Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“I CAN WALK,” SHE said, though inwardly doubted whether that was true. But there was something about the way he moved to lift her so easily, so confidently, that unnerved her. Not because she didn’t feel safe with him, but rather, because she did.
Safe and protected.
And like she had support, for the first time in a long time.
“Liar,” he responded, tone flat. His voice was thick and deep, gruff, giving some kind of tortured vigilante vibe even when she had no reason to cast him as a dark superhero in her mind.
“I’m serious,” she insisted. He stopped walking, regarding her for a long beat, so her eyes dropped from his and landed on his stubble-covered jawline, square and strong.
“Okay, show me.”
She didn’t expect it, but a second later, his hands shifted, so he was setting her down in the plush carpet corridor.
The second her injured foot connected with the floor, she yelped, and reached out a hand to the wall to take her weight, but even before it could connect, she was being scooped up once more, a warning expression on his face launching her heart right into her throat.
“Stop arguing for the sake of it.”
“Well, you stop being…I don’t know. So bossy.”
Okay, she knew she should be showing more gratitude.
The guy had very likely saved her life, and brought her to this incredible apartment, had her checked out by someone she presumed had medical experience.
She was safe, in a way she hadn’t thought likely a few hours ago.
Her head throbbed, her ankle hurt, and suddenly, she was conscious of how tired she was.
How long it had been since she’d eaten anything.
How alone she was, on the other side of the world from where she’d grown up, completely without an anchor or compass.
“I have a low tolerance for stupidity.”
She gasped. “You’re calling me stupid?”
“The way you’re arguing with me, yes.”
“I literally just met you.”
“And?”
She clamped her mouth shut. “Is this how you treat everyone?”
His eyes probed hers, a muscle throbbing at the base of his jaw. “Yes.”
“Wow. You must be popular.”
His half-smile was pure cynicism. He shouldered in a door that was already ajar, then flicked on a light. The room was, in a word, palatial. A huge king-size bed, sumptuous white coverings, an arm chair by the window, and what looked to be a bathroom and wardrobe attached.
“I’m not sharing your room,” she said, a shiver running through her spine at the very idea.
“This is a guest room,” he responded tightly. “And it’s for one night.”
“Oh.” She wished she didn’t experience an immediate stab of disappointment at that.
What had she expected? That he’d want her to stay longer?
Until she’d recovered fully? He’d already gone above and beyond by rescuing her and bringing her here.
But the thought of returning to the youth hostel, of needing to find another cash job, of continuing the search for her biological father when she had barely any money left and was now broken in body as well as spirit, was almost too much.
He placed her down on the bed with a gentleness that made something catch in her throat. A moment later, he was fluffing a pillow to place beneath her injured foot, then handing her the remote control for a flat-screen television that was mounted on the wall across the room.
“What would you like to eat?”
Her stomach clenched at the very idea of food. She was absolutely exhausted, suddenly.
“Anything.” Her tone was unrecognisably weak. It felt almost as though his sudden kindness was her undoing. She felt the sharp sting of tears behind her eyes and blinked quickly, refusing to give into them in front of him. “Just something easy. Toast. Noodles. Whatever.”
He arched a dark brow. “That’s not food.”
“Well, whatever,” she said, shaking her head, emotions rioting.
Maybe he understood her sudden vulnerability, because he took a step backwards abruptly, moving towards the door. “Do you need anything in the meantime?”
She was thirsty, too, but she shook her head, because being alone was the most important thing. “I’m fine.”
For the briefest moment, sympathy softened his features. “You will be, Kate.” And then, he left.
Not even half an hour later, he returned with a tray of food, and somehow, it was exactly what she needed, without her even having said it.
Her stomach groaned audibly as he placed it on her lap and she inhaled the fragrance of ravioli with a creamy garlic sauce, and buttery white bread.
“That looks so good,” she admitted gratefully.
“Comfort food.”
She rejected that description, even though it was apt. She wasn’t someone who needed comforting. She was strong. Capable. Alone and independent. Except tonight, she had needed help, and Roman had offered it. Now, he was bringing her warm, gooey comfort food and she wanted that, too.
“Thank you,” she said, after a long pause.
There was also a bottle of sparkling water on the tray, and a chocolate bar.
