A line pinched between Bailey Ross’s brows. “We played because she enjoyed it.”
She’d threaded her fingers around the worn denim knees of her jeans. Her bracelet was expensive, however—yellow-gold and heavy with charms. Had Mama’s money helped purchase that piece duty free? If he asked Bailey straight out, what reply would she give?
As if she’d read his mind and wasn’t comfortable, his guest eased to her feet. “I’ve held you up long enough. You don’t want to miss your flight.”
He stood too. She was right. She wasn’t going to admit to anything and his cab would be here any minute. Seemed his curiosity with regard to Miss Ross’s true nature would go unsatisfied.
“Do you have family in Sydney?” He asked as they crossed the parquet floor together and she covered another yawn.
“I was raised here.”
“You’ll be catching up with your parents then.”
“My mother died a few years back.”
“My condolences.” He’d never known his mother but the man he’d come to know as Father had passed away recently. “I’m sure your father’s missed you.”
But she only looked away.
Walking alongside, Mateo rolled back his shoulders. No mother. Estranged from her father. Few possessions. Hell, now he wanted to write her a check.
He changed the subject. “So, what are your broader plans, Miss Ross? Do you have a job here in town to return to?”
“I don’t have any real concrete plans just yet.”
“Perhaps more travel then?”
“There’s more I’d like to see, but for now, I’m hanging around.”
They stopped at the entrance. He fanned open the door, searched her flawless face and smiled. “Well, good luck.”
“Same to you. Say hello to Paris for me.”
As she turned to walk away, hitching that ratty knapsack higher on one slim shoulder, something thrust beneath Mateo’s ribs and he took a halting step toward her. Of course, he should let it alone—should let her be on her way—but a stubborn niggling kept at him and he simply had to ask.
“Miss Ross,” he called out. Looking surprised, she rotated back. He cut the distance separating them and, having danced around the question long enough, asked outright. “Did my grandmother give you money?”
Her slim nostrils flared and her eyebrows drew in. “She didn’t give me money.”
Relief fell through him in a warm welcomed rush. As she’d grown older, Mama had admitted many times that she wasn’t overly wealthy by design; she had little use for money and therefore liked to help others where she could. There was nothing he could do to stop Mama’s generosity—or gullibility as the case more often than not proved to be. But at least he could leave for his vacation knowing this particular young woman hadn’t left his grandmother’s house stuffing bills in her pocket.
But Bailey wasn’t finished.
“Mama loaned me money.”
As the stone swelled in his chest, Mateo could only stare. He’d been right about her from the start? She’d taken advantage of Mama like those before her. He took in her innocent looks and cringed. He wished he’d never asked.
“A … loan,” he said, unconcerned that his tone was graveled. Mocking.
Her cheeks pinked up. “Don’t say it like that.”
“You say it’s a loan,” he shrugged, “it’s a loan.”
“I intend to pay back every cent.”
“Really?” Intrigued, he crossed his arms. “And how do you intend to do that with no job, no plans?” From her reaction to his question about her father, there wouldn’t be help coming from that source, either.
Her eyes hardened. “We can’t all have charmed lives, Doctor.”
“Don’t presume to know anything about me,” he said, his voice deep.
“I only know that I had no choice.”
“We all have choices.” At least when we’re adults.
Her cheeks flushed more. “Then I chose escape.”
He coughed out a laugh. This got better and better. “Now my grandmother was keeping you prisoner?”
“Not your grandmother.”
His arms unraveled. Her voice held the slightest quiver. Her pupils had dilated until the blue was all but consumed by black. But she’d told him what he’d stupidly wanted to know. She’d accepted Mama’s money. He didn’t need or want excuses.
“Goodbye, Miss Ross.” He headed inside.
“And thank you, Doctor,” she called after him. “You’ve killed whatever faith I had left in the male species.” A pulse thudding at his temple, he angled back. Her expression was dry. Sad. Infuriating. “I honestly thought you were a gentleman,” she finished.
“Only when in the presence of a lady.”
Self-disgust hit his gut with a jolt.
“I apologize,” he murmured. “That wasn’t called for.”
“Do you even want to know what I needed to escape?” She ground out. “Why I needed that money?”
He exhaled heavily. Fine. After that insult, he owed her one. “Why did you need the money?”
“Because of a man who wouldn’t listen,” she said pointedly, her gaze hot and moist. “He said we were getting married and, given the situation I was in, I didn’t have a choice.”
“You’re engaged?” Mateo shook himself.
“No.” In a tight voice, she added, “Not really.”
“Call me old-fashioned, but I thought being betrothed was like being pregnant. You either are or you aren’t.”
“I … was engaged.”
Slanting his head, he took another look. Her nose was more a button with a sprinkling of freckles but her unusual crystalline eyes were large and, as she stood her ground, her pupils dilated more, making her gaze appear even more pronounced. Or was that scared?
I didn’t have a choice.
An image of the degrees decorating his office walls swam up in Mateo’s mind. Time to take a more educated guess as to why Mama might have sent this woman. He set his voice at a different tone, the one he used for patients feeling uncertain.
“Bailey, are you having a baby?”
Her eyes flared, bright with indignation. “No.”
“Are you sure? We can do tests—”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Backing off, he held up his hands. “Okay. Fine. Given your circumstances, it seemed like a possibility.”
“It really wasn’t.” Her voice dropped. “We didn’t sleep together. Not even once.”
She spun to leave, but, hurrying down the steps, she tripped on the toe of her sandal. The next second she was stumbling, keeling forward. Leaping, Mateo caught her before she went down all the way. Gripping her upper arms, he felt her shaking—from shock at almost breaking her neck? Or pique at him?