‘I can carry you.’
‘No one carries me. Ever.’ She hauled herself up against the stair rail and took two tentative hops.
It clearly hurt. A lot.
‘Peta…’
‘No.’
Enough. ‘Yes,’ he told her. And, although he’d never done such a thing in his life, he stepped forward and hoisted her into his arms.
She weighed nothing.
‘Do you ever eat?’ he demanded, stunned, and she gave an indignant wriggle.
‘Eat? Are you kidding? Of course I do. Except when corporate businessmen throw my lunch downstairs. Put me down.’
‘No.’ Maybe she wasn’t too thin, he decided, tightening his grip. Maybe there were curves—just where there should be curves. She smelled good. She felt…good.
Inane. It was a stupid response but he couldn’t help it.
‘Are we catching the lift?’ she demanded and he stared down into her overbright eyes.
‘No. We’ll take the stairs.’
‘You’ll drop me.’
‘I won’t drop you.’
‘I’ll do more damage than a bagel if I hit anyone below.’
‘I won’t drop you.’
‘No one’s ever carried me before,’ she said, and to his astonishment she stopped her indignant wriggle and suddenly relaxed. ‘Good grief.’ Her green eyes twinkled. ‘Okay. Let’s do it. Maybe I’ll even like it.’
‘Maybe.’
‘And if you burst a blood vessel we’re going to an emergency department after all.’
‘So we are,’ he said faintly and held her a little tighter. ‘So we are.’
She had him intrigued. Her reaction when she saw his car intrigued him as well. Robert, his chauffeur, was waiting at street level. He must have been pre-warned by Ruby. He didn’t blink an eyelid when he saw his boss approach with his strange burden and by the time Marcus reached the car the back door was already open.
Peta, however, was less than ready to enter a black limousine with tinted windows.
‘Holy cow. I’m not getting in that thing.’
‘You’re sounding like a country hick,’ Marcus told her and she glared at him.
‘Yeah, well, you sound—or look—like a mafia boss. I know which I’d rather be. Chauffeurs. Limousines. Tinted windows, for heaven’s sake.’
‘I need them tinted. I work in this car.’
‘Right.’ She hesitated, removing her arms from around his neck, and as she did he was aware of a sharp jab of loss. She’d put her arms around him for security but it had felt…good. But she wasn’t thinking about the sensations he was feeling. She was doing some forward projections. ‘No one can see in. How do I know if I get in this car I won’t end up in concrete shoes?’
Enough. ‘Robert, help me put her in the car—with force, if necessary,’ he told his bemused chauffeur. ‘And open the blasted windows! Mafia… Good grief!’
Then there was the medical clinic—a personalised service only available to New York’s mega-rich. Peta was almost hornswoggled.
‘You just roll in here and someone sees you?’ They were waiting for X-rays and the chairs they were sitting in were luxurious leather. Gorgeous!
‘Of course.’
‘There’s no of course about it,’ she snapped. ‘If I’d had this when Hattie…’ She took an angry breath. ‘Could Charles Higgins afford this sort of place?’
‘If the rent he pays is any indication, of course he can.’
‘I’ll kill him,’ she muttered and sat back and glowered the entire time her leg was bandaged.
‘You’re lucky. It’s not broken but it’s still badly bruised,’ she was told by the attendant doctor. ‘Stay off it. The nurses will fit you with crutches.’
Fine. Obviously still angry and with Marcus silent by her side, she hobbled her way to reception. And grew angrier still when Marcus paid.
‘I can pay.’
‘I’m very sure you can’t,’ Marcus told her gently. ‘It was my fault. Let me.’
‘Money,’ she whispered. ‘It solves everything. As long as you can screw the world to get more of it.’
Then there was the little matter of her clothes. With Peta safely resettled in his mafia car, Marcus directed Robert to Fifth Avenue.
‘I just need a wash and I’ll be fine,’ she told him, but he shook his head.
‘No. Charles is never going to admit you into his office looking like this.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing. It’s stupid going back there now to wait for a reception you’re not going to get. Let me help.’
Let him help more. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Was he crazy?
He didn’t get involved—he never got involved—and for him to make this offer…
She had no expectations of him, he thought. He could back away right now. There’d be no repercussions. He’d never hear from this woman again.
But he couldn’t. He stared down at the defiance in her face, and he saw the trace of desperation behind the defiance. There was no way he could walk.
He wanted to help. Come what may. For the very first time in many, many years, Marcus Benson wanted to be involved.
CHAPTER TWO
MARCUS thought he knew women. Marcus was wrong. And so was the shop where he took Peta.
One of the women he’d dated had told him once that the shop stocked fabulous business clothes but Peta hobbled in and looked around in suspicion. The shop assistants reacted the same way.
They smiled at Marcus. They were cautiously and patronisingly polite to the waif he had in tow.
Still, they were here for clothes. Not for pleasantries. Marcus didn’t have time to mess around.
‘Can you fit Peta out in something corporate?’ he asked the assistant and Peta flashed him a look of annoyance.
‘That makes me sound like a Barbie doll. Let’s dress her in Corporate today.’
‘Don’t you want me to help you?’
‘No.’
‘Peta…’
‘All right.’ As the assistant searched the racks for something suitable she flashed him a look that was half apology, but the defiance was still there. ‘I know. You’re being really nice. I’m being really stupid. But this feels…wrong.’
‘It’s sensible. Just do it.’
‘Try this,’ the assistant said, with a bright smile at Marcus. Peta was ignored. She held the suit up against Peta, but it was Marcus who was clearly expected to make the decision.
He might have, but he never got the chance. As the girl smiled across at Marcus, Peta lifted the price tag.
She yelped.
Marcus doubted if he’d ever heard a woman yelp before but she yelped. She pushed