Hot-Blooded Husbands Bundle

by Michelle Reid

  He was angry, Eve realised. She didn’t blame him. She had probably managed to thoroughly ruin his holiday with all of this. Feeling sick to her stomach, as weak as a kitten, and still too shocked and dizzy to really comprehend even half of what had happened to her tonight, she turned away from him with the weary intention of doing as she’d been told and finding some clothes to put on—only to go still on a strangled gasp when she found herself confronted with her own reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall.

  The sound brought Ethan’s departure to a halt. Glancing back, he followed her gaze, found himself looking at her reflection in the mirror and instantly understood.

  She’d seen her swollen mouth, her chafed skin—had caught sight of the telling discolouration on the side of her neck that Ethan had been trying very hard to ignore from the moment he’d seen it himself. And perhaps most telling of all was the pink hibiscus still trying its best to cling to her hair.

  The tears bulged in her eyes. ‘I look like a harlot,’ she whispered tremulously, lifting shaking fingers to remove the poor flower.

  A sensationally beautiful, very special harlot, he silently extended, and on that provoking thought he threw in the metaphorical towel. ‘Blow the clothes,’ he decided harshly and walked back to her side. His arm came to rest across her sheet swathed shoulders. ‘Let’s just get you out of here.’

  With that he grimly urged her into movement. Still shocked at the sight of herself, Eve tripped over the trailing sheet. On a muttered curse, Ethan went the whole hog and scooped her up high against his chest.

  ‘I can walk!’ she protested.

  ‘Enjoy the ride,’ was his curt response, as he began carrying her out of the bedroom and out of the house with his cast-iron expression brooking no argument.

  Neither saw the dark figure standing in the shadows, whose eyes followed their journey from one beach house to the other by the conventional route of paths and gates. Eve’s attention was just too occupied with that old fascination, which was this man called Ethan Hayes and the structure of his—she was thinking, handsome, but the word was really too soft to describe such a forcefully masculine face. His chin was square and slightly chiselled, his eyelashes long and thick. His eyebrows were two sternly straight black bars that dipped a little towards the bridge of his nose and added a disturbing severity she rather liked. She liked his eyes too, even with that a dark steely glint they were reflecting right now, and she loved his mouth, its size, its shape, its smooth firm texture—Her lips began to pulse with the sudden dark urge to taste him in that same wild, uncontrolled way she had done a few minutes ago.

  Had she really done that? Shock ricocheted through her. Why had she done it? What kind of substance could Raoul have stirred into her drink that had had the power to make her do such an outrageous thing? She shifted uncomfortably, disturbed by the knowledge that such an out-of-control person could actually be lurking inside her, seemingly waiting the chance to leap out and jump all over a man. What must he be thinking about it, and her, and—?

  ‘About that kiss earlier…’ she said, approaching the subject tentatively.

  Long eyelashes flickered, steely grey irises glinting as he glanced down at her upturned face. ‘Forget it,’ he advised, and looked away again because Ethan was trying not to think at all.

  It was hard enough trying not to be aware that what he was carrying was feather-light and as slender as a reed, and that the warm body beneath the sheet was shapely and sleek. He didn’t need the added provocation of looking into her beautiful face, nor to be reminded of that unexpected kiss.

  So he concentrated his mind on the different ways he could make Aidan Galloway sorry for what he had done to Eve tonight. Date rape—for want of something to call it—and the use of sexually enhancing drugs to get what he desired, made Galloway the lowest form of human life.

  That was where Eve’s kiss had come from, he reminded himself. Nothing more, nothing less, therefore not worth a second thought.

  So why can you still feel the imprint of her mouth against your own? he asked himself grimly.

  Because she was beautiful, because she was dangerous, and—heaven help him—he liked the danger Eve Herakleides represented. It was called sexual attraction, and he would have to be a fool not to be aware that Eve felt the same pull. That little wriggle she’d just performed had been full of sexual tension—though he had to concede that the drink probably had had a lot to do with it too.

