Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

But then his mind, so briefly and blissfully rested, froze. He stiffened, then sat bolt-upright as actual memory returned and shredded the remnants of fantasy.

There had been a woman in bed with him. A woman who’d worn his shirt and nothing else. A woman he’d thought was...hell.

His stomach curdled.

George had said she could stay here. George never invited random women to stay. Not for more than a night and not without him. Which meant this woman was special. James rubbed his aching temples with tense knuckles as the blindingly obvious hit him.

She had to be his brother’s girlfriend.

George had been single a while, earning a reputation as a slayer—‘making up for lost time now he was off the leash’ as all the blogger types sniped. James knew some of George’s supposed escapades were fabrication, but not all. Still, it wasn’t impossible to believe George might’ve fallen for a blonde with soft-looking lips, and blue eyes that widened in surprise and sparkled in annoyance. Uh-huh. Why George wanted her was easy to see. She was easy to want. But letting her stay in their private condo was more than want. That meant serious.

And what had James done? All but called her a whore and told her to leave. He winced. All class, he was. George was, rightly, going to be pissed. James was going to have to grovel. To both of them.

The sound of running water ceased and James tensed. Maybe he could convince her to forgive and forget the whole incident? But how to convince her? Throw himself on her mercy? Explain he was so exhausted he hadn’t been thinking straight? Blame the stress of his last assignment?

He glanced down, frowning at the white cotton sheet covering him. He didn’t remember sliding under it last night, which meant she must have—

An entirely inappropriate image flashed in his head. An entirely enjoyable one. Hell, he wished he’d never seen her legs, or how curvy her unfettered breasts looked in one of his T-shirts.

His clothes. His bed. His.

If she was Goldilocks, he was definitely the bear. But he hadn’t done a very good job of chasing her away. She’d been way more defiant than that thief from the fairy tale. She’d been almost desperate to stay. He wondered why that was.

The door to the bathroom opened. She walked out, her expression guarded. James’ innards shrivelled in excruciation. She couldn’t look less like a hooker. Her pale face peeked out above the turtle-neck roll of a giant black sweater. Baggy black jeans hung on her, hiding the figure he knew was lithe. She’d scraped her wet hair into a function-over-form ponytail, the bedraggled twist nothing like the swathe of colour that had blanketed his pillow so enticingly. Given her pallor he guessed she’d not brushed any make-up on. Cloaked with an air of wariness, she looked smaller, tired. But still determined. Still sexy.

Yeah, part of him wanted to haul her back to his bed, strip her out of the oversized gear and help her relax enough to sleep soundly. She looked as if she needed it as much as he and he still had seven hours’ straight sleep in him. He could forget the world with her. Make her forget her own name. And George’s?

Guilt skewered his chest. What was he thinking? To contemplate—even for a second—messing with the woman his brother had sent here? Maybe he was screwed up after his last assignment. Maybe he’d seen too many hearts broken. Maybe he’d got so desensitised he’d forgotten what was right and what was wrong. Because this was wrong.

He shifted, tugging up the sheet for something to do, cursing himself for not getting up and dressing while she was in the shower. Glancing back up, he caught a flash in her gaze.

James saw emotional extremes all the time—inconsolable grief, terror, pity, relief. Apocalyptic events pushed people beyond human endurance. He knew the keening wails of distraught villagers who’d lost loved ones, homes, land—people who’d lost everything but the ability to breathe. He emotionally distanced himself from them. Had to. Couldn’t get his job done if he felt every hurt along with them. But he wasn’t used to someone looking at him as if she wanted him to disappear. Or as if she wanted to be the one to make him disappear. Usually people fell over themselves in relief when they saw him. So this was novel. And frankly?

Interesting.

Inappropriate again. He gritted his teeth. He needed to get his head together. Find out the facts. And get her to leave.

‘I’m thinking we need proper introductions,’ he said carefully. ‘As you know, I’m James, but I didn’t get your name last night—’

‘Caitlin.’

Her voice was every bit as cool as her expression. Both set him on the boil. Caitlin who? Caitlin why? The temptation to tease was impossible to resist. ‘You like wearing other people’s clothes, Caitlin?’

The ones she had on now sure weren’t hers. Three sizes too big and not nearly stylish enough for her figure.

