Max might have to put a leash on his libido when he’s around Cara, but he’ll be damned if he will allow his unwanted attraction to obscure the truth about her character. Since the night they met, the full-figured socialite has shown she’s a vacuous snob who cares only about herself. And what’s all that about him ‘using Fiona like a sex toy’? The woman is deluded, and yet thinks nothing of insulting his integrity. And as for his war injury, Cara can swear she never said he deserved it, but should he believe her? It seems someone’s been stirring their animosity, and as they’re stranded on Yell, it’s up to Max and Cara to unravel the truth for themselves.
“I’d like to rinse the shampoo from my hair. Any hot water in that kettle?”
“I’m boiling,” Cara said, and immediately cringed. “I mean it’s boiling. The kettle, not me.” She raised a hand to her hot cheek. “I’m uncomfortably warm, but that’s because you…” Stick some of that cemented rice in your mouth and seal it shut!
“You stoked the fire.”
He stepped to the side and picked up the kettle. “Apologies if my efforts don’t meet your requirements.”
“Wait, that came out wrong. The temperature is great. Why don’t you give me the kettle so I can take it to the bathroom for you?”
“I’m not an invalid.”
Cara clamped her lips shut over a curt retort. Since when did she treat him like an invalid? The man was an oversensitive arse.
But you like that arse, don’t you?
From where she stood, it looked hard and firm. Using the cane, Max walked-hopped toward the bathroom, kettle in hand. Uh-oh, his towel looked as though it were loosening. What if it unraveled before he reached the door? Maybe she should follow, just in case.
Silly woman, he’d bite your head off. Yes, but she’d stare him down…farther down…and take a little look at his weaponry.
Oh, God. A drink was in order, as soon as possible.
Cara watched Max make it safely to the bathroom without losing his…cover, then gulped down a glass of Pinot Grigio. But it didn’t cool the throbbing heat rushing through her body. When he came out of the bathroom he’d re-attached his prosthetic leg and was fully dressed, but he might as well have been naked. His hair was wet and he’d shaved, and the smell of his aftershave tickled her nostrils—and other, deeper caverns.
“How can you wear only a T-shirt and jeans in this weather? My blood would congeal.”
“That’s because it’s blue.”
Cara peered at him, looking for lofty criticism and finding none. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“Don’t give up the day job,” she said, but she smiled.