Socialite's Gamble

Well, of course he was. He’d had as little sleep as she had and would no doubt be as efficient in sleep as he seemed to be in everything else. She almost suspected he could command himself to sleep and he would obey. There were not many men who had that kind of powerful aura, not even her father.

She thought about how in the early years at school the girls had gossiped behind her back about why her mother had left and who her father’s latest lover was. At the time Cara had mistakenly believed that she was in competition with those women for her father’s affections but in the end she had learned the truth. There hadn’t been any competition at all because she hadn’t stood a chance.

Hating that those thoughts kept creeping into her head all of a sudden when she usually had no trouble keeping them at bay, she pushed the bedcovers back and stood up. The reason she usually had no trouble keeping them at bay was because she was always busy. Busy having a meal with friends, shopping, dancing … Her life was a blur of activity and this silent, remote island was making her feel even more alone.

As was the big empty bed.

Since trying to will herself to sleep wasn’t working, Cara decided that a glass of warm milk might help.

Tentatively she opened the bedroom door and as quietly as possible tiptoed down the short hall and into the main room.

She had imagined that Aidan would be fast asleep but he wasn’t.

He was up. Slouched on the sofa wearing an old T-shirt and grey sweatpants. His short hair looked like he had run his hands through it one too many times and his computer was open on his lap.

He looked sexy and rumpled and her stomach did a silly little flip just looking at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said on a rush. ‘I didn’t know you were up.’

Aidan felt his whole body tense as Cara hovered in the doorway. It was difficult to make her out in the low-lit room but unfortunately not so difficult that he couldn’t see that she was wearing some sort of pale nightgown with shoestring straps. A pale, short, nightgown that, combined with her short, straight hair, reminded him once again of a cute, erotic pixie.

‘What do you want?’

He saw the way she recoiled at the harshness of his tone and felt like a jerk. Unfortunately she’d appeared just as he was questioning his reasons for leaving her bedroom earlier without doing anything about the hunger that had surged between them.

Something at the time had held him back, something in her expression that had given him pause, but looking at her sexy body now he couldn’t bring to mind exactly what that was.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

‘You’re not,’ he said smoothly, wondering when he’d become such a good liar. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I couldn’t sleep and thought I might fix myself a warm cup of milk. It used to work when I was a child.’

‘Fine.’

Still she hovered at the edge of the room. ‘Look, I probably don’t need it so I’m sorry for—’

‘Would you stop saying sorry,’ he growled.

‘Sorry.’

Realising what she had just said she smiled. ‘Oops, so—I mean, not sorry.’

Aidan felt a reluctant grin tug at the corner of his mouth and her smile widened.

‘Get your cup of milk.’

‘Thanks.’

She moved towards the small open-plan kitchen and he told himself to return to the spreadsheet on his computer screen before he forgot what it was he was working on.

‘I didn’t really get a chance to thank you for helping me earlier because you were working on the plane but …’ She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘I feel really bad that I’ve imposed on you.’

‘Forget it. I was the one who made the situation worse.’

‘You were only trying to help me and I appreciate it.’

‘Good. Glad that’s straightened out.’

‘I just—’

‘Has that milk boiled yet?’ he asked brusquely.

‘Oh.’ She whirled around to the stainless-steel stovetop and checked the pot.

Aidan nearly groaned as her short skirt flared around her hips. He wondered what she would do if he walked up behind her and slid his hands around her small waist and pressed up against her. Before he could contemplate if he might actually follow through with that thought she turned and poked a wooden spoon in his direction.

‘See, I don’t get that.’

‘Get what?’ he asked warily, hearing the plaintive complaint in her voice.

‘One minute you’re nice and then the next you’re not.’

‘It’s not you.’

She snorted. ‘Now you sound like you’re breaking up with me.’