She blinked furiously as Cade opened a button close to her waist and she felt the reverberations of his touch all through her lower body. ‘He was too nice,’ she blurted, moving forward out of range.
‘Too nice? What’s that?’
‘But so immature…You know…’ She made a half-hearted attempt to explain to Cade what she meant. ‘Whenever Horace saw a pretty girl at the golf club, he…’ She bit down on her lip. She couldn’t bring herself to be so disloyal, not even now.
‘I see.’
No, Cade didn’t. Or at least, she hoped not. Horace was harmless, and almost certainly less well prepared than she was for their wedding night. Her mother hadn’t wanted to talk about sex with her, but there had been magazines to guide her, and some of the articles had been really helpful. But when it came to the real thing…well, she couldn’t face it; not with Horace. ‘I feel so bad…Horace is such a softie.’
‘Which was why you agreed to marry him, I presume?’
And why she had bolted too. They would never have made each other happy.
Cade gathered Horace was a bit of a chump, but not a bad bloke. What Liv had told him had cleared the air. It explained something about her situation, and he could tell she felt better for it. Her actions had been a tad on the dramatic side, but he could see why she had cut and run before a disastrous marriage had made both Liv and her fiancé unhappy.
And he was a marriage guidance counsellor now?
Of all the crazy situations—and he’d been in a few—this one was a peach. Liv reminded him of the wounded animals he used to bring home as a boy—the birds with broken wings he’d put in shoes boxes filled with cotton wool.
And how exactly did he think he could help her with her mixed up emotions when he was used to men, fighting men…commanding them. He hadn’t touched a woman in…too long, anyway.
The buttons she wanted him to open extended down the length of her spine to the hollow just above the swell of her buttocks. When he’d freed the first of them he’d noticed how soft her skin was, and by the time she’d lifted her hair out of the way and he’d seen the tiny birthmark like a love-bite at her hairline he wanted to taste it. He’d killed that thought immediately, just as he was going to pull back now. ‘You can finish the rest of them yourself.’
Stepping out of the dress, she stood facing him in a plain silk shift. ‘I hate to ask, but do you have a jumper I could borrow?’
As she turned her big blue eyes on him it took him a moment to refocus. ‘A jumper?’ Anything of his would trail on the ground if she wore it. With her bare feet and bedraggled appearance she looked like a waif…Cinderella. And he was no Prince Charming. He was already regretting his decision to let her in. What business had he allowing someone so young and vulnerable into his life?
‘An old sweater…anything,’ she pressed him.
He grimaced as she held out the discarded wedding dress. ‘I’ll get you a dustbin bag.’ Seeing her eyes fill with tears, he could have kicked himself for the careless choice of words. He brought the bag anyway, and opened it. It took her ages to fold and lower the discarded gown into it as he held it out. He could only guess at the distress she must be feeling, but by the time she had laid the twinkly thing and veil on top of the dress he had to admit to a flare of irritation. If it all meant so much to her, why had she bolted from her wedding? He was so busy feeling an emotion unsettlingly close to jealousy he forgot to hide his injury.
‘Oh, no, you’re bleeding,’ she exclaimed, staring at his hand.
‘What?’ He feigned indifference.
‘Let me help you. It’s the least I can do.’
He shrugged. She liked to help. And he needed help. And not just with his hand. He glanced around at the mess, but then, deciding she’d been through enough for one day, he killed the idea. ‘Don’t worry about the cut—it’s nothing.’
‘You should clean it. No, come here and I’ll clean it for you—’
‘You?’ He gave a half-grin of surprise as she walked to the sink. She had seemed so fragile up to that point.
‘I’m a nurse—’
‘A nurse?’
Now he really did sound interested. And she really did need a job. With accommodation, if possible, Liv remembered as her sensible gene kicked in. She quickly pressed home her advantage. ‘Fully trained.’
As Cade continued to look at her with interest she could feel her face firing up. He was so much bigger, taller, and sexier than a thirty-six-inch television screen would allow. And it was hard—make that impossible—to stop staring at him. And what was it about a woman’s eye line that drew it to the area below a man’s belt? She quickly adjusted her gaze to his feet—XL; clad in no-nonsense army boots. No. No! She definitely wasn’t going there! ‘Your hand?’ she said, reaching out to inspect the damage.
‘I told you, it’s nothing.’
As they faced each other she caught sight of their reflections in the mirror, and for the first time that day she felt like laughing. Their jaws were jutting out at exactly the same stubborn angle—though she doubted Cade’s insides were trembling. ‘I need to clean that wound,’ she told him firmly. ‘Come on.’
He hesitated. He was accustomed to being in command, and he didn’t like this new feeling. He felt even more unsettled when Liv gave him a smile of such angelic sweetness it made his insides dance a rumba; a slow, insistent rumba that made it necessary to turn his back on her to ease the tension.
‘If you can’t bring yourself to let a mere woman help you,’ she said wryly, ‘how about I sort out your hand in exchange for a jumper?’
He relented. ‘Done.’ His interest was firing on all cylinders. Liv might have taken a knock today, but she was far from out for the count. ‘On one condition.’
‘Which is?’
‘While I find you something to wear, you have to sit down at that table and work out a CV. Unless you brought one with you, of course?’
Her cheeks pinked as he reached for pen and paper. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes, I’m serious.’ Why not? In spite of the bizarre circumstances of Liv’s arrival, he liked what he saw, and his earlier black mood had eased the moment she’d walked through the door.
The glint that appeared in Cade’s eyes made parts of her untouched by man wake up. With so much testosterone curling round her it was hardly a surprise. And as he raked his thick, dark hair she had to remind herself she was a virgin who had held out so long she’d lost the urge.
Oh, really? her inner voice demanded. Cade had provoked some strong magic in her pelvic region, if that truly were the case.
Assembling her face in a prim expression, she held out her hand ready to make her inspection. She couldn’t risk losing what little aura of professionalism she had left now he’d given her the chance to apply for the job. She braced herself in readiness to take his hand. It was a big, strong hand, tanned…endowed with who knew what sort of experience. As the long, lean fingers rested on hers it was a battle to concentrate on the injury…a nasty cut, but fortunately not one requiring stitches. ‘Hold your hand under the tap for me.’
‘Like this?’ Cade pressed against her at the sink.
She hummed assent, struggling to keep her thoughts in line as her body responded to him, culminating in a pulse of shimmering sensation between her legs. ‘Does accommodation come with the job?’ She was determined to keep her mind on exactly that.
‘For the successful candidate I might go as far as throwing in a sweater.’
How was