Taming The Billionaire. Dani Wade
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clip when he’d heard Willow downstairs. But the conflicting emotions of the last hour had left him growlier than a grizzly bear. He usually didn’t write well in that state. Working out would be better, but with the electricity off he’d better not be wandering around in the basement.
Also he probably needed to keep an ear peeled for his houseguest for a little while. Something told him she needed supervision. A feeling that had nothing to do with wanting to get his hands on her again. Absolutely nothing.
Suddenly he could feel the approaching crash on the final lap of his adrenaline rush. Yeah, writing would be impossible in a matter of minutes. His brain would fog over and the words simply wouldn’t be able to break through. Better to rest now and write tomorrow—after he’d dealt with the problem lurking in Murdoch’s bedroom in the form of one sexy redhead.
Tate strolled into the office to shut off the battery-operated lantern he’d left in there earlier. Before he cut off the light, he paused, staring at the shutters closed tightly over the windows. Heavy rain beat against the house, but here the sound was muffled. The last thing Tate had wanted to see was the choppy waves of the sea below, stirred up by the storm.
Haunting memories rose despite his mental protest. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, after all.
As he flipped the switch on the lantern, another noise joined the rest. It was so faint he almost missed it. Moving back toward the hall, he wondered if his guest had come to find him. He hoped not. He had willpower like a suit of armor, but she seemed to be able to find every weak point.
Then he heard the booming crash. He hurried down the empty hall until he reached her room. A commotion was in progress behind the door. What the hell?
He swung the door open, then froze. The door slammed against the wall. Before him...he wasn’t even sure what was happening. A writhing mass of wet bedclothes, splintered pieces of wood and dripping water occupied the bed...instead of the slightly damp housekeeper he’d left here thirty minutes before.
For a moment, the scene captured his artistic imagination. Despite the urge to rush in, he had to catalog it for future reference. And frankly, he was enjoying the show.
The frantic wiggling granted him glimpses of nicely rounded calves. He should help untangle her, he really should. Then she froze. He could just hear the quick intake of breath before she screamed, “Help me!”
That galvanized him into action. He struggled to find an opening as she thrashed about. “Be still,” he snapped.
His low command seemed to make it through to her because she paused long enough for him to snag the edge of the fabric. With a heavy tug, he divested her of the soggy bed curtains.
Then had the immediate urge to cover her back up.
As her bare calves had warned him, she’d taken off her jeans. And her bra. She now crouched, breathing hard, in the middle of the bed wearing nothing but a wet T-shirt and panties. Her wild auburn hair flew in every direction, including over her lightly freckled face. If he’d had twinges of attraction earlier, they were nothing compared with now.
Finally she reached up and tossed her hair back from her face. Tate quickly directed his gaze up to the ceiling. Whoa. Leaning over, he got a better angle to see what had happened. The substantial hole over her bed revealed only the darkened room above and the steady drip of water that he suspected came from dislodged tiles on the roof.
Straightening, he then let his gaze track back to the woman in the middle of the mess. “Don’t guess you will be sleeping here tonight. There must be some damage to the roof. In this part of the house, there’s only the one floor above you. It was fine during the last inspection, but something might have hit it or the wind must have ripped something loose.”
Reaching out, he plucked her from the bed. Her squeal echoed around the room. The distinctly feminine sound jump-started his heart. He hadn’t heard someone make a sound like that since he was a teenager. The women he met now didn’t squeal. They wouldn’t consider it sexy.
“Let’s get you settled somewhere else,” he said.
She was already shaking her head, sending her hair flying once more. “We need to clean up first,” she insisted. To his surprise she started gathering the mess into the middle of the bed.
While the thought was appreciated, her movements afforded Tate an even better view. The T-shirt barely covered her upper thighs. The expanse of smooth skin was mouthwatering. “I’ll get something to catch the water,” he murmured.
Escape was a relief, but a brief one.
When he returned with a large plastic tub, he found himself eye level with a pair of silky panties he’d have been better off not seeing. “What are you doing?” he growled.
Willow jerked, her shock unbalancing her and the candle in her hand as she stood on the bed.
“Woman,” he snapped. “Let’s not catch the bed on fire, too.”
She frowned at him. “This isn’t my fault. I was just trying to see what had caused the leak.”
“I’ll investigate in the morning.” He glanced over the now-stripped bed and soggy mattress. “And get this all replaced.”
There was no helping it. His gaze snagged on creamy white thighs below the edge of her T-shirt. She might not have realized how she looked before, but now was different. Her delicate hand came into view, tugging the hem down. He flicked his gaze up to her face, only to see a red stain spreading across her skin. Yep, she was fully aware now.
“Let me help you,” he murmured, then had to clear his throat as his voice deepened without his permission.
Still she accepted his hand for balance as she climbed down. The shocking chill of her skin as it met his made him shift gears from lust to more practical matters. Like where she was going to sleep...
He placed the tub carefully in the middle of the bed to catch the dripping water. Good thing it wasn’t coming down heavier. “This should halt the damage for a while. It should stop raining in a couple of hours,” he said.
Willow offered a brief nod, then skirted around behind him. “I’ve got to see about some clothes,” she said, her voice sounding strangled.
He shouldn’t have made her uncomfortable, but the rest of the night would make matters much worse.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked as she scooted toward the open doorway.
“I guess I’ll have to go out to the car to get my bags.” She paused, then inched back inside. “I should probably put on some shoes for that.”
“You aren’t going out in this weather.” As if to back him up, lightning flashed outside, then thunder rumbled loud enough to rattle the windows. “We will find something else for you.” He gestured for her to go out into the hall, but she hesitated.
Tate had a feeling this was where living as a single man and not as part of a family was going to bite him in the ass. He turned smartly on his heel and headed back the way he’d come, silently gesturing for her to follow. He ignored her questions, trying to get everything straight in his own mind first. With a sense of trepidation that he kept well hidden, he walked straight into his bedroom and opened the top drawer of the bureau, pulling out a well-worn T-shirt. He turned back to see her hovering in the doorway.
“You might as well come inside,” he snapped.
“Why?”
Her obvious hesitation reminded him that the situation wasn’t her fault and was completely out of both of their control. He tempered his tone.
“Because this is where the only other bed in the house is,” he said with a voice full of resignation.
She stepped through the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. “What?”
He spoke a little more slowly. “This is the only bed... And the only decent sofa is right there.” He pointed