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  If he’d intended to leave her here, he wouldn’t be cautious about it. He’d simply drive away. Besides, she was tired and cold and she wanted out of all these acres of wet satin and lace.

  She opened the door and stopped just inside. The house was rustic but pretty. Wood paneling covered every last inch of the interior, and the ceiling soared into a point over the living area. Windows covered the entire wall from floor to ceiling, and a deck jutted out from the house.

  The view, commanded by the river, was gorgeous. The trees were a beautiful second. They were lush and full, their leaves that bright shade of new green that heralded spring. There was a dock that squatted over the river, and a lift with a boat on it. For a moment, her heart was full as she stared at the scenery.

  Free.

  That was the word that came to mind, and yet it wasn’t quite right. She wasn’t free. Not yet. She was, in fact, in a worse position than she’d first imagined when she’d ripped off that crown and escaped the house.

  No money, no clothes, no identification—and nowhere to go. Only the kindness of a stranger had gotten her this far—and his kindness had a hard limit, which he’d told her only moments ago.

  If her uncle’s security men showed up here, it was all over. She didn’t really blame him. He’d gotten shot at and chased, and now he had to put up with her. She was still a burden, but for Cash instead of her aunt and uncle.

  Dammit, why couldn’t she do anything right?

  Ella walked into the room, rubbing her hands over her arms. She was cold and wet and very disheartened. There was a fireplace, a huge stone thing that perched against one wall. She looked at the wood piled in the box next to the hearth. She didn’t even know how to start a fire.

  Useless, Ella. You are useless.

  The door swung open and she whirled. Cash stalked inside, carrying a duffel bag and a handful of plastic grocery bags. He kicked the door closed and went over to put everything except the duffel on the kitchen island.

  He started taking stuff from the bags and putting it into the refrigerator. “I was supposed to make this trip with two buddies,” he said, dropping a bag of potato chips on the island. “Grocery shopping is always my task.” He shot her a wry look. “Seems I’m incapable of buying for only one person.”

  “I see that,” she said as he kept putting things away.

  He shrugged. “I like to cook. And whatever I don’t use, I take home again. No big deal.”

  “You like to cook?” She didn’t know how to cook. She’d never been allowed to learn. That’s what servants were for, according to her aunt.

  “Well, I like to eat. Cooking seemed like the next step if I didn’t want to eat takeout my whole life.”

  “Is this your house?”

  “It belongs to a friend.”

  He frowned as she drifted closer. She realized he was looking at her hands. Specifically at the way she kept rubbing her arms.

  “You’re cold.”

  “A little.”

  “You should take a hot shower. Or a bath. This place has a Jacuzzi tub. You can soak for a while if you like.”

  “I would like that a lot.”

  He nodded toward a hallway. “You can take the master. That’s where the tub is. I’ll bunk in one of the other rooms.”

  Ella hesitated. “I need, uh, I need help…” She couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping away. “There are a lot of buttons.”

  His movements stilled. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. When his gaze finally met hers, she wasn’t certain if it was frustration or something else coloring his expression.

  “I guess you can’t very well reach behind your back, can you?”

  Ella glanced over her shoulder. “I could get a few in the middle maybe. But not the top. Maybe if you just start it, I can finish?”

  He sighed and wadded the grocery bags into a ball before stuffing them away in a drawer. “No, that’s all right. I can unbutton you. Unless you want me to slice them away—be quicker.”

  Ella shook her head. “No. I mean I know the dress is very likely ruined already, but I can’t willfully cut into it.”

  He frowned and then laughed. “So you can stomp through mud and get soaked in a rainstorm, but you can’t harm the dress on purpose? Sounds a little crazy, don’t you think?”

  “Probably so.” She gazed at the wet lace. “But it took a lot of work, you know? Someone spent time sewing the beads on, and the buttons. It needs a good cleaning, but it’ll be all right.”

