Amy Andrews - The Most Expensive Night of Her Life

And he’d always been a leg man.

Oh, the irony.

He dragged his gaze up. Her hair was damp and looked as if it had been finger-combed back off her forehead, her face was scrubbed clean, her freckles standing out, her cheeks a little pink from the hot water, the tiny nick a stark reminder of why she was here.

She could have been the girl next door except somehow, even in a scruffy T-shirt, baggy boxers and her eyelids fluttering in long sleepy blinks, she managed to look haughty.

To exude a you-can’t-touch-this air.

Should have had that second beer.

‘How’s the head?’ he asked, ignoring her protest, returning his mind and his eyes to the job at hand, stripping the case off the pillow.

‘Sore,’ Ava said, pushing off the door frame to the opposite side of the bed, grabbing the other pillow and stripping it, managing it quite well despite the handicap of her bandaged hand.

Blake quelled the urge to tell her to leave it. He didn’t want her here in his bedroom. Not while he was in it too. It all seemed too domesticated—too normal—especially after being shot at only a few hours ago. The bed was big and empty. Big enough for the two of them. And the night had been bizarre enough without him wondering how many times he could roll Ava Kelly over on it.

Or how good those legs would feel wrapped around his waist.

‘Did you take those tablets the doc gave you?’

She nodded. ‘Just now.’ Then she yawned and the shirt rode up a little more. He kept his gaze firmly trained on her face. ‘Sorry. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.’

Blake knew intimately how shock and the effects of adrenaline could leave you sapped to the bone. He threw the pillow on the bed, then peeled back the covers. ‘Get in. Go to sleep.’ Soon it will be morning and you’ll be gone. ‘You’ll feel better tomorrow.’

She smiled at him again as she threw her pillow on the bed. ‘I couldn’t feel any worse,’ she said, crawling onto the bed, making her way to the middle on her hands and knees. Blake did not check out how his shirt fell forward revealing a view right down to her navel.

He just pulled up the covers as Ava collapsed on her side, her sore hand tucked under her cheek, eyes closing on a blissful sigh, her bow mouth finally relaxing. ‘Night,’ he said.

She didn’t answer and for a moment he was struck by how young she looked. For the first time she didn’t look haughty and untouchable—she looked humble and exhausted.

Vulnerable.

And utterly touchable.

Who in the hell would want to kill her? Or had they just been trying to scare her? In which case it had worked brilliantly. Something stirred in his chest but he didn’t stay long enough to analyse it.

Ava freaking Kelly was lying right smack in the middle of his bed—no way was he sticking around to fathom weird chest stirrings. Or give his traitorous body any ideas.

He stalked towards the door, an image of her long legs keeping him company.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

‘Blake.’

Crap. He halted as her soft voice drifted towards him. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice low and drowsy.

Blake locked tight every muscle he owned to stop from turning around. He didn’t need a vision of her looking at him with sleepy eyes from his bed. Instead he nodded and said, ‘See you in the morning.’

Then continued on his way out of the room.

He did not look back.

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