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But she hadn’t fought him off, had she?
Confused and angry with herself, she stripped off the gold dress, ripping it further in the process. She was not going to feel guilty. It wasn’t as if she’d gone to him for help. She hadn’t. Even when she’d been at her lowest point, she hadn’t allowed herself to approach him.
And she’d had no choice but to accept his help tonight. If she hadn’t, she’d be lying bleeding in that alleyway.
Survival, she reminded herself grimly. That was what her life was about.
Survival.
Reasoning that she wasn’t going to get far in a soaking-wet gold dress, Jessie stripped it off and slid into the bath, moaning with rapture as the hot water soothed and warmed her skin.
Just for a minute, she promised herself as she slid deeper under the foam. What harm could it do?
But she couldn’t relax. She was too wound up after what had happened and luxuriating in warm bubbles was something she’d never done before. It felt…decadent. She shampooed her hair quickly and in less than two minutes she was out of the bath and drying herself in a soft warm towel. Eyeing the damp gold dress on the floor, she faced the fact that she was going to have to borrow something to wear.
Her instinct was to refuse his offer, but how could she?
What clothes she had were back in her grim little flat. And she wouldn’t miss any of them.
Wondering why she was worrying about modesty when he thought she was a prostitute, Jessie wrapped herself in a long bathrobe before emerging cautiously from the bathroom.
Her precautions proved unnecessary because the bedroom was empty, the lighting dimmed to a warm, intimate glow.
She stared at the bed, her wayward mind conjuring up images she didn’t want to see.
Was this where he brought his women?
Did he kiss them the way he’d kissed her?
Forcing aside that unsettling thought, she snatched up the shoebox she’d rescued from her flat and tucked it under her arm. Then she padded over to the dressing room, aware that the last place she’d lived would have fitted into this space with room to spare. It was huge.
A door had been left open for her and she peeped inside, like a nervous child exploring its mother’s wardrobe, afraid of being caught.
Her mouth fell open because she’d never seen anything like it, even in her dreams.
There were racks of shoes stored in transparent boxes; jumpers and T-shirts in a rainbow of colours, all perfectly folded, and rails of shimmering, glamorous dresses.
Jessie reached out a hand and touched one of the dresses, the silk sliding over her fingers like fluid. There was nothing cheap here. Nothing suitable for the life she led.
The clothes went with the apartment and the apartment was the domain of the super-rich. She bent to tuck her battered, cardboard shoebox safely into the corner of the cupboard, out of sight.
‘Are you all right?’ His voice came from behind her and Jessie jumped as if she’d been caught stealing, clutching the edges of the dressing gown together at her throat to make sure that not a millimetre of flesh was exposed.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You were quick.’
She stiffened defensively, not wanting to admit that she was too jumpy to relax. ‘I spent as long as I needed.’
‘Why aren’t you dressed?’
Jessie gave a humourless laugh and glanced over her shoulder at the rails of clothes. ‘Because I couldn’t see anything suitable.’
His gaze slid to the rails of clothes and a faint smile touched his mouth. ‘That’s a very female remark. A closet full of clothes and nothing to wear.’
‘They’re not right.’
‘Nothing fits?’
