Bound by Honor. Diana Palmer
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out.”
Lorna gave the two words separate emphasis. No matter how foolish she’d been, no matter how long she’d let the situation with Kendra go on, she wouldn’t tolerate this. So much for Mitch Ellery’s propriety and sense of fair play. He was trying to bully her into a setup. She was so outraged over it that she felt faint. Dark dots were swimming in her vision and her eyes felt on fire. Her whole body felt scorched.
And still he made no move to leave, just stood there like a column of granite. The hostility that radiated from him in waves was so intimidating that it magnified her hurt and the fury she felt.
She almost wished he had roughed her up. Anything, even that, would have been better than the brutal sting of his insult, not to mention the sheer menace of a man so much larger and stronger than she. The top of her head barely came to his shoulders. If he’d roughed her up, she could have dialed 911.
But she was helpless against this. She had no doubt that he had the will and the means to frame her for extorting money from him, though she’d die before she took a single cent from anyone.
Mitch Ellery was a bully, but suddenly none of it mattered. None of it mattered because the emotions of these past few months, the old hurts and traumas that had been stirred up and the horror of this confrontation, seemed to have short-circuited her body.
The two-bite breakfast she’d caught on the run, the lunch she’d forgotten, the uneaten apple she’d carried home from the office, suddenly conspired with all the rest and she felt an odd lethargy as the dots swam faster and multiplied.
Panicked, she tried to reach the nearest chair. She’d no more than taken a wobbly step and sensed Mitch Ellery’s sudden move when the world went black.
Mitch had hesitated to reach for Lorna because he thought she was faking a faint. And then he’d caught her a second too late because she’d wilted so fast and gone so boneless that even catching her arm hadn’t prevented her temple from grazing the corner of the coffee table.
He’d gathered her up and placed her on the sofa, but her small body was so rag-doll limp that it was amazingly hard to manage, though she weighed almost nothing.
A pink welt marked her right temple and already the skin beneath it was staring to swell. Shock jolted him. She hadn’t flinched when she’d hit, and as he tested the delicate skin next to the swelling, not even a hint of reaction showed in her lashes.
Hell. She hadn’t hit the table hard enough to be knocked out, so the lady had well and truly fainted. An alien feeling of guilt punched him in the gut. Remorse made him pick up one of her limp hands and chafe it between his palms.
“Miz Farrell,” he growled. “One of us is gonna be damned upset if you don’t come around quick.”
Mitch gritted his teeth for admitting that much. He patted the back of her still hand and when that got him nothing, he lightly tapped her pale cheek. Her glorious black lashes lay closed and motionless, and he felt another arrow of concern.
Gently laying her hand on her small waist, he rose to find the bathroom. Once there, he grabbed an artfully folded washcloth from a white basket on the counter and wet it beneath a jet of cold water in the sink.
Squeezing the excess water from it, he stalked back to the living room. Now her lashes spasmed and he sat down by her hip on the edge of the sofa cushion. He touched the cool, damp cloth to her cheek and was rewarded when she weakly turned her head to escape the sensation.
Mitch lifted the cloth to gently press it against her other cheek before he realized he’d picked up her hand again. Her fingers tightened on his, but her grip was weak.
His own low words, “Come on, darlin’, come on back,” startled him.
Perhaps it was the remorse he felt, perhaps it was the simple compassion he had for any injured creature that accounted for the uncommon tenderness he felt suddenly. Or perhaps it was Lorna’s sharp resemblance to his stepsister. Whatever the reason, feeling tender toward Lorna Farrell was not quite the anathema it should have been.
And when she made a soft sound of protest and brought up her other small hand to ward him off, he felt like a brute.
Mitch allowed her to brace her hand against his chest while he pressed the cool cloth softly against the welt. She winced at the pressure and sucked in a breath, then struggled to move her head away.
“Lay still.”
His tone was harsher than he’d meant, and he was privately horrified when he saw wetness spring onto her lashes. He forced his voice to soften so much it was almost a rasp.
“Let me take care of this, darlin’.”
The fact that he’d repeated the endearment in a sincere way was a fresh shock. But she responded to it by going still. Her wet lashes opened and those blue, blue eyes focused mistrustfully on his face. He could see her fear and she lay completely still, as if she was afraid to move.
The guilt that made him feel was sharp and uncomfortable, and his gaze shied briefly from her wary study before he brought it back to say something that would let her know he meant her no harm.
“Looks like I scared you into a faint. You hit the coffee table before I could catch you.”
Confusion darkened the blue of her pretty eyes, but mistrust lingered in the mix. His pride was choking him, but he added a quiet, “I apologize.”
Mitch couldn’t maintain eye contact with her, so he lifted the cloth and inspected the small welt. “I’ll get you some ice for that.”
Her soft, “No,” made him pause and he looked down at her. “You have to leave.”
Despite her fear, she was rallying. Her refusal nettled his sense of responsibility. “Not till I’m sure you’re okay.”
She came right back with, “I don’t need your help.”
“How do you know that? Do you keel over in a faint so often it’s a routine?”
“I never faint.”
He gave a short bark of laughter and she jerked as if startled. Her eyes darkened again with wariness. Mitch ignored her reaction and leaned closer for emphasis.
“Well you just fainted, Miz Farrell. Write it in your diary.”
She seemed to fumble a moment for an answer to that. “I ha-haven’t eaten today.”
That nettled him again. “You out of money till payday?”
Color surged into her cheeks. “I have plenty of money. I was too busy to be hungry.”
Lorna wouldn’t confess to him that the months of worry about her increasing contact with Kendra had affected her appetite.
Mitch came to his feet and loomed over her. “I’ll put some ice in this cloth, then I’ll see what you’ve got to eat around this place.”
He strode away and she sat up in alarm. She cautiously touched her temple, but felt only a faint bit of pain. Sitting up had made her dizzy, but she turned to put her feet on the floor, determined to intercept Mitch and force him to leave.
And why wouldn’t he just leave? His orders and threats had been traumatic enough, but now she couldn’t get rid of him. And his concern confused her. He’d spoken to her earlier as if she was dirt under his feet, so his concern now was not only a shock, it was deeply suspicious.
Pride wouldn’t permit her to allow someone who hated her and had just tried to lure her into an extortion charge to do kind things for her.
She reached for the check then got up and walked unsteadily to the kitchen. Once she got there, she stopped in the doorway while she waited for her legs to strengthen.
Mitch Ellery was a dark giant in her pristine kitchen. As in the living room, his larger-than-life presence dwarfed everything around him. He’d already loaded the washcloth with ice cubes, but he now