In Bed with a Stranger. India Grey

pulled out the chair beside him and sat down, turning to face him. ‘How badly hurt is he?’

      ‘It’s hard to tell at the moment,’ he said neutrally. ‘It looks like he’ll live, but it’s too early to say how bad his injuries will be.’ His smile twisted. ‘He’s only nineteen.’

      ‘Just a boy,’ she murmured. The kettle boiled in a billow of steam and hissed into silence. Aching for him, Sophie took his hand between hers, feeling the hard skin on the undersides of his fingers, willing him to open up to her. ‘It’s good that you stayed with him. It must have made a huge difference to him, having you there, and to his family, knowing that someone was looking after him …’

      She trailed off as he got abruptly to his feet, giving her no choice but to let go of his hand.

      ‘Coffee?’

      ‘Yes, please.’ Hurt blossomed inside her but she didn’t let it

      seep into her tone. ‘Sorry—there’s only instant. I was going to go shopping today to get things in for when you came back.’

      She thought of all the plans she had made for his homecoming; the food she was going to buy that could be eaten in bed—olives, quails’ eggs, tiny dim sum and Lebanese pastries from the deli around the corner—champagne and proper coffee, piles of croissants and brioche for breakfast. And the X-rated silk nightdress, of course. Now they all seemed to belong to a silly, frilly fantasy in which Kit took the part of the Disney Prince, doe-eyed with adoration.

      The reality was turning out to be slightly different.

      ‘What on earth have you been living on?’ he said, his voice an acerbic drawl. ‘I was going to make you breakfast, but the cupboard seems to be bare.’

      ‘I usually eat on the go,’ she said lightly, getting up and going over to the designer stainless-steel bread bin. ‘But look, there’s bread. And …’ she opened a cupboard and pulled down a jar with a flourish ‘… chocolate spread.’

      Splinters of guilt lodged themselves in Kit’s throat. She was making a good attempt to hide it but behind the show of nonchalance he could tell she was hurt. She’d tried to reach out to him—to talk to him like a normal human being, and he’d behaved as if she’d done something indecent.

       It must have made a huge difference to him, having you there, and to his family, knowing that someone was looking after him …

      How she overestimated him. In so many ways.

      He looked at her. She was putting bread into the toaster and her glossy hair was tousled, her legs long and bare beneath an old checked shirt she must have taken from his wardrobe. He felt his chest tighten with remorse and desire. He wasn’t brave enough to shatter her illusions about him yet, but he could at least try to make up to her for being such a callous bastard.

      Gently he took the jar from her and unscrewed the lid. He peered inside and then looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

      ‘You actually eat this stuff?’

      She shrugged, reaching for a knife from the cutlery drawer. ‘What else would you do with it?’

      ‘I’m surprised,’ he said gravely, taking the knife from her too, ‘that you need to ask that …’

      Looking at her speculatively, keeping his face completely straight, he reached out and undid the buttons of her shirt. He felt her jump slightly at his touch and she let out a little sound of surprise. But as he took hold of her waist and lifted her onto the countertop her green eyes glittered with instant excitement.

      Slowly, with great focus he dipped the tip of the blade into the jar, loading it with soft, velvety chocolate. The moment stretched as he turned the knife around in his hand, then turned his attention to her, moving the edge of her shirt aside to expose her bare breast.

      It took considerable self-control to keep the lust that was rampaging through him from showing on his face, or in his movements. His hand shook slightly as he cupped her warm, perfect breast. Behind them, the toast sprang up in the toaster and she jumped, giving a little indrawn breath. In one smooth sweep, Kit spread the chocolate over her skin.

      Abstractly, as he parted his lips to taste her, he thought how beautiful it looked—the chocolate against the vanilla cream of her skin. But then all thoughts were driven from his head as he took her chocolate-covered nipple into his mouth and felt her stiffen and arch against him.

      His tongue teased her, licking her clean. The chocolate was impossibly sweet and cloying and it masked the taste of her skin, so without lifting his head he reached behind her and turned the tap on, running cold water into the cup of his hand. Straightening up, he let it trickle onto her, watching her eyes widen in shock as the cold water ran down her skin.

      ‘Kit, you—!’

      His mouth was on hers before she could finish. Sitting on the granite countertop, she was the same height as he was and he put his hands on her bottom, pulling her forwards so that her thighs were tight around his waist, her pelvis hard against his erection.

      God, he loved her. He loved her straightforwardness, her generosity. He loved the way she seemed to understand him, and her willingness to give him what he needed. He didn’t have to find words, not when he could show her how he felt this way.

      Her arms were around his neck, her fingers tangling in his damp hair. He was just about to lift her up, hitch her around him and haul her over to the table where he could take her more easily when there was a loud knock at the front door.

      He stopped, stepping backwards, cursing quietly and with more than a hint of irony, given his choice of word.

      ‘Don’t answer it.’

      It was tempting, so tempting, given how utterly, outrageously sexy she looked sprawled on the kitchen countertop, her wet shirt open, her mouth bee-stung from his kisses. He dragged a hand over his face, summoning the shreds of his control.

      ‘I have to,’ he said ruefully, heading for the door. ‘It’s breakfast. I ordered it when you were sleeping, and since they only agreed to home delivery as a special favour …’

      Left alone in the kitchen, Sophie pulled her shirt together and slid shakily down from the worktop, her trembling legs almost giving way beneath her as she tried to stand. Through the thick fog of desire she was dimly aware of voices in the hallway—one Kit’s, the other vaguely familiar. Dreamily she picked up the chocolate spread and dipped her finger into it, closing her eyes and tipping her head back as she put it in her mouth.

      ‘In here?’

      The vaguely familiar voice was closer now and she jumped, opening her eyes in time to see an even more familiar face come into the kitchen; so familiar that for a moment she thought it was someone she must know from way back—a friend of Jasper’s, perhaps?

      ‘Hi. You must be Sophie.’

      Grinning, the man put a wooden crate stacked with aluminium cartons on the table and held out his hand. Sophie shook it, feeling guilty that she couldn’t quite place him and managing to say hello without making it obvious she couldn’t remember his name.

      Kit came in carrying a bottle of champagne.

      ‘Thanks, I appreciate this.’

      ‘No big deal—it’s the least I can do considering you’ve spent the last five months being a hero. It’s good to see you back in one piece—or nearly.’

      He gestured to the shrapnel wounds on Kit’s face. Sophie noticed the tiny shift in Kit’s expression; the way it darkened, tightened.

      ‘How’s the restaurant?’ he asked smoothly.

      ‘Good, thanks, although I don’t get to spend as much time there as I’d like, thanks to the TV stuff. I just got back from filming for a new series in the US.’

      Horror congealed like cold porridge in Sophie’s stomach as her eyes flew back to the man. She now realised