  Either way, it was a danger he could not afford to be tempted by. His life was complicated enough without the tempting form of Eve Herakleides.

  So what do you think you are doing now? he then scoffed to himself as he carried Eve in through his own front door. And discovered it was not a question he wanted to answer right now, as he lowered her feet to the floor then turned to close the door.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE beach houses were all very picturesque outside, but very basic inside; just one bedroom, a bathroom, small kitchen and a sitting room. Really they were meant for nothing more than a place to cool off during a day spent on the beach. Or as in Ethan case, the perfect place for the single person to use for a holiday. Problems only arose when the single person doubled to two.

  It was a problem that only began to dawn on Eve as she watched Ethan close the door. The fact that it had dawned on him too at about the same moment became apparent when, instead of turning to face her, he went perfectly still.

  A thick and uncomfortable silence settled between them. Clutching the sheet to her throat, Eve tried to think of something to say to break through the awkward atmosphere. Ethan tried to break it by taking off round the room to switch on the table lamps.

  The light hurt her eyes, forcing her to squeeze them shut. He noticed. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I didn’t think—’

  ‘It’s okay.’ She made herself open them again. She didn’t look at him though—she couldn’t. Instead she made a play of checking out her surroundings—surroundings she already knew as well as she knew her own, because she had been in and out of the Petronades beach house since early childhood.

  ‘Bedroom through that door, bathroom the other…’

  She looked and nodded. Her mouth felt paper dry.

  ‘Would you like a drink? Something hot like tea or coffee?’ 49

  Yes—no, Eve thought in tense confusion. Her head was beginning to pound, a sense of disorientation washing over her in ever increasing waves. She felt strange, out of place and—

  ‘This was a mistake,’ she pushed out thickly. ‘I think I had better—’

  One small step in the direction of the front door was all that it took for the whole wretched nightmare to come crashing back down upon her head. She swayed dizzily, felt her legs turn back to rubber; she knew she was going to do something stupid like drop to the floor in a tent of white sheeting.

  Only it never happened, because he was already at her side and catching hold of her arms to steady her. She was trembling so badly her teeth actually chattered.

  ‘Are you frightened of being alone here with me, or is this a delayed shock reaction?’ he questioned soberly.

  Both, Eve thought. ‘Sh-shock, I think,’ was the answer she gave out loud. Then she confessed to him shakily, ‘Ethan, I really need to sit down.’

  ‘What you need is a doctor,’ he clipped back tautly.

  ‘No,’ she refused.

  Sighing at her stubbornness. ‘Bed, then,’ he insisted. ‘You can at least sleep off the effects there.’

  He was about to lift her back into his arms when Eve stopped him. ‘W-what I would really love to do is take a shower,’ she told him. ‘W-wash his touch from my skin…’

  There was another one of those tense pauses. ‘Eve, he didn’t—?’

  ‘No,’ she put in quickly. ‘He didn’t.’ But the tremors became shudders, and neither of them bothered to question why she was suddenly shuddering so badly.

  ‘The bathroom it is, then,’ he said briskly, and the next thing she knew
Eve was being lifted into his arms again and carried into the bathroom. He set her down on the lowered toilet seat, then turned to switch on the shower. ‘Stay right there,’ he instructed then as he was disappearing through the door.

  His departure gave Eve the opportunity to sag weakly. He was back in seconds, though, forcing her to straighten her backbone before he caught her looking so darn pathetic.

  ‘Fresh towels,’ he announced, settling them on the washbasin. ‘And a tee shirt of mine.’ He placed it on her lap. ‘I thought it might be more comfortable to wear than the sheet.’

  It was an attempt to lighten the thick atmosphere with humour, Eve recognised, and did her best to rise to it. ‘White was never my colour,’ she murmured, referring to the sheet.

  The tee shirt was white. They both stared down at it. It was such a stupid, mild, incidental little error that certainly did not warrant the flood of hot tears it produced. Ethan saw them—of course he did—when had he missed a single thing since he’d barged into her bedroom?

