don’t you ask her yourself?”
Call her? His gut clenched and fisted. “Yeah, I guess I could phone her.”
“I meant you should ask her. In person.”
Tomas frowned. “In Sydney?”
“Inside.” Rafe hitched a shoulder in that direction. “I think she mentioned something about taking a bath. She liked the look of that new spa you put in.”
In his bathroom? Like hell!
Tomas barreled down the long hallway and shouldered through the half-open door. Yes, she’d taken a bath. In his bathroom. Wisps of steam wafted toward the open louver windows, and the moist sweet fragrance of honeyed bath oil still hung in the air.
The house had a half-dozen bathrooms and she’d had to use his? Dammit to hell and back…
He slapped his hand against the doorjamb, whipped around and his eyes narrowed in cold fury. His bedroom door lay open. Oh, no. No, no, no. No. A dozen long strides and he came to a grinding halt, everything locked up by the sight that greeted him through that open doorway.
Angie was bent over his bed, ratting through an open suitcase. Not that he took much notice of the suitcase, since she wore nothing but a towel. For a long minute his anger dissipated, swamped by the heated rush of a body remembering. The soft pliancy of her thighs. The full curves of her buttocks. The sheer carnal pleasure of sliding inside.
She stilled suddenly and turned, as if she’d heard the groan of his lust or the snarl of his restraint, and her eyes widened in surprise. Vaguely he was aware of something—hell, it could have been the crown jewels for all he noticed—drop from her fingers as she straightened.
“Hi.”
The husky note of her greeting stroked his aroused glands like a velvet fist, and in that spun-out moment she had only to smile and unwrap her towel and he’d have forgotten every grievance. But she didn’t smile. And she clutched the front of the towel with an edginess that reminded him of everything wrong with this picture.
Her body, in his towel, in his bedroom. Uninvited.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, low and mean.
“Looking for clothes. I was about to get dressed.” Gathering her usual assurance, she let go the towel and leaned back into her luggage. “If I can just find my—”
“Dammit, Angie, you know that’s not what I asked!”
She knew it and she had to know how much was revealed when she leaned over like that, but it didn’t stop her dragging out the moment. Deliberately? Was she trying to provoke him? Entice him? Seduce him?
Tomas ground his teeth and forced his attention to her busy hands. They rummaged some more then paused, holding up a piece of ivory satin underwear that dangled from her fingertips like some blatant stroke-me invitation. Oh, yeah, this was deliberate, unsubtle and doomed for failure.
“Forget getting dressed,” he barked. “We need to talk.” Her gaze skittered with the same edginess she’d dis-
played earlier. Good. This was his home, his territory, and he was calling the shots. She had cause to look nervous.
“Why didn’t you call?”
“That’s why I’m here,” she said quietly. And as if her legs lost strength, she kind of flopped down onto the edge of his bed. “Instead of calling.”
“You’re pregnant?”
The thick ponytail on top of her head wobbled as she shook her head. “No. I’m not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty much.”
“What does that mean? Did you do a test or not?”
Her backbone stiffened at his harsh tone, and her gaze snapped to his. “I mean,” she said clearly, evenly, “that unless I’m one of those women who bleed even when they’re pregnant, then I’m not.”
Tomas let go an audible breath. Restless, unable to meet the steady darkness of her gaze and unsure how to respond, he paced to the window. Hesitated a second before turning around. “You okay with that?”
“I’m disappointed. What about you?”
How did he feel? Thrown. Rattled. Disgruntled. And, yeah, disappointed that she hadn’t let him know. That she’d probably confided in Rafe first—why else would he have brought her out here?
“How long have you known?” he asked tightly.
“Only a day or two.”
“You said your cycle was regular as clockwork. I can do the sums, Angie. Either you—”
“Okay.” She jumped to her feet in a rush of fluttering towel and creamy skin. “I knew on Monday. Yes, I should have called, but I wanted to surprise you.”
What? He scarcely believed his ears. This was supposed to be a pleasant surprise? Here I am, in your bedroom, aren’t you glad?
She sucked in a breath, as if preparing to say more, but the action caused the towel-tuck over her breasts to come right undone. Before she could regather the gaping sides, Tomas caught an eyeful of dark nipples and curved belly and feminine curls. His body blistered with instant heat, his groin tightened with instant desire, but he rejected the quickening of lust and fixed her with a hard, cold stare.
“I don’t like surprises.”
He walked to the dresser and stared for a full twenty seconds before he realized what was wrong. Her hairbrush, a tub of face cream, her neck-chain, were scattered carelessly amidst his neatly arrayed belongings.
Tomas’s jaw set so hard he heard his teeth grind.
He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her here, not in his home, not in his bedroom, not in his days and his nights.
With one fisted hand he scooped up her things and tossed them into her suitcase. In another second he’d gathered up all the gauzy bras and filmy panties that had spilled onto his bed, and jammed the lid shut on it all.
He was fuming that she’d pulled this surprise-him stunt, that she’d thought she could take over his bedroom, that she’d brought all that skimpy underwear with her…for what? They were having sex, not a seduction. He clicked the snaps shut on her case and his icy rage turned to steam.
“I hope you didn’t buy all that specially,” he said, straightening with the luggage in his hand.
In silence she’d watched him, not objecting, not commenting, although her eyes now flashed with indignation. “You don’t like nice lingerie?”
“It’s a waste of money if you bought it for me.”
“Actually, I bought it for myself. I never thought for a minute that you’d wear a G-string.” She smiled silkily. “Although I do like how satin feels against
