Damn it.
‘Jordan!’
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he raised his fist to knock again.
The door jerked open.
Luminous golden-green eyes glittered angrily at him. ‘I’d be grateful if you or Rosa could please call me a taxi.’
‘No.’
Her eyes narrowed and then she whirled away and strode towards the bed, where a haphazard pile of toiletries and clothes lay next to her open rucksack. ‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll ask Rosa myself.’
She was still wearing the outfit she’d worn to dinner, and the swish of gold silk around her long legs and the snug fit of the black top against her high, full breasts stirred the same response of masculine appreciation in him now as when he’d first clapped eyes on her downstairs.
Ruthlessly he quashed his lust and moved into the room. Jordan turned, holding up an envelope, and his gut clenched.
‘I’m not convinced you’re ready for this,’ she said. ‘But it’s not mine to keep. I hope you’ll treat it with the respect it deserves.’
She placed it on the nightstand, then picked up a wallet, pulled out some euros and tossed them onto the end of the bed. ‘For the hostel bill.’
She started shoving items of clothing into her bag, her movements jerky and stiff. The only part of her that didn’t look rigid was the long silken fall of her magnificent copper hair.
‘Stop,’ he said.
But his tightly voiced command fell on deaf ears.
She dropped a pair of canvas shoes on the floor, pulled off her high-heeled sandals and jammed them into her rucksack.
He stepped closer. ‘Jordan.’
She paused and looked up, and for a second he saw everything in those stunning hazel eyes. Everything she was feeling and struggling to hold in: anger, disappointment, hurt.
It made his gut clench again. Hard.
‘I think it’s best if I go,’ she said, her voice quiet, and then she resumed her packing.
Frustration surged and he reached out a hand and grasped her wrist. She froze instantly, her entire body stilling, and he wondered if she’d felt the same jolt of electricity as he.
Gently he turned her to face him, the pulse in the soft underside of her wrist beating erratically against his thumb. ‘Stay.’
Her chin rose in challenge. ‘Why? So you can keep an eye on me?’ Her tone was a mix of hurt and reproach. ‘That’s the reason you invited me here, isn’t it?’
She tugged her wrist but he held firm, not yet ready to let her go. Enjoying the contact too much.
‘I stand by what I said,’ he told her, but in a gentler tone than he had used at the table. He had been harsh, more so than was necessary perhaps, but he hadn’t enjoyed finding himself in the altogether discomfiting position of having to defend his actions. ‘I will not apologise for being cautious.’
She made an indignant sound in her throat and turned her face away.
Lifting his free hand, Xav brought her chin back round with his thumb and forefinger. ‘But I have upset you,’ he continued, ‘and for that I am sorry.’
Her eyes widened, although whether in surprise at the apology or at the dominating touch of his hand, he didn’t know.
Whatever the cause, it didn’t erase the look of stubborn pride from her face. ‘You only want me to stay because you don’t trust me.’
He dropped his hand from her chin, before the urge to drag the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip—to see if it felt as lush and soft as it looked—grew too strong to resist.
‘That’s not true.’