He had never found a good enough reason to explain himself.
He was back in a few short seconds with a new white tee still in its packet.
‘What am I supposed to do with that?’ she said as he handed it over.
‘You’re supposed to go back inside your room and put it on.’
Taking it out of the wrapping, she shook it out. ‘Are you joking? This will drop straight off me. I’m guessing it’s yours. You’re twice my size, Roman.’
‘At least twice.’
‘So...?’
‘So just put it on for me. If it doesn’t work, we’ll park the idea. Just try it,’ he coaxed, masking a grin at her expression. ‘You never know. You might like the look.’
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘Just do it, Eva, or we’ll be late.’ His tone had changed, and with a mutinous look she retreated behind the door, slamming it, for the second time in their short acquaintance, in his face.
Pride vied with her natural caution, but eventually practicality won the day. Roman was right. She didn’t want to look like a complete idiot at the party, and at least if she tried to make a dress out of his top she wouldn’t look so wildly out of place. It was a party on a beach. She’d give it a try, anyway. Why not?
The tee did not fit.
Of course it didn’t fit. Why had she ever thought it would? Twisting her hair, like her temper, into an even tighter knot of fury, she opened the door.
‘Problem?’ Roman murmured, easing away from the wall.
Apart from the fact that her hair was half falling down, while the tee had no such inhibitions and would have dropped straight off if she hadn’t grabbed hold of it.
‘No. No problem. I always go out for the night dressed like this.’ She garnished the denial with a withering look.
Did he have to look quite so relaxed...so hot, so amused?
‘The problem is glaringly obvious. The top gapes everywhere. What do you imagine will happen if I let go?’
‘I’d rather not imagine.’ But the sexy mouth tugged as Roman slouched on one hip. ‘I think you need help.’
‘Is that meant to be funny?’
‘You’re so touchy. Do you have a guilty conscience, Eva Skavanga?’
‘Why?’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t have come here after all.’
‘And maybe I shouldn’t have trusted you to give me a bed for the night as you promised. I had no idea there’d be so many complications.’
‘Come here.’
‘I will not.’ She backed away as he beckoned to her.
‘Eva...’
His voice was soft.
Like a lion tamer hiding the whip. She retreated another step. She didn’t like that look on his face one bit. She almost shot out of her skin when he put his hands on her shoulders. The knack was to remain calm, she told herself firmly. Don’t react. Look him in the eyes. She tottered round stiffly as he slowly turned her in front of him. ‘What the hell?’
‘Where’s the belt, Eva?’
‘The belt? I left it with my jeans. And if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, I can tell you now that a belt isn’t going to save this situation.’
‘Just get it, will you, and let me be the judge of that?’
Another order? She huffed and narrowed her eyes. But, hey, what harm did it do to go get the belt? At least she could prove him wrong.
He fastened the belt loosely round her waist.
‘Almost there,’ he murmured, slipping the neck of the tee off one shoulder.
She tried not to flinch when his hand brushed her neck, but a shiver ran through her as he brushed her naked flesh.
He stood back to take a look. ‘Just one more tweak—’
She gasped as he released her messy hair, allowing it to cascade in wild abandon around her shoulders.
‘Now look what you’ve done.’ She pulled a face as she tried to scrape her hair back.
‘Bellissima...’ Roman moved her hand away. ‘Now you’re ready.’
She swung away from him in fury. And caught sight of herself in the mirror. Goodness. She looked almost feminine.
‘From temperamental tomboy to pale, Botticelli waif,’ Roman observed with the irony back in his voice. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ll be the toast of the party.’
He’d be toast if he tried anything like that again. ‘I very much doubt it,’ she scoffed. ‘And if you’re trying to suggest that I look anything like Botticelli’s painting of the Birth of Venus—I’m not naked. And I’ve certainly no intention of standing in a shell.’