Mistress At A Price. Sara Craven

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      Cat stiffened defensively, angrily conscious that she’d started to blush. ‘It’s all right. Why?’

      ‘Because you seem to be glued to it.’ He unhitched himself from the dressing table and came towards her. ‘Need a hand?’

      From somewhere she managed a steely glance. ‘No, I do not. Thank you.’ She paused. ‘I—I’ll join you downstairs.’

      ‘Will you, now?’ He was grinning again, she saw with chagrin. ‘I think it might be safer if I waited for you right outside—just in case you have some alternative getaway planned. And don’t be too long,’ he added softly. ‘Because I seem to be developing quite an appetite.’

      And he left her kneeling there, in that absurd ocean of sprigged bedspread, staring after him, her heart thudding unevenly and her arms wrapped round her body like a shield.