But she rested her head against the car seat and closed her eyes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MILLER knew she should probably put up more resistance to his high-handedness but she felt too weak and light-headed. And some deeply held part of herself was insanely pleased by his gesture.
But she was being a sucker again. It was obvious that his behaviour had more to do with his overdeveloped sense of responsibility than it did with her as a person and she would do well to remember that.
He expertly pulled the silver bullet into the area of the airport reserved for private planes, and Miller gave up fighting the inevitable. She was so weak she had no choice but to lean into him and soak up some of his strength as he guided her towards the steps to his plane.
It was sleek and white, and she didn't feel so unwell that she couldn't be impressed. 'You're not the prime minister, are you?' she murmured faintly.
He smiled softly. 'Sorry. I'm not that big.'
Their eyes caught and held and his smile turned devilish.
'I meant that important.'
Keeping her sheltered against his broad shoulder, he led her past wide leather bucket seats with polished trim down a narrow corridor and into a room lit only by the up-lights in the carpet.
'You have a bed?' She couldn't keep the astonishment from her voice.
'I fly a lot. Hop in.'
'Don't I have to wear a seat belt for take-off?' As she said the words she felt the jet move slowly forward. Or backwards. It was hard to tell.
'Not on a private plane.'
'Does it have a bathroom?'
'Through there.' He gestured towards a narrow sliding door. 'If you're more than five minutes I'm going to assume you've collapsed and come in.'
'And you accuse me of being bossy?' She sniffed, but didn't argue. Her back ached, her stomach hurt, and her head felt as if it had some sort of torture device attached to the top.
When she came out he was on the phone speaking to someone in Italian. One of his family maybe?
God, their worlds were so different. She felt a pang as she recalled watching the cool kids all eating at the same cafeteria table at school every day while she pretended she needed to be alone to spread out her drawing pad.
'I've ordered you a light meal. It'll be delivered as soon as we're airborne.' He shoved his phone in his pocket and came towards her. 'You look like you're about to fall over, Miller. Please get in the bed.'
He might have said please but his tone implied he'd put her there in about three seconds if she didn't comply.
Slipping off her boots, she folded herself inside the cool, crisp sheets and laid her head on the softest pillow in the world...
'Come on, Miller, we're here.'
Groggy from sleep, Miller allowed Valentino to lift her out of the bed.
'Don't forget her boots,' he told someone, and Miller rested her head against his shoulder, unable to completely pull herself from the blissful depths of unconsciousness.
Seconds later she was placed in a car, and seconds after that she was being lifted again.
The next time she woke the nausea had passed and so had the headache. She stretched and felt the resistance of a top sheet. Someone had made this bed with hospital corners. She wondered if she was in a hospital.
Opening her eyes, the first thing she noticed was that the room was in semi-darkness, with a set of heavy silk drapes pulled across the windows. The second thing was that the room was expensively furnished in rich country decor and definitely not in a hospital. She strained her ears but could only hear the faint sound of white noise. A washing machine, perhaps.
Pulling back the covers, she was pleased to see she was wearing her T-shirt and leggings from earlier. So it was still Sunday, then. She felt utterly displaced and wouldn't have been surprised if she'd slept for a week.
Feeling grimy and hot, she checked through a door and was relieved to see it was a bathroom.
Before going in she glanced around and spied her case in a corner. Flicking on the bedside lamp, she went to rummage through it for something else to put on and was surprised to discover it held only underwear and shoes.
Resting back on her heels, she let out a short, bemused laugh, remembering the exasperation in Valentino's voice when he'd asked her if she wore anything other than black.
'You're awake, then?'
Miller spun around, so startled by his voice she fell back on her bottom. Which only made him seem to fill the doorway even more. She tried not to think about how gorgeous he looked in his casual clothing. He hadn't shaved and his hair was still slightly damp from a recent shower. Then she noticed he was holding a steaming porcelain bowl.
He walked into the room and placed it on the bedside table. 'Chicken noodle soup.'
'You made chicken noodle soup?'
His lips twitched. 'My chef did.'
'You have a chef?'
'Team chef, to be precise.'
'Well...' Miller stood up, not sure what to say. 'That's very nice of you but I feel fine. Great, in fact. I did tell you I wasn't sick.'
'You should feel great. You've slept for nearly twenty-four hours.'
'Twenty-four hours! Are you kidding?'
'No. The doctor checked your vital signs this morning but he wasn't overly concerned. He said you might have picked up a bug and if you didn't wake properly by tonight to call him again. You spoke to him while he was here. You don't remember?'
'I have a vague recollection but...I thought I was dreaming. I know I've been pushing myself lately, but-wow. I feel fine now.'
Valentino stuck his hands into his jeans pocket. 'I'll leave you to have your soup and a shower.'
'Thanks.' Miller's mind was still reeling from the fact that she'd slept for so long. 'Oh, wait. I don't have anything to change into. You only packed...underwear and- What is that noise?'
He stopped at the door. 'The ocean. A cold front came through this morning so the swell is up.'
'You live on the ocean?'
'Phillip Island.'
'We're not even in Melbourne?'
'Take a shower, Miller, and join me in the kitchen. Down the hall, left and then right. There are clothes in the wardrobe. They should fit.'
Curious, Miller went to the wardrobe door and gasped when she opened it to find an array of beautifully crafted women's clothes filling the cupboard-half of them black! Wondering who they belonged to, she fingered the beautiful fabrics of the shirts and dresses, the soft wool pants and denim jeans.
But whose were they? And why did Valentino have a closet full of-she checked a few of the labels-size ten clothes?
Her size.
The thought of wearing another woman's clothing wasn't exactly comforting and her stomach tightened. T-shirts, jeans and shorts lined the shelves, and there was a grey tracksuit.
Feeling as if she was stealing the pretty girl's clothing from a school locker, Miller gingerly pulled out the tracksuit pants and a T-shirt. Thank God she had her own underwear-because there was no way she was wearing somebody else's. In fact, she'd put on her own clothes again if she hadn't slept in them for so long. The thought that she'd actually been ill was still something of a shock.
Going through to the marble bathroom, Miller quickly showered under the hot spray and opened the vanity and found the basics. Deodorant, toothpaste and a new brush, a comb and moisturiser. Brushing the tangles from her hair, Miller hunted in the cupboard for a hairdryer and came up empty.
Damn.
Without a hairdryer her hair would dry wavy and look a mess. She felt vulnerable and exposed without her things, but there was nothing she could do about it. Valentino had swooped down, got her at a weak moment, and she'd just have to brave it out. It was only clothes and hair anyway. He probably wouldn't even notice.
She walked back into the bedroom and her stomach growled as the smell of cooling soup filled her nostrils. Salivating, she perched on the bed and demolished the fantastic broth in seconds, her body feeling both clean and nourished.
But, knowing she couldn't hide out in this room any longer, she picked up the empty bowl and followed Valentino's directions to the kitchen.
His home was modern and spacious, with lots of exposed wood and a raw-cut stone fireplace that dominated a living area that was furnished with large pieces of furniture built to be used as well as to look good.
When she stepped into the modern cream and steel kitchen she was assailed with the smell of sautéed garlic and her eyes became riveted to the man facing the stove. She drank in his athletic physique in a fitted red T-shirt and worn, low-riding denims that cupped his rear end to perfection.
He was without a doubt the sexiest man she had ever seen, and he made her forget all about being self-conscious or cautious. But she wasn't here because he was attracted to her. He'd made it perfectly clear Saturday night he didn't want her in that way, so it was time to stop thinking about the way he made her feel.