Whatever.
He set his hands on the floor and moved in close, much closer than before, going nose-to-nose with her. “Do you really hate me?”
Her poor, tired mind dithered. “It’s beside the point.”
“Honestly?”
“Nick, how can I feel differently when you’ve got me chained to the furniture?”
The man actually snarled. “Ignore the chain.”
“I can’t. It’s around my ankle. Mine. Not yours, Nick.”
“Do you hate me?”
She groaned and sighed and winced. Being cornered didn’t suit her. “I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know.” The tip of his nose brushed against hers and she half-heartedly swatted at him. “Stop it.”
He sat back on his heels, his dark gaze steady on her. “I promise I won’t leave you on your own again.”
“This isn’t like the other promises where you change your mind when it suits you, is it?”
He didn’t even blink. “No.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She sucked in a deep breath and felt good for the first time in a long time. Her lungs expanded gratefully as relief flowed through her. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “I did leave a key hidden here. You would have found it eventually.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” he said. “You don’t really hate me.”
“How do you know?” she asked, genuinely curious. He sounded so sure of himself. That need to know was her one very real fault, or at least the main one. God, the trouble it had gotten her into, curiosity.
The side of his mouth slowly curled into an untrustworthy smile. He sat there on his haunches, bare-chested, just like the day before when he’d kissed her. She’d been so mad. Now she simply lacked the energy.
“Right there,” he said. “That look.”
“What look?”
The other side of his mouth rose until he was giving her a smile to level mountains. Or at the very least move them. Her heart did some awful fluttery thing she didn’t appreciate. Probably a result of all the upset he’d caused her.
“The look you give me before you remember to be pissed at me.” He leant forward and she resisted the urge to shuffle back. “You don’t hate me, Roslyn. Not even a little.”
“Do too.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “You don’t.”
“That’s what you think,” she said, because she needed to say something and that was the best her absent brain could do.
With a wink the bastard rose to his feet. “I can’t believe how you trashed the place.”
“Mm,” she said.
He bitched some more about the mess.
She ignored him.
Because he was wrong; she did hate him.
Mostly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nick wasn’t usually the type to hang about in bed. Or at least, not without a damn good reason.
His good reason lay half across him, sound asleep. Roslyn was sprawled over him, her cheek on his chest. Their cuffed wrists sat on his stomach and he lay on his back, reading. The position made holding the notebook tricky, but he was determined. It seemed more of a diary than a notebook and it had been jam-packed full of Roslyn’s thoughts on pretty much everything.
How she hated red wine, but loved gin. The names of the many romance books she’d read and what she thought of them, in excruciating detail. Her tiffs with her mum and worries about her job. Some concerns regarding the size of her ass and how her breasts didn’t sit as high as they used to. Which wasn’t right, because her tits and ass were perfect. Judging from what little he’d seen of them, of course. A closer look would help him reassure her.
Fuck, he wished. She would have to be asleep or hysterical to let him near her.
Ros snuffled on his chest. Her fingers flexed against his ribs, the short nails scraping over his skin grabbing his immediate attention. Hard not to be hard with a hot woman all over you, and this woman in particular, she felt just right. He stroked her crazy red hair, crooning nonsense to her for a moment. She seemed to like that. Her body relaxed against him, soft and sweet.
Despite the
He set his hands on the floor and moved in close, much closer than before, going nose-to-nose with her. “Do you really hate me?”
Her poor, tired mind dithered. “It’s beside the point.”
“Honestly?”
“Nick, how can I feel differently when you’ve got me chained to the furniture?”
The man actually snarled. “Ignore the chain.”
“I can’t. It’s around my ankle. Mine. Not yours, Nick.”
“Do you hate me?”
She groaned and sighed and winced. Being cornered didn’t suit her. “I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know.” The tip of his nose brushed against hers and she half-heartedly swatted at him. “Stop it.”
He sat back on his heels, his dark gaze steady on her. “I promise I won’t leave you on your own again.”
“This isn’t like the other promises where you change your mind when it suits you, is it?”
He didn’t even blink. “No.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She sucked in a deep breath and felt good for the first time in a long time. Her lungs expanded gratefully as relief flowed through her. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “I did leave a key hidden here. You would have found it eventually.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” he said. “You don’t really hate me.”
“How do you know?” she asked, genuinely curious. He sounded so sure of himself. That need to know was her one very real fault, or at least the main one. God, the trouble it had gotten her into, curiosity.
The side of his mouth slowly curled into an untrustworthy smile. He sat there on his haunches, bare-chested, just like the day before when he’d kissed her. She’d been so mad. Now she simply lacked the energy.
“Right there,” he said. “That look.”
“What look?”
The other side of his mouth rose until he was giving her a smile to level mountains. Or at the very least move them. Her heart did some awful fluttery thing she didn’t appreciate. Probably a result of all the upset he’d caused her.
“The look you give me before you remember to be pissed at me.” He leant forward and she resisted the urge to shuffle back. “You don’t hate me, Roslyn. Not even a little.”
“Do too.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “You don’t.”
“That’s what you think,” she said, because she needed to say something and that was the best her absent brain could do.
With a wink the bastard rose to his feet. “I can’t believe how you trashed the place.”
“Mm,” she said.
He bitched some more about the mess.
She ignored him.
Because he was wrong; she did hate him.
Mostly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nick wasn’t usually the type to hang about in bed. Or at least, not without a damn good reason.
His good reason lay half across him, sound asleep. Roslyn was sprawled over him, her cheek on his chest. Their cuffed wrists sat on his stomach and he lay on his back, reading. The position made holding the notebook tricky, but he was determined. It seemed more of a diary than a notebook and it had been jam-packed full of Roslyn’s thoughts on pretty much everything.
How she hated red wine, but loved gin. The names of the many romance books she’d read and what she thought of them, in excruciating detail. Her tiffs with her mum and worries about her job. Some concerns regarding the size of her ass and how her breasts didn’t sit as high as they used to. Which wasn’t right, because her tits and ass were perfect. Judging from what little he’d seen of them, of course. A closer look would help him reassure her.
Fuck, he wished. She would have to be asleep or hysterical to let him near her.
Ros snuffled on his chest. Her fingers flexed against his ribs, the short nails scraping over his skin grabbing his immediate attention. Hard not to be hard with a hot woman all over you, and this woman in particular, she felt just right. He stroked her crazy red hair, crooning nonsense to her for a moment. She seemed to like that. Her body relaxed against him, soft and sweet.
Despite the
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