Taming the Lone Wolff(41)
Winnie had destroyed his peace of mind without even trying.
She was so damned unsure of herself. Not in life. She set goals and met them, doing work that few people would want to attempt. But when it came to her feminine appeal, her sexuality, she thought she would disappoint him.
The notion was ludicrous. Her vulnerability got under his skin and made him want to protect her in a very personal way. He should be running without looking back. But he was trapped by his own emotions.
He didn’t need this. Not when in a very short time his entire family would have him under a microscope. Forcing himself to release her, he backed away. The expression on her face was as shattered as he felt. But it was her own fault.
“Dinner’s at six-thirty,” he said. “Can you find your way to the dining room?” He was being a horse’s ass, and he didn’t care. Sexual frustration did that to a man. He wanted to punish her for making him feel this way.
“But I—”
“But what, Winnie?”
She wrung her hands. “Maybe I should eat in my room. Your first meal at home should probably be just family.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “Your hiding up here won’t accomplish a thing. And besides, I’m tired of being the only one without a date.”
“You’re a grown man. Surely you’re capable of holding your own.”
His mood lightened fractionally. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” He decided his plan could backfire if he left her to her own devices. She might not show up. “Actually, why don’t I stop by for you at 6:15?”
“What do I wear?”
“What you have on is fine…or something similar. It won’t be so bad, Winnie. I promise.”
“I still think it would have been less complicated for you to stash me in an anonymous hotel.”
“But not nearly as much fun.”
“If you flirt with me, they’ll get the wrong idea,” she pointed out.
“They’ve been decrying my single lifestyle for months. Maybe you can be my smoke screen.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to do to the people who love you.”
“I’m not feeling very nice at the moment.”
She had kicked off her heels and now stood in her bare feet, toes curling into the carpet. He’d never considered himself to have a foot fetish, but something about her small, narrow white feet seriously did it for him.
Winnie hopped up on the side of the bed, her legs dangling like a child. “What are you going to tell them about me?”
He shrugged. “That’s your call.”
“The truth is fine.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll just say you’re a friend who’s having some trouble. And that I wanted to show you Wolff Mountain. All of that is true.”
She raised an eyebrow. “We’re friends?”
“What would you call it?” He stared at her, not bothering to hide what he felt.