Page 8 of Saved By the Billionaire

He glanced over his shoulder, lips compressed in a line. “You’re not going to shower if I’m here, are you?”

She bit into her lower lip, shook her head once. “I don’t think I can.”

His nostrils flared as he expelled a sharp breath and stalked across the room, unhooking a towel and placing it closer to her.

“Fine. I’ll be right outside the door. You promise you’ll shout if you need me?”

Gratitude throbbed through her. “Yes.”

“The door stays open.”

“Okay, but don’t look.”

He put one hand on his hips, his expression one of disbelief. Finally, he nodded, and he sounded almost amused as he walked out of the room, pausing only to call over his shoulder, “Prude.”

It would have been a lot easier to shower with him in the room, offering help. In the end, she’d stripped down to her underwear, flicked on the water and let it run over her for so long she could almost have fallen asleep. Getting the towel and drying off was challenging, made even more so by her awareness of Roman right outside the bathroom door. But eventually she managed, and was contemplating attempting to hobble out of the bathroom herself when a knock sounded against the open door.

“All done?”

His voice was so deep and raw. So husky. She had noticed, but had been too affected by her evening to recognise what that did to her. Now it stirred something that sparked goosebumps over her skin.

“Yeah.” She stood, holding her weight with one palm against the wall. It hurt like hell, but she wanted to be standing when he came in. It felt somehow important.

“Jesus, Kate,” he responded, when his eyes met hers. He was angry, but she wasn’t afraid. There was contained control to him, a sense of emotional strength that was soothing even when his temper was clearly short. “You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

“I’m okay,” she said.

His eyes probed hers, his lips compressing with the effort of not saying whatever he was thinking. He stopped just short of her. “Can I take you back to your room, or are you going to insist on walking?”

Her lips pulled at the question. Even the fact he asked it was somehow reassuring. “Would you let me, even if I wanted to?”

“I’d prefer you to make a smart decision.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re really arrogant, too.”

“Yes.”

She laughed then, surprising herself with the sound—and the fact she was genuinely amused. “Take me back. Please.”

And she stared into his eyes as she said the final word, without realising how husky her own voice had become, and how much it sounded like a plea for something else. Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she looked away quickly, clearing her throat as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her against his chest, cradling her easily as he strode through the penthouse and back to the guest room.

“I’m too wet,” she said, when he placed her on the edge of the mattress.

He looked at her for a beat before disappearing into the bathroom and returning a moment later with a small towel and a hair dryer.

“Thank you,” she said, expecting him to hand the hair dryer to her. Instead, he plugged it in, picked her up once more and moved her to the head of the bed, before he proceeded to blow dry her hair.

To blow dry her hair.

And in contrast to the way he was so strong and gruff, and had single-handedly put down her two attackers, his touch on her hair was strangely…gentle. He lifted it in segments, running his fingers through the ends, drying each part before moving on to the next.

She caught a glimpse of their reflection in one of the enormous windows and shivered. She looked away, then glanced back almost as if she couldn’t help it. This time, she felt his eyes on hers in the window, too.

“Right.” He cleared his throat as he turned off the hair dryer and unplugged it, taking the time to neatly coil the cord around the base. Control. Fastidiousness. He was someone who took care of what was his.

These insights came to her instantly, but each one sparked a question. Why was he this way? What else was his? Was there someone else in his life?

“Garrett organised these for you,” Roman said, moving to the wardrobe and removing a bag, placing it on the edge of the bed. He hesitated a moment. “It’s clothes,” he explained, frowning as he looked at her. She didn’t even want to think about how she must appear. She’d let the water run over her until it was clear, no sign of the blood that had matted her hair, but she had no doubt bruising was starting to show all over her.