  “I can’t believe you care about that dress. Seems like you’d think of it as the memory of your near-marriage to the sheikh.”

  She blinked. “It’s not the dress’s fault. Someone else may get joy out of it. You never know.”

  It was his turn to blink. “That dress probably cost a fortune, and you want to drop it at a thrift shop or something?”

  She hadn’t quite thought of that—but why not? “That sounds like a good idea. They’ll clean it up. Someone will enjoy it.”

  He shook his head. “Turn around, Ella.”

  She did as he commanded. And then she held her breath, waiting for the feel of his fingers against her skin. But he didn’t touch her. Not for a long moment.

  She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Is there something wrong?”

  He was staring at her back, at the junction of her shoulder blades beneath the silk. He cleared his throat and lifted his hands. “No, nothing.”

  His fingers were warm as they made quick work of her buttons. Her skin tingled beneath the onslaught in a way that surprised her. The porn leaped to her mind and she thought of the way the man had caressed the woman’s back before sliding his erect penis into her wet folds.

  So erotic, that memory. The woman had been shaven clean, and the sight of all that male flesh disappearing inside her had both amazed and aroused Ella. How had she taken it all? How had she stood it?

  But the male flesh disappeared again and again, and the woman moaned and thrashed her body against the man. Then she stiffened and cried out, and the man pumped harder. All Ella could see was his thickness sliding in and out, in and out. Rasping tender flesh. Dragging feelings from deep within. She hadn’t thought of any of that with Sheikh Fahd, but now she couldn’t quite stop herself.

  She bit her lip, and Cash’s fingers stopped moving against her back. She didn’t say a word, didn’t move. He didn’t speak either. Then he took a step closer, and for a moment she could feel his hard body ghosting against the back of hers, so light as to not even be a touch at all.

  But it was most definitely a touch. She started to lean back out of instinct, but two broad hands fixed on her shoulders and stopped her. They were strong hands. Insistent hands.

  “That should be good enough,” he said, his voice huskier than it had been. “Go shower, Ella. Take your time, and I’ll cook something to eat.”

  She nodded as heat crept into her cheeks. It wasn’t the heat of arousal though. It was the heat of embarrassment. Had he known what she’d been thinking?

  Oh God.

  She clutched the dress to her chest as she followed his directions to the master bedroom. Once she found the bathroom, she ran hot water and discarded the gown in a heap on the floor. Then she stepped inside the steamy tub and sank down in it until she could sink no more without drowning.

  Though maybe drowning was a good idea after all. At least she wouldn’t have to face Cash again.

  Chapter 5

  Holy shit. Cash watched Ella walk away, then turned and went back into the kitchen with his heart thudding in his chest in a way he wasn’t quite accustomed to. He liked—no, loved—women. Loved sex. And he was pretty good at it too.

  But what he wasn’t good at was the emotional component. He could rock a woman’s world with his tongue, fuck her into oblivion with his cock, but he didn’t do the emotional stuff.

  Ella Rossi needed the emotional component. He’d been unbuttoning her dress, revealing creamy skin and reminding himself that she was
a virgin. But he’d noticed something as he’d kept going.

  Arousal. Hers.

  Because he wasn’t an idiot, and he could tell when a woman was getting excited. The shivers and shudders. The soft inhalation of her breath. And that moan there at the end, the barely uttered sound that had made all the hackles on his neck rise as if he were a predator scenting prey.

  If he’d turned her around in his arms, she’d have gone limp. He could have kissed her. Could have peeled that dress right off her body and explored every inch of her.

  Which he was not going to do. No way. No how. She was a virgin, and he was allergic to virgins. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago. No initiating a woman into sex for the first time. It gave them ideas.

  He adjusted his cock—yeah, it was hard—and walked over to the kitchen to start something for dinner. It was still early, not quite five, but it’d been a while since he’d eaten and he figured Ella was hungry too.

  He took out some chicken, pasta, and mushrooms. He’d make chicken marsala for dinner. It was a good seduction dinner. One that had served him well in the past.

