times. The worst of times. Times of which he’d been the bad-news bearer. She’d made them shoddier by inviting a man she didn’t know to spend the night in her childhood bed. Shame on her.
They were both still dressed and nothing physical had happened, not really, because that kiss and body grinding so didn’t mean anything. She felt emotionally violated all the same, as if something had passed between them during the long night hours when he’d held her, keeping her body safely tucked next to his and protecting her from whatever demons she’d feared. No one had ever held her that way. Not her father. Certainly not John.
That didn’t mean she suddenly liked Sloan.
To prove it to herself, she narrowed her gaze and practically growled at him.
“You are obviously not a morning person.” Sloan sat up on the side of the bed, raked his fingers through his hair again and shook his head. “For the record, you were the one doing the molesting just then. I was just an innocent victim of your early-morning assault and rather fervent kisses.”
Cara’s face flamed.
“Not that I’m complaining, because I’m not. I quite enjoyed what just happened between us. But I won’t take blame for something I didn’t do,” he continued, looking way too handsome to have just woken up. “Not even from someone who looks as beautiful as you.”
Flattery would get him nowhere. “Innocent victim, my—”
“Shame. Shame,” he interrupted, wagging his finger at her. “Watch your language. Preston still has his curse-word jar on the kitchen counter. Would hate for you to have to make a donation first thing out of bed.”
Immediately, all the oxygen left the room.
Or maybe it was just Cara’s lungs that had become deprived, because Sloan seemed to be breathing just fine.
How dared he remind her of her father’s curse-word jar?
What right did he have to tell her about her father’s habits? Did he think she didn’t know? That just because she’d chosen to live her life where she wanted rather than where he wanted her to be made her love her father less somehow? That her location made her forget growing up in this house and her father’s habits? Hardly. She remembered all too well.
Her anger toward Sloan grew tenfold.
“Get out of here,” she ordered, focusing all her hurt and frustrations toward him and wondering at how the cold blast didn’t slam him out of her bed and against the wall like a splattered bug against a windshield. “Now, before I call the law and have you forcibly removed.”
Looking way too calm for someone under attack, Sloan glanced at the wristwatch he still wore.
“I need to go home and shower,” he said calmly, as if she had just made a comment about the weather rather than demand he leave. “I’ll round at the hospital, and then will be back in a little over an hour with breakfast and coffee with all the fixings. Hopefully, you’ll have a better disposition at that time. Be ready to go.”
Hello. Was he daft? Or just deaf? “I don’t want breakfast or a better disposition.” Which sounded very childish, even to her own ears. But she had a lot to deal with today and that kiss wasn’t going to be added to the list. “I don’t want you to come back. I want you to leave my house and never come back.”
“Your car is at the funeral home. You need to eat.” Could he sound any more calm? Any more logical?
“You have a long day ahead of you,” he reminded her, not that she needed reminding of what the day held. “I will be back, will feed you and will drive you to the funeral home. I want to help you, Cara.”
“No, you’ve helped enough.” Lord, she didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful. “Don’t come back. I can feed myself.” Not that she felt as if she’d ever be able to eat again with the nausea gripping her stomach. “I’ll find another ride to the funeral home.”
She’d walk if it meant not riding with him, not having to look at him and feel the total mortification that she felt because she’d asked him, no, begged him to stay with her because she’d been afraid to be alone. Her only excuse was that she’d been exhausted and full of grief. This morning, well, she’d thought she was kissing John. Surely. Otherwise she never would have… Oh! Why was she trying to justify her actions in her head where Sloan Trenton was concerned? She didn’t owe him anything.
“Just go.” She slumped forward, burying her face against her hugged-up knees.
“This is crazy, Cara,” he told her gently, obviously a man of great patience. He touched her shoulder, but she couldn’t bear his touch and jerked away.
“Today is going to be rough enough on both of us without you treating me like I’m your enemy,” he pointed out.
He probably thought her crazy. No wonder. She thought he was a little crazy, too, for remaining so calm when she felt so… so… agitated… and aware that he was in her bed beside her. Hadn’t that kiss frazzled him in the slightest?
“What is your problem with me, anyway?” He genuinely sounded confused.
“Who said I had a problem with you?” she countered, hugging her knees even tighter.
“Just a wild guess.”
“Then why are you still here?” For that matter, why was she still in bed with him? Was she really so stubborn that she refused to be the one to get out of the bed when she thought he was the one who should leave?
“You asked me to stay.”
Again, his calm and logic irritated her further. She glanced over at him. His expression said there was more to it and she didn’t like the knowing spark in his eyes, as if he knew something she didn’t.
“That was last night,” she responded in as matter-of-fact way as she could manage, scooting a bit farther away from him in the bed.
“And this is this morning?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll ask again, why don’t you like me, Cara?”
“I don’t have to have a reason, do I?”
He studied her so intently she found herself wanting to brush her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair and pinch her cheeks to give her face some color. “Most people have a reason when they dislike someone.”
“You took advantage of my vulnerability last night.”
“No, I didn’t, and we both know it. You asked me to stay and I stayed because it seemed like the decent thing to do. You were upset.”
“Staying makes me a charity case?”
“You aren’t a charity case. Far, far from it.” His patience seemed to wear momentarily thin. “Why are you trying to fight with me? I don’t want to fight with you.”
He was right. She was trying to fight with him. Because she didn’t like him. Because she was embarrassed by the weakness she’d shown. Because he was logical and she was totally illogical, which irritated
