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think I was flirting with you?
The humiliation and rage warred within her, and how she wished she could open her mouth and have the words spill out. Flirt with him indeed.
    “Don’t look so insulted,” he continued, watching her stunned expression. “But I must admire your come-on. If purring and batting the lashes don’t work, then insult the hell out of him. Right, Parris?” He tightened his loose grip on her delicate wrists when her fingers curved slightly.
    He knew she hadn’t flirted with him, but he’d say anything to get a response from her; he didn’t want her to wallow in depression and stop eating.
    Okay
, she nodded.
If you, say I flirted with you, then I did
, she thought, showing him her clenched teeth.
Just let me go
.
    He released her wrists and curved an arm around her waist. Exchanging positions, he settled her to sit between his outstretched legs.
    Parris felt every nerve in her body quivering as Martin pressed his chest to her back. It was only now that she’d become aware of how he looked and felt. She knew he was tall, but didn’t realize how well his tailored clothing concealed the bulk of his large body. The black silk shirt and linen slacks he wore the night of the engagement party had minimized the dimensions of his powerful physique.
    She inhaled his cologne, trying to identify the ingredients. It was a blend of a spicy citrus and musk. An unlikely combination that was sensual and provocative. The fragrance was Martin Cole.
    “Dr. Lopez had a report of your disability delivered to your employer this morning, and if you want I’ll have someone go to your apartment to pick up something for you to wear. Unless you don’t mind modeling my T-shirts.”
    Glancing up at him over her shoulder, Parris frowned, shaking her head. “I thought not,” he said, laughing.
    What he did not tell her was that he had hired a private investigator to uncover her connection with Owen Lawson. That would remain his secret.
    He rubbed several strands of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, examining the blunt-cut ends. Her hair was in good condition. He had noted her manicured hands and her coiffed hair Saturday night. He had also taken in the tasteful design of her dress and recognized her designer handbag and shoes. Parris Simmons was a woman who pampered herself and her vanity was manifested when she saw herself as ugly because her face was bruised and swollen.
    He hadn’t lied to her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever met and the two things that had attracted him to her in the first place were temporarily flawed—her face and her voice.
    “Have you made plans for dinner, Parris?”
    A hint of a smile crinkled her eyes. She was tempted to nod yes. The expectant look in his eyes stopped her. She shook her head.
    Lowering his head and his lids, he stared down at her. His penetrating gaze was as dark and powerful as he was. “Will you share dinner with me, Parris?” She nodded the affirmative and he pulled her back to rest against his body.
    Martin held her, not wanting to move or to let her go. He dared not forget she was with him because she was an invalid. But she wouldn’t remain an invalid for very long. Luis explained that she was young and in excellent health, and that meant she would heal quickly.
    How long could he hope to keep her—two weeks? Maybe three at the most.
    He studied her delicate bruised face. “Are you familiar with computers?” he questioned. She nodded. “Good,” he continued, “because I brought a laptop home for you. Using the laptop should be easier and faster than your pen and pad method.”
    Closing his eyes, Martin tried to shake off the feeling that once Parris left he would never see her again.
    He didn’t know why, but as soon as the thought entered his head he recalled the quote from his college newspaper.
‘I’m going to have a piece of everything I want. Some of it may not work out, but I’m still going to have a piece of it anyway.’
    Right