Whose Bed Is It Anyway? (3 page)

He paused, a small laugh escaping beneath his breath. ‘No, I just wanted you to forget how rude I was. But if you want to want me, I guess that's okay too.' He shrugged.

‘I
don't
want you.'

‘No?' He adopted a farcically crestfallen look.

Suddenly she couldn't
not
laugh. ‘You're appalling.' Last night she'd never have imagined he'd be so ridiculous. ‘What would you have done if I said I did want you?'

‘You calling my bluff?' His smile burst back.

‘So it
was
a bluff.' She'd been right, the guy was only out to cover his butt. That hot appreciative look he'd sent her way before was an act. The ‘explanation' of why her relationship with George mattered was his fear for his reputation. Not because he was attracted to her and didn't want to tread on his brother's toes. And she was
not
remotely disappointed by that fact.

His expression went bland enough to mask all manner of nefarious intentions—but his dark eyes danced. ‘I can neither confirm or deny.'

‘Well, I can't
conform
.' She shook her head. ‘I won't be one of your millions of adorers.' She didn't care how many lives he'd saved, she wasn't worshipping him.

His chin lifted in a sudden movement, as if he were a predator who'd just caught a whiff of tasty prey nearby. ‘True,' he said thoughtfully. ‘You're not like most women I meet.'

‘I'll take that as a compliment, given you only seem to meet people who think you're the best thing ever. It strikes me you've gotten away with too much for too long.'

‘I have?' he queried, his lips almost quirking into another of those smiles. ‘So what are you going to do about it?'

Caitlin paused, counting to ten to douse the flicker of attraction. She was super glad her ‘hideaway' flight clothes swamped her and hid the unreasonable reaction of her body to his. She was all tight, all hot. Perhaps she'd picked up flu on the flight?

She didn't want this trip to start fraught with failure. Yet it was already. Lost luggage. Random midnight roommate. Looming homelessness. Could it get any worse?

Actually, yes. She'd run away from worse. She could handle this. She might be screwed but she wasn't going to beg. She'd figure something out. She had in the past, she would now. She straightened her shoulders and sucked it up. ‘I'll go to a hotel.'

‘No,' he shot back surprisingly quickly. ‘Hotels are awful,' he added. ‘Soulless places. Stay here.' His eyes twinkled.

‘There really isn't room.'

‘Sure there is,' he said easily. ‘We managed just fine last night, didn't we?'

Last night she'd lain there for ages, barely breathing before accepting the guy was making like a gigantic piece of Lego. Immovable, inanimate, so faultless he had to be plastic. She'd wished he'd snored or something—she'd wanted to find a flaw, aside from the fact he'd briefly leapt to an unflattering assumption. But even now, with the air of weariness he wore, with the shadows under his eyes and the stubble on his jaw, even with that raw scar, he was the most startlingly sexy man she'd met. So truthfully, she hadn't managed that well at all. But given how broke she was, she was going to have to cope. The question was whether he wanted to—and if so, why he would?

‘You don't mind the state it's in?' She paused to clear the frog from her throat. ‘Or being so squashed?'

‘This is nothing.' He looked amused.

Of course, he'd have seen places in far worse messes and no doubt lived in greatly uncomfortable situations for months at a time. Because on that level, he was that hero.

‘I have a twin. I'm used to sharing,' he explained. ‘We used to have a line of masking tape down on the floor marking out the boundary. Pain of death if you crossed it.'

Caitlin could easily imagine the scene. But she knew he came from wealth. His family had created the world's most popular independent travel guides. A total dynasty, they sold millions of books each year. Surely he'd grown up in a huge house? Her innards softened; the guy was trying to make her feel better. But she wasn't going to let him get away with gross exaggeration. ‘You didn't have your own room?'

‘Course not,' he answered instantly. ‘We fought, but we're brothers. Half the time Jack would be in there as well.' He chuckled. ‘When we got older, sure, we had our own rooms. But we were really close.'

