One Night with His Virgin Mistress. Sara Craven
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‘Fine.’ He dropped his shirt to the floor and started to unzip his trousers. He slanted a smile at her. ‘And now your business is with me, only the terms have changed a little.’
‘You don’t understand,’ she insisted more fiercely. ‘I’m just here as the caretaker. Nothing more.’
‘Then take care of me,’ he said equably. ‘You can start by washing my back.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I won’t.’ She swallowed. ‘And I warn you now that if you come near me—if you dare try and lay a hand on me, I’ll have you charged with rape. I swear it.’
There was a taut silence, then he said softly, ‘You actually sound as if you mean that.’
‘I do.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And you’d better also believe that I’m not involved with Kit and I never was, and never would be either. I think, in his own way, he’s almost as obnoxious as you are.’
‘Thank you.’ There was an odd note in his voice.
‘I came here simply to do a job and, until a few minutes ago, I didn’t know you even existed. I thought this was his flat.’
‘I’m sure it pleased him to give that impression.’ He shrugged a bare shoulder, setting off a ripple of muscle that she would have preferred not to see. ‘It always has. But let me assure you that the flat is mine and so is everything in it, including that inadequate towel you’re clutching, and the bed where you’ve apparently been sleeping,’ he added silkily, watching the colour storm back into her face at the implication of his words.
‘In reality, I’m Kit’s occasional and very reluctant host. And currently, for some reason which I’m sure you’re eager to share with me, I seem to be yours too.’
She made a desperate stab at dignity. ‘Naturally, I do see that you’re…owed an explanation.’
‘Perhaps we should postpone any discussion on the extent of your indebtedness for a more convenient moment.’
His soft-voiced intervention had her biting her lip, but she pressed on doggedly, ‘However, my reasons for being here are perfectly genuine. I—I have nothing to hide.’
‘No?’ he queried, the green eyes measuring her with dancing cynicism. ‘You could have fooled me.’
He strode over to the door and took down the bathrobe that hung there. ‘And now I intend to take my shower whether you remain there or not,’ he said as he returned. ‘So I suggest you put this on and make yourself scarce—if your maidenly reluctance to pleasure me is actually genuine.’
He paused, holding the robe. ‘Is it—or could you still be persuaded to offer a weary traveller the comfort of that charming body?’
‘No,’ she said, teeth gritted, ‘I could not.’
He shrugged again, tossing the bundle of towelling into her arms. ‘Then go. However, I should warn you that I’m still considering having you charged with trespass.’ He observed her lips parting in a silent gasp of alarm and went on, ‘But some good coffee—black, hot and strong—might help your cause.’
‘Is that an order?’ She tried a defiant note.
‘Merely a suggestion,’ he said. ‘Which you’d do well to heed.’
He watched with open amusement as Tallie turned her back to manoeuvre herself awkwardly out of the wet towel and into the robe.
‘Your modesty is delightful, if a little belated,’ he commented dryly as she sidled out of the shower cabinet, looking anywhere but at him, the robe thankfully drowning her from throat to ankle. ‘I’ll join you and the coffee presently.’
He paused. ‘And don’t even think of doing a runner, because I would not find that amusing.’
‘You mean before you’ve counted the spoons?’ She glared at him.
‘Before any number of things.’ He stripped off the khaki trousers and kicked them away. ‘I suggest the sitting room as suitably neutral territory. Unless you have a more interesting idea?’ he added, his hands going to the waistband of his shorts. ‘No? Somehow I thought not.’
And, as he casually dropped his final covering and walked into the shower, Tallie turned and fled, hearing, to her chagrin, his shout of laughter following her.
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