Page 7 of Saved By the Billionaire

“Thank you,” she said, after a long pause.

There was also a bottle of sparkling water on the tray, and a chocolate bar.

“Are you eating?”

His eyes raked her face. “Yes.”

She glanced down at her food, wondering at the emptiness inside her stomach. The fact he was eating separately to her shouldn’t have mattered. “Well, thank you.”

“You said that.”

“Is there something wrong with expressing gratitude?”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It’s polite.”

“Do you care about such things, Kate?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

His lips twisted in yet another imitation of a smile. “No.”

“Not you?”

“Some of the worst people I’ve known have been capable of hiding their barbarism behind a façade of empty civility. I’m more interested in actions than words.”

She considered that, without admitting how accurate his statement was. It was her experience, likewise, that people could say one thing and do completely another. Hence the whole not trusting anyone thing.

“Then I’ll finish the whole bowl to show you how grateful I am.”

His brow quirked in an expression of surprise. “I’ll be out there. Call if you need anything.”

When he returned thirty minutes later, he’d changed into a pair of shorts and a shirt, and more of his broad, muscular physique was on display. She’d known he was strong—he’d lifted her as though she weighed nothing—but she’d been in a state of abject shock and fear initially. Now she saw him and felt the beginning of something else. A warmth that started in the pit of her stomach and spread through her body.

“Would you like a shower?”

That was almost as tempting as the bowl of ravioli had been. But she had no idea how, in her current state, she could manage it. “I think it might prove too hard.” She gestured to her ankle and grimaced. “You were right. I can’t walk.”

“I know.”

“So…” the word tapered off into nothing, because his hands were sliding beneath her once more, carrying her so easily, through the room and out of the door. Not to the bathroom that came off the guest bedroom, but down the corridor and through another door, into a room with a darkly panelled bed and muted lighting.

The bathroom beyond was like something out of a six-star hotel, or an architectural magazine. A huge bath sat against the bay window, with glittering views of Manhattan, and an overhead shower stood against a wall. There was no glass to divide the shower from the room, only a gentle slope in the tiles, towards a grate, to delineate different areas of the bathroom. The tiles were large, dark marble and the lighting in here had the same moody atmosphere as that of the bedroom. One piece stood out as incongruous, however. An outdoor chair had been moved to the shower. He carried Kate across the bathroom and placed her in the chair. It was close enough to the shower controls and the shower head.

“Thank you.” She sounded younger than her twenty-four years. She sounded…impossibly small and weak. She sounded like she’d sworn she’d never be again.

He moved towards the door, but didn’t step through it. Instead, he turned his back and crossed his arms, his frame strong and fascinating.

“Are you planning to stay?”

“It would be irresponsible to leave. You have a head injury.”

That was a fair point. She was torn. Now that she was here, the desire to let warm water wash away the trauma of the day was strongly tempting. But somehow, the idea of undressing in the presence of this man felt like a warning bell.

“I don’t get my kicks by taking advantage of vulnerable women. Relax, Kate. I have no interest in objectifying someone who’s relying on my assistance.”

“I’m not relying on you,” she disputed, even when factually he was right.