The Mistresses Collection. Оливия Гейтс

turned his phone off and shoved it into his back pocket.

      Two weeks? What was he supposed to do with all that time? He hadn’t had more than a few days off in years and that was the way he liked it. If he stayed in town more, his parents would put the pressure on about other—more personal—things. But they were going to have to save that for his brothers. James would never settle down. He’d seen how tragedy tore a family apart. He wasn’t doing that to anyone else again. Definitely not having a wife or children of his own. He’d work for other people’s families. That was how he got satisfaction and some semblance of peace. So he’d even help his unexpected roommate. His pain in the neck roommate. Pretty roommate. Sassy, sexy roommate...

      Two weeks?

      He yanked his wayward thoughts to a halt, frowning again. But he couldn’t toss her out. There was a code—written by his own family in fact. You welcomed, opened up, let the weary traveller rest. How many times had he stayed at places where it must have been uncomfortable or awkward for the people who were hosting him? But they never said no. The basic kindness of people never failed to touch him. Yeah, the least he could do was offer the same in return. Kindness without strings. Certainly not sexual strings. He’d ice this edge he had for her. It was only reaction to circumstance anyway. He’d been working back-to-back projects, had hardly seen a woman in any sexual sense—only broken people in need of practical help. The idea of sex hadn’t entered his head in recent weeks. So of course it had roared in on flaming wheels now he was in the clear and confronted with a woman wearing little and already in his bed.

      The urge to cut loose sneakily called. He could charm a little, couldn’t he? Not everything in his life needed to be that intense life-and-death stuff. He could coast along with his lovely roommate for a few days until his boss let him out on assignment again. A slight flirt wasn’t going to harm. And the amusement, the thrill he felt when Caitlin hit back? He couldn’t resist stirring that. He couldn’t resist the challenge of making her blush, smile, spark.

      He walked back to the condo and spent the rest of the afternoon talking through the refit plans with the design team—tweaking here and there while he had the chance. After they left he glanced at his watch. Where was Caitlin? Hours had passed since she’d left him outside the diner. What tourist stuff had she soaked up? Had she eaten dinner? He waited, in case she hadn’t. The evening progressed. Nine o’clock came and went. So did ten.

      Still no Caitlin.

      Adrenalin tightened his muscles. Unable to ignore the pleas from his stomach, or the urge to move in some way, James headed out and picked up a pizza. He wandered round the cold, empty floor of his lounge, eating and distracting himself by imagining what it was going to look like once the changes had been made.

      The second hand on his watch ticked on. Still she didn’t return. Concern pressed. Had he scared her off? Had she gone to stay somewhere else? Where? But she’d left her small toiletries bag in the bathroom. So did that mean she was lost—or something worse?

      Hell. He tossed the uneaten crusts in the pizza box. Why was he so worried? She was grown-up. He wasn’t her damn guardian. He forced himself to take a shower and go to bed. If he didn’t get some sleep he’d look a wreck at the bloody gala and Lisbet would keep him chained to some desk for ever. But he didn’t bother trying to sleep. He tried to read.

      In reality, he waited.

      * * *

      Caitlin crept up the stairs, hyped about her day yet awkward about the upcoming sleep situation. Hopefully James was long asleep already. If so, she wouldn’t wake him, given he slept like the dead. But as she climbed to the top floor she saw light emanating from the room. She swallowed back the surge of adrenalin and walked in.

      Oh, where was the mercy? The man was in bed, apparently not wearing anything but the sheet covering his lower half. His bare, bronzed, muscled chest yanked her attention and sizzled her skin. She didn’t know where to look. But she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.

      ‘You had a good day?’ He’d glanced up from the iPad he’d been reading.

      ‘Amazing.’ She bit her lip, wondering for a second if he’d been searching anything on the web. But his smile was still too warm and, frankly, the guy probably had way better things to do than bother finding out about her. It wasn’t as if he were really interested, right?

      ‘So you saw?’ he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

      ‘I saw.’ And man, was she seeing now.

      ‘And did?’

      ‘I saw more than did.’ She glanced away, trying to recount her day rather than drool. ‘Times Square, Rockefeller Center—as you said. And tonight I saw a Broadway show, which was so awesome.’ She beamed and looked back at him. ‘That rocked. And now I’m really sore. My feet,’ she explained as his brows lifted. ‘I’ve walked miles.’

      ‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘So now you need rest.’

      ‘Yeah.’ That wretched heat beat its way into her cheeks. Somehow she couldn’t think ‘rest’ when he was in bed like that—all big and bare and bold.

      ‘You’re going to sleep in the travel clothes?’ he asked softly, a way too wicked whisper.

      ‘I don’t have much choice,’ she said wryly.

      ‘Wear another of my T-shirts.’

      She licked her dry lips. ‘I don’t think the grey is my colour.’ She tried to joke, because she knew he was joking with her like some panto character—all twirling moustache and gleaming eyes.

      ‘I’m betting all colours would suit you,’ he said.

      ‘Are you flirting with me again?’ She tried to stand tall. Tried to breathe. But the heat he generated burned her lungs.

      ‘I was trying for more subtle this time,’ he said. Humour laced his words but his triple-strength-espresso eyes were locked on hers. ‘Is it working? I’m a little rusty.’

      Caitlin couldn’t tear her gaze from his. Couldn’t contain her own rusty reply. ‘Maybe you should try a little harder.’

      He stilled; his alert eyes drilled as if he was searching out her secrets. That tiny roguish twist to his lips remained. ‘How hard?’

      She swallowed. But then shook her head, taking a step back from the ledge; she wasn’t buying into this game. Because it was a game. ‘I’m not sure you can deliver.’

      ‘How do you know if you don’t let me try?’ His voice deepened; so did the amusement slipping into his eyes. ‘I don’t like not being given the opportunity to prove myself.’

      She dragged in a scalding breath. ‘This is you being brotherly?’

      His smile broadened. His shoulders rose and fell in an easy gesture. ‘You make it very difficult not to tease you.’

      Caitlin sent him a look and stalked into the bathroom, locking the door on his low laughter. The man was all tease, with the lack of shirt and lapse into outrageous flirt. He was only doing it to amuse himself, she knew that, but it was fun and frankly a little flattering to her decimated-by-Dominic ego. So what if James didn’t mean it?

      Trouble was her body was totally buying it. All aware, totally absorbed by his physique. With that chest and those sculpted abs, all she wanted was to wrap herself around him. Her body was taking his carefree, fun flirt way too seriously. Good thing she was human and able to control her bodily desires.

      Will power over want.

      She towelled off and pondered her nightwear dilemma. One of his grey shirts was neatly folded and waiting on a shelf. She half laughed as she saw it, feeling a ridiculous glow at his thoughtfulness. He might have been teasing, but he’d remembered her no-luggage predicament and was genuinely happy to help.

      So the real question was what to wear beneath the tee. She should have been just a smidge less frugal and bought some more knickers this afternoon. Except she’d already