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That last part was said with definite tears in her voice.
“I’m so sorry, mi Pequeña. This is all my fault.”
“Yes, it is.”
All right. If he’d been expecting her to argue with his assessment, then he was sadly mistaken.
“You left me here. You locked me up. Why did you do that? Why am I a prisoner?”
“Right, we need to sit down so I can explain this. And I need coffee.”
“I haven’t had coffee in sooo long. My head hurts.”
“My poor girl,” he said soothingly. After setting her down on the mattress on the floor, he moved to get the coffee. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black, like your heart.”
He shook his head at her theatrics, even though he understood why she was so angry at him. After grabbing them both mugs, he turned back to her. He frowned as he took in her pale face. She had large dark marks under her red-rimmed eyes.
Had she gotten any sleep at all?
He also picked up the bag. He handed her the coffee, before setting the bag down on the mattress.
“Oh no!” she wailed.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“This coffee is black!”
“Isn’t that what you said you wanted?” he asked, bewildered.
“I lied. I like it with lots of creamer and two sugars. I said I wanted black for dramatic effect.”
“Pequeña,” he said in a stern voice. “Baby, you need to tell me what you really want. No lies, understand me?”
Yeah, he had no right to get firm with her like this. But that still didn’t stop him.
“What I really want is to go home.”
He doctored her coffee the way she truly wanted it, even though he thought that two sugars seemed excessive and bad for her teeth.
Easy. You have no right to scold her.
“Take a look in that bag,” he told her.
She frowned up at him. “Coffee.”
“In a moment. Take a look.”
With a huge sigh that he thought was entirely unnecessary, she searched through the bag.
“You bought me clothes?”
“Yep. Aren’t you happy?”
“Thank you. Yes. That was really kind of you. But I have clothes at my place.”
He frowned. He thought she’d be more excited. Weren’t women always thrilled to get new clothes? And gifts? That had always been his experience.
Although it had been years since he’d done anything more than fuck a woman. He was in and out of their bed as quickly as he could.
Still, her lack of enthusiasm puzzled him.
“But these are new.”
“Yes, thank you. Coffee, please?”
Maybe she was just tired. And needed caffeine. That could explain things.
She sipped on her coffee and gave him a huge smile. “This tastes sooo good. You have no idea.”
Hmm. Cat seemed far more excited over the coffee than the clothes.
He didn’t understand this girl.
“I’ll get you some painkillers for your headache. There should be some in the First-Aid kit in the bathroom. You didn’t take any already, did you?”
“There’s no First-Aid kit in there,” she said.
“Yes, there is.” He walked into the bathroom and opened the cupboard. “It should be here. Someone must have removed it.”
“Bernie did,” she said bitterly. “He’s such a mean little man.”
Sighing, he moved back into the bedroom and crouched in front of her again. “Bernard has done a few things wrong, but like I said, this is mostly my fault.”
“I know. Because you brought me here and locked me up! Why did you do that? What did I do?”
Fuck. She sounded so lost and lonely. He couldn’t fucking stand it. She was chipping through the wall surrounding his heart.
“Pequeña, you didn’t do anything. Why would you think that? This has nothing to do with you.”
“Doesn’t it? Then why am I being locked up and punished?”
“No one is punishing you.”
“Bernard made me kale salad! If that’s not punishment, I don’t know what is. And no coffee . . . urgh.”
She put her hands over her face. He frowned as he took in her fingernails. They looked ragged and sore. Some of them had spots of blood on them.
How the fuck had that happened?
“I think I’m going insane.”
He needed to say something to soothe and reassure her.
Instead, he grabbed her hand and inspected her fingernails. “What the fuck did you do to your nails?”
Cat blinked at Alejandro in confusion. How had they gone from her being insane to him growling over her fingernails?
“Nothing.” She tried to tug her hands back out of his hold. Embarrassment filled her.
He was probably used to women who were all done up impeccably with gorgeous nails and shiny hair. Women who didn’t break out in pimples when it was that time of the month or get cramps that made them all bloated and crabby.
Lord, she wished she was one of those women.
But she was not.
She was a crabby, pimply, crampy, nail-biting woman with more flaws than Swiss cheese had holes.
“Why are you muttering about how many holes swiss cheese has?” he asked.
