tell you. …”
Cat wasn’t really hearing him. She knew she had gone parchment-white beneath her tan, as white as the man staring over Clay’s shoulder at her. Jules’ thin, sensitive brows had flown high, his hazel eyes were so dilated they appeared to be a solid sheet of empty pupil. His slender patrician nose was pinched and the line of his lips had all but disappeared, as chalk-white as his face.
Jules was ignoring the hand extended by Clay. He snapped out a single epithet in French that totally expressed his opinion of her.
Cat flinched, but his stinging word broke the freeze of incredulous horror that had held her immobile. “Jules, wait!” she shrieked, fingers clenched tightly in her sheets. Oh, God, what was she going to say? How on earth was she going to explain the half-naked man in the towel, her own rumpled appearance, the state of the bed. More than anything in the world she wanted to kill Clay, tear him limb from limb as he stood before Jules with his expression of pained discomfort.
“Jules, this isn’t what it appears to be! This man has set me up, he’s trying to destroy you and me.”
Jules’ voice sounded as if it were coming from deep within the ocean. “ Is this your husband, Cat? Your deceased husband?”
“No! Well, yes, but—”
“Cat!” Clay interrupted in mock agony.
Jules turned smartly on his heel.
“Jules, wait! Attend-moi !”
But Cat’s semi-hysterical pleas were ignored. Jules kept going. She sprang furiously from the bed to race after him, but Clay slammed the door before she reached it. Cat slammed into the wood, screaming at Clay every label she could think of from her not-too-limited seafaring vocabulary. “You bastard! You set me up—”
And then she lost all reason, so infuriated that she simply went berserk, flying at him.
If she had been calm, she might have stood a small chance. Her mind instinctively turned to weight, counterweight, and balance. A foot wedged correctly behind his ankle and a subtle shift and she was able to bring Clay down. But Clay had obviously had a few lessons along the way she had known nothing about. She had the deep satisfaction of hearing him grunt with pain, but then she was sailing herself, landing hard beside him. Then he rolled, and his weight was secured over hers; she was pinned, but still half crazed with outrage and fighting like a wild woman.
“Calm down, Cat, I don’t want to hurt you.”
But she couldn’t calm down, she attacked him with furiously pounding arms, trying to strike, scratch, bite—anything—hissing a spate of oaths at him all the while. But despite her half insane and staunch efforts, he managed to secure her wrists and pull them high over her head, subduing her wild clawing.
Their eyes met. Both were breathing heavily; the air around them seemed heavy with explosive tension.
“Catherine,” Clay said slowly, shaking his head slightly and concealing a wry grin. She was like no other woman alive, determined, capable, totally oblivious to odds. Willpower kept her from knowing the meaning of the word lose . Powered by sheer fury as she was now, she could tax even his strength. “Cat,” he repeated quietly, breathing more normally. “I know you can’t believe this now, but I did what I did because I care … because I don’t want your life ruined.”
He winced slightly as his words brought about another explosion of fighting energy and whole new line of epithets. He tensed and waited, tightening his grip around her wrists. She stopped in shock when her struggles served only to disengage the towel from his hips. Her eyes riveted back to his as she lay still, eyes wide and then narrowing. “Damn you,” she hissed, but he couldn’t help a small smile then as he saw her blush despite herself. “You were taking a shower in my bathroom!”
“Technically—our bathroom,” he corrected. As well as robbing him of his towel, the struggle had hiked Cat’s gown high to her hips. The material was
Cat wasn’t really hearing him. She knew she had gone parchment-white beneath her tan, as white as the man staring over Clay’s shoulder at her. Jules’ thin, sensitive brows had flown high, his hazel eyes were so dilated they appeared to be a solid sheet of empty pupil. His slender patrician nose was pinched and the line of his lips had all but disappeared, as chalk-white as his face.
Jules was ignoring the hand extended by Clay. He snapped out a single epithet in French that totally expressed his opinion of her.
Cat flinched, but his stinging word broke the freeze of incredulous horror that had held her immobile. “Jules, wait!” she shrieked, fingers clenched tightly in her sheets. Oh, God, what was she going to say? How on earth was she going to explain the half-naked man in the towel, her own rumpled appearance, the state of the bed. More than anything in the world she wanted to kill Clay, tear him limb from limb as he stood before Jules with his expression of pained discomfort.
“Jules, this isn’t what it appears to be! This man has set me up, he’s trying to destroy you and me.”
Jules’ voice sounded as if it were coming from deep within the ocean. “ Is this your husband, Cat? Your deceased husband?”
“No! Well, yes, but—”
“Cat!” Clay interrupted in mock agony.
Jules turned smartly on his heel.
“Jules, wait! Attend-moi !”
But Cat’s semi-hysterical pleas were ignored. Jules kept going. She sprang furiously from the bed to race after him, but Clay slammed the door before she reached it. Cat slammed into the wood, screaming at Clay every label she could think of from her not-too-limited seafaring vocabulary. “You bastard! You set me up—”
And then she lost all reason, so infuriated that she simply went berserk, flying at him.
If she had been calm, she might have stood a small chance. Her mind instinctively turned to weight, counterweight, and balance. A foot wedged correctly behind his ankle and a subtle shift and she was able to bring Clay down. But Clay had obviously had a few lessons along the way she had known nothing about. She had the deep satisfaction of hearing him grunt with pain, but then she was sailing herself, landing hard beside him. Then he rolled, and his weight was secured over hers; she was pinned, but still half crazed with outrage and fighting like a wild woman.
“Calm down, Cat, I don’t want to hurt you.”
But she couldn’t calm down, she attacked him with furiously pounding arms, trying to strike, scratch, bite—anything—hissing a spate of oaths at him all the while. But despite her half insane and staunch efforts, he managed to secure her wrists and pull them high over her head, subduing her wild clawing.
Their eyes met. Both were breathing heavily; the air around them seemed heavy with explosive tension.
“Catherine,” Clay said slowly, shaking his head slightly and concealing a wry grin. She was like no other woman alive, determined, capable, totally oblivious to odds. Willpower kept her from knowing the meaning of the word lose . Powered by sheer fury as she was now, she could tax even his strength. “Cat,” he repeated quietly, breathing more normally. “I know you can’t believe this now, but I did what I did because I care … because I don’t want your life ruined.”
He winced slightly as his words brought about another explosion of fighting energy and whole new line of epithets. He tensed and waited, tightening his grip around her wrists. She stopped in shock when her struggles served only to disengage the towel from his hips. Her eyes riveted back to his as she lay still, eyes wide and then narrowing. “Damn you,” she hissed, but he couldn’t help a small smile then as he saw her blush despite herself. “You were taking a shower in my bathroom!”
“Technically—our bathroom,” he corrected. As well as robbing him of his towel, the struggle had hiked Cat’s gown high to her hips. The material was
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