Back in the Lion's Den (7 page)

Grateful, though, that she wasn’t aching any more, she slipped out of bed and into the
en suite
bathroom without putting on the light—which had been all right when she’d had some light filtering up from the grounds through the bathroom’s frosted window. But someone must have drawn the curtains in the bedroom while she’d slept, she realised, after she’d shut off that only source of light, and she found herself having to grope her way back across the luxurious Indian rug, so damp she was already starting to shiver. She couldn’t see a thing, and she needed to find a dry nightdress—fast!

Her clothes had been unpacked for her on the day she had arrived, and her nightwear and underclothes were all neatly folded, drowning in the space provided by an endless array of drawers. But not altogether
au fait
with her surroundings, feeling her way in the dark, she stepped off the carpet onto the richness of wood—and misjudged exactly where she was, colliding with the table where Claudette had placed the heavy
vase of flowers earlier in the day, sending it crashing to the floor.

‘Oh,
no!
’

Her legs were splashed from the water, and desperately she groped for a light switch—only to find herself blinking by the illuminated landing as the door burst open a few seconds later, and her own room was flooded with light.

‘What the …?’

It was Conan who stood there, holding the door wide, his face an orchestra of emotions from surprise and concern to outright disbelief.

‘I’m sorry.’ It was all Sienna could say, seeing his gaze slip from her dishevelled state to the shattered pieces of vase lying on the floor. ‘Was it very expensive?’

‘Never mind about that,’ he told her. ‘What are you doing wandering about in the dark? And what the …?’

She must look terrible, she thought wretchedly, seeing his gaze raking over her, with her hair a tangled mess and about as glamorous as a compost heap, while he …

Only now did it sink in that he must have been undressing when he had heard the crash, because he was standing in nothing but the shirt he had been wearing earlier that day, which was fully unbuttoned and hanging open over a pair of dark briefs.

In normal circumstances she wouldn’t have been able to take her eyes off that bronze, muscular chest, with its shading of black hair that arrowed down over his tight flat abdomen. Any more than she could have ignored the powerful thighs which, planted firmly apart and covered in the same fine hair, shouted of everything that was utterly virile and masculine. But her strappy nightdress was clinging to her feverish skin like cold wet polythene and her teeth were starting to chatter.

‘I wanted a dry nightdress,’ she was trying to say, but couldn’t get it out because she was shivering so much.

‘For goodness’ sake!’ In a few short strides he was beside
her, and, having sussed the situation, was tugging at the offending garment. ‘Take this thing off!’

She started to protest, but he was already ripping it over her head, so that she was left standing naked in front of him, covered by nothing except her goose pimples.

‘This isn’t the time for modesty—unless you want to catch your death,’ he advised, his mouth firming grimly. ‘Here.’ Having tossed the nightdress aside, he was shrugging out of his shirt, revealing his beautiful torso in all its glory. ‘Put this on.’

Obediently Sienna slipped her arms into the silky fabric he was holding up for her. It felt warm and incredibly soft as she clutched her own arms, hugging its warmth to her, shuddering. Grateful. It smelt nice too. Like him. Lemony, tinged with spice, and somewhere in the mix a hint of musk …

‘Now.’ He had her by the elbow and was urging her back to bed, his other hand pulling back the covers. ‘Get back in and—’ He stopped mid-sentence, feeling the damp crumpled sheet. ‘You can’t sleep in that!’ he remonstrated.

Before she realised it he had scooped her up into his arms. ‘We’ve got to get you warm,’ he insisted, ignoring her protests.

It was a miracle, Sienna thought distractedly, that Daisy hadn’t been disturbed by all the commotion. She tried to ignore the feel of that warm, solid wall of muscle that she was being held against as Conan bore her down the landing to another room.

His bedroom! she realised at once, with her heart racing, seeing the enormous bed with its dark satin sheets, only half aware of the exclusive wood and the dark rich array of soft furnishings that defined it as very much a man’s domain.

This time when he ripped back the sheet for her to climb in, he slipped quickly in beside her. Then, turning her onto her side with her back to him, he pulled her shivering body into the warm hard length of his.

She knew she should object—put up some resistance to
his taking control like this. But she needed him right at this moment, and his body was so warm …

Even through her fogged senses she recognised a deep sensuality, but she blotted it out of her mind, letting the warmth of him ease and comfort her, penetrate her shuddering body.

