In an instant, Theo was there. He set the ice bucket down on the ground and wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her face into his broad chest, crying and sniffling and making a blubbery mess. But the tears wouldn’t stop. They kept coming, waves of them, and all she could do was cling to him and ride out the storm.
Distantly, she was aware she was moving. Theo had picked her up and was carrying her, one arm tucked behind her knees and the other wrapped around her back. Face still huddled against his chest, the sobs turned to hiccups.
Theo stopped walking. Leaning over her, his mouth close to her ear, he said, “I’m going to set you down now, all right?”
She nodded.
He lowered her to the ground, and she wobbled, unsteady with only one boot on. “My boot—”
“I have it, Cinderella.” He held up the ice bucket, her new ankle boot sticking out of the top.
She giggled. Then hiccupped.
Tucking the bucket under his arm, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key card. Swiping it in the slot, he held the door open and gestured for her to step inside.
Bonnie hesitated.
“Please,” he said, “let me help you.”
She eyed him. Theo’s once crisp shirt was a disaster, a sodden, wrinkled mess, and she was pretty sure she’d gotten snot on him. “I ruined your shirt.”
“I have others.”
“You’ve done enough.” She reached for her boot. “I’m fine, really.”
He let her take it, swinging the ice bucket in one hand. “Don’t you trust me?”
She stared down at her boot, fiddling with the decorative little buttons on the side. He wasn’t the problem. She didn’t trust herself.
“Come along.” His starched accent brooked no arguments. “I’ll get you patched up.”
Before she knew it, she was propped on the chaise in Theo’s suite, pulling off her other boot while he called the front desk and ordered a first aid kit sent up. Waiting for it to arrive, he busied himself with the room’s tea and coffee service. “I’ll make you some tea.”
He smiled at her from across the room. Bonnie looked away before the dimples made an appearance. “We just had tea.”
“Another spot of tea never hurt anyone,” he said over the gurgle of hot water streaming from the coffeemaker. “In fact,” he continued, popping a bag into the steaming paper cup, “I’d say it was just the thing.”
A knock sounded at the door. He handed her the tea and went to answer it. She stared down at the amber liquid. As the heat slowly seeped into her palms, she realized she was still wearing her gloves, and still in her jacket as well.
Theo returned, carrying a small plastic box. “Now then, let’s get you fixed up, shall we?”
He knelt at the end of the chaise and opened the kit. “Hmm,” he muttered, inspecting her heel.
“What?”
He made an awkward little cough and glanced up. “Um…”
Bonnie looked at her foot and realized his dilemma. She was wearing tights. He could either cut them or … “Here.” She passed him the cup. “Give me a minute.” She scooted off the chaise and headed for the bathroom, half hopping, half hobbling on tiptoe to avoid possibly getting blood on the hotel’s carpet. Closing the door, she tugged off her gloves and tucked them into a pocket, shrugging the jacket off. Then she reached under her skirt to shimmy her tights down her legs. She rinsed them in cold water, doing her best to get the bloodstain out of the heel.
She washed her hands and splashed her cheeks. Drying off, she glanced in the mirror, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her face was worse off than Theo’s shirt. Beet-red nose, eyes puffy and smudged with streaks of mascara. Bonnie grabbed a couple of tissues and dabbed here and there, doing her best to minimize the damage. Or at least look less like a deranged raccoon. Whatever. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, right? She met her eyes in the mirror. Right.
A tap on the door had her wiping frantically at the remaining smudges. “Just a minute,” she called over the running water.
“Is everything all right in there?”
“Yeah…” Bonnie rinsed her hands and shut off the faucet. She picked up her tights, squeezed out the excess water, and then hung them on the towel rack to dry. Taking a shaky breath, she opened the bathroom door.
Theo was standing on the threshold, his face inches from hers.
Unable to meet his gaze, she floundered for a distraction. “Your shirt!” She ordered, thrusting a hand out, “Give it to me.”