Colour touched her cheeks. ‘My luggage got lost somewhere between London and New York.’

Luggage? So she’d only recently arrived? ‘So that’s why you were wearing my shirt?’

She inclined her head. ‘I’d washed my clothes and they were still wet.’

‘Those are really yours?’ His brows lifted. He caught the resurgence of defiance in her eyes and checked himself. Tempting as it was to bait, he wasn’t supposed to be making this worse. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You weren’t interested in listening.’

‘You were too busy talking.’

‘You were too busy assuming.’

‘You were too—’ He broke off. Too tempting—with her beautiful hair and long, lush legs. Of course he’d thought of sex. Hell, what man wouldn’t when he was beyond tired, who’d lived in hell the last three weeks on top of a previous assignment that had been shorter, but even worse. Confronted with that vision—a sleeping, soft, hot woman? The idea of losing himself in her vitality, in feeling alive for a moment before diving into a deep, ideally dreamless sleep?

Oh, hell. He was a sick unit.

‘So you’re heading out to get some new clothes?’ He dropped the previous topic and aimed for something less inflammatory. Fingers crossed she’d find a new place to stay while she was out.

She looked away, studying the room. ‘I’m hoping my bag will arrive today.’

‘There are a ton of shops to tide you over,’ he said, wondering the best way to bring up the topic of her and George.

‘That’s not why I’m here.’

Surprised, he frowned. She was in no hurry to go buy a new wardrobe? What woman didn’t like to go shopping? He glanced at her worn outfit again and mentally kicked himself. A woman who couldn’t afford to.

Was that why she’d resisted leaving last night? She couldn’t afford to go anywhere else? The defiant pride beaming from her eyes showed she wasn’t about to admit it. Fair enough.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked.

‘Just for a holiday.’

‘For a month?’

She nodded but he got the impression she was keeping something back from him. George had said she could holiday here for a month? To be fair, James really hadn’t kept his family up to date with his itinerary. He figured this mess-up served him right. If she couldn’t afford to go anywhere else, he was going to have to do the gentlemanly thing—especially given his brother had offered the place to her. Except James didn’t want to stay somewhere else. This was as ‘home’ as it got for him. It offered him isolation. Peace and quiet—something he only ever needed for a couple of days in between assignments.

If she was here on the tourist ticket she’d be out sightseeing all day, dining out, dancing half the night in the clubs. They’d hardly notice each other, right?

Aside from the minor detail that they’d have to share. Only this one room in the apartment was in action and, while sharing a room would be bad enough, sharing a bed with his brother’s woman was on the ‘forbidden’ list. Assuming she was his brother’s woman?

‘George said you could stay.’ He drew his knees up and leaned forward to watch her reaction.

She nodded again, glancing away. ‘But it’s clearly inconvenient.’

He thought rapidly. If he chased off his brother’s girlfriend, he’d never hear the end of it. As it was he got too much grief for not being involved with the family enough. To be the ‘beast’ who’d scared beauty out of the castle would be too much for his brothers to stand. Doubtless they’d stage an intervention. ‘George doesn’t open up to many people.’

‘He’s been a good friend to me.’

Friend. Was that all he was? James ran his hand through his hair and down to rub the back of his neck. If he’d bothered to be in touch with his brothers more, he’d know. He wouldn’t have to ask. As it was, he did. ‘You know him well?’

‘Not intimately. Which is what you’re really asking, right?’ She shot him a look. ‘What does it matter to you?’

His blood heated at her defiant spark. ‘You really need me to explain?’

The inappropriate reply was out before he could think to stop it. And really, the fierce surge of desire needed no explanation. With those blue eyes, blonde hair, the legs, and the curves that called out to be admired. Held. Tasted. And as for the spirited tilt of her chin and the colour seeping into her cheeks...

‘In some ways you’re very like your brother,’ she said, her voice rougher than before.

‘But I’m not him.’

George, though he was trying hard to deny it, was a commitment man. A keeper for the right woman. James was definitely not. No matter how right the woman, he was all wrong. And knowing that, he probably shouldn’t be thinking all things sexy about his unexpected house-guest. He probably should back off and be good.

Except he was tired of being good.

She angled her head, studying him. ‘Does it bother you? People confusing you?’