  No. He stopped in midgrab of the chicken and shoved it back into the refrigerator. He was not cooking a seduction dinner for this strange—and strangely appealing—woman. Instead, he grabbed the pasta and some butter, cream, and parmesan. He’d make an Alfredo sauce. Plain enough and delicious. He’d picked up some shrimp, so he’d put those in there too—

  And, shit, that was also a good seduction dinner. Shrimp Alfredo, bread, butter and good olive oil.

  Fuck me.

  Cash hesitated for a long moment but finally grabbed the ingredients anyway. He wasn’t planning a seduction, and they needed to eat. He’d have cooked this for the guys, though he’d also have cooked hamburgers and steaks. But he liked the grill for those, and it was still raining outside.

  So pasta it was. Not seduction.

  He got busy putting water in a pot for the pasta, getting out a skillet for the sauce, and heating the oven for the bread. It took all of twenty minutes. He hesitated, fists on hips, wondering if he should start cooking or wait for her to emerge again.

  He would have turned on the television, but he knew there was no signal right now. This cabin belonged to the second-in-command of HOT, Lieutenant Colonel Alex “Ghost” Bishop, and Ghost had told him that the satellite wouldn’t work if it was raining hard. This was Cash’s second trip up here, and he knew that was true.

  He and Cowboy and Cage had stayed here once before, a few months ago. Before that, they’d stayed in a dive of a cabin a bit farther along the river. When Ghost offered this place, they’d jumped on it. It was much nicer than they’d expected. Ghost said it was a family property and refused to take any rent for it. Free was better than cheap, at least in this instance, so Cash and his buds planned to come here often.

  Except here he was. Alone. Or not alone but with a surprisingly sensual virgin who’d managed to give him a hard-on by doing nothing at all.

  Geez. He wasn’t desperate. He’d spent the past few nights with a cute dental hygienist he’d met at the grocery store. He’d have thought for sure he wasn’t ready for sex for a few days yet. Not that he would turn down a good lay if it came his way, but it wasn’t precisely front of mind at the moment. Or at least it hadn’t been.

  He shoved a hand through his hair and turned back to the stove. The stick of butter sat waiting for him to put it in the pan. But once he did that, the sauce would cook quick. Butter, cream, parmesan. Toss with the pasta and, boom, dinner.

  He flipped on the burner for the pasta water. Then he went to set the table. He didn’t light the candle sitting in the middle of it, nor did he pull out the cloth napkins from the drawer he knew they rested in. Nope, this chick was getting a paper towel. Hell, if this place had plastic cutlery, he’d have given her that too. And a paper plate.

  Instead, he had to make do with stainless steel and porcelain.

  The pot soon started to boil. He went over and turned it down, unwilling to start cooking when he didn’t know when she was coming back. He glanced at his watch—she’d been gone for forty-five minutes. Surely that was time enough to bathe.

  He hesitated a moment before heading down the hallway to the master. The door was closed and he knocked. When there was no answer, he pushed it inward. The wedding gown lay in a heap on the floor. The door to the bathroom was open. But she hadn’t answered his knock.

  “Ella,” he called out.

  There was a small shriek, a splash, and then a tentative “Yes?”

  His heartbeat slowed at her reply. Did he really think anything had happened to her in here?

  “Just checking on you. It’s been a while.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Hungry?”

  “I… Yes, I think I could eat something.”

  “Can you be done in twenty minutes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll have dinner ready then.”

  “Um, Cash…?” she called as he was headed toward the door.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t have any clothes.”

  He closed his eyes. “No, I guess you don’t. Give me a sec.”

  He strode into the nearest guest room where he’d stowed his duffel and yanked it open. He hadn’t brought a lot with him, but he had a few things. He picked up a pair of sweats and a flannel shirt. It wasn’t precisely cold out, but it could get cool at night. He went back to the master and tossed them on the bed.