“Pardon?”
“I’ll rinse it out in the sink.”
He made a face, looking as if he would argue further, but then sighed and began to undo the buttons. “If it will get you to hurry up, fine.” He handed her the shirt.
Bonnie grabbed it from him and flipped the cold water back on. No, she told herself as she rubbed the little bar of hotel soap over the stains, she was not disappointed he’d been wearing a T-shirt underneath. No, she said, scrubbing harder, she’d not been hoping for another glimpse of his bare Brit bod. She rinsed the shirt and flung it over the towel rack, next to her tights.
“Ready?”
She jumped. Theo was standing behind her. In the mirror’s reflection, she watched him hold up the first aid kit and shake it.
“Um, sure.” She met his gaze in the mirror. “It’s not that bad, really.” Her gaze dropped to his chest. Not bad at all. The soft cotton of his white T-shirt stretched snugly across his pecs and bunched tight around the thick swell of his biceps. He wasn’t bulging with muscles, but what he had were well-made and … perfect.
“I can take care of myself, you know,” she grumbled as he led her back to the chaise.
“Tut-tut.” He brushed aside her protests and pressed down on both her shoulders, urging her to sit.
Lacking the energy to argue further, she sat. Theo knelt on the floor in front of her, rummaging through the kit. His shoulders bunched, and her belly quivered. She shifted her focus, studying the top of his dark head while he opened an alcohol wipe. A moment later his fingers wrapped around her ankle and lifted her leg. He swabbed the back of her heel.
She gasped.
He glanced up, and when his eyes met hers, she struggled for another breath, oxygen suddenly in short supply. She forced herself to continue to breathe, unable to look away, locked on his gaze. His eyes were a bright bold blue she’d found breathtaking enough from afar, but up close, she noticed a starburst of indigo encircling his pupils, creating a shift in color so slight as to be almost imperceptible. The discovery felt intimate, like a secret.
“Sorry.” His face creased with concern. “Stings?”
Bonnie bit her lip and managed some sort of noise in response. It didn’t sting, it tingled … everywhere. Awareness sparked from where his warm hand gripped her ankle, danced up her calf, tickled her thigh, and settled between her legs. She squirmed on the chaise.
“I’ll do my best to be quick,” he assured her, resting her leg on his knee and reaching for a bandage.
Honestly, the man could take as long as he wanted. The smooth linen of his dress pants brushed her bare calf, and she could feel his leg muscles bunching beneath her when he shifted his weight.
“There.” His fingers were strong yet gentle as they smoothed the edges of the bandage over her heel. “All done.” He patted her ankle and smiled up at her, twin dimples firing.
Good thing she was sitting down, because her knees would have completely failed her. Mouth dry, she licked her lips and croaked out a thank you.
“No problem at all,” he said, his gaze shifting to her lips. He swallowed. She could see his Adam’s apple bob above the cotton neckline of his tee.
“Sorry about your shirt,” she said.
“Pardon?” He tore his gaze away from her mouth and met her eyes again.
“Your shirt.” She tilted her head toward the suite’s bathroom, then brushed a hand over the front of his T-shirt, indicating the faint stains where the residue of her crying fit h
ad leaked through.
“It’s no matter.” He shrugged. “But, and forgive me for prying,” he said, covering her hand with his own, “I sense there is something bothering you … beyond the, uh, injury.” He cupped her fingers, pressing down gently, until her palm rested against his chest. “Care to talk about it?”
Bonnie shook her head. “I don’t know where to start.”
One corner of his mouth curled in the bud of a smile. “Perhaps you can begin with what you’re doing in my hotel. Are you stalking me?”
“I already told you I’m not following you! And it’s not your hotel.”
“You know what I mean.” The smile blossomed and, oh God, there were those damn dimples again.
She dropped her gaze and stared at their stacked hands. She shifted on the chaise, suddenly very aware of the fact he was crouched on one knee on the floor in front of her, her bare leg still propped on his thigh, her fingers still resting on his chest.
