Hot-Blooded Husbands Bundle

‘I hate what happened to you to put us both in this situation,’ he tempered. ‘And the rest I think is best left until tomorrow when you should be feeling more able to cope.’

He was right. Eve nodded. ‘I’ll take that shower now,’ she said bracingly.

‘You will be okay on your own? You won’t fall over or—?’

‘I’ll be okay.’ She nodded.

He didn’t look too sure about that. His eyebrows were touching across the bridge of his nose as he studied her, and his eyes were no longer steely but dark and deep with genuine worry and concern. Could she ever look more pathetic than this? Eve wondered tragically. And did it have to be Ethan Hayes who witnessed it?

The sheet was used as a handkerchief again, and they weren’t her fingers that lifted it to wipe the tears from her cheeks, they were his gentle fingers. The caring act was almost her complete undoing.

‘I’ll be fine!’ she promised in near desperation. Any second now she was going to throw herself at him again if she didn’t get him out of here! ‘Please go, Ethan—please,’ she repeated plaintively.

Maybe he knew because he rose up to his full height. ‘Don’t lock the door,’ was his final comment. ‘And if you need me, shout.’

But Eve didn’t shout, and while he waited for her to reappear, Ethan prowled the place. He was like a pacing tiger guarding his territory—he likened his own tense and restless state. In the end he put his restless energy to use and tidied the bedroom, remade the bed and, as a belated thought, pulled another clean tee shirt out of the drawer and slid it over his head, then went to make a pot of tea. He had just been placing a tray down on the coffee table when the bathroom door opened.

He glanced up. Eve paused in the doorway. She had a towel wrapped around her hair and she was wearing the tee shirt. It covered her to halfway down her thighs and the short sleeves almost brushed her slender wrists.

She was wrong about the colour, he thought, quickly dropping his eyes away. ‘Tea?’ he offered.

‘I…Yes, please,’ she answered and, after a small hesitation that told him Eve was as uncomfortable with this situation as he was, she walked forward and took the chair next to the sofa. Having been told how she liked her tea, Ethan poured and offered her the mug then folded himself into the other chair. Neither spoke as they sipped, and the atmosphere was strained, to put it mildly. Eve was the first to attempt to ease it. Putting the cup down on the tray, she removed the towel from her hair and shook out its wet and tangled length. ‘Would you have a comb or something I could use?’

‘Sure.’ Glad of the excuse to move, he got up and found a comb. ‘Hair-dryer’s in the bathroom,’ he said as he handed over the comb.

She nodded in acknowledgement of something he suspected she already knew. He sat down again and she began combing the tangles out of her hair. It was all very domestic, very we-do-this-kind-of-thing-all-the-time. But nothing could have been further from the truth.

‘I’ll take the couch,’ she said.

‘No, you won’t,’ he countered. ‘I have my honour to protect. I take the couch.’

‘But—’

‘Not up for discussion,’ he cut in on her protest. One brief glance at his face and she was conceding the battle to him. Suddenly she looked utterly exhausted yet so uptight that the grip she had on his comb revealed shiny white knuckles.

‘Come on, you’ve had enough.’ Standing up again, he swung himself into action which felt better than sitting there feeling useless. Taking hold of her wrist, he tugged her to her feet, gently prized the comb from her fingers, and began trailing her towards the bedroom.

‘My hair…’ she prompted.

‘It won’t fall out if you leave it to dry by itself,’ was his sardonic answer. But really he knew he was rushing her like this because it was himself that had suddenly had enough. He needed some space that didn’t have Eve Herakleides in it. He needed to get a hold on what was churning up his insides.

And what was that? he asked himself. He refused to let himself look for the answer because he knew it was likely to make him as bad as that swine Aidan Galloway.

The bedroom was ready and waiting, its shadows softened by the gentle glow from the bedside lamp. He saw Eve glance at the bed, then at the room as a whole, and her nervous uncertainty almost screamed in this latest silence to develop between them.

‘You’re safe here, Eve,’ he grimly assured her, making that assurance on the back of his own sinful thoughts.

She nodded, slipped her wrist out of his grasp and took a couple of steps away. She looked so darn lost and anxious that he had to wonder if she was picking up on what his own tension was about.

Yet what did she do next? She floored him by suddenly spinning to face him. White-faced, big-eyed, small mouth trembling. ‘Will you stay?’ she burst out. ‘Just for a few minutes. I don’t want to be alone yet. I…’

The moment she’d said it, Eve was wishing the stupid words back. Just the expression on his face was enough to tell her she could not have appalled him more if she’d tried. Oh, damn, she thought and put a trembling hand up to cover her face. He didn’t even like her; hadn’t she always known that? Yet here she was almost begging him to sleep with her—or as good as.

‘Pretend I never said that,’ she retracted, turned away and even managed a couple more steps towards the wretched bed! She felt dizzy and confused and terribly disorientated—and she wished Raoul Delacroix had never been born!

The arm that reached round her to flip back the bed covers almost startled her out of her wits. ‘In,’ Ethan commanded.

In, like a child being put to bed by a stern father, she likened. In she got, curling onto her side like a child and let him settle the covers over her. When I leave here tomorrow I am never going to let myself set eyes on Ethan Hayes again! she vowed. ‘Goodnight,’ she made herself say.