They weren’t identical but were so alike most people thought they were. Until recent times, when James’ injury made it obvious. But the scar was superficial. Their real differences had been etched inside years ago when, because of James, a man had died and a family had been destroyed. That old cold feeling sluiced down his spine. He stiffened, pushing it out. He was over that. He was busy, content. Doing something with his life. Slowly he shook his head. ‘Used to. But we’re very different. Sometimes I wish I were more like him.’

‘In what way?’

Caitlin watched a remote look cross James’ face, then his smile twisted and a surprisingly wicked gleam sparked in his eyes. She couldn’t help thinking he’d summoned the charm to scare away the devils.

She knew George Wolfe was the ultimate playboy. Charming, witty, a master at making women willing, biddable, all too easily beddable. Not that she’d succumbed. And truthfully, she’d not received his interest that way, he’d felt pity for her rather than attraction. Because they had that one thing in common. They’d both felt the bite of the press, the judgment of the ill-informed masses.

Notoriety.

But all George had offered her was a safe haven—a hideaway. Turned out the cave came with the big, growly bear who wanted isolation to hibernate. And James Wolfe was more predator than playboy. For all his supposed heroism he had a streak of the hunter. She felt far more at risk here and now than she ever had with George—far more at risk of succumbing. Because James Wolfe, with his sleep-mussed hair, stubble and smoky eyes, was compelling.

‘If I were more like George, I’d have no trouble telling you how well you wear my T-shirt.’ His smile deepened, a small dimple appearing in one cheek. ‘And how much I’m kicking myself for being so abrupt last night.’

Abrupt? He’d been more than abrupt.

‘I hope you can forgive me,’ he said, as smooth as molten chocolate.

She didn’t trust anyone who said anything nice to her—certainly not a man. Not any more. She was sure that in the depths of James’ equally molten chocolate eyes, she’d find calculation. ‘Is that what you really want?’ she asked bluntly.

‘What I really want...?’ he echoed softly.

Oh, she was not falling for his sudden smoothness. She knew what he was up to. ‘You’re worried I’m going to tell the world what a jerk the James Wolfe actually is?’

His concern was laughable. He clearly wasn’t aware there was no way the world would ever believe her.

His chin lifted, his smile turned self-mocking. ‘Not worried about the world, but I am a little concerned about what George might say.’

George would probably laugh.

‘So,’ she challenged. ‘You thought you’d turn on the Wolfe charm and befuddle me so much I’d forget all about it?’

His brows arched high. ‘I thought it was worth a try.’

He was so obviously joking—trying to tease them out of this embarrassing situation. But to have another guy faking flirt with her for his own gain? She couldn’t raise a smile. ‘Why?’ she asked tartly. ‘You need the world to think nothing but the best of you? Your ego is so huge you need every woman to want you?’

He paused, a small laugh escaping beneath his breath. ‘No, I just wanted you to forget how rude I was. But if you want to want me, I guess that’s okay too.’ He shrugged.

‘I don’t want you.’

‘No?’ He adopted a farcically crestfallen look.

Suddenly she couldn’t not laugh. ‘You’re appalling.’ Last night she’d never have imagined he’d be so ridiculous. ‘What would you have done if I said I did want you?’

‘You calling my bluff?’ His smile burst back.

‘So it was a bluff.’ She’d been right, the guy was only out to cover his butt. That hot appreciative look he’d sent her way before was an act. The ‘explanation’ of why her relationship with George mattered was his fear for his reputation. Not because he was attracted to her and didn’t want to tread on his brother’s toes. And she was not remotely disappointed by that fact.

His expression went bland enough to mask all manner of nefarious intentions—but his dark eyes danced. ‘I can neither confirm or deny.’

‘Well, I can’t conform.’ She shook her head. ‘I won’t be one of your millions of adorers.’ She didn’t care how many lives he’d saved, she wasn’t worshipping him.

His chin lifted in a sudden movement, as if he were a predator who’d just caught a whiff of tasty prey nearby. ‘True,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You’re not like most women I meet.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment, given you only seem to meet people who think you’re the best thing ever. It strikes me you’ve gotten away with too much for too long.’

‘I have?’ he queried, his lips almost quirking into another of those smiles. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

Caitlin paused, counting to ten to douse the flicker of attraction. She was super glad her ‘hideaway’ flight clothes swamped her and hid the unreasonable reaction of her body to his. She was all tight, all hot. Perhaps she’d picked up flu on the flight?

