thought I was Del.”
“I don’t care what they thought—just keep them away from me.”
“You get bitten as a kid?” he said casually, signaling for the dogs to stay as he led her up the magnificent curve of the stairwell.
“Yes. Yes, I was.”
Accusing her of lying would start another argument, Cade decided. But she was definitely lying. Again. He opened the fourth door along the hallway. “The Rose Room,” he said ironically. “My mother was, in many ways, very conservative.”
An ornate brass bed, too much ruffled chintz, an acre of rose-pink carpet, and a bouquet of real roses on the mantel. “My whole house would fit in here,” Tess said.
Cade opened a drawer in the Chippendale dresser and pulled out a nightgown. “Towels and toothbrush in the bathroom,” he said brusquely. “Come down for breakfast in the morning any time you’re ready.”
The gown was a slither of green silk that had probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. As Tess gingerly took it from him, a spark of electricity leaped between them. She jumped back, giving a nervous laugh, tossing the gown on the bed. As though he couldn’t help himself, Cade took her by the shoulders. “All too appropriate,” he said tightly.
His fingers scorched through her dress; his eyes skewered her to the wall. She tried to twist free. “Don’t!”
“You’re so goddamn beautiful—I can’t keep my hands off you.”
Deep within, feelings she’d never experienced before uncoiled in her belly, slowly, lazily, unarguably. Her knees felt weak. Her heart was juddering in her breast. With all her strength, she pushed against the hard planes of Cade’s chest. “If you brought me here to seduce me, you’ve got the wrong woman. Let go, Cade! Please…”
She wasn’t a woman who would beg easily. She wasn’t playing hard to get, either—he was almost sure of that. Plain and simple, she hated being touched. By him? Or by anyone?
His usual women were willing. All too willing, tediously and predictably so; which was probably why it had been a considerable while since he’d shared his bed.
Cade released her, rubbing his palms down his trousers, and stated the obvious. “You feel the attraction, too. But for some reason you’re fighting it.”
“I don’t feel anything! Or is your ego so inflated you can’t stand rejection?”
The wildcat was back, eyes glittering. “You do feel it, Tess. I can read the signals.” He gave her a mock salute. “We’ll pick this up in the morning. Good night.”
The door closed softly behind him. Tess locked it with a decisive snap, then sank down on the bed. She’d never in her life met anyone like Cade Lorimer.
A few moments ago, desire had almost overwhelmed her. Desire was a phenomenon she’d read about, always with faint derision; it wasn’t something she’d ever expected to attack her like an enemy from within.
When Tess woke the next morning, the sound of the sea was drowned by the hard pelt of rain driven against the windowpanes.
Trying to shake off a strange sense of oppression, she sat up, and saw with a jolt of unease that an envelope had been pushed under her door.
Opening it as warily as if it contained a deadly virus, Tess unfolded the sheet of heavy vellum. I’ll stay at the hospital all day, it said. The housekeeper will find something for you to wear and the dogs will be kept in the kennels. Cade.
His handwriting was angular, decisive and very masculine. Cautiously Tess unlocked the door, peeked down the empty hallway and grabbed the small heap of clothes on the floor. Tights, a scoop-necked T-shirt and a pair of sandals that looked brand-new: the housekeeper had come through.
Quickly she dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. She spent the rest of the day curled up in the library, reading and listening to the rain, birch logs snapping in the fireplace. But to her intense annoyance, from midafternoon onward, she found herself straining for the sound of Cade’s car.
She wanted him to drive her home. That was the only reason she was interested in his return.
She got up, pacing back and forth, wishing the rain would let up so she could go outdoors. Then, from the corner of her eye, she noticed a collection of framed diplomas on the wall of the alcove beyond the fireplace. Walking closer, she saw degrees from Harvard, awards from the London School of Economics, the letters dancing in front of her eyes.
All the diplomas were Cade’s.
Humiliation wasn’t an emotion new to Tess; but she’d never before felt it so keenly or so painfully. She hadn’t even graduated from high school.
Worse, she was the daughter of a small-time crook and his unscrupulous mistress.
Cade Lorimer was way out of her league. One thing was certain—she’d never be his mistress. Not that she wanted to be, of course.
Viciously Tess dug the poker into the glowing coals, tossed another log on the fire and went back to her book.
Dinner was a welcome break, even though her appetite had deserted her. But when Cade still wasn’t back by nine o’clock that evening, Tess clumped downstairs to the kitchen. She was trapped in this horrible house for another night, she thought irritably, making herself a mug of hot chocolate, stirring in too many marshmallows, then taking an experimental sip.
Behind her, the swing door swished open. Cade said, “You’ve got marshmallow on your chin.”
She glowered at him. “Nice to see you, too.”
“I need a drink—something stronger than hot chocolate.”
“How’s Del?” she countered; and realized to her surprise that she really wanted to know.
“Cranky as a bear in a cage. Coming home late tomorrow afternoon. Whose clothes are you wearing?”
“The butler’s granddaughter’s,” she said.
The tights were too short and the T-shirt too small. Trying very hard to keep his gaze above the level of her breasts—which were exquisitely shaped—Cade opened the door of the refrigerator, took out a beer and uncapped it. Taking a long draught, he said, “Hospital food has to be the worst in the nation and their tap water tastes like pure chlorine.”
He’d dropped onto a stool by the counter and was loosening the collar of his shirt. He looked tired, she thought reluctantly, watching the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed.
His body hair was a dark tangle at the neckline of his shirt; the thin cotton clung to the breadth of his shoulders. As he rolled up his sleeves, corded muscles moved smoothly under his skin. Moved erotically, Tess thought, and buried her nose in her mug. What was wrong with her? She never noticed the way a man moved.
The silence had stretched on too long. She said politely, “Is it still raining?”
“Supposed to stop tomorrow morning.” He took another gulp of beer. “What did you do all day?”