Beneath her hand, the subtle beat of his heart thumped against her palm, and Bonnie became aware of something else.
She was no longer wearing a ring on that hand.
She was no longer engaged.
“Bonnie?” Theo’s soft voice prodded.
He wanted to know why she was here? Why she was in this hotel with him instead of home with her fiancé? Fine. She’d tell him.
“It’s not just your hotel, it’s mine too.” She glanced up. “Remember my friend Sadie? Her dad works for this hotel chain and has a suite here.” Bonnie pulled her leg off his knee. It might be easier to talk to him if they weren’t touching so much. If nothing else, it would be easier to concentrate.
“Okay…” Theo said slowly, resting back on his heels.
She pulled her hand out from under his and waved her naked ring finger in his face. “My engagement is off.”
His face went blank. Then his brows furrowed. “What happened?”
She patted the empty space on the chaise, inviting Theo to sit next to her.
“Last night,” Bonnie began, and paused, emotion tightening her throat. God, was it only just last night? She took a slow, deep breath and started again. “Last night, after I left the Shakespeare gala, I went home and found Gabe…” She stopped, struggling to get the words out. Why was this so hard? She hadn’t been the one caught sleeping around, yet a sense of shame filled her.
“Let me guess.” Theo’s voice was mild but clipped. “He wasn’t working on his paper.”
“Uh, no.” Bonnie tried to keep her tone light. “He was too busy working some blonde over.”
“Fucking areshole!” Theo cursed, blue eyes flashing, growing dark as thunder clouds.
“You’re right,” Bonnie agreed, his temper igniting her own, replacing shame with cleansing self-righteous anger. “He is a fucking arsehole!”
“What did you do?” Theo asked. “Punch him in his cheating face?”
She shook her head. “No, but I, um, I did consider cutting it off.”
“It?” His eyes rounded. “It, it?”
She nodded.
“With a knife?”
She shook her head.
“A scissors?”
Again, she shook her head.
“Well, what then?”
Bonnie blew out an embarrassed chuckle. “A nail file.”
At the horrified look on his face, her nervous titter turned into an all-out belly laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Theo demanded.
She wiped tears from her eyes. “Your face,” she wheezed. Bonnie realized much of her humor was the release of pent-up stress, but still, he did look pretty funny.
“Forgive me,” Theo said drily, “but you have to admit, that’s a chilling prospect. I’d wager your fiancé made a few faces of his own.”
“Ex-fiancé,” Bonnie stressed, before bursting into another round of giggles as she recalled Gabe’s pale face, hands crossed over his crotch. “And I didn’t do it. I only thought about doing it. Briefly.”
“Understandable,” Theo agreed. “What did you do?”
Her laughter subsided. “Told him it was over. Tossed the ring onto the bed and walked out.”
“Then it was you I saw in the lobby.”
“Huh?”
“Last night, I thought I saw you standing at the front desk.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I wasn’t sure it was you.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. You could have used a friend.”
“Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.” She sighed.
“Er, quite,” he agreed, eyeing her with a confused half-smile.
“Jane Austen? Northanger Abbey?” His expression didn’t change. Apparently, his Austen wasn’t as up to snuff as his Shakespeare. “Never mind. It’s probably a good thing you didn’t talk to me then. I wasn’t in the best mood.”
What would have happened if he had approached her last night? Her emotions had been in such turmoil, anything was possible.
“What does Cassie have to say about all this?”
Bonnie studied her fingernails. “She doesn’t know.”
“You haven’t told her yet?” His brow puckered.
“I haven’t had time.”
He didn’t say anything, but those disapproving brows rose in doubt, and he pursed his lips.
“Stop it.” She gave him a little shove. “You look like a judgmental schoolmarm.”
His pursed lips quirked, and she could tell he was struggling to maintain his dour expression. “I daresay no one has ever made such an observation regarding my appearance before.”