She didn’t want this trip to start fraught with failure. Yet it was already. Lost luggage. Random midnight roommate. Looming homelessness. Could it get any worse?

Actually, yes. She’d run away from worse. She could handle this. She might be screwed but she wasn’t going to beg. She’d figure something out. She had in the past, she would now. She straightened her shoulders and sucked it up. ‘I’ll go to a hotel.’

‘No,’ he shot back surprisingly quickly. ‘Hotels are awful,’ he added. ‘Soulless places. Stay here.’ His eyes twinkled.

‘There really isn’t room.’

‘Sure there is,’ he said easily. ‘We managed just fine last night, didn’t we?’

Last night she’d lain there for ages, barely breathing before accepting the guy was making like a gigantic piece of Lego. Immovable, inanimate, so faultless he had to be plastic. She’d wished he’d snored or something—she’d wanted to find a flaw, aside from the fact he’d briefly leapt to an unflattering assumption. But even now, with the air of weariness he wore, with the shadows under his eyes and the stubble on his jaw, even with that raw scar, he was the most startlingly sexy man she’d met. So truthfully, she hadn’t managed that well at all. But given how broke she was, she was going to have to cope. The question was whether he wanted to—and if so, why he would?

‘You don’t mind the state it’s in?’ She paused to clear the frog from her throat. ‘Or being so squashed?’

‘This is nothing.’ He looked amused.

Of course, he’d have seen places in far worse messes and no doubt lived in greatly uncomfortable situations for months at a time. Because on that level, he was that hero.

‘I have a twin. I’m used to sharing,’ he explained. ‘We used to have a line of masking tape down on the floor marking out the boundary. Pain of death if you crossed it.’

Caitlin could easily imagine the scene. But she knew he came from wealth. His family had created the world’s most popular independent travel guides. A total dynasty, they sold millions of books each year. Surely he’d grown up in a huge house? Her innards softened; the guy was trying to make her feel better. But she wasn’t going to let him get away with gross exaggeration. ‘You didn’t have your own room?’

‘Course not,’ he answered instantly. ‘We fought, but we’re brothers. Half the time Jack would be in there as well.’ He chuckled. ‘When we got older, sure, we had our own rooms. But we were really close.’

Were. She paused, wondering about why that was. But she wasn’t going to pry about anything so personal. Besides, he was only sharing this to make her feel as if she weren’t putting him out. ‘And how long is it since the two of you shared a room?’ she asked bluntly.

He laughed. ‘About twenty years,’ he conceded.

Hmm. ‘So this arrangement...would be...brotherly?’

‘Sure.’ His eyes crinkled even more at the corners. ‘I really am used to sharing. Sometimes it’s really cramped quarters when I’m on an assignment.’

‘All the more reason for you to have your space now you’re at home.’ She really shouldn’t stay.

‘You don’t take up that much space.’ He grinned amiably. ‘I like to curl up like a cat.’

Ha. ‘I slept beside you last night. I know how much you stretch out.’

A rueful expression crossed his face. ‘Did I leave you any room?’

‘Less than an inch.’

‘Sorry about that. We can do something better with the pillows.’

Caitlin pressed her lips together for a moment to suppress the heat suddenly flaring inside. She could well imagine his physical demands would be great. He was the kind to want more. To take more.

‘I can’t let you do this.’ Ugh, her voice had gone husky. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ll disturb you.’

He hesitated for a moment. ‘I can sleep through anything.’

Actually, she figured that was true. He’d been out cold last night. ‘So you’re suggesting that we—two total strangers—share this one room?’

‘I am.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’ll only be for a couple days at most. I’ll be heading out on another assignment soon. You’ll have the place to yourself the rest of your month.’

Given she had no back-up plan, what choice did she have? But there was that one thing and she couldn’t not spell it out. ‘You honestly think it can work given what you thought on seeing me here last night?’

‘I was really tired. Not thinking clearly.’ For the first time he glanced away from her first. ‘You can’t blame me. I think most men look at you and think “sex”.’

‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’ she drawled acidly.

‘Hey, I’m just a man.’

‘But you’re not, are you? You’re not just any man.’

He looked back at her. ‘I think you’ll find I’m very much just a man.’

