The Billionaire's Virgin(23)

He knocked lightly. There was no response, so he knocked again, louder this time.

Still no response.

He put a hand to the door. “Mia?”

Nothing.

Screw this. He pulled on the door handle and found it wasn’t locked, which he hadn’t expected. Not when she’d been so wary of him.

Cautiously, he pushed the door open and put his head around it.

She was lying in the tub, her head turned toward the light of the city, absolutely still.

A strange, cold fear wound around his heart, almost stopping his breath and freezing him in his tracks.

What the fuck are you doing? It’s like you’re expecting her to be dead or something.

No, that was stupid. Why would he think that?

But the fear wouldn’t go away and he had to take a long, slow breath, forcing himself to move, crossing the white-tiled floor over to the tub where Mia lay.

Her head was back against the edge of the bath, long dark strands of hair lying damply on pale shoulders and forehead. She was breathing softly, deeply, her eyes closed.

Jesus Christ, he was a fucking idiot. She was asleep.

A wave of relief went through him and then, because he was a man and a basic one at that, and because she was a woman and currently naked in his bath, he let his gaze take in the rest of her.

She was very slight, very much on the too-thin side, and he could have put his whole hand around her upper arms without any trouble at all. But . . . he looked further down. Small, high breasts and pale pink nipples. Beautifully curved waist and hips. Legs that were never going to be long, not given her height, but nevertheless were in perfect proportion to the rest of her. Black silky curls between her thighs. Pale, smooth skin beneath the surface of the water . . .

That feeling kicked inside him again, the same thing he’d felt in his limo, and he had to catch his breath.

That’s it, you prick. Get hard for the poor naked homeless woman you’re perving at in your tub.

The water rippled and he jerked his gaze back to her face, only to find her fathomless black eyes staring back at him.

She gave a gasp and moved, her hand flashing to the knife sitting on the side of the bath. But he moved too and faster, bringing his palm down flat on the back of her hand, pressing it onto the marbled rim before she could stab him somewhere sensitive.

It only seemed to make things worse. “Get away from me!” The sound of her terrified breathing filled the bathroom, echoing off the tiles, water sloshing everywhere as she tried to pull her hand away. “Don’t! Stop!”

Jesus, he didn’t know what he’d done to wake her up or to provoke this reaction, but he knew blind panic when he saw it. She was staring at him, but not really seeing, all the light gone from her eyes, her skin dead white.

Like she had when he’d touched her hand in the doorway of the shelter.

He wasn’t used to dealing with panicked women. Wasn’t used to dealing with panicked people of either sex. But he remembered those long hot summers, when his father used to send all his sons back to Blue Skies Ranch, determined that they wouldn’t grow up spoiled, pampered big-city boys. He remembered being with the horses and how sometimes he’d been able to calm a panicked animal with a firm voice and a steady, reassuring hand.

Mia wasn’t a horse, but hell, it was worth a shot.

“Stop,” he said firmly, keeping his hand on hers and holding it down. “You’re with me. With Xavier. In my apartment.”

She stilled, blinking, her breath coming in short, hard pants.

“You had a bath and it looks like you fell asleep,” he went on in the same tone. “I’m only here to make sure you hadn’t drowned or anything, okay? But I can’t have you stabbing me. You don’t want to be had up on murder charges, right?”

She shook her head, the tension ebbing from her arm, her hair clinging to her neck and shoulders in sleek, black strands.

“That’s it. I’m not going to hurt you, remember? I’m here to help. Now, that water’s going to get cold, so how about you get out?”

“No. Not with you here.” She hunched over herself, trying to protect her nudity and he felt like even more of a tool for looking at her when she’d been asleep.

He should get out, he really should. Then again, she appeared exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes even more pronounced, as if someone had punched her in the face. God, when was the last time she’d had a decent sleep? Maybe she didn’t ever get any. Sleep made you vulnerable, and a homeless woman asleep and vulnerable on the streets of New York? Yeah, there were no good scenarios coming out of that. No wonder she’d woken up so quickly. It must be some kind of survival reflex.

“Can you get out by yourself?” He gave her a critical once-over, noting the fine tremor in her hands as she pressed them over her chest.