The Most Expensive Night of Her Life. Amy Andrews

grimaced. ‘Right, that’s it, I’m telling Trudy, you grubby bastard.’

      Charlie laughed. ‘Are you kidding? She’s going to want to know every minute detail. She has a huge girl crush on Ava Kelly.’

      Blake sighed, briefly envying his brother’s easy, loving relationship. ‘Maybe she can come here for the night and they can play house together.’

      Charlie laughed. ‘Only if I can watch.’

      Blake shook his head. ‘Goodnight.’

      ‘Night,’ Charlie said and Blake could hear the laughter in his voice. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

      Blake hung up the phone, not bothering to answer. There was no risk of that. He was tired. And annoyed. He wanted this night over and done with. He wanted her gone.

      He did not want to do anything with Ava Kelly.

      Blake lifted the bottle to his mouth and threw his head back, drinking the last mouthfuls in one guzzle. He contemplated getting another one but the shower spray cut out, spurring him into action.

      He needed to change the sheets on the bed. And he needed to be out of his bedroom before she was done.

      Five minutes later he’d just pulled the coverlet up over the fresh sheets and was reaching for a pillow to change the case when he sensed Ava watching him. He glanced behind him where she leaned heavily against the doorway as if it was the only thing keeping her up.

      ‘You don’t have to give me your bed,’ she said, the world’s weariest smile touching the corners of her mouth. ‘Really. Any horizontal surface will be fine.’

      He’d loaned her an old shirt and some loose cotton boxers and his clothes had never looked so good. The shirt slipped off one shoulder, outlined her small perky breasts and fell to just below her waist. The band of his obviously too big boxers was drawn by the string to its limits then turned over a couple of times, anchoring low on her hips. A strip of flat tanned belly was bare to his gaze.

      And a lot of leg.

      Not chicken legs like those he sometimes caught on the telly when shots of skinny models walking up and down catwalks came on the news. They were lithe and shapely. And a perfect golden brown—like the rest of her. He’d avoided looking at them the last three months but it was kind of difficult now they were standing inside his bedroom.

      And he’d always been a leg man.

      Oh, the irony.

      He dragged his gaze up. Her hair was damp and looked as if it had been finger-combed back off her forehead, her face was scrubbed clean, her freckles standing out, her cheeks a little pink from the hot water, the tiny nick a stark reminder of why she was here.

      She could have been the girl next door except somehow, even in a scruffy T-shirt, baggy boxers and her eyelids fluttering in long sleepy blinks, she managed to look haughty.

      To exude a you-can’t-touch-this air.

      Should have had that second beer.

      ‘How’s the head?’ he asked, ignoring her protest, returning his mind and his eyes to the job at hand, stripping the case off the pillow.

      ‘Sore,’ Ava said, pushing off the door frame to the opposite side of the bed, grabbing the other pillow and stripping it, managing it quite well despite the handicap of her bandaged hand.

      Blake quelled the urge to tell her to leave it. He didn’t want her here in his bedroom. Not while he was in it too. It all seemed too domesticated—too normal—especially after being shot at only a few hours ago. The bed was big and empty. Big enough for the two of them. And the night had been bizarre enough without him wondering how many times he could roll Ava Kelly over on it.

      Or how good those legs would feel wrapped around his waist.

      ‘Did you take those tablets the doc gave you?’

      She nodded. ‘Just now.’ Then she yawned and the shirt rode up a little more. He kept his gaze firmly trained on her face. ‘Sorry. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.’

      Blake knew intimately how shock and the effects of adrenaline could leave you sapped to the bone. He threw the pillow on the bed, then peeled back the covers. ‘Get in. Go to sleep.’ Soon it will be morning and you’ll be gone. ‘You’ll feel better tomorrow.’

      She smiled at him again as she threw her pillow on the bed. ‘I couldn’t feel any worse,’ she said, crawling onto the bed, making her way to the middle on her hands and knees. Blake did not check out how his shirt fell forward revealing a view right down to her navel.

      He just pulled up the covers as Ava collapsed on her side, her sore hand tucked under her cheek, eyes closing on a blissful sigh, her bow mouth finally relaxing. ‘Night,’ he said.

      She didn’t answer and for a moment he was struck by how young she looked. For the first time she didn’t look haughty and untouchable—she looked humble and exhausted.

      Vulnerable.

      And utterly touchable.

      Who in the hell would want to kill her? Or had they just been trying to scare her? In which case it had worked brilliantly. Something stirred in his chest but he didn’t stay long enough to analyse it.

      Ava freaking Kelly was lying right smack in the middle of his bed—no way was he sticking around to fathom weird chest stirrings. Or give his traitorous body any ideas.

      He stalked towards the door, an image of her long legs keeping him company.

      Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

      ‘Blake.’

      Crap. He halted as her soft voice drifted towards him. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice low and drowsy.

      Blake locked tight every muscle he owned to stop from turning around. He didn’t need a vision of her looking at him with sleepy eyes from his bed. Instead he nodded and said, ‘See you in the morning.’

      Then continued on his way out of the room.

      He did not look back.

      FOUR

      Ava’s phone woke her the next morning and for a moment she was utterly confused by her surroundings. What was the time? What day was it? Where the hell was she?

      Where the hell was her phone, for that matter?

      Her head felt fuzzy and her eyes felt as if they’d been rolled in shell grit. If this was a hangover then it was a doozy. The distant trilling of her musical ringtone didn’t help. Inside her woolly head, her brain knew that it needed answering but her body didn’t seem to be responding to the command to do something about it.

      Then a shirtless Blake walked into the room and it all came crashing back to her. The gunshots, the police, the hospital.