tousled and loose about her shoulders, one curly tendril lying like an S on her cheek. In sleep she looked innocent and vulnerable, far younger than twenty-five.
The eight years difference in their ages suddenly felt like a century. Make that an entire geological period.
Should he wake her?
No!
James looked at the fire. It would make too much noise getting that going again. The room, along with the rest of the house, was centrally heated but set on a timer. He could feel the slight chill in the air as the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece ticked its way to 1:00 a.m.
His gaze went to the mohair throw rug draped over the back of the wing chair. Should he or shouldn’t he? He debated with himself for another thirty seconds as he watched her sleep. Her chest rose and fell, her soft mouth opening slightly as her breath came out on a sigh. Her eyelids with their spider-leg-long lashes fluttered and her forehead puckered as if something she was dreaming about had disturbed her. But after a moment or two her forehead smoothed out and she burrowed deeper into the sofa cushions like a dormouse curling up for winter.
James waited another half a minute before stealthily tiptoeing across the carpet like a burglar to get the throw rug—mentally rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of his caution—and brought it back to gently cover her with it.
It was as if he had dropped a plank of timber on her.
She suddenly leapt off the sofa and struck out with her fists, catching him on the side of the nose in a glancing blow that made stars explode behind his eyes.
James swore and, stumbling backwards, cupped his hand over his throbbing nose, the blood dripping through his fingers to the carpet at his feet. Pain pulsed in sickening waves through his face, his skull and his stomach. He swayed on his feet as he fought against the dizziness as a school of silverfish floated before his gaze.
Aiesha reeled back from him, speaking through her hands that were clasped over her mouth in stunned horror. ‘Oh, my God! Did I hurt you?’
‘No,’ he said through clenched teeth as he reached with his other hand for his handkerchief to stem the flow of blood. ‘I have spontaneous nosebleeds all the time.’
Her eyes were still as wide as her discarded dinner plate. ‘I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know who it was.’
He glared at her over the wad of his handkerchief. His nose was still pulsating with eye-watering pain as it hosed blood. What was she thinking, swinging at him like that? She was the intruder, not him. ‘Who the hell did you think it was?’
Her teeth chewed at her lower lip, her gaze falling away from his as she backed out of the room. ‘Erm...I’ll go and get you some ice...’
* * *
Aiesha held a hand against her juddering heart as she stumbled to the kitchen. The shock of waking to see a dark shape looming over her had made her react on instinct. Her primal brain hadn’t had time to recognise it was not some predatory lecher after a quick feel. Her instinctive reaction to hit out was something she’d learned from a young age, having to dodge the inappropriate attention from her mother’s collection of unsavoury partners. It was why she never spent the whole night with anyone. Ever. It was too awkward explaining her restlessness...or the nightmares. The last time she’d had a nightmare she’d wet the bed.
Try explaining that to a lover.
Aiesha looked at her reddened knuckles. If the pain throbbing in them was any indication, James was going to have a shiner by morning, if not sooner.
Her heart was not quite back where it belonged when she came back with a therapeutic ice pack she’d found in the freezer.
James was sitting on the sofa she had fallen asleep on earlier, his head tilted back, the strong column of his throat exposed. He opened one eye to look at her. ‘That’s a mean right hook you’ve got there.’
Aiesha averted her gaze as she handed him the ice pack. ‘I took up boxing classes a couple of years ago. It’s great for fitness. You should try it.’
He winced as he pressed the pack to the bridge of his nose. ‘Somehow, the thought of thumping an opponent until they lose consciousness doesn’t appeal.’
She bit her lip again. ‘Does it hurt terribly?’
He gave her a look. ‘That was the intention, wasn’t it?’
Aiesha walked over to the remains of the fire and gave it a futile poke. She could sense his watchful gaze resting on her. He’d found her asleep. Off guard. Vulnerable. Had she given anything away while sleeping? Murmured anything? Revealed anything of the turmoil of her past?
She tamed her body language the way she’d been doing since she was eight years old. Show no emotion. Show no fear. ‘I don’t like people sneaking up on me.’
‘I was trying to make you comfortable. You were lying asleep in front of a dead fire. I was worried you might be cold.’
Worried? Ha. When had anyone been concerned about her welfare? She was invisible unless she made people notice her. She had spent her life as an outsider. Not good enough. Not educated enough. Not posh enough.
The thought of him caring about her comfort disturbed her. No one cared about her. No one watched out for her. Not unless they wanted something.
Aiesha turned and squared her gaze with his. ‘Why didn’t you wake me up? Why creep around and scare the crap out of me? I’m glad I punched you. I should’ve hit you harder.’
He took the ice pack away from his face, frowning at her, but not in anger. There was something measuring about his gaze as it held hers. She looked away, flattening her mouth, locking him out.
He came over to where she was standing in front of the dead fire. ‘You want to hit me again?’ he asked. ‘Come on. Put up your fists and clobber me with your best shot.’
She crossed her arms, flashing him a cutting glare. ‘Stop making fun of me.’
Those dark blue eyes continued to penetrate and probe. ‘I’m not joking, Aiesha. Get it out of your system. You want to hit me, then go ahead and hit me. I won’t hit you back. I can take it like a man.’
Aiesha clenched her fists. She could hit him. She could probably knock him out cold if she put her mind to it. Trouble was, her mind was out of sync with her heart.
She hated that she’d hurt him. She loathed violence. Violence sickened her. She’d only taken up boxing as a precaution while living in Vegas. It wasn’t called Sin City for nothing. Men with too much alcohol on board thought it their right to grope and proposition her each night as she left the club. She had never hit anyone before, just a punching bag in the gym. That punching bag had been the substitute for all the men she wished she’d been able to pummel back the way they had pummelled her mother. Hadn’t she herself copped enough hits and slaps in her time to want to eradicate all violence from the world?
And then there was poor little Archie. He had trusted her to keep him safe from that despicable Beast Man and she had failed him. She tried to block the sound of that startled yelp inside her brain. She tried to block the sound of that fatal crack, as poor little Archie’s neck was broken. She tried to block the sight of that poor little limp body hanging from Beast
