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‘I don’t want you here, distressing my mother and frightening the girls.’ Even to Kay’s own ears it sounded ridiculous. Her mother had clearly taken to him and he’d had the twins eating out of his hand.
‘Then you shouldn’t have bolted like a scared rabbit, should you?’ he drawled with insufferable detachment. ‘Surprising though it may seem, I didn’t appreciate the position you put me in this lunchtime. Neither do I countenance the waste of good food,’ he added indolently.
‘You left me with no other choice,’ she shot back.
‘Forgive me if I don’t see it that way.’
‘I don’t like bullies.’
‘Neither do I,’ he agreed, as though it had been an objective statement.
Kay glared at him even as she asked herself exactly what it was about this man that made her react with such uncharacteristic antagonism. She had no illusions about the male of the species, not any more, but until Mitchell Grey had come on the scene she had been able to handle them just fine. If nothing else, the last few years—when she had carved out a life and a career for herself, and become sole provider for her mother and the girls—had taught her she was more than capable of surviving without a man. And with that knowledge had come confidence and self-respect.
Mitchell finished the last of the cake, smacking his lips appreciatively as he said, ‘Your mother’s an excellent cook. It’s been years since I had carrot cake, and I was starving.’
She didn’t miss the innuendo in the last words but chose to ignore it. She had to get him out of here, now, and if an apology was what he’d come for it was a small price to pay to end this fiasco. Nevertheless, she found the words stuck in her throat. She swallowed, glancing at him as she searched for the right tone—cool, collected and not too penitent.
The blue eyes were tight on her, silver-bright and unblinking, the corners of his mouth curved just enough in a cynical twist to tell her he knew exactly what she was thinking and what had motivated the forthcoming apology. It immediately withered and died. ‘I’d like you to leave right now, Mr Grey,’ she said crisply, her heart thumping painfully.
He folded his arms over his chest, settling more comfortably on the chair as he studied her interestedly—much as he’d done in the restaurant. ‘I’m sure you would, Mrs Sherwood,’ he said softly, the quiet emphasis on her name telling Kay her formal approach had been noted and was not appreciated. ‘Tell me,’ he continued, as though her demand had not been voiced, ‘how did you leave the restaurant without my seeing you? I know it wasn’t through the kitchens.’
Kay blinked. She’d half expected whoever had been sent to look for her would click onto what she’d done, but if he didn’t know already there was no way she was telling him of her ignominious exit. She shrugged carefully. ‘Does it matter?’ she asked, forcing boredom into her voice.
‘Do you know, I rather think it does—to me, that is.’ His voice was low and rough now and for the first time Kay caught a glimpse of his outrage. It was immensely satisfying.
It was also an entirely inappropriate moment to feel amused but she couldn’t help it, and although she kept her face straight it was clear he had sensed something when he said, ‘Well? I’m not leaving until I receive the courtesy of an answer.’
Oh, to blazes with it! ‘I climbed out of the washroom window,’ she admitted expressionlessly.
There was a long moment of silence and then Mitchell began to laugh. Not a snigger or a sarcastic chortle, but a bust-a-gut roar of laughter that took Kay completely by surprise. She tried unsuccessfully to stifle her own amusement but his hilarity was infectious, albeit he was laughing at her, and she was still grinning when the silver-blue gaze swept her face again. ‘I bet Harringtons had never seen anything like it before, and in that skirt,’ he said, his voice still vibrating. ‘You were fortunate not to do yourself an injury.’
She thought of her lacerated knees. ‘Possibly.’
‘And you would really rather dive out of a window than endure a lunch with me?’ He’d stopped laughing now and something in his voice made the colour flare in her face.
‘I… I don’t like to be tricked,’ she managed falteringly.
‘And if you weren’t tricked, what then?’ he asked very softly, his voice oozing something that sent a tingle down her spine. He stood up as he spoke and she felt her body tense as he walked over to her, the overall height and breadth of him making her feel as small as the twins.
‘I…told you, I don’t date.’ She wanted to take a step backwards but as he wasn’t touching her it seemed silly, besides which she was worried it would give the wrong signals. She wasn’t frightened of him, no way, she assured herself silently.
‘Never?’
‘Never,’ she said firmly. ‘There’s the twins to take care of.’
‘Your mother wouldn’t babysit for one evening while you go out?’ he asked gently. ‘I find that hard to believe. Sh
e seems a very nice woman.’
‘She is,’ Kay said hotly, ‘and of course she’d babysit if I asked her but I choose not to. I prefer not to get involved…’ Her voice trailed away as the faint seductive fragrance of his body warmth surrounded her. Kay’s stomach clenched in protest at the tingles it was invoking. He wasn’t even holding her so how come she felt hot and weak? she asked herself helplessly, a shiver of excitement dancing over her skin.
‘So do I.’ He looked down at her, the black of his hair throwing his tanned skin and mercurial eyes into even more prominence. ‘I thought we’d already established earlier we’re two of a kind? Free, self-determining, autonomous.’
Kay stared into the strongly chiselled features. Men were not to be trusted. They said one thing and meant another, and when the another led to a desire to control and subjugate the woman was fighting an uphill battle to retain her individuality. Why, even her father—good as he had been—had gambled with her mother’s peace of mind and security for the future and lost everything without even telling her what he’d been doing. Men were a different species.
‘I like women,’ Mitchell said softly, ‘but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to walk into a snare or set one for someone else. Fairy tales—one man, one woman and a lifetime of for ever—are for children.’
‘I don’t—’ She stopped, her cheeks burning. ‘I don’t sleep around.’
