‘Ah ha, that means you do,’ he murmured with satisfaction. ‘If you didn’t you would have said no,’ he explained at her perplexed frown.
Sam grimaced. ‘Maybe I’m just too surprised by the question to have instantly denied it?’
‘Still not saying no, Samantha,’ he mocked, a wicked glint in his eyes as he looked her over from her head to her toes. ‘Now where would you choose to have a tattoo, I wonder?’
Sam could feel the colour once again warming her cheeks under the frankness of that gaze. ‘This really isn’t a suitable conversation, Mr Sterne.’
‘Oh, come on, Samantha, I’ve been stuck in hospital and this apartment for the past six weeks; surely you aren’t mean enough to deny me a little entertainment?’
‘The puppy-dog look doesn’t look so good on you,’ Sam assured him cuttingly.
‘Then answer the question! Sorry.’ He scowled darkly. ‘I’m just—’ He ran a frustrated hand through the thickness of his blond hair. ‘You aren’t seeing me at my best.’
‘No?’ Sam wasn’t sure she could cope with seeing this man at his best.
‘No,’ he confirmed heavily. ‘I was just— What’s wrong with telling me where you have your tattoo?’
‘Goodnight, Mr Sterne.’ Sam turned towards the door.
‘Is it on your breast?’
Sam faltered slightly but managed to keep on walking.
‘Your shoulder?’
Why did the door suddenly seem so far away?
‘Maybe your deliciously rounded bottom?’
Sam’s hand shook slightly as she was finally close enough to reach out to take hold of the door handle.
‘Or maybe it’s at the top of your thigh where only a lover would see it?’
Sam quickly pulled the handle down and opened the door.
‘Now the thought of that is definitely going to keep me awake long into the night!’ Xander murmured.
‘Goodnight, Mr Sterne,’ she repeated firmly before stepping out into the hallway, closing the door behind her before leaning weakly back against it, able to hear Xander’s soft laughter echo from behind it.
The man was impossible. Worse than impossible!
And the tiny tattoo on the top slope of her left breast seemed to throb as much at the moment as it had on the day she’d had it done five years ago.
* * *
‘How do you like your toast, Daisy?’ Xander frowned across the kitchen at the little girl as she sat at the breakfast bar in her pyjamas, her hair a glorious tangle of red curls about her slender shoulders. ‘I can do lightly golden or burnt?’
‘Burnt, please,’ she answered politely.
Xander had been the only one up when he’d come to the kitchen a short time ago, but that hadn’t lasted for long. Daisy had appeared shyly in the doorway just a few minutes later, obviously having heard someone moving about in the kitchen, and no doubt assuming it was her mother.