Were
. She paused, wondering about why that was. But she wasn't going to pry about anything so personal. Besides, he was only sharing this to make her feel as if she weren't putting him out. ‘And how long is it since the two of you shared a room?' she asked bluntly.

He laughed. ‘About twenty years,' he conceded.

Hmm. ‘So this arrangement...would be...brotherly?'

‘Sure.' His eyes crinkled even more at the corners. ‘I really am used to sharing. Sometimes it's really cramped quarters when I'm on an assignment.'

‘All the more reason for you to have your space now you're at home.' She really shouldn't stay.

‘You don't take up that much space.' He grinned amiably. ‘I like to curl up like a cat.'

Ha. ‘I slept beside you last night. I know how much you stretch out.'

A rueful expression crossed his face. ‘Did I leave you any room?'

‘Less than an inch.'

‘Sorry about that. We can do something better with the pillows.'

Caitlin pressed her lips together for a moment to suppress the heat suddenly flaring inside. She could well imagine his physical demands would be great. He was the kind to want more. To take more.

‘I can't let you do this.' Ugh, her voice had gone husky. She cleared her throat. ‘I'll disturb you.'

He hesitated for a moment. ‘I can sleep through anything.'

Actually, she figured that was true. He'd been out cold last night. ‘So you're suggesting that we—two total strangers—share this one room?'

‘I am.' He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It'll only be for a couple days at most. I'll be heading out on another assignment soon. You'll have the place to yourself the rest of your month.'

Given she had no back-up plan, what choice did she have? But there was that one thing and she couldn't
not
spell it out. ‘You honestly think it can work given what you thought on seeing me here last night?'

‘I was really tired. Not thinking clearly.' For the first time he glanced away from her first. ‘You can't blame me. I think most men look at you and think “sex”.'

‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?' she drawled acidly.

‘Hey, I'm just a man.'

‘But you're not, are you? You're not just any man.'

He looked back at her. ‘I think you'll find I'm very much just a man.'

‘Given that, I'm really not sure it's a good idea I stay here.'

He studied her silently. Then smiled gently. ‘Sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about.'

Somehow—ridiculous as it was, given he was trying to reassure her—she felt even more insulted than she had last night. ‘Sweetheart?'

He grinned. ‘Sugar, honeypot...'

‘You've obviously forgotten my name is Caitlin.'

‘I haven't forgotten anything about you.' A glitter intensified the laughter in his eyes.

That kind of focus was enough to make any woman blush. She drew breath, fighting the flare of heat in her cheeks. ‘Okay, I definitely can't stay here.' She'd be safer on the streets.

‘Sure you can.'

‘Not if you're going to flirt like a bulldozer,' she grumbled. She didn't want any man-attraction stuff in her life right now. She wanted
peace
.

He laughed. A deliciously low, warm, infectious sound. ‘You don't like flirting?'

Caitlin fought to keep hold of her grump and not succumb to his charm. ‘It's not appropriate.' He didn't even
mean
it.

He looked even more amused. ‘You honestly don't think a guy and a girl can share a room without...' He raised his brows.

Oh, now he was making her seem like some kind of sex-crazed spinster. ‘It's not that but—'

‘Ah, you
do
think I'm attractive.' He nodded in a confiding way, his grin absurdly boyish.

Confound the man, he was confusing her. ‘You
know
you're attractive,' she answered almost crossly.

‘I do?' He turned his head and ran a finger down the thick red welt of the scar that came out of his hairline, cut across his temple and sloped crookedly down his cheekbone. ‘This is attractive?'

Caitlin stared first at the scar, then into his suddenly impenetrably dark eyes. Was there an edge of bitterness? He was insecure about it? When the world knew how he'd got it? What he'd gone through?

‘Your eyes are attractive,' she said quietly. His eyes were lethal. And they were just the beginning.

He shook his head, his smile returning but a little twisted. ‘My bank balance is attractive. So is my surname—the family connection. The fame.'

Fame didn't make him attractive to her. She knew fame cost—not with the clichéd sweat, but soul. Fame-craving people sacrificed their humanity. But she got the feeling he was as unenthusiastic about fame as she was.