Her breathing was rapid and shallow from the virus, but gradually it slowed and became steadier as her shivers began to subside.

She felt sleepy and so … protected.

It was a half-conscious thought, so transient she didn’t even question the strangeness of it as she drifted off, secure in the strength of his arms and in the cushioning warmth of his body.

W
HEN
she awoke she was alone.

Only the depression in the pillow beside hers assured her that she hadn’t dreamt the whole thing. Plus the fact that she was still in his room—and in his bed! she realised with a self-ridiculing little grimace.

Surprisingly, though, she felt considerably better.

But where was he? And, more importantly, where was Daisy?

As her maternal instincts kicked in she scrambled out of bed, and was halfway across the room before she realised that she was still wearing Conan’s shirt. The shirt he had helped her into after stripping her naked! The shirt she had been too shivery and unwell last night even to fasten!

Hearing a sudden soft knock on the door, she raced back to bed, only just managing to cover herself with the dark maroon sheet before the door opened and Claudette came in.

‘Monsieur Ryder’s instructions,’ she declared in her heavily accented voice as she set a breakfast tray down on a marble-topped coffee table.

There was a jug of orange juice, and coffee in a silver pot, its aroma drifting tantalisingly towards Sienna. There were croissants too, she noticed, still warm from the oven, their buttery, freshly baked smell making her mouth water.

She was hungry, she realised, after eating scarcely anything the previous day.

‘Claudette? Where’s Daisy?’

The little maid paused in pouring juice into a crystal tumbler. ‘I am not sure,
madame.
She had breakfast with Madame Ryder an hour ago, but I think Monsieur Ryder’s taken her out with him.’

Without consulting her, or bringing Daisy up here to see her mother first? Sienna thought, stunned, wondering what could possibly have prompted such an action on Conan’s part when he seemed to have had very little time for his niece since she had been there. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help feeling that her role as guardian was being undermined.

‘Oh …’ she uttered, and hoped she didn’t sound as hurt or put out as she felt.

‘Is there anything else I can get you,
madame?
’ Claudette asked helpfully as she finished rearranging things on the tray.

‘No. Thank you,’ Sienna said, embarrassed by what the woman must be thinking about finding Monsieur Ryder’s sick young guest in Monsieur Ryder’s bed. ‘Oh—yes. Claudette …!’

The little maid was already on her way out.

‘Do you think you could bring me some clothes?’ She felt sticky and sweaty and she was longing for a shower. But she had no intention of risking anyone else in the house seeing her emerge from Monsieur Ryder’s bedroom wearing only Monsieur Ryder’s shirt!

‘Oui, madame.’

The woman was back in minutes with fresh underwear, a casual check shirt and jeans, which she placed tidily over the wooden arm of a richly upholstered gold brocade chair.

‘Shoes, too,’ she said, placing them beside the bed, where Sienna was sitting with the sheet still pulled up around her, in a rather futile bid to conceal her betraying appearance.

Claudette was looking pleased with herself, as if she did this sort of thing all the time.

Which perhaps she did, Sienna thought suddenly, biting into one of the warm, moist croissants, wondering why the thought of Conan entertaining other women like this should bother her in quite the way it did. Women like Petra Flax.

‘Claudette …’ Wiping crumbs from the corner of her mouth, Sienna tried to imagine what reason Conan might have given his employee for Sienna being in his bed. In case he hadn’t said anything, she felt she needed to put the record straight.

Now, though, as the woman waited for her to continue, Sienna merely shrugged. It was too complicated to try and explain.

After the maid had gone, she ravenously ate two of the croissants, finished her juice and a cup of coffee, and then, as Conan was clearly not around, took advantage of the facilities of his bathroom.

It was of a similar design to hers, though the long luxurious bath and the rest of the gleaming white suite was enhanced by a colour scheme of sage and dark green marble.

The sensuously appointed double shower was something she tried not to think about too much as she luxuriated in the steaming water from its powerful jets, while soaping her hair and her body with his citrus-fragranced shower gel.

Claudette hadn’t thought to bring her a robe, so she grabbed Conan’s when she’d finished, finding it hanging behind the door—a thick, white towelling garment that seemed to swamp her in its folds, and carried the disturbing and far too evocative scent of his body.

