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‘I’ll leave you now,’ he said, in that oddly formal way. ‘If you need anything just call out. I’m in the room across the hall.’
Maisy closed her eyes, damming up the tears that were brimming. She sensed the moment the lights went out.
‘This wasn’t how I envisaged the end of our evening,’ she heard him say in a low voice from across the room.
I know, she thought miserably.
CHAPTER FIVE
MAISY opened her eyes in the vast bed to a low-grade headache and a great deal of self-recrimination as the memory of last night swamped her. She thrust her head under the pillow.
Of his bed.
She bolted upright, panic setting in as she realised she didn’t have a shred of clothing to wear. She was trapped in his bed in her lacy knickers. After everything he had said to her last night the last thing she wanted was to be accused of angling for sex. Because that was what he’d come out and accused her of—being some sort of bimbo on the make, cavorting in couture. Ridiculous as that was.
Oh, Lord, where was her dress? The last she’d seen of it he had been carrying it away with him. Surely there were some clothes in this room?
Wrapping her arms across her bare breasts, she ran to some double doors. They opened onto a walk-in wardrobe and she spotted his shirts immediately, grabbing the nearest one and sliding her injured arm carefully into one sleeve, then the other. She had trouble with the left side buttonholes, but eventually got it done up decently enough. The shirt tails dangled almost to her knees. She went into the bathroom and washed the raccoon make-up off her face, running a hand through her unruly hair. She had to admit she didn’t look that bad, all things considered, and the pain in her shoulder was now just a dull ache that should fade in a day or two.
All that had really got hurt last night was her pride.
Other thoughts intruded now. She remembered how gentle he had been with her when he’d realised she was hurt, how he had looked after her and how good that had felt. She had made the mistake of opening up to him a little, but he didn’t want to hear it. She needed to remember that. Leo’s death was still too raw for him. Only the knowledge that Alexei’s feelings for his friend ran that deep gave her any comfort this morning, and that was in regards to Kostya.
As for what he had said in regards to them, she probably should thank him. At least now she wouldn’t make an idiot of herself over him. He wasn’t going to kiss her again. He might have—he might have done a great many things. Until she opened her big mouth and brought up Leo and Anais. Now he thought she was a liar, and apparently angling to be a kept woman. If it wasn’t so offensive she would be laughing about it. Damn him, he owed her an apology.
Maisy glared at her reflection. She was going to get one.
Alexei felt like twenty kinds of bastard this morning as he pulled on a pair of jeans and nothing else.
He’d been so focussed on sexual conquest last night he’d barely appreciated Maisy’s company, but a long night with only his thoughts had replayed her laughter and her absurd commentary about his lifestyle and made him sorry he hadn’t tried to open her up a little more. But he’d closed all that down, slinging insults at her as she just sat there, completely defenceless. He had pretty much called her a whore, with nothing to support that accusation.
In fact he was starting to suspect Maisy’s sexuality was as artless as the rest of her. She wasn’t selling something, and—surprise, surprise—he didn’t want to buy her. He didn’t know exactly what it was he wanted from her, but he knew a beautiful girl in a stunning dress shouldn’t be pushed so far, end up so distressed, she lost her balance trying to escape his cruel taunts. She was lying in his bed in pain because he couldn’t deal with his goddamned issues.
This wasn’t him. He didn’t lose control like that. Especially with a woman. Especially not this woman. Maisy’s uncomplicated sweetness was what he needed right now, so why was he pushing her away?
Barefoot and bare-chested, he crossed the hall. He lifted his hand to knock as his door swept open. She was standing there in one of his shirts, face scrubbed, amazingly beautiful.
‘I want to know why you have such a low opinion of me,’ she said bluntly.
The shock of seeing her like this, clearly strong and ready to take him on again, put him off balance. The combination of bare legs and his shirt made it difficult for him to think straight. Yet he was compelled to mutter, ‘I don’t have a low opinion of you.’
She stared back at him as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, although her eyes were all over his bare skin. ‘Then maybe you could be a little nicer to me.’