“Are you eating?”
His eyes raked her face. “Yes.”
She glanced down at her food, wondering at the emptiness inside her stomach. The fact he was eating separately to her shouldn’t have mattered. “Well, thank you.”
“You said that.”
“Is there something wrong with expressing gratitude?”
“It’s not necessary.”
“It’s polite.”
“Do you care about such things, Kate?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
His lips twisted in yet another imitation of a smile. “No.”
“Not you?”
“Some of the worst people I’ve known have been capable of hiding their barbarism behind a facade of empty civility. I’m more interested in actions than words.”
She considered that, without admitting how accurate his statement was. It was her experience, likewise, that people could say one thing and do completely another. Hence the whole not trusting anyone thing.
“Then I’ll finish the whole bowl to show you how grateful I am.”
His brow quirked in an expression of surprise. “I’ll be out there. Call if you need anything.”
When he returned thirty minutes later, he’d changed into a pair of shorts and a shirt, and more of his broad, muscular physique was on display.
She’d known he was strong—he’d lifted her as though she weighed nothing—but she’d been in a state of abject shock and fear initially.
Now she saw him and felt the beginning of something else.
A warmth that started in the pit of her stomach and spread through her body.
“Would you like a shower?”
That was almost as tempting as the bowl of ravioli had been. But she had no idea how, in her current state, she could manage it. “I think it might prove too hard.” She gestured to her ankle and grimaced. “You were right. I can’t walk.”
“I know.”
“So…” the word tapered off into nothing, because his hands were sliding beneath her once more, carrying her so easily, through the room and out of the door.
Not to the bathroom that came off the guest bedroom, but down the corridor and through another door, into a room with a darkly panelled bed and muted lighting.
The bathroom beyond was like something out of a six-star hotel, or an architectural magazine.
A huge bath sat against the bay window, with glittering views of Manhattan, and an overhead shower stood against a wall.
There was no glass to divide the shower from the room, only a gentle slope in the tiles, towards a grate, to delineate different areas of the bathroom.
The tiles were large, dark marble and the lighting in here had the same moody atmosphere as that of the bedroom.
One piece stood out as incongruous, however.
An outdoor chair had been moved to the shower.
He carried Kate across the bathroom and placed her in the chair.
It was close enough to the shower controls and the shower head.
“Thank you.” She sounded younger than her twenty-four years. She sounded…impossibly small and weak. She sounded like she’d sworn she’d never be again.
He moved towards the door, but didn’t step through it. Instead, he turned his back and crossed his arms, his frame strong and fascinating.
“Are you planning to stay?”
“It would be irresponsible to leave. You have a head injury.”
That was a fair point. She was torn. Now that she was here, the desire to let warm water wash away the trauma of the day was strongly tempting. But somehow, the idea of undressing in the presence of this man felt like a warning bell.
“I don’t get my kicks by taking advantage of vulnerable women. Relax, Kate. I have no interest in objectifying someone who’s relying on my assistance.”
“I’m not relying on you,” she disputed, even when factually he was right.
He glanced over his shoulder, lips compressed in a line. “You’re not going to shower if I’m here, are you?”
She bit into her lower lip, shook her head once. “I don’t think I can.”
His nostrils flared as he expelled a sharp breath and stalked across the room, unhooking a towel and placing it closer to her.
“Fine. I’ll be right outside the door. You promise you’ll shout if you need me?”
Gratitude throbbed through her. “Yes.”
“The door stays open.”
“Okay, but don’t look.”
He put one hand on his hips, his expression one of disbelief. Finally, he nodded, and he sounded almost amused as he walked out of the room, pausing only to call over his shoulder, “Prude.”
It would have been a lot easier to shower with him in the room, offering help.
In the end, she’d stripped down to her underwear, flicked on the water and let it run over her for so long she could almost have fallen asleep.
Getting the towel and drying off was challenging, made even more so by her awareness of Roman right outside the bathroom door.
But eventually she managed, and was contemplating attempting to hobble out of the bathroom herself when a knock sounded against the open door.
“All done?”
His voice was so deep and raw. So husky. She had noticed, but had been too affected by her evening to recognise what that did to her. Now it stirred something that sparked goosebumps over her skin.