“What am I to you?” She had to know.
“Until you decide to start talking, our deal stays as it is, you’re mine, for five months.”
Her mouth dropped open.
Nothing had changed.
Not one thing.
Except, she knew she was the one who could stop it if she just told him who she was, what she was, why she took the fifty thousand pounds and all about her dream of a true love.
And none of this she could tell him. Not now, and, until she could trust him, maybe not ever. She’d rather him leave her later, than now. She’d rather have a few months of him, even angry, then just a few weeks. She couldn’t bear to think of how he’d react if he knew the truth.
“It’s four months,” she retorted as the skirt of her dress slid over her hips.
“Now, it’s six.”
She gasped.
“It’s four!”
“Seven,” he bit out.
She clamped her mouth shut and he pulled the dress over her head, forcing her arms up with it. He tossed it aside, his hands settled on her waist and then slid, sending tingles in their wake, up her sides. He watched his hands move on her as she struggled valiantly against the tingles (and still lost).
“Are you stopping at seven?” he enquired with mock politeness as if he was an auctioneer and she was deciding what to bid.
She nodded, her head jerking angrily.
“I bet Royce didn’t do this to Beatrice.” She had no idea what drove her to say it, it was ugly (not to mention stupid) and it didn’t sound right on her lips.
But Colin reacted strangely, he chuckled but instead of sounding amused, it sounded grim. “He should have, if he had, we wouldn’t be in this f**king mess.”
Then he pushed her to her back and landed on top of her.
And then he did a variety of delightful things to her where she didn’t have to think anything at all.
Chapter Nineteen
The Storm is Over
Colin awoke before dawn knowing something wasn’t right.
He rolled from his back to his side and opened his eyes to see Sibyl sleeping all the way across the expanse of the large bed, her back to him.
Regardless of the fact that he was still half asleep, this annoyed him immensely. In the beginning she had always slept with her back to him. However, since Mallory had been tranquillised, she’d taken to curling her warm, soft body against his every time they’d been together.
This was not a step in the right direction.
Last night had definitely not gone to plan mainly due to Sibyl’s extraordinary temper (even though he knew this about her, he still underestimated it) and her refusal to trust him with the truth about herself.
Colin was not about to take any responsibility for what happened, he had kept Royce and Beatrice from her for a reason which she had cottoned on to quickly and his sister had helpfully, if rather irritatingly, confirmed and then explained.
He, however, had taken great pains to break it to her gently, with her loved ones around and Marian Byrne there to impart the whole story (or the parts Colin felt Sibyl should know). Not to mention, Colin showing her that she had his family’s full support as well. None of which, he marked with irritation, she actually noticed.
He couldn’t understand her reaction because he knew she didn’t have a thing to hide. This was something, however, he’d never tell her. If she found out he’d investigated her, there would be hell to pay. He felt no compunction at keeping this from her. He felt no compunction about doing anything that would make this rough ride smoother, for both of them. The fact that she had nothing to hide made it further difficult to understand why she continued to keep it from him.
This, he could only assume, meant she didn’t trust him.
Which meant he had more work to do.
Luckily, he now had seven months in which to do it. She seemed willing, with only the mildest form of protestation (something that he found very telling) to allow him to demand further time from her. He pinned his hope on this.
Her refusal to discuss Royce was a different story. How Colin could feel such searing jealousy for a dead man, he could not fathom, but he did. She’d shared something with Royce in her chalet and Colin damned well wanted to know what it was.
And what Colin wanted, he found a way to get.
He reached out and dragged her across the bed. She made an endearing, sleepy mew in her throat but didn’t wake. The moment she hit his warmth, she turned and curled against his side, wrapping her arm around his waist.
This was much better.
Then, listening to the soft rain against the windows for a few moments while Sibyl nestled deeper into him, Colin fell back to sleep.
* * * * *
Colin woke again, hours later, to an empty bed.
Instantly alert, he nearly threw the covers back, thinking she’d crept away while he was sleeping and determined to find her (wherever she was) and drag her back and keep her there until they had things sorted. The way things were, obviously, could not go on. He wouldn’t allow it. They needed to straighten everything out between them; he didn’t need to battle her while protecting her against whoever was out there trying to kill her. He still took the threat seriously even though there had been no further contact and no report of suspicious activity from the team that was following her.
Then he saw her coming from the bathroom wearing the green shirt he’d worn last night. His body momentarily stilled at the sight and then he settled back into the bed and allowed some of the tension to ease out of him. He watched her without saying a word, deciding that he liked, very much, the look of her in his shirt.
She was holding it together with one hand at the front and looking about the room with what appeared to be confusion. He watched with interest, wondering what she was up to as she walked to one of his dressers, pulled open first one drawer then closed it then another then she found what she was looking for. Closing the drawer quietly with her thigh, she shed his shirt with her back to him. Then she pulled one of the t-shirts he used to work out in over her head. As she was quite tall, it engulfed her in width but barely covered her rounded bottom.
There was something profoundly intimate about her wearing his clothes, not only wearing them but rooting around in his dresser to find them. If any other woman had dared to do this, he would have found it an unacceptable invasion. With any other woman, it would have been a line not to be crossed.
With Sibyl, he not only accepted it, he welcomed it and decided he liked this item of his clothing on her even better than the other.
She walked back to the bed, clearly preoccupied. She didn’t even look at him to notice he was watching her openly, lying on his side and up on his elbow. She slid between the covers, close to the edge of her side and settled with her back to him.