  He came to squat down in front of her. ‘Hey,’ he murmured gently. ‘It’s okay. I am not offended that you don’t like my tee shirt.’

  But she did like it. She liked every single thing about this man, every single thing he had done for her. And the worst of it was that he had done it all even though he actively disliked her! ‘I’m so very sorry for dumping on you like this.’ The sheet was covering her face again.

  ‘I thought we’d agreed that you were not going to apologise,’ he reminded her.

  ‘But I feel so wretched, and I know you have to be hating this.’

  ‘I hate what happened to you to put us both in this situation,’ he tempered. ‘And the rest I think is best left until tomorrow when you should be feeling more able to cope.’

  He was right. Eve nodded. ‘I’ll take that shower now,’ she said bracingly.

  ‘You will be okay on your own? You won’t fall over or—?’

  ‘I’ll be okay.’ She nodded.

  He didn’t look too sure about that. His eyebrows were touching across the bridge of his nose as he studied her, and his eyes were no longer steely but dark and deep with genuine worry and concern. Could she ever look more pathetic than this? Eve wondered tragically. And did it have to be Ethan Hayes who witnessed it?

  The sheet was used as a handkerchief again, and they weren’t her fingers that lifted it to wipe the tears from her cheeks, they were his gentle fingers. The caring act was almost her complete undoing.

  ‘I’ll be fine!’ she promised in near desperation. Any second now she was going to throw herself at him again if she didn’t get him out of here! ‘Please go, Ethan—please,’ she repeated plaintively.

  Maybe he knew because he rose up to his full height. ‘Don’t lock the door,’ was his final comment. ‘And if you need me, shout.’

  But Eve didn’t shout, and while he waited for her to reappear, Ethan prowled the place. He was like a pacing tiger guarding his territory—he likened his own tense and restless state. In the end he put his restless energy to use and tidied the bedroom, remade the bed and, as a belated thought, pulled another clean tee shirt out of the drawer and slid it over his head, then went to make a pot of tea. He had just been placing a tray down on the coffee table when the bathroom door opened.

  He glanced up. Eve paused in the doorway. She had a towel wrapped around her hair and she was wearing the tee shirt. It covered her to halfway down her thighs and the short sleeves almost brushed her slender wrists.

  She was wrong about the colour, he thought, quickly dropping his eyes away. ‘Tea?’ he offered.

  ‘I…Yes, please,’ she answered and, after a small hesitation that told him Eve was as uncomfortable with this situation as he was, she walked forward and took the chair next to the sofa. Having been told how she liked her tea, Ethan poured and offered her the mug then folded himself into the other chair. Neither spoke as they sipped, and the atmosphere was strained, to put it mildly. Eve was the first to attempt to ease it. Putting the cup down on the tray, she removed the towel from her hair and shook out its wet and tangled length. ‘Would you have a comb or something I could use?’

  ‘Sure.’ Glad of the excuse to move, he got up and found a comb. ‘Hair-dryer’s in the bathroom,’ he said as he handed over the comb.

  She nodded in acknowledgement of something he suspected she already knew. He sat down again and she began combing the tangles out of her hair. It was all very domestic, very we-do-this-kind-of-thing-all-the-time. But nothing could have been further from the truth.

  ‘I’ll take the couch,’ she said.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ he countered. ‘I have my honour to protect. I take the couch.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Not up for discussion,’ he cut in on her protest. One brief glance at his face and she was conceding the battle to him. Suddenly she looked utterly exhausted yet so uptight that the grip she had on his comb revealed shiny white knuckles.

  ‘Come on, you’ve had enough.’ Standing up again, he swung himself into action which felt better than sitting there feeling useless. Taking hold of her wrist, he tugged her to her feet, gently prized the comb from her fingers, and began trailing her towards the bedroom.

  ‘My hair…’ she prompted.

  ‘It won’t fall out if you leave it to dry by itself,’ was his sardonic answer. But really he knew he was rushing her like this because it was himself that had suddenly had enough. He needed some space that didn’t have Eve Herakleides in it. He needed to get a hold on what was churning up his insides.