‘Are you trying to play the pity card?' She adopted a sassy tone to lighten the prickly moment. ‘You're worried the only reason women want you is because of your assets, not your personality?'

‘You tell me.' His lips twitched.

‘I'm not stroking your ego.'

He chuckled warmly again. ‘So you're
not
attracted to me.' He nodded again as he spoke. ‘Guess that means we'll have no trouble sharing the room.'

Hmm. She considered his tactics and had to acknowledge he was good. She could be too, right? And she really couldn't afford to go anyplace else. ‘And obviously you're not attracted to me,' she said with a small faux sniff.

He looked at her silently, the single dimple appearing again.

‘Given you fell asleep before you even hit the mattress,' she added, vaguely piqued. ‘And you were desperately saying
no
.'

His shoulder lifted, a scant apologetic gesture. ‘I didn't want to have to be nice.'

Another wave of heat caught Caitlin by surprise. ‘You didn't want to have to be nice—in bed?' She cocked her head, the provocative words tumbling from her tongue. ‘If I were a hooker, wouldn't it have been
my
job to be nice? It would only have been about getting off for you. You could have done your thing in twenty seconds and we'd both have been happy.'

‘That's not the way I have sex.' He drawled the words, but his eyes kindled to a quick scorching heat.

‘Ten seconds would've been okay as well.' She tried to shrug. ‘You don't need to feel bad if that's all you can manage.'

He leaned forward, his smile appreciative. ‘I don't feel bad because I'm
always
nice to my partner.'

‘But you get tired of having to be nice? Why?' She let herself look directly into his intense, intoxicating, eyes. ‘You want to get naughty sometimes?'

The fire in his expression flared into an inferno. He flung back the sheet and stood up from the bed. ‘I'm not allowed to get naughty,' he said softly.

Why ever not? ‘But you'd like to?' she pointedly asked, refusing to glance down and check out his legs. Or recognise the rapid pounding of her pulse. ‘Aren't you all man? In control of your own destiny? If you want to be wicked, be wicked?'

‘Things are never that simple.' He walked towards her.

‘No?' She lifted her chin free of the rollneck of wool and fought the instinct to step back. ‘Seems they are to me. See, I'm bad. Bad news for anyone who comes near.'

‘You're bad news?' His eyebrow quirked, as if he didn't believe her.

‘Oh, yeah.' In the last few weeks the gossip columns had been filled with it. Only because they needed some kind of cannon fodder to fill the inches of newsprint and populate their webpages with salacious scandal. They all needed a villain. This month, she was it. She'd forgotten how awful it was to be vilified. She'd thought she'd escaped it years ago. ‘You're right not to be attracted to me. I'm the wild child who'll ruin a man.'

‘I never said I wasn't attracted to you,' he replied calmly. ‘And your supposed badness can't ruin me.' He whisked the grey T-shirt off and tossed it onto the bed. ‘I'm bulletproof, didn't you know?'

She stifled a gasp at his gesture. At the expanse of skin he'd exposed. Yep, the bullets would bounce off those bristling muscles. Dear heaven, this man was hewn.

‘Nothing you can do could tarnish my image,' he said boldly.

‘You're
that
perfect,' she sarcastically humoured him. But though he was joking, she knew he
was
about as perfect as it got.

‘Apparently.' A teasing gleam lit his chocolate eyes. ‘Though you and I know different.'

‘True.'

‘And what about what I could do for you?' he said softly.

‘There's no redeeming me,' she said bluntly. ‘And you should be more careful. Reputations can only go down. Never up.'

‘What did you do that's so bad?' His amusement told her he thought she was kidding.

He'd find out eventually. And no matter what she said in response, he wouldn't believe her. Nobody did. Not even her sister. And her father perpetuated it—not caring about the veracity of any of the stories spread over the Internet. ‘Any publicity is good publicity' was his mantra. He was wrong.

It was only a matter of time until she saw the judgment enter James' eyes. Hell, she'd seen it last night. ‘You took one look at me and thought I was trouble.'