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his
scar whitened and she fought not to shrink into the pillows. Hurt? She
scoffed. Must have been the residual effects of the fever. The mountain of
stone looming over her could never experience a human emotion like pain.
    “That’s it exactly,” he growled. “You have no idea how close
you came to being fucked while you were delirious.” He skewered her with one
last disgusted glare before sharply spinning and stalking across the room. He
gripped the doorknob and yanked the door open, pausing only long enough to
bark, “Call whoever it is you need to notify about your stay being extended
since I won’t be able to collect for at least another two days. I believe in
getting my money’s worth.” He slammed the door behind him.
    Gwendolyn gaped, the echo of wood cracking against wood
ringing in her ears. Whoa . She replayed their conversation in her
head. What did he have to be angry—
    Ah damn. She wanted to smack herself in the forehead,
but her head ached already. How could she have been so stupid? So obtuse? If
you had passed out behind the wheel instead of in my arms, you could have been
seriously hurt. Or worse.
    Of course. He’d lost both his brother and father in car
accidents. Even if he didn’t care for her, the fact she could have been hurt
driving to his home because of their deal would have affected him. He probably
feared car crashes like most people feared snakes or heights. She sighed. And
she’d accused the man of being a horny asshole.
    The only asshole in the room had been her.
    * * * * *
    Xavier lifted his hand to the gold doorknob of Gwendolyn’s
room. And paused. A low hum of anger simmered deep in his gut, but at least it
had cooled from the inferno that had raged when he’d left her room earlier.
Hours had passed before his fury had settled to a slow heat. During that time,
the doctor had come and gone, he’d had a lunch tray sent up to her while she
napped and he’d managed a few hours of work. Yet not until an hour ago had he
dug past the bullshit and his offended pride to the heart of the reason
cowering behind his anger. Gwendolyn had every right to be suspicious of his
motives. Hell, since the moment they’d reunited, he’d rebuffed her, blackmailed
her, and then shoved his hand between her thighs.
    Yeah, he’d done a bang-up job of bolstering her confidence
in his character.
    Yet acknowledging she had reason to suspect his concern
didn’t lessen the sting. Once upon a time she had been free with her smiles and
affection. Before Josh’s death six years ago and his father’s just this past
year. Before the disfiguring scar. Before his life had gone to shit.
    Prior to the car accident, he would have never considered
himself vain or self-absorbed. His appearance and lifestyle had been things
he’d taken for granted. It wasn’t until after the bandages had been removed and
people stared as if he belonged in a cage like a sideshow freak—and those he’d
believed friends avoided him like the clap—he’d realized how much his life had
revolved around those superficial aspects. His eyes had been opened to how
shallow his life had been…as well as the people in it.
    The truth didn’t prevent him from being bitter as hell,
though.
    With a muttered curse, he twisted the knob and opened the
bedroom door. Gwendolyn reclined on a mound of pillows, her unruly curls a
bright halo around her head.
    God, he loved her hair. Even when Josh was alive, her soft,
springy curls had been a source of erotic dreams. He’d envisioned snagging the
spirals in his fist as he dragged her head back for his mouth. Or imagined the
soft slide of them over his chest and stomach as she tongued a path to his
cock. Or dreamed of wrapping the curls around his flesh.
    He’d never fantasized about fucking his ex-fiancée’s hair,
for Christ’s sake.
    He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Gwendolyn’s lashes lifted at the muted click. Her dark gaze locked with his.
Though still dulled by