She swallowed—hard—and his eyes dropped to her lips. For a second he contemplated yanking her forward into his arms and kissing her, but her mouth flattened and he knew it would be a mistake.
Clean break.
Still holding her hand, he let his eyes snag hers and felt decidedly unsettled at the glazed look in her eyes. ‘I hope I fulfilled my purpose this weekend?’
Okay, now he sounded like Sam. Time to go.
‘Yes, thank you.’
Again with the thank-yous.
‘Good luck with the coming race.’
‘Thanks.’
Valentino frowned. Another thank-you from either one of them and he was likely to ignore all his good intentions and kiss her anyway.
Climbing out of the car, he grabbed her bag and met her on the sidewalk.
‘I can take that.’
She held her hand out for her bag but he only stared at it grimly. ‘I know you can, but you’re not.’
She hesitated, her eyes briefly clashing with his. ‘Well, thank—’
‘Don’t.’ He watched her sharply as she stepped away from him. She was holding herself a little too stiffly. Was that so he wouldn’t touch her? Or...? ‘You look like you’re burning up.’
‘I’m fine. I just have a headache.’
Tino wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t going to argue with her on the sidewalk even if it was basically empty; most of the residents of this upper-class neighbourhood were safely behind closed doors.
‘Let’s go, then.’
He felt a stab of remorse at how exhausted she looked and knew he was partly responsible for her condition. Possibly he should have told her who he was before he had agreed to help her on Thursday night, but it was too late now and he wasn’t a man who wasted time on regrets.
The lift up seemed to take a month of Sundays, but finally she unlocked her door and stepped inside, reluctantly letting him follow.
He glanced around the stylish cream interior of her apartment, surprised by the splashes of colour in the rugs and cushions. ‘Nice.’
‘Thank you.’
She remained stubbornly in the doorway and he set her rollaway case near her bedroom door. Then he looked around, perversely unwilling to say goodbye just yet.
‘I said thank you.’
Tino glanced at a row of family photos on her bookcase. ‘I heard you—and, believe me, you don’t want to know what that makes me want to do.’
She made a small noise in the back of her throat and he knew she was scowling at him.
‘Don’t you have somewhere to be?’
Yeah, inside you.
He ground his teeth together as his thoughts veered down the wrong track.
Really, it was past time to go. Her prickly challenges turned him on, and the only risk he was up for right now was six hundred and forty kilos of carbon plastic and five point six kilometres of svelte bitumen.
He turned and noticed that she didn’t seem quite steady in the doorway, although she did her best to hide it.
Frowning, he pulled a business card out of his wallet. ‘If you need anything contact my publicist. His number is on here.’
‘What would I need?’
‘I don’t know, Miller. Help changing a tyre? Just take the card and stop being so damned difficult.’
She held his card between her fingers as if it had teeth.
‘You’re not going to return the favour?’ he asked silkily.
‘I’m all out of cards.’
Sure she was.
‘And you already know how to change a tyre.’
He smiled. He did enjoy her dry sense of humour on the rare occasions she unleashed it.
Like her passion.
Her voice sounded scratchy and he studied her face. Her eyes had taken on a glossy sheen and small beads of sweat clung to her hairline. This time he didn’t ignore the inclination to reach out and lay his palm along her forehead. She jumped and tried to pull away, but he’d felt enough. ‘Hell, Miller, you are burning up.’
She stiffened and her eyes were bleak when she raised them to his. ‘I’m fine.’
Like hell.
A moment passed.
Two.
She jerked her eyes from his and swayed. Tino cursed, grabbed her, and eased her over into one of the overstuffed armchairs facing the TV.
‘It’s just a headache.’
‘Sit.’ He headed into the alcove kitchen and flicked on the electric kettle.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Making you a cup of tea. You look shattered.’
She didn’t argue, which showed him how drained she was. He located a cup and saucer in her overhead cupboard and a teabag in a canister on the bench and waited for the water to boil. ‘What’s your mother’s number?’