Conan’s cold indifference to her out of her mind.
It wasn’t helped by the knowledge that he wouldn’t hesitateto take her to bed if the opportunity arose, which just confirmed what a hard and unfeeling louse he was.
But she’d known that already. So why was she feeling so disappointed in him? she berated herself, screwing up her face with the aches that seemed to be gnawing at her body. She wasn’t, she told herself belligerently, through her restless, groaning fever. Unable to bear feeling so grotty any longer, she broke her rule never to resort to medication and took two paracetamol—which someone had left on the bedside cabinet with Avril’s cranberry juice—after which her bone-deep aches began to subside.
She awoke while it was still dark, drenched to the skin, her nightdress sticking to her like a wet sheet.
It
was
the sheet, she realised, dismayed, trying to kick it off her legs, where it clung, unpleasantly clammy and cold.
Obviously taking the painkillers had reduced her temperature, she thought, which meant having to suffer this side-effect instead.
Grateful, though, that she wasn’t aching any more, she slipped out of bed and into the
en suite
bathroom without putting on the light—which had been all right when she’d had some light filtering up from the grounds through the bathroom’s frosted window. But someone must have drawn the curtains in the bedroom while she’d slept, she realised, after she’d shut off that only source of light, and she found herself having to grope her way back across the luxurious Indian rug, so damp she was already starting to shiver. She couldn’t see a thing, and she needed to find a dry nightdress—fast!
Her clothes had been unpacked for her on the day she had arrived, and her nightwear and underclothes were all neatly folded, drowning in the space provided by an endless array of drawers. But not altogether
au fait
with her surroundings, feeling her way in the dark, she stepped off the carpet onto the richness of wood—and misjudged exactly where she was, colliding with the table where Claudette had placed the heavyvase of flowers earlier in the day, sending it crashing to the floor.
‘Oh,
no!
’
Her legs were splashed from the water, and desperately she groped for a light switch—only to find herself blinking by the illuminated landing as the door burst open a few seconds later, and her own room was flooded with light.
‘What the …?’
It was Conan who stood there, holding the door wide, his face an orchestra of emotions from surprise and concern to outright disbelief.
‘I’m sorry.’ It was all Sienna could say, seeing his gaze slip from her dishevelled state to the shattered pieces of vase lying on the floor. ‘Was it very expensive?’
‘Never mind about that,’ he told her. ‘What are you doing wandering about in the dark? And what the …?’
She must look terrible, she thought wretchedly, seeing his gaze raking over her, with her hair a tangled mess and about as glamorous as a compost heap, while he …
Only now did it sink in that he must have been undressing when he had heard the crash, because he was standing in nothing but the shirt he had been wearing earlier that day, which was fully unbuttoned and hanging open over a pair of dark briefs.
In normal circumstances she wouldn’t have been able to take her eyes off that bronze, muscular chest, with its shading of black hair that arrowed down over his tight flat abdomen. Any more than she could have ignored the powerful thighs which, planted firmly apart and covered in the same fine hair, shouted of everything that was utterly virile and masculine. But her strappy nightdress was clinging to her feverish skin like cold wet polythene and her teeth were starting to chatter.
‘I wanted a dry nightdress,’ she was trying to say, but couldn’t get it out because she was shivering so much.
‘For goodness’ sake!’ In a few short strides he was besideher, and, having sussed the
It wasn’t helped by the knowledge that he wouldn’t hesitateto take her to bed if the opportunity arose, which just confirmed what a hard and unfeeling louse he was.
But she’d known that already. So why was she feeling so disappointed in him? she berated herself, screwing up her face with the aches that seemed to be gnawing at her body. She wasn’t, she told herself belligerently, through her restless, groaning fever. Unable to bear feeling so grotty any longer, she broke her rule never to resort to medication and took two paracetamol—which someone had left on the bedside cabinet with Avril’s cranberry juice—after which her bone-deep aches began to subside.
She awoke while it was still dark, drenched to the skin, her nightdress sticking to her like a wet sheet.
It
was
the sheet, she realised, dismayed, trying to kick it off her legs, where it clung, unpleasantly clammy and cold.
Obviously taking the painkillers had reduced her temperature, she thought, which meant having to suffer this side-effect instead.
Grateful, though, that she wasn’t aching any more, she slipped out of bed and into the
en suite
bathroom without putting on the light—which had been all right when she’d had some light filtering up from the grounds through the bathroom’s frosted window. But someone must have drawn the curtains in the bedroom while she’d slept, she realised, after she’d shut off that only source of light, and she found herself having to grope her way back across the luxurious Indian rug, so damp she was already starting to shiver. She couldn’t see a thing, and she needed to find a dry nightdress—fast!
Her clothes had been unpacked for her on the day she had arrived, and her nightwear and underclothes were all neatly folded, drowning in the space provided by an endless array of drawers. But not altogether
au fait
with her surroundings, feeling her way in the dark, she stepped off the carpet onto the richness of wood—and misjudged exactly where she was, colliding with the table where Claudette had placed the heavyvase of flowers earlier in the day, sending it crashing to the floor.
‘Oh,
no!
’
Her legs were splashed from the water, and desperately she groped for a light switch—only to find herself blinking by the illuminated landing as the door burst open a few seconds later, and her own room was flooded with light.
‘What the …?’
It was Conan who stood there, holding the door wide, his face an orchestra of emotions from surprise and concern to outright disbelief.
‘I’m sorry.’ It was all Sienna could say, seeing his gaze slip from her dishevelled state to the shattered pieces of vase lying on the floor. ‘Was it very expensive?’
‘Never mind about that,’ he told her. ‘What are you doing wandering about in the dark? And what the …?’
She must look terrible, she thought wretchedly, seeing his gaze raking over her, with her hair a tangled mess and about as glamorous as a compost heap, while he …
Only now did it sink in that he must have been undressing when he had heard the crash, because he was standing in nothing but the shirt he had been wearing earlier that day, which was fully unbuttoned and hanging open over a pair of dark briefs.
In normal circumstances she wouldn’t have been able to take her eyes off that bronze, muscular chest, with its shading of black hair that arrowed down over his tight flat abdomen. Any more than she could have ignored the powerful thighs which, planted firmly apart and covered in the same fine hair, shouted of everything that was utterly virile and masculine. But her strappy nightdress was clinging to her feverish skin like cold wet polythene and her teeth were starting to chatter.
‘I wanted a dry nightdress,’ she was trying to say, but couldn’t get it out because she was shivering so much.
‘For goodness’ sake!’ In a few short strides he was besideher, and, having sussed the
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