Bought: Destitute yet Defiant. Sarah Morgan

understood his meaning.

      He thought she—

      That was why he was so angry?

      Jessie was so shocked that for a moment she couldn’t respond. ‘What sort of job do you think I’m doing?’

      ‘Presumably the same job as the rest of the girls in that club.’

      He thought she was a prostitute.

      She leaned her head back against the seat and started to laugh. It was that or cry and there was no way she was ever crying in front of this man. All her tears had been shed in private.

      ‘You think it’s funny?’ His tone savage, he drove the car harder still and Jessie wondered why it bothered her so much that he thought that of her.

      ‘I use what God gave me. What’s wrong with that?’ It was a stupid thing to say. Flippant, provocative—like dangling a piece of raw meat in front of a hungry wolf—and the moment the words left her mouth she wanted to suck them back in. But it was too late for that. Too late to wish that everything was different between them.

      Too late to wish that the past hadn’t happened.

      And perhaps it was safer this way. If his opinion of her was rock bottom then it would protect them both from the dangerous chemistry that had flickered round the edges of their relationship like a force field.

      She didn’t want that.

      He didn’t want that.

      He brought the car to an abrupt halt and when he looked at her the red blaze of fury in his eyes made her shrink against the seat in instinctive retreat.

      ‘If you were that desperate for money,’ he said thickly, ‘you could have come to me. It didn’t matter what happened between us. None of that mattered. If you were in trouble, you should have contacted me.’

      ‘You are the last person on this earth I would ever ask for help.’ But the words came out as a whisper because she was too overwhelmed by her feelings to manage anything stronger or more convincing.

      Self-loathing mingled with a desperate yearning that frightened her.

      She didn’t want to feel like this.

      ‘Pride can kill, Jessie.’

      ‘It isn’t about pride! Even if I’d wanted to contact you, I wouldn’t have known how. I don’t know you any more.’ Neither did she know herself. ‘You’re always surrounded by clever people and security staff. Although why you need the security staff, I don’t understand.’ She turned to look at him and then immediately looked away because one glance at his mouth made her think of that kiss. ‘Why do you employ security staff? You don’t exactly need help, do you? Or are you worried about dirtying your expensive suit?’

      ‘Don’t change the subject,’ he said harshly. ‘Were you really prepared to die rather than contact me? Is that the honest truth?’

      Jessie stared in front of her, realising with a flash of surprise that they were parked on the pavement near her block of flats. ‘You know why I didn’t contact you.’

      ‘Sì, I know. You hate me.’ His tone was flat but his grip on the wheel didn’t relax. ‘You blame me for everything.’

      ‘Not everything—just that one thing. Do you know what tonight is?’ Her voice shook with emotion and his eyes flashed.

      ‘Do you think I’d forget this date? Does it help you to know I blame myself every bit as much as you do?’ The rain pelted onto the car, blurring their surroundings.

      Like tears, Jessie thought as she stared at the water pouring over the windscreen. ‘No. It doesn’t help.’ Nothing helped.

      The memory of that night hovered between them like a menacing storm cloud waiting to unleash something terrible and Jessie unclipped her seat belt and opened the car door, on the run from memories and a conversation she didn’t want to have.

      ‘Thanks for the lift.’ She didn’t say ‘home’ because she didn’t think of this place as home. It was just the place she slept—for now. Until she moved on—which she did regularly.

      It was raining hard now, the litter-strewn pavements slick with it, the graffiti on the walls glistening under a glowing orange streetlamp.

      Jessie felt ridiculous standing there, soaked to the skin in her cheap gold dress. Next to the sleek Ferrari and the equally sleek billionaire she felt appallingly self-conscious.

      Jessie the prostitute.

      Was that really how she looked?

      So much for her fantasy about singing to packed stadiums or opera houses.

      She was as far removed from that as the average woman singing into her hairbrush. As far removed from that as she was from the man who was now striding round the car to her.

      His eyes glittered in the ominous light. Ignoring the rain, Silvio removed his coat and slung it around her shoulders. Pulling it closed, he covered her up, every millimetre of her—as if he couldn’t bear to look. ‘You do realise that this is the last place in the world that any sane woman would choose to come to alone at night?’

      The coat overwhelmed her, falling almost to the ground and covering her hands. ‘They tracked me down. I had to move. They don’t know I live here.’ She rolled the sleeves back methodically, trying to find her hands—and then she froze, the truth slamming into her.

      He knew she lived here.

      Jessie felt her face drain of colour and met his diamond-hard eyes with dawning horror. ‘You didn’t ask for directions.’ Her voice was a cracked whisper. ‘How did you know where to drop me?’

      ‘I make it my business to know things,’ he said grimly. ‘And if I know, you can be sure that those animals know too. I calculate we probably have less than ten minutes to clear out your things before they get here. Move!’