoulder, something thrust beneath Mateo’s ribs and he took a halting step toward her. Of course, he should let it alone—should let her be on her way—but a stubborn niggling kept at him and he simply had to ask.
“Miss Ross,” he called out. Looking surprised, she rotated back. He cut the distance separating them and, having danced around the question long enough, asked outright. “Did my grandmother give you money?”
Her slim nostrils flared and her eyebrows drew in. “She didn’t give me money.”
Relief fell through him in a warm welcomed rush. As she’d grown older, Mama had admitted many times that she wasn’t overly wealthy by design; she had little use for money and therefore liked to help others where she could. There was nothing he could do to stop Mama’s generosity—or gullibility as the case more often than not proved to be. But at least he could leave for his vacation knowing this particular young woman hadn’t left his grandmother’s house stuffing bills in her pocket.
But Bailey wasn’t finished.
“Mama loaned me money.”
As the stone swelled in his chest, Mateo could only stare. He’d been right about her from the start? She’d taken advantage of Mama like those before her. He took in her innocent looks and cringed. He wished he’d never asked.
“A … loan,” he said, unconcerned that his tone was graveled. Mocking.
Her cheeks pinked up. “Don’t say it like that.”
“You say it’s a loan,” he shrugged, “it’s a loan.”
“I intend to pay back every cent.”
“Really?” Intrigued, he crossed his arms. “And how do you intend to do that with no job, no plans?” From her reaction to his question about her father, there wouldn’t be help coming from that source, either.
Her eyes hardened. “We can’t all have charmed lives, Doctor.”
“Don’t presume to know anything about me,” he said, his voice deep.
“I only know that I had no choice.”
“We all have choices.” At least when we’re adults.
Her cheeks flushed more. “Then I chose escape.”
He coughed out a laugh. This got better and better. “Now my grandmother was keeping you prisoner?”
“Not your grandmother.”
His arms unraveled. Her voice held the slightest quiver. Her pupils had dilated until the blue was all but consumed by black. But she’d told him what he’d stupidly wanted to know. She’d accepted Mama’s money. He didn’t need or want excuses.
“Goodbye, Miss Ross.” He headed inside.
“And thank you, Doctor,” she called after him. “You’ve killed whatever faith I had left in the male species.” A pulse thudding at his temple, he angled back. Her expression was dry. Sad. Infuriating. “I honestly thought you were a gentleman,” she finished.
“Only when in the presence of a lady.”
Self-disgust hit his gut with a jolt.
“I apologize,” he murmured. “That wasn’t called for.”
“Do
