Whose Bed Is It Anyway?. Natalie Anderson

yanked his wayward thoughts to a halt, frowning again. But he couldn’t toss her out. There was a code—written by his own family in fact. You welcomed, opened up, let the weary traveller rest. How many times had he stayed at places where it must have been uncomfortable or awkward for the people who were hosting him? But they never said no. The basic kindness of people never failed to touch him. Yeah, the least he could do was offer the same in return. Kindness without strings. Certainly not sexual strings. He’d ice this edge he had for her. It was only reaction to circumstance anyway. He’d been working back-to-back projects, had hardly seen a woman in any sexual sense—only broken people in need of practical help. The idea of sex hadn’t entered his head in recent weeks. So of course it had roared in on flaming wheels now he was in the clear and confronted with a woman wearing little and already in his bed.

      The urge to cut loose sneakily called. He could charm a little, couldn’t he? Not everything in his life needed to be that intense life-and-death stuff. He could coast along with his lovely roommate for a few days until his boss let him out on assignment again. A slight flirt wasn’t going to harm. And the amusement, the thrill he felt when Caitlin hit back? He couldn’t resist stirring that. He couldn’t resist the challenge of making her blush, smile, spark.

      He walked back to the condo and spent the rest of the afternoon talking through the refit plans with the design team—tweaking here and there while he had the chance. After they left he glanced at his watch. Where was Caitlin? Hours had passed since she’d left him outside the diner. What tourist stuff had she soaked up? Had she eaten dinner? He waited, in case she hadn’t. The evening progressed. Nine o’clock came and went. So did ten.

      Still no Caitlin.

      Adrenalin tightened his muscles. Unable to ignore the pleas from his stomach, or the urge to move in some way, James headed out and picked up a pizza. He wandered round the cold, empty floor of his lounge, eating and distracting himself by imagining what it was going to look like once the changes had been made.

      The second hand on his watch ticked on. Still she didn’t return. Concern pressed. Had he scared her off? Had she gone to stay somewhere else? Where? But she’d left her small toiletries bag in the bathroom. So did that mean she was lost—or something worse?

      Hell. He tossed the uneaten crusts in the pizza box. Why was he so worried? She was grown-up. He wasn’t her damn guardian. He forced himself to take a shower and go to bed. If he didn’t get some sleep he’d look a wreck at the bloody gala and Lisbet would keep him chained to some desk for ever. But he didn’t bother trying to sleep. He tried to read.

      In reality, he waited.

      * * *

      Caitlin crept up the stairs, hyped about her day yet awkward about the upcoming sleep situation. Hopefully James was long asleep already. If so, she wouldn’t wake him, given he slept like the dead. But as she climbed to the top floor she saw light emanating from the room. She swallowed back the surge of adrenalin and walked in.

      Oh, where was the mercy? The man was in bed, apparently not wearing anything but the sheet covering his lower half. His bare, bronzed, muscled chest yanked her attention and sizzled her skin. She didn’t know where to look. But she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.

      ‘You had a good day?’ He’d glanced up from the iPad he’d been reading.

      ‘Amazing.’ She bit her lip, wondering for a second if he’d been searching anything on the web. But his smile was still too warm and, frankly, the guy probably had way better things to do than bother finding out about her. It wasn’t as if he were really interested, right?

      ‘So you saw?’ he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

      ‘I saw.’ And man, was she seeing now.

      ‘And did?’

      ‘I saw more than did.’ She glanced away, trying to recount her day rather than drool. ‘Times Square, Rockefeller Center—as you said. And tonight I saw a Broadway show, which was so awesome.’ She beamed and looked back at him. ‘That rocked. And now I’m really sore. My feet,’ she explained as his brows lifted. ‘I’ve walked miles.’

      ‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘So now you need rest.’

      ‘Yeah.’ That wretched heat beat its way into her cheeks. Somehow she couldn’t think ‘rest’ when he was in bed like that—all big and bare and bold.

      ‘You’re going to sleep in the travel clothes?’ he asked softly, a way too wicked whisper.