She was aching to see Daisy, though, and made short work of towelling her hair, needing to get downstairs and quiz her mother-in-law over where Conan had gone—and where he had taken his niece without
her
permission.

Standing in front of the mirrored wardrobe, teasing her hair into some semblance of order, she was trying to decide what she was going to say to him about it, particularly after he had rescued her from what would have been a very uncomfortable night, when the bedroom door suddenly creaked open just a crack—and then enough to allow a little grinning figure to scamper in.

‘Daisy!’

Sienna’s heart lurched as she swept her daughter up into
her arms. ‘Oh, goodness! I’ve missed you!’ She was hugging and kissing her as though she hadn’t seen her daughter for months, breathing in her infant scent, revelling in the feel of her warm, familiarly solid little body.

‘I got Uncle Conan to take me out ‘cause my green crayon’s all gone.’ She spilled the words out, punctuating the statement with little breaths. ‘Because you were asleep and no one else wanted to take me.’

‘I expect they were busy, darling,’ Sienna told her gently, trying to control her surprise as she stroked the soft chestnut hair.

‘Uncle Conan told me to give you these.’ Giving her some space at last, Sienna realised that the little girl was clutching a small bouquet of gaily coloured flowers. A couple of the heads were crushed from the ferocity of her affection, she noticed, sending a glance down at the crimson smudge staining the pristine whiteness of Conan’s robe. ‘He said you dropped all the ones Granny gave you.’

‘Oh, darling …’ Restraining a sob, taking the flowers from the small hand, Sienna hugged Daisy to her again—and only then became aware of Conan in a light, stylishly tailored suit, leaning with his arms folded against the doorjamb.

‘We looked in earlier but you were asleep,’ he said, straightening up to his impressive height and moving towards them. ‘I thought you might have wanted to take Daisy yourself, but decided it best to let you sleep on.’

‘Thanks,’ Sienna uttered, ashamed to realise she had misjudged him, yet amazed that he had involved himself in something so trivial as a child’s crayons. ‘You didn’t mind taking her?’

He shrugged, as though it was of little consequence, but didn’t say whether he had or not. In fact he hadn’t wanted to get drawn in at all. But when he had told the little girl that her mother wasn’t well enough to take her out, and to use a different colour, she’d declared quite adamantly that grass could only be green, stamped her foot, and started to cry.

‘Like most members of her sex, she knows just how to manipulate,’ he commented dryly, and only that touch of humour on his lips stopped Sienna from coming back with some suitable retort. Not to mention that her body was responding to his impeccably tailored elegance and those deeply stunning features in a way that was far, far too disturbing!

‘I take it you’re feeling better?’

‘Yes. Thanks,’ she murmured, just the memory of how he had stripped her of that wet nightdress and carried her in here causing wings of colour to deepen across her cheeks. ‘You were very kind.’

He laughed—a rather dispassionate sound. ‘That’s the first time anyone’s ever accused me of that.’

Because “kind” didn’t really seem to fit a man like Conan Ryder, Sienna thought, and the polite smile she gave him—like his laugh just now—was a little bit strained.

Hard, tough and practical. Those were the adjectives she would use to describe the man standing in front of her, she decided, setting Daisy down on her feet as soon as she started to wriggle.

‘Uncle Conan?’ With her hippo under her arm, she ran over to the man she seemed hell-bent on winning over, whether he liked it or not, grabbing one of his impeccably clad legs. ‘Are you going to marry Mummy?’

Sienna, horrified, heard her.

Conan’s forehead pleated in a kind of amused perplexity.

‘Why on earth,’ he said, with a curious edge to his voice, ‘do you ask that?’

‘She’s in
your
bedroom.’ The child looked coyly at her mother, as though she knew it was a subject that only adults should talk about. ‘And she’s got your dressing gown on.’

Conan’s mouth pulled wryly as he glanced across at Sienna. ‘So she has!’ he declared, as though he had only just noticed.

His eyes were lingering on the swamping garment, which on him would probably only cover his thighs, Sienna thought, and a flood of warmth heated her body at the memory of those
virile thighs and just how he had looked when he had carried her in here last night.