‘Given that, I’m really not sure it’s a good idea I stay here.’

He studied her silently. Then smiled gently. ‘Sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about.’

Somehow—ridiculous as it was, given he was trying to reassure her—she felt even more insulted than she had last night. ‘Sweetheart?’

He grinned. ‘Sugar, honeypot...’

‘You’ve obviously forgotten my name is Caitlin.’

‘I haven’t forgotten anything about you.’ A glitter intensified the laughter in his eyes.

That kind of focus was enough to make any woman blush. She drew breath, fighting the flare of heat in her cheeks. ‘Okay, I definitely can’t stay here.’ She’d be safer on the streets.

‘Sure you can.’

‘Not if you’re going to flirt like a bulldozer,’ she grumbled. She didn’t want any man-attraction stuff in her life right now. She wanted peace.

He laughed. A deliciously low, warm, infectious sound. ‘You don’t like flirting?’

Caitlin fought to keep hold of her grump and not succumb to his charm. ‘It’s not appropriate.’ He didn’t even mean it.

He looked even more amused. ‘You honestly don’t think a guy and a girl can share a room without...’ He raised his brows.

Oh, now he was making her seem like some kind of sex-crazed spinster. ‘It’s not that but—’

‘Ah, you do think I’m attractive.’ He nodded in a confiding way, his grin absurdly boyish.

Confound the man, he was confusing her. ‘You know you’re attractive,’ she answered almost crossly.

‘I do?’ He turned his head and ran a finger down the thick red welt of the scar that came out of his hairline, cut across his temple and sloped crookedly down his cheekbone. ‘This is attractive?’

Caitlin stared first at the scar, then into his suddenly impenetrably dark eyes. Was there an edge of bitterness? He was insecure about it? When the world knew how he’d got it? What he’d gone through?

‘Your eyes are attractive,’ she said quietly. His eyes were lethal. And they were just the beginning.

He shook his head, his smile returning but a little twisted. ‘My bank balance is attractive. So is my surname—the family connection. The fame.’

Fame didn’t make him attractive to her. She knew fame cost—not with the clichéd sweat, but soul. Fame-craving people sacrificed their humanity. But she got the feeling he was as unenthusiastic about fame as she was.

‘Are you trying to play the pity card?’ She adopted a sassy tone to lighten the prickly moment. ‘You’re worried the only reason women want you is because of your assets, not your personality?’

‘You tell me.’ His lips twitched.

‘I’m not stroking your ego.’

He chuckled warmly again. ‘So you’re not attracted to me.’ He nodded again as he spoke. ‘Guess that means we’ll have no trouble sharing the room.’

Hmm. She considered his tactics and had to acknowledge he was good. She could be too, right? And she really couldn’t afford to go anyplace else. ‘And obviously you’re not attracted to me,’ she said with a small faux sniff.

He looked at her silently, the single dimple appearing again.

‘Given you fell asleep before you even hit the mattress,’ she added, vaguely piqued. ‘And you were desperately saying no.’

His shoulder lifted, a scant apologetic gesture. ‘I didn’t want to have to be nice.’

Another wave of heat caught Caitlin by surprise. ‘You didn’t want to have to be nice—in bed?’ She cocked her head, the provocative words tumbling from her tongue. ‘If I were a hooker, wouldn’t it have been my job to be nice? It would only have been about getting off for you. You could have done your thing in twenty seconds and we’d both have been happy.’

‘That’s not the way I have sex.’ He drawled the words, but his eyes kindled to a quick scorching heat.

‘Ten seconds would’ve been okay as well.’ She tried to shrug. ‘You don’t need to feel bad if that’s all you can manage.’

He leaned forward, his smile appreciative. ‘I don’t feel bad because I’m always nice to my partner.’

‘But you get tired of having to be nice? Why?’ She let herself look directly into his intense, intoxicating, eyes. ‘You want to get naughty sometimes?’

The fire in his expression flared into an inferno. He flung back the sheet and stood up from the bed. ‘I’m not allowed to get naughty,’ he said softly.

Why ever not? ‘But you’d like to?’ she pointedly asked, refusing to glance down and check out his legs. Or recognise the rapid pounding of her pulse. ‘Aren’t you all man? In control of your own destiny? If you want to be wicked, be wicked?’