Free Whose Bed Is It Anyway? by Natalie Anderson

‘What it was, was pretty damn...uh.’ He shook his head a fraction. ‘But it’s been a while for me...’
    Oh, please. She didn’t want him to lie or make up excuses or be polite and let her down gently. If he didn’t want her, he didn’t want her. No problem.
    But cold mortification seeped into her marrow. Because she’d wanted him. And he knew just how much she’d wanted him—she’d been moaning non-stop.
    â€˜Yeah.’ She nodded, acting up the amused ‘it-was-nothing’ scene. ‘So your judgment is warped. Kissing anything with lips would be good for you.’
    His mouth opened. Then closed. Then he laughed. He stood and to her immense relief yanked on the nearest T-shirt. Grey, of course. Then he looked at her again, his voice dropping into spoof depths. ‘So, how was it for you?’
    She shrugged, determined to sass her way through the embarrassment. ‘Just a kiss. Not that great.’
    â€˜You do tell lies.’ He laughed again. ‘Defence.’ He nodded. ‘I’ve got it. But—’ his expression went serious ‘—you know this shouldn’t happen. Flirting is one thing, sleeping together another.’
    They already were sleeping together. Properly sleeping in just the one—albeit luxury—room. That brought a wholly different kind of intimacy. She was getting to know more about him than she ever would if they’d just had a one-night stand. But she merely nodded.
    â€˜It wouldn’t be right,’ he said softly.
    Wanting her wasn’t right? How insulting was that? She itched to rebel, to retaliate. Or better still, prove a point—take him, make him...
    She halted her crazy vixen thoughts. As if she could make him. What a joke. He’d just proven he had far greater will power than she did. And hadn’t she grown out of brattish behaviour? No more being Caitlin ‘always wants more’ Moore.
    But that didn’t stop her annoyance with his ‘perfection’.
    â€˜And you always do the right thing?’ she jeered softly.
    A strange expression crossed his face—he looked almost wistful. ‘Like most people, I try.’
    Silently she stared at him, trying to figure out how the hell to extricate herself from this nightmare with just a shred of dignity intact. To her relief, her mobile phone rang. She pounced on it, ruefully wishing it had rung five minutes earlier and saved her from the humiliation of all but begging him to screw her.
    She turned her back on him as she breathlessly answered. She had to get the caller to repeat everything until she understood what the woman was saying. She still refused to turn and face him after hanging up.
    â€˜They’ve finally found my bag,’ she said crisply, though he’d have got that from hearing her end of the conversation.
    â€˜Great. They’re sending it over?’
    She nodded. This was good. There’d be no more sharing of clothes. No more bare skin at night. And she wouldn’t have to spend money she didn’t have. ‘I’m going to get dressed.’
    She stalked into the bathroom, locking the door and flicking the shower to cold. She lifted her burning face into the frigid stream. Wished she were frigid. Instead she’d been writhing all over him—ready to orgasm within ten seconds of snogging. What must he think of her?
    She grimaced. No worse than what he already had once thought—that she was a tart who’d sleep with anything.
    She soon had enough of the ice water treatment and turned on the heat. She stood in the shower for ages, refusing to worry that James might need to use the room too. She was hoping he’d have left the apartment by the time she deigned to leave the shower.
    When she did finally open the bathroom door and peer out, she saw the bed was now neatly made and—joy of joys—her small suitcase sitting on the lower corner. The airline lady