Claimed By Her Billionaire Protector. Robyn Donald

Why couldn’t he have delivered her home?

      Her expression must have revealed her thoughts, because Mrs West said, ‘The en suite for this room isn’t functional yet, but there’s a bathroom two doors down the hall to the left. I’ve put toothpaste and some towels there for you.’

      Elana thanked her and set off. It took all the concentration she could muster to wash her face and clean her teeth.

      Back in the bedroom Mrs West said as she left, ‘The light in the hall will be on, so if you need to go to the bathroom later you’ll have no trouble finding your way here. Goodnight and sleep well.’

      Feeling as though she’d been beaten with cudgels, Elana climbed into a nightgown several sizes too big, and sank into the enormous bed, gratefully allowing unconsciousness to claim her.

      But with sleep came dreams—the same nightmares that had tortured her after the accident. Unable to prevent them, she relived again the horror of seeing the huge stock truck hurtle towards them, her mother’s scream cut off by the moment of impact, the pain mercifully shortened by a devouring darkness.

      And then thank all the gods, she woke up, whimpering, and stumbled up to her feet, her heart thudding so strongly she felt it might jump out of her breast. After switching on the lamp on the bedside table, she drew in several deep breaths before realising she needed to head for the bathroom.

      ‘Two doors down,’ she muttered, clutching the over-large gown around her. ‘On the left...’

      The hall light was dim, but she could see easily enough to make out the bathroom door. Tiptoeing, she got there, and was halfway back to her bedroom when she heard a noise behind her. Heart jumping, she increased her pace and prayed for it to be the housekeeper.

      ‘Elana.’

      No such luck. The deep hard voice belonged to Niko Radcliffe. Hand groping to pull the wide neck of the nightdress up, she swivelled around. He loomed in the semi-darkness, big and tall and far too close, and showing far too much skin.

      At first she thought he was naked and took a short step backwards as her stunned gaze took in wide, tanned shoulders and a muscled chest with a scroll of dark hair across it. A swift relief eased some of her shock when she realised he was wearing pyjama trousers.

      ‘What...?’ she breathed.

      He took two strides towards her, stopping as she backed away. Frowning, he asked, ‘Are you properly awake?’

      She ran her tongue over dry lips. ‘Of course I am,’ she said huskily. ‘I needed to use the bathroom.’

      ‘You’re shaking. I hope you’re not afraid of me.’

      Something in his tone made her stiffen. ‘No, of course not.’ Despairingly, she realised her voice was thin and almost wavering. She had to steady it to continue, ‘I’m all right. I—I’m—’

      She stopped and shook her head, dragging in more air in a quick gasp. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

      He waited a few seconds before saying in a milder tone, ‘Can you walk?’

      ‘Yes.’

      But when she took a step her legs crumpled beneath her. Mortified, she leant against the wall and clamped her eyes shut to stop the walls—and her host—from suddenly spinning.

      ‘I’ll carry you,’ he said harshly, and before she could protest she was enveloped in his warmth and strength, the faint, potent male scent of him somehow comforting as well as stimulating, so that she had to fight a craving to rest her head on his shoulder.

      ‘I’m too heavy,’ she managed as he lifted her.

      ‘You’re not. Just keep still and I’ll get you back to your bed.’

      Wordlessly, her thoughts and emotions a tangled jumble, she obeyed.

      When he straightened after lowering her into the bed she shivered again, suddenly cold and bereft. The light of the lamp picked out the strong bone structure of Niko’s face, and a sudden, unexpected sensation gripped her, a kind of urgency, of hunger...

      Something in the Count’s gaze made her realise that the nightdress neckline had dragged down, revealing far too much of her breasts. Scarlet-faced, she hauled the material up, grateful that he’d immediately turned to pull the duvet over her.