‘The way I saved you, you mean?’
She snorted. ‘Some saviour. Bundling me up like a trussed-up turkey. Dropping me like a stone.’
‘I did prevent you from falling to the floor.’
‘And I should thank you for that?’
‘I don’t expect thanks. I’ll settle for you packing your things and coming with me.’
‘Then you’re in for a disappointment. I’m not leaving.’
He took a step closer. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Princess,’ he snarled, ‘but you don’t have a choice.’
His eyes had turned obsidian, the angles of his face turned harsher and more defined, his lips a terse line, and Izzy wondered if she’d imagined the softening in his features she’d thought she’d witnessed at the restaurant. Maybe it had been a trick of the light, because there was not one iota of softness in his features now. His eyes were like stone. His jawline constructed of rigid angles. Hard, unforgiving and immovable. Like the man himself.
He spun on his heel and headed into the bedroom she’d so recently tried to escape from and slammed the window shut. Then he pulled her backpack from the top of the wardrobe and threw it on the bed before stepping back to make way for her. He crossed his arms. ‘Now, pack your things. You’re staying with me tonight, where I can keep an eye on you. We leave on the first flight.’
‘No! I told you, I am not leaving. Even if I agreed to go with you, which I am not, there’s no way I could leave tomorrow anyway.’
‘Give it up, Princess,’ he growled, ‘this is getting old already. You’ve had your fun. Playtime is over, and now it’s time to go home.’
She stamped her foot. ‘This is not playtime. Don’t treat me like a child.’
‘Then don’t act like one.’
The man was beyond infuriating. ‘Look,’ she said, pinching her nose and breathing deep, taking a moment to calm herself down. This man was clearly easy to aggravate, so maybe it was time to be a bit more placatory. Hopefully a bit more persuasive. ‘So, you’ve found me—congratulations—you win. But does it matter if it’s a day or two later that I arrive home? Because I can’t leave tomorrow. I’m working a shift tomorrow evening.’
He shook his head as if dealing with a recalcitrant child, as clearly, he regarded her. ‘Forget it. You don’t need to work.’
‘That’s hardly the point. The point is, I have a job and I promised to work tomorrow evening’s shift.’
He scoffed. ‘You’re a waitress. I’m sure they’ll manage to cover you.’
It wasn’t just the words. It was the disdain that put her back up, his thorough disregard for her work—forthework—as if waiting tables was so lowly that it was no kind of job at all. And suddenly she was over with all attempts at peacemaking. She was livid. ‘How dare you? How dare you talk about duty and what my duty is when you have no idea what duty entails? I made a commitment to this business, and I intend to see it through. So, if you insist on taking me back to Rubanestein, against my will I might add, then you’re going to have to wait untilI’mready to go.’
His lip curled. ‘Nice speech. So, when are you going to start packing, Princess, or do you expect me to do it for you?’
‘So, wait a day! Twenty-four hours. Where’s the harm in that?’
‘Haven’t you heard? There’s a cyclone hovering off the coast. I’m not prepared for it to get any closer and risk our chances of getting off this island.’
‘Of course I’ve heard. Everyone’s heard. But we’re not in the path. It’s hardly a problem.’
He said nothing. Just cast his eyes in the direction of her backpack. The man was insufferable.
‘In that case,’ she said, crossing her arms over her chest, ‘you do it.’ She was hardly going to help him. She had more important things to do, like work out how she was going to get away. Her teeth played with her lip. She could escape while he was in the other room, of course, the door didn’t have a lock, and she’d have a lead of a second or two before he realised. But this man was fit. And he was built. Slamming into his chest had told her that, and that lead of a second or two would evaporate into nothingness the moment he caught on. She needed a better plan. And she had at the very most one night to come up with one.
He looked back at her, his eyebrows raised, his lips curled into a sardonic smile. But he said nothing, simply opened the small wardrobe and peeled from the hangers the few shirts and a sundress she had inside. Turned to a small chest of drawers and pulled open a drawer and scooped out a handful of lace bras and panties and smalls, before he seemed to realise what he was holding and rapidly looked away as he shoved them into the backpack.
The next drawer’s contents of jeans and shorts followed her underwear into the pack. ‘Is that it?’ he said, sounding like he must have missed something.
‘Of course not, you’ll find the ball gowns and tiaras in the gilded chest under the bed.’
He made a move to glance below the bed before thinking better of it and giving her a glare that could have stripped paint. ‘Funny,’ he said.
‘I thought so,’ she said, feeling her lips tweak in spite of the desperate circumstances. ‘It sure gave me a smile.’
He growled, a low, deep growl that spoke of his frustration with her. Of his frustration to be done with her. Of his desperation to be rid of her.
