The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen
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he was going to refuse, then he moved in close, lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own.
It was a gentle kiss, and his tongue slid in to tangle briefly with hers. Electrifying seconds that sent a rush of blood to her head. Then he straightened, touched a light finger to her cheek, and vacated the suite.
Flowers arrived late afternoon. A bouquet from the workshop staff, and three dozen red roses with ‘Diego’ scrawled in black ink on the attached card, together with a special-delivery package from one of the élite lingerie boutiques.
‘Definitely ah-hh time,’ an attentive nurse declared as Cassandra revealed two exquisite nightgowns and a matching robe. There were also essential toiletries—Chanel. He was nothing if not observant.
Cassandra ate little, endured a short visit from the police, gave a detailed account covering events during and after the robbery.
Then she slept, and she was unaware of Diego’s presence in the room as he stood observing her features in repose.
So small, such a petite frame. Porcelain skin, and a mouth to die for.
He wanted to gather her up and take her home. To share his bed and hold her through the night. Just so he could. To protect, and ensure no one ever got close enough to hurt her again.
He, Diego del Santo, who’d bedded any number of women in his lifetime, now only wanted to bed one.
A slip of a thing, whose beautiful blue eyes had captivated him from the start. Without any effort at all she’d slipped beneath his skin and stolen his heart.
Was she aware of the effect she had on him?
The question was what he intended to do about it.
Cassandra woke early, accepted the nursing ritual and took a supervised shower. This morning the intravenous drip would be removed, and she wanted out of here.
The specialist was less than enthusiastic. ‘I’d prefer you remained under observation for another twenty-four hours.’
‘Prefer, but it’s not essential?’
‘Do you live alone?’
Tricky. ‘Not exactly.’ A resident cat didn’t count. But she had the phone, her cellphone, and a caring neighbour.
He checked her vital signs, perused her chart. ‘Let’s effect a compromise. I’ll check on you this afternoon with a view to possible release.’ He gave her a piercing look. ‘You have someone to collect and drive you home?’
She’d take a cab.
Which she did, arriving at her apartment just after six that evening. The manager produced a spare key and there was a sense of relief in being home.
The cat greeted her with a plaintive protest, and she fed her, put down fresh water, then made herself a cup of tea.
The ouch factor was very much in evidence, and she swallowed another two painkillers.
A nice quiet evening viewing television followed by an early night. By Monday she should be able to return to work.
Cassandra settled comfortably on the sofa, and smiled as the cat jumped onto her lap. She surfed the television channels, selected a half-hour comedy and prepared to relax.
The insistent ring of the intercom buzzer was an unwelcome intrusion, and she transferred the cat, then moved to check the security screen.
Diego.
She picked up the in-house phone. ‘I’m fine, and I’m about to go to bed.’
‘Release the door.’ His voice was deceptively mild.
‘I’m too tired for visitors.’
‘You want for me to get the manager and explain you left hospital under false pretences?’
‘I already spoke to him. He gave me a spare key.’
‘Cassandra—’
‘Leave me alone. Please,’ she added, then she replaced the receiver and moved back to take up her position on the sofa.
The cat had just re-settled itself on her lap when her doorbell rang. Her neighbour?
The manager, she determined through the peephole, with Diego at his side.
She unlocked and opened the door. The manager looked almost contrite. ‘Your—er—friend expressed concern about your welfare.’
‘As you can see, I’m fine.’ If she discounted the pain factor.
Diego turned towards the man at his side. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
He looked momentarily nonplussed. ‘Cassandra?’
What could she say? ‘It’s OK.’
Seconds later she closed the door and turned to face the man who’d managed to turn her life upside-down. ‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’
He was silent for a fraction too long, and there was something very controlled in his manner. ‘You want me to pack a bag, or will you?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard,’ Diego said calmly. ‘You get to come with me, or I sleep here.’ His gaze lanced hers, and there was no mercy in the silkiness of his voice. ‘Choose, Cassandra.’
‘I don’t want you here.’ It was a cry from the heart, and her breath hitched at the pain from her ribs.
Diego’s eyes went dark, and a muscle bunched at his jaw. Without a word he turned and made for her bedroom.
‘You can’t do this!’ Dammit, he was several steps ahead of her.
‘Watch me.’
‘Diego…’ She faltered to a halt at the sight of him opening drawers and tossing contents into a holdall before crossing to her walk-in wardrobe, where he chose clothes at random. From there he moved into the en suite and swept items into a toiletry pouch.
‘OK, let’s go.’
‘I’m not going anywhere with you!’
‘Yes, you are. On your feet, or I get to carry you.’
He waited a beat. ‘On your feet is the better option.’
Cassandra wanted to hit him…hard. ‘Just who in hell do you think you are?’ she demanded furiously.
Diego sought control, and found it. ‘You need to rest, recuperate. I intend to see that you do.’
‘I can look after myself.’
‘Sure you can.’ He closed the zip fastener on the holdall and caught the straps in one hand. ‘Next week.’
His gaze seared hers in open challenge. ‘Until then, I get to call the shots.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘I carry you out of here.’
There was no doubt he meant every word. Dignity was the key, and she observed it in silence as she followed him out into the lobby, then rode the lift down to the entrance foyer.
The Aston Martin was parked immediately outside, and she slid into the passenger seat, then watched as he crossed round to the driver’s side.
Minutes later they joined the flow of traffic, traversing the relatively short distance to his Point Piper home.
Cassandra barely held her temper. He was the most impossible man she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. Dictatorial, indomitable, omnipotent.
She could think of several more descriptions, none of which were ladylike.
Diego swept the car along the driveway, activated the modem controlling the garage doors, then eased to a halt and switched off the engine.
Cassandra