  “I’ve left sweats and a shirt out here on the bed. It’s the best I can do.”

  “That will work. Thank you.”

  He left the room, pulling the door shut behind him, and went back to the kitchen. He turned the water back to a boil, tossed in the pasta, and got to work on the sauce. By the time he had it all finished—pasta drained and tossed in the sauce, bread heated and cut into thick rounds, butter and oil set on the table—Ella appeared.

  Cash did a bit of a double take at the sight of her. She’d scrubbed off the makeup and her hair was long, dark, and thick. She’d managed to dry it, but she had nothing to contain it with. It hung heavy and full and wavy over her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and sparkling, and her body in his clothes was practically dwarfed. The shirt hung to her knees. She’d rolled the sweats up, but they were baggy and she kept pulling them up.

  Her feet were bare. Small feet that must surely be cold. He should have given her some socks.

  She smiled at him, and his heart did a little leap-skip thing that was odd.

  “Smells wonderful,” she told him. “I’m starved.”

  “Are your feet cold?”

  She glanced down. “Not yet. I’m still hot from the bath.”

  “Let me know when you need socks. I’ll get you a pair.”

  “Okay.”

  He pulled out a chair and sat down. “It’s all ready,” he said. “Help yourself.”

  She looked a little strange. But then she sat down and primly took the paper towel and laid it in her lap. She hesitated a moment, then picked up the two long pasta forks he’d set in the Alfredo and helped herself to a pile of food.

  She didn’t touch the bread until he did, and then she eagerly dipped a piece into the oil and pepper before eating it. When she closed her eyes and moaned, he felt that sound all the way to his cock.

  “It’s just bread,” he said.

  She opened her eyes. “I know. But it’s so good. I didn’t think I’d be eating simple bread with oil ever again. Silly, maybe, but I don’t know what desert sheikhs eat.”

  “Oh, I imagine Sheikh Fahd eats quite well. You would not be denied with him.”

  She chewed the bread thoughtfully. “Maybe not. But I don’t want to find out.”

  He rolled pasta onto his fork. “You don’t think this could have been solved in a different manner? That you could have just said no?”

  She stopped the motion of rolling pasta onto her own fork and stared at him. “That was not possib
le.”

  “Because your uncle wants you to marry the sheikh.”

  She nodded. “Yes. My aunt and uncle both. They are…” She looked thoughtful. “They need the money that he will pay them for me.”

  Something about how matter-of-factly she said it pissed him off. “You realize he won’t be paying them anything now?”

  And they deserved it. People who sought to sell their own flesh and blood into a situation she did not want were no better than human slavers. And he’d seen enough of them in his line of work to last him a lifetime.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” she said softly. “But there was no other way. If I’d married him, I would have gone insane.”

  He hated to hear her say that. Hated that anyone had to think of such things. But he did not doubt she believed it. Or that she would have lost whatever spark she currently had.

  “Then I guess you had to run away.”

  She smiled, just the corners of her mouth tilting up in a shy little smile, and he had to harden his heart not to feel anything. “It was my only choice. But without you, I wouldn’t have succeeded at all. So thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Cash.”

  Heat crept through him. He was used to saving people, but somehow he didn’t feel like he’d done enough to save her. Not yet anyway. He’d picked her up off the side of the road, but he’d done nothing significant to get her out of her situation.

  “Have you thought about what comes next?” he asked, certain that she hadn’t.

  She stuffed a forkful of pasta in her mouth. When she moaned, his senses went on alert. How many times could this woman moan about simple things like food and touch? Worse, why was it affecting him so much?

  “Oh my God, this is delicious. Simply delicious.”

  Cash frowned a bit. “It’s good, but it’s not that good.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “I haven’t had pasta in so long I can’t remember—trust me, this is delicious.”

  “Why haven’t you had pasta? I thought you said your heritage was Italian.” Not that Italians had to eat pasta all the time, but all the Italians he’d ever known ate it with some regularity.