  And what was that? he asked himself. He refused to let himself look for the answer because he knew it was likely to make him as bad as that swine Aidan Galloway.

  The bedroom was ready and waiting, its shadows softened by the gentle glow from the bedside lamp. He saw Eve glance at the bed, then at the room as a whole, and her nervous uncertainty almost screamed in this latest silence to develop between them.

  ‘You’re safe here, Eve,’ he grimly assured her, making that assurance on the back of his own sinful thoughts.

  She nodded, slipped her wrist out of his grasp and took a couple of steps away. She looked so darn lost and anxious that he had to wonder if she was picking up on what his own tension was about.

  Yet what did she do next? She floored him by suddenly spinning to face him. White-faced, big-eyed, small mouth trembling. ‘Will you stay?’ she burst out. ‘Just for a few minutes. I don’t want to be alone yet. I…’

  The moment she’d said it, Eve was wishing the stupid words back. Just the expression on his face was enough to tell her she could not have appalled him more if she’d tried. Oh, damn, she thought and put a trembling hand up to cover her face. He didn’t even like her; hadn’t she always known that? Yet here she was almost begging him to sleep with her—or as good as.

  ‘Pretend I never said that,’ she retracted, turned away and even managed a couple more steps towards the wretched bed! She felt dizzy and confused and terribly disorientated—and she wished Raoul Delacroix had never been born!

  The arm that reached round her to flip back the bed covers almost startled her out of her wits. ‘In,’ Ethan commanded.

  In, like a child being put to bed by a stern father, she likened. In she got, curling onto her side like a child and let him settle the covers over her. When I leave here tomorrow I am never going to let myself set eyes on Ethan Hayes again! she vowed. ‘Goodnight,’ she made herself say.

  ‘Shut up,’ he returned and the next thing she knew he was stretching out beside her on top of the covers. ‘I’ll stay until you go to sleep,’ he announced.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Eve responded with a hint of bite. ‘I changed my mind. I don’t—’ The way he turned on his side to face her was enough to push the rest of her words back down her throat.

  ‘Now listen to me, you aggravating little witch,’ he said huskily. ‘Any more provocation from you and I am likely to lose my temper. If you need me here, I’ll stay, if you wa
nt me to go, I’ll go. Your decision.’

  Her decision. ‘Stay,’ she whispered.

  Without another word he flopped onto his back and stared rigidly at the ceiling. Curled up at his side, Eve imagined his silent curses that were probably all very colourful ways of describing what he was feeling about this mess.

  I’m sorry, she wanted to say, but she knew he didn’t want to hear that, so she did the next best thing she could think of and shut her eyes then willed herself to fall asleep.

  Five minutes, Ethan was thinking grimly. I’ll give her five minutes to fall asleep then I’m out of here. With that, he took a look at his watch. Two o’clock.

  A sigh whispered from her. Turning his head it wrenched at his heart to see the trace of tears still staining her cheeks. She had just endured a close encounter with what had to be a woman’s worst nightmare and here he was putting a time limit on how long he was going to support her through the rest of this.

  A sigh whispered from him. Eve liked the sigh. She liked the comfort she gained from hearing his closeness and the sure knowledge that if she was safe anywhere then it had to be right here with him.

  Tomorrow was destined to be another thing entirely. By tomorrow, she predicted, it would be back to hostilities, with him backing off whenever she threatened to come close. But, for now, she was content to think of him as her guardian angel, and on that comforting thought she let herself relax into sleep.

  Another five minutes, Ethan decided. She’d relaxed at last and her breathing was steady. He would give her another five minutes to slip into a deep slumber, then he would swap the comfort of the bed for the discomfort of the living-room couch.

  His eyelids began to droop; he dragged them back up again and captured a yawn on the back of his hand. Eve moved and mumbled something, it sounded like, ‘Don’t.’ He tagged on another five minutes because the last thing he wanted was for her to wake up in a strange bed alone and frightened. Another five minutes wouldn’t kill him, would it?