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Soft. Feminine. Delicate. And when her head drooped against his shoulder, the feel of her hair against his jaw and throat was as silken as he remembered.
How could memories of her, of that night, still matter? He knew what she was, knew she carried her dead lover’s child, knew she was trying to milk his new client for as many millions as she could get.
And now, he knew that he was a damned fool for taking on the case, that she could still affect him …
She moaned.
The sound shot him back to reality.
Caleb elbowed the door shut, carried her to a brocade loveseat and lowered her on it.
“Sage.”
No answer.
“Sage,” he said again, his tone sharp as the blade of a knife.
“Dammit,” he said through his teeth, and he stalked into the bedroom, into the bathroom, grabbed a hand towel, soaked it in cold water, wrung it out …
He had done all this before.
Brought her a wet cloth. Soothed her with it. Taken care of her, worried over her.
Yeah, but he sure as hell wasn’t worrying over her now.
He needed her conscious and fully alert.
That she looked like hell, that there was a baby in her belly, meant nothing to him.
Besides, she was tough.
Nobody had to worry about her.
Mouth set in a hard line, Caleb went back into the sitting room and squatted next to the loveseat. He wiped her face with the towel, his movements brisk and impersonal.
“Come on,” he said. “Open your eyes.”
Her lashes fluttered. Lifted. Her eyes, dark and blurred, met his.
He dumped the wet towel on a monstrosity of a coffee table, rose and stood over her, arms crossed, legs spread, and waited.
It took a couple of seconds for her gaze to sharpen. Intensify.
Then she shot upright on the loveseat.
Fear glittered in her eyes.
Good, he thought grimly. That was precisely how he wanted her. Looking nowhere but at him, and terrified.
“What—what are you doing here?”
He flashed a tight smile.
“Such an impolite way to greet an old friend, Sage.”
“What are you doing here?” Her voice had regained resonance, but he was pleased to see her hand shake as she shoved her hair back from her face. “You aren’t Thomas Caldwell!”
Caleb unfolded his arms, parodied applause.
