Page 19 of Legacy of His Revenge
CHAPTER FIVE
BROKENGLASSLAYaround her. One of the jars had contained home-made raspberry jam. Sophie had remarked on how delicious it was when she had first had it on a slice of toast a few mornings ago and had been told that Mrs Porter, who lived in the village, made it and sold it in one of the local shops.
Sophie didn’t think that Mrs Porter would have been impressed to see her hard work spilled all over the tiled kitchen floor like blobs of gelatinous blood. It joined several gherkins and streaks of expensive balsamic vinegar.
‘Don’t move,’ Matias commanded.
‘What are you doing here?’ Sophie said accusingly, remaining stock-still because she was barefoot, but horribly aware of her state of undress. She hadn’t dressed for company. It was a mild night and she had forsaken her towelling dressing gown and tiptoed downstairs in the little skimpy vest she wore on warm nights and the tiny pair of soft cotton pyjama shorts that left an indecent amount of thigh and leg on display.
Indecent, that was, if you happened to be in a kitchen with the man who had been haunting your dreams kneeling at your feet carefully picking up bits of glass.
He didn’t look up at her. He seemed to be one hundred per cent focused on the spray of broken glass around her. Looks, however, could be deceiving for Matias was acutely aware of her standing there in a lack of clothing that was sending his blood pressure through the roof.
‘I own the house,’ he pointed out with infuriating, irrefutable logic as he continued with his glass retrieval while trying to divert his avid gaze from her fabulously sexy legs, pale and shapely in the shadowy darkness of the kitchen. ‘I find that seems to give me the right to come and go as I please.’
‘Very funny,’ Sophie said tightly.
‘I’m here for the same reason you are.’ He sat back on his haunches to cast a satisfied look at his cleaning efforts, then he raised his eyes to hers and took his time looking at her. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘Actually, I was sleeping just fine.’
‘Which is why you’re here at a little after two in the morning?’
‘I was thirsty.’
‘Stay put. There are probably fine shards of glass on the ground still and I suppose I should clear up all this mess.’ He seemed to give that a little thought. ‘No. Scratch that. I’ll leave the mess but I meant what I said about staying put and the shards of glass. Get a sliver of glass in your foot and you’ll probably end up having to be taken to hospital.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ But she daren’t move. Bleeding in his kitchen wasn’t going to do. Coping with her embarrassing state of semi-nudity was definitely the better option. She would just have to stand here while he took his time removing every piece of glass from the floor. She could have kicked herself for being so stupid but bumping into him was the last thing she had expected.
Meanwhile, she could barely look down at herself because all she could see was her pale skin, her braless breasts, which were unfashionably big, and her nipples poking against the fine ribbing of her vest.
And all she could do was to make unhelpful comparisons in her head. Comparisons between herself and the women who had been at his party. Next to most of the women there, she was the equivalent of a walking, talking dumpling, and while none of them had been his girlfriend Sophie had no doubt that those were exactly the sort of women he went for. Long and thin with poker-straight hair and faces that seemed to resent the business of occasionally having to smile.
‘This could take for ever,’ Matias gritted, standing up and peering down at the floor. ‘I don’t have for ever.’ He stepped forward and before she had time to even open her mouth in protest he was scooping her up as though she weighed nothing.
‘Good job I was sensible enough to come down here wearing shoes,’ he murmured, grinning as he looked down at her.
‘Put me down!’
‘Not until you’re safe and sound and not until I make sure that those very pretty feet of yours are free from any slivers of glass...’
‘I’d know if I’d stepped on glass,’ Sophie all but sobbed, acutely aware of the way her scraps of clothing were rucking up everywhere. One of her breasts was practically popping out of her vest. She couldn’t bear to look. She wasn’t wearing underwear and she could feel the petal softness of her womanhood scraping against the side of the pyjama shorts.
And worst of all was what her disobedient body was doing. Turned on by the strength of his arms and the iron-hard broadness of his muscular chest, her nipples were tight and pinched, the rosebud tips straining against the vest, and she was so wet between her legs.
She could only hope that he didn’t notice any of that on the way to her room.
She squeezed her eyes shut and didn’t open them when she felt him push open a bedroom door.
‘Ostrich.’ Matias was fully aware of her body, every succulent inch of it, soft and warm in his arms. He could just about see the rosy blush of a nipple peeping out. ‘Why have you got your eyes shut?’
Sophie duly opened her eyes, glared at him and then, slowly but surely, it dawned on her that they weren’t in her bedroom. He had taken her to a bedroom that was unapologetically male, from the chrome and glass of the fitted wardrobes to the walnut and steel of the bed, over which hung an abstract painting that was instantly recognisable, the bedroom she had frantically backed out of a few hours ago.
‘Your bedroom.’ She gulped, when her vocal cords finally decided to play ball.
‘Let me check your feet.’
‘Please, Matias...’
