The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen

threw him a fulminating glare. ‘I don’t sulk.’ She drew in a deep breath, and winced. ‘I simply have nothing to say to you.’

      Whereas he had a lot to say to her about taking risks and being a hero. Dammit, did she have any idea what the outcome could have been?

      His blood ran cold just thinking about it.

      However, it would have to wait. If she felt anywhere near as fragile as she looked, the only thing she needed right now was some tender loving care.

      Diego slid out from behind the wheel and reached for her holdall, then he crossed round to open the passenger door. ‘Let’s take this inside.’ He reached in and released her safety belt.

      ‘I’d prefer to go home.’

      ‘We’ve already done this.’

      So they had, but she was in a perverse mood and uninclined to comply.

      ‘Stubborn.’ He slid one arm beneath her knees and lifted her out from the car, then he bent down, caught up the holdall, used one hip to close the car door, and strode through to the foyer.

      ‘I hate you,’ Cassandra said fiercely.

      ‘It’s a healthy emotion.’

      ‘Put me down.’

      He began ascending the stairs. ‘Soon.’

      ‘If you intend taking me to bed, I’ll hit you.’

      They gained the gallery, and reached the master suite seconds later, where he lowered her gently down onto her feet. With deft movements he turned back the covers and built up a nest of pillows.

      ‘Get into bed. I’ll bring you a cup of tea.’

      ‘I don’t need you to play nursemaid.’

      Diego loosened his tie and discarded his jacket, and threw both over a nearby chair. ‘It’s here with me, or the hospital.’

      ‘You’re giving me a choice?’

      He undid the top few buttons of his shirt. ‘I made the choice for you.’ He walked to the door, then paused as he turned to face her. ‘If you’re not in bed when I come back, I’ll put you there.’

      ‘Fat chance.’ Empty retaliatory words that gave her a degree of satisfaction.

      She spared a glance at the bed, and the comfort it offered was sufficient for her to snag a nightshirt and toiletries from her holdall, then retreat with them into the en suite.

      Every movement hurt, her body ached, and she began to wonder at her wisdom in leaving hospital too soon.

      Minutes later she emerged into the bedroom and slid carefully beneath the covers. It would be so easy just to close her eyes and drift off to sleep.

      Diego re-entered the room, tray in hand, and quietly closed the door behind him. The snack and hot tea could wait. He could wait.

      Just the sight of her lying in repose against the nest of pillows was enough to stop the breath in his throat and send his heart thudding to a faster beat.

      He should dim the lights, exit the room quietly and let her sleep.

      He did the first, laid down the tray, then settled his lengthy frame into a chair. There was a sense of satisfaction in watching over her.

      Here was where she belonged. Where he wanted her to stay.

      Diego sat there for a long time, alert to her faintest move, the slightest murmur of pain. In the depth of night he extracted two painkillers, part-filled a glass with water, then had her swallow both.

      Only when she slipped effortlessly back to sleep did he discard his clothes and slide carefully in beneath the bedcovers to lay awake until the early pre-dawn hours.

       CHAPTER NINE

      CASSANDRA drifted through the veils of sleep into wakefulness, aware from the room’s shadowed light that night had become morning. Early morning, unless she was mistaken.

      Her body tuned into numerous bruises and made her painfully aware that any sudden movement on her part was not going to be a good idea.

      The bed, this room…they weren’t her own. Then she remembered…and wished she hadn’t.

      She turned her head slowly and encountered Diego’s dark gaze. He lay on his side, facing her, his body indolently at ease as he appraised her features.

      An improvement on last night, he perceived, lifting a hand to brush a swathe of hair back from her cheek.

      His eyes narrowed at the thin line inches long at the base of her throat. It would heal, and after a while the scar would fade.

      ‘Want to talk about it?’

      ‘A verbal post-mortem?’ She tried for flippancy, and failed miserably. ‘The facts are in the official report.’

      Facts he’d read, assimilated, and dealt with. ‘You didn’t follow the book.’ He still went cold at the thought of what could have happened.

      ‘Concern for my welfare, Diego?’

      ‘That surprises you?’

      It seeded a germ of hope. She attempted a light shrug, and didn’t quite pull it off. ‘Banking, gem merchants and jewellers are high-risk industries for robbery.’

      So they were. But employees were drilled to respond passively, not attack or act with aggression.

      ‘You scared the hell out of me.’ He traced the outline of her mouth with a gentle finger. ‘Next time don’t be a hero, hmm?’

      Cassandra didn’t answer. No one in their right mind wanted a next time.

      ‘What would you have done in a similar situation?’

      Diego’s eyes narrowed. He’d known the streets in his teens, lived on them for a while, worked them. Taken risks that brought him too close to the law, but never close enough to be caught. He’d carried a knife, but never a gun, studied and practised oriental techniques of combat and self-defence. Techniques that could kill a man with a well-aimed blow from the hand or foot.

      In answer to her question, he would have judged the odds and taken a calculated risk. As she had done.

      ‘If you dare tell me it’s OK for a man, but not a woman,’ Cassandra said with quiet vehemence, ‘I’ll have to hit you.’

      His eyes darkened and assumed a musing gleam. ‘Now, that could prove interesting.’

      She could only win if he allowed her to, she perceived, aware there were few, if any, capable of besting him in any arena.

      There was much more beneath the surface than he permitted anyone to see. No one, not even the most diligent member of the media, had uncovered much of his past. It made her wonder if the shadows shielded something that didn’t bear close scrutiny…and what there had been to mould him into the person he’d become.

      ‘Hungry?’

      For food or you? Both, she could have said and almost did. Except the former had priority, and was a much safer option than the latter.

      Besides, she retained too vivid a memory of what they’d shared together in this bed.

      ‘Shower, then breakfast.’ Decisive words followed by smooth action as she slipped out of bed and crossed to the en suite.

      Cassandra set the water temperature to warm, then she stepped into the glass and marble stall, caught up the shampoo and began with her hair.

      There was a need to thoroughly cleanse her skin of her abductor’s touch. She hated the memory of his hands, his almost manic expression, and the sound of his voice. It could have been worse, much worse,