But now he was fully clothed, and as devastating to her equilibrium as when he had been nearly naked. Particularly when those perceptive eyes were raking over her as they were now, taking in the rolled-back sleeves and the gaping neckline of the robe, which she had only just realised was revealing far too much of the upper swell of one breast, and which her agitated fingers struggled to rectify.

‘Why don’t you go down and show your grandmother the new colouring book we chose this morning?’ he suggested to his niece. ‘I’m sure she’d like to see you using your new crayons. I’ll send your mother down to join you as soon as she’s ready.’

Phew!

Sienna’s relief was palpable as the little girl did as he advised and scampered away.

‘Thanks,’ she said again, placing the flowers down on the table, envying the way he appeared so unfazed by the child’s remarks.

‘All in a day’s work.’ The line of his mouth curved sensuously, sending Sienna’s already hopeless defences against him skittering like a retreating army. ‘Does she always carry that hippo with her?’ he asked, with a jerk of his chin towards the door he had just closed.

‘She won’t be parted from it,’ she murmured unthinkingly, suddenly nervous at finding herself alone with him.

A line deepened between those thick masculine brows, and his gaze was so intense it felt as though he was probing right down into her soul and sussing out that she hadn’t really wanted to tell him that. That the simple gift he’d bought for his niece’s first birthday had eclipsed any other toy she’d ever been given.

She hadn’t played with it at first, Sienna remembered. It had been just one more of the large number of cuddly toys that had filled Daisy’s bedroom. In fact she’d scarcely noticed
it for six months—not until after Niall had died. Then she had plucked it up one day and ever afterwards clung to it like a lifeline, taking it to bed, to playschool, wherever else she went, as though it somehow represented all the love and support and comfort that her father’s absence had robbed her of. But Sienna couldn’t bring herself to tell Conan any of that.

Now, trying to diminish the significance of what she had said, in case he read far too much into it, she shrugged, adding nonchalantly, ‘Well, you know children. They go through these phases, don’t they?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, in a surprisingly cool tone. ‘I’ve never had any.’

For one crazy moment she had the strongest urge to ask him if he ever wanted any, but decided that that was a subject she didn’t want to pursue with him either—particularly as he sounded less than enamoured of the idea.

‘I’ll get dressed and leave you to it,’ she murmured, moving over to the chair where Claudette had left her clothes.

‘Don’t rush on my account,’ he said dispassionately, turning away.

The bathroom beckoned. Privacy. A place where she could get dressed and then get out of there as smartly as she could. Except that her gaze moved too willingly towards where he was standing, with his back to her now, rummaging through one of the drawers, and she couldn’t for the life of her tear it away.

Greedily her eyes ran over the wide sweep of his shoulders, tapered to perfection by the exclusive cut of his jacket, to his narrow waist and long, long legs. Very masculine legs that had rasped against hers as he’d warmed her in his bed. Even through her fever she had been mind-blowingly aware of him, had known that in any other circumstances she couldn’t have lain with him like that, feeling the power of his arms and the rousing warmth of his body, without turning towards him …

And he would have taken her.

Gathering up her clothes, she felt her blood surge at the
memory. He had shown care and concern and overall commitment for her welfare, but he hadn’t been able to conceal the physical evidence of his wanting her …

But he
had
shown that care—and to a woman he didn’t even like. She was his least favourite person and yet he had held her through the night …

Trying to puzzle him out, her clothes clutched tightly to her, she heard the question that had been burning through her brain ever since she’d woken up this morning slip out before she could stop it. ‘Why didn’t you help Niall when he asked you to?’

The drawer closing hard on its runners was the only sound to intrude on the pregnant silence that followed. ‘I had my reasons,’ he replied, moving back across the room.

‘What reasons?’ Sienna persisted, swivelling to look at him as he crossed over to the wardrobe. ‘What reason could be good enough for not helping your own brother? For just standing by while he got into such unavoidable debt?’

‘Unavoidable?’ With an eyebrow raised censoriously, he shot a glance in her direction.

Tension spread through Sienna’s body. He thought
she
had been responsible for most of it.

‘All right, then,’ he rasped, taking a coat hanger out of the wardrobe. ‘If you want to know the truth. I did help him.’

‘You did?’

‘At least, I tried to.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, screwing her face up.