“Well, I daresay I’m right,” she teased. “All you need is a ruler and a pair of those horn-rimmed glasses.”
He lost the battle with his mouth and burst into laughter. Bonnie’s knees quivered. He really was too beautiful for his own good. Dashing when he smiled, absolutely devastating when he laughed. The tickling sensation moved from the backs of her knees, up her thighs, and higher still.
He waggled his finger at her, the picture of a priggish schoolmarm. “Enough trying to change the subject. Why haven’t you told Cassie yet?”
She shrugged.
“She’s your best friend.”
“I know.”
“Then, why?”
“I don’t know.”
He stared down at her, and this time, it wasn’t disapproval she saw in his face, but pity.
“Don’t feel bad for me.”
“I don’t.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Well, I do.”
Her eyes widened, and he stumbled over the next few words, a string of nonsensical syllables stuttering out before he picked up a coherent line of thought again. “What I meant is, I feel bad you were treated so poorly,”
“You feel sorry for me.”
“Not at all.”
“Yes, you do,” she insisted hotly, scooting away from him as she struggled to contain the bubble of anger and frustration rising inside her. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”
He gripped her shoulders, voice gruff, his words coming out in a rush. “I’m sorry you were hurt, but I’m not sorry it happened.”
The bubble popped. All the air in the room evaporated as they stared at each other, his confession hanging between them.
Bonnie’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. But nothing came out. She wet her lips and tried again. “Are you saying—”
“Yes.”
“You mean you’re interested in—”
“I am.” His hands tightened on her shoulders.
“Would you mind letting me finish a sentence here?” She scowled and squirmed, trying to shake loose from his grip. “Besides, how do you know what I was going to say?”
“Shall I spell it out for you?” Theo’s blue eyes bore into hers, cutting through her bullshit. “Yes, I’m saying I’m not sorry your engagement is broken. In fact, I’m bloody thrilled.” He leaned closer, close enough she coul
d smell the clean starchy scent of his cotton T-shirt mixed with something warm and spicy that made her think of delicious baked things.
“Because yes, I am interested in you. Very interested, indeed.”
“Indeed?” she echoed, copying his accent, trying to diffuse the moment with humor.
“Indeed,” Theo repeated, his gaze shifting to her mouth. The hungry look in his eyes completely nulled her attempt to lighten the mood.
“Oh. Well.” Her voice sounded breathy and excited in her own ears. Heat crept up her neck and cheeks. She licked her lips, belatedly realizing he was still staring at her mouth. Again, his eyes flashed, and the temperature in the room shot up by at least ten degrees. Tit for tat, Bonnie decided, shifting her gaze to stare at his mouth too.
Fair is fair, right? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. What would be the harm in kissing him? Gabe had done a whole lot more than that. She continued to stare at Theo’s mouth, a very nice mouth, really. Full and firm. If she were to nibble on it, would he taste as good as he smelled? All spicy and sweet?
“What are you thinking?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me.” His soft command was laced with tension.
Sexual tension? “I was thinking,” she began, pausing to take a breath before diving in, “about what it would be like to kiss you.”
“Oh?”
She nodded.
“Is that all?”
He was giving her an out. There it is, Bonnie. Take it and run.
“Well, I was also thinking…” She shifted on the chaise, feeling silly and bashful, and about twelve years old. Which was probably, ironically, the last time she’d flirted. Was that what she was doing right now? Flirting? God, she was so bad at it, she didn’t even know if she was doing it.
What she did know, however, was that she liked him. And he liked her too, he said so. There you go again, sounding like a twelve-year-old. “I was also thinking,” she continued, “well, wondering actually…”
“About what?”
“About what you taste like.” Her words tumbled over each other as she spit out the admission all at once. Then, before she could change her mind, she gripped the front of his T-shirt in her fist and tugged him toward her, pulling his mouth down to hers.
Smitten by the Brit--A Sometimes in Love Novel Page 7