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She headed for the utility room and glanced down at the makeshift essentials he’d provided. ‘Um, Lukas, she—I mean, he needs somewhere to go.’
‘Go?’
‘To the toilet.’
His mouth twisted. ‘It seems pretty happy with the floor.’
She laughed and he found himself wanting to grin. Amazing considering how churned up he still felt after nearly spilling his guts to her about his childhood like some old woman in need of comfort. ‘A box and some paper should do it. If we have any.’
Needing something to do he opened one of the overhead cupboards and pulled out a couple of older newspapers while Eleanore emptied some vegetables out of a box in the pantry. She cut it down to size and started shredding paper. ‘That should do for now.’
She set it down near the kitten, who was currently hiding beneath the bath towel he’d placed on the floor. It hissed like a mutant snake.
‘Friendly little thing,’ Lukas observed.
‘He’s been hurt,’ she admonished, ‘and terrified. Give him time.’
Her soft words made a lump form in his throat because he knew that some wounds could never be healed. Oblivious as she was to such things he watched as she bent toward the kitten and tried to coax it out of hiding. Her patience and gentleness shook something loose inside of him and he swallowed heavily to staunch the flow of emotion he could feel welling up inside of him.
After making a couple of attempts to gain the animal’s trust Eleanore decided to leave him alone with the saucer of milk Lukas had provided but which the kitten had yet to touch. She glanced at the man who had shown such gruff tenderness when dealing with the kitten. For some reason she hadn’t expected it of him and it threw her.
She couldn’t deny that she was curious about him. He was such an enigma; on the one hand seeming to be completely self-centred and uncaring about his impact on others, and on the other someone prepared to construct a hotel for charity and take the time to put a saucer of milk down for a petrified kitten. Someone who tried to make life easier for his employees and who thought about the environment when he’d constructed his office building. Someone she was starting to think she had gravely misjudged.
But maybe that was hormones talking. Because he was also the most attractive man she had ever met and he set her blood on fire just looking at her. Especially when he looked at her in that way: as if he wanted her more than any other woman in the world.
She stopped in the living room and felt suddenly awkward when she turned to face him. ‘You know, I did look into the alleyway before I ventured down there,’ she said, feeling the need to defend herself.
Lukas arched a mocking brow. ‘And of course when your attacker didn’t announce himself with a warning placard like they obviously do in New York you just thought you’d head on down.’
‘No. I heard the kitten crying and I was worried about it. Plus, I know self-defence so I thought I’d be fine.’ And weirdly she’d never once felt unsafe in New York. In fact, living in New York had obviously given her a false sense of security because she’d never been confronted with a situation like she had been tonight.
‘Show me,’ he said thickly.
Startled by the request Eleanore looked up to find his eyelids at half-mast. Her heartbeat galloped as her body responded to the unspoken command from his.
‘Show you what?’
‘Show me those self-defence skills that obviously made you feel ten feet tall.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
ELEANORE COULDN’T DO THAT. If she did...if she touched him she knew her resolve to maintain a level of professionalism between them would go up in smoke. ‘I can’t.’
A dangerous gleam had entered his eyes. ‘Why not?’
‘Because...because I’m not in danger now.’ But she was. She really was.
He moved toward her slowly, a look of pure menace on his handsome face. ‘Pretend you are.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
Eleanore didn’t realise she was walking backward until she felt the cool press of the wall behind her. Lukas didn’t stop until he’d placed his hands against the wall either side of her head. ‘What are you going to do now, moya krasavitsa?’
Eleanore knew the word moya was the feminine version of my but as to the other word... ‘What is it that you call me?’ she asked huskily.
‘What do I get if I tell you?’ His own voice was low. Rough.
