Bought: Destitute yet Defiant

Without releasing her hand, Silvio strode purposefully into the bathroom. He hit a button on the wall and hot, scented water swirled into the large tub.

Jessie wanted to say something but she had no idea what.

He stared at her frozen features with a mixture of concern and exasperation. ‘You’re cold. You’re wet. You’ve had a long day. Get out of that damn dress, soak in the bath, close your eyes. Then you can eat. Judging from the contents of your fridge, you need it.’ His eyes raked her face and then he cautiously released her wrist, still watching her. ‘After that we’ll talk.’

Jessie’s teeth were chattering. ‘What’s the point in talking? You’ll do what you want to do.’

A sardonic smile touched his beautiful mouth. ‘Yes, you’re right. I will. Get in the bath, Jess.’

Did she look that bad?

She scraped her soaking hair away from her face, knowing that she must look like a drowned rat. Knowing that she owed him thanks. Despite her gratitude for his intervention, she just couldn’t say the words. Showing gratitude to a man she hated proved impossible. She was still trying to force the words past her uncooperative lips when he gestured to a heated cabinet by the bath.

‘Towels. Anything else you need, shout.’ He paused by the door—cool, sophisticated and very much at home in this world. ‘Perhaps you’d better not lock the door.’

He closed the door behind him and Jessie immediately locked it.

Why had he suddenly reappeared in her life? And why was he helping her? After the things she’d said to him, she hadn’t expected ever to see him again.

It couldn’t be guilt or regret.

She knew that Silvio Brianza didn’t have a conscience.

She leaned her forehead against the locked door, embarrassed by her loss of control and wishing it hadn’t been him who had witnessed it. Then she laughed. No one but him would have understood. But Silvio had been there after the fire. He’d been living in the care home where she and her orphaned teenage brother had been taken after the tragedy that had shattered their young lives.

They’d lost everything, and everyone, and they’d been thrust into a world that had been both harsh and cruelly unfamiliar.

Jessie turned and looked at the bath, tempted by the froth of luxurious bubbles and the prospect of steaming water. How long had it been since she’d dipped herself in hot water? Too long. And never in a bath like this one. To just lie in a bath and relax, knowing that someone else was watching for danger…

Despite the sleep she felt exhausted, but she knew she couldn’t stay here. Not with him. It was out of the question. He was her enemy.

She rubbed her fingers over her lips, trying to erase the memory of that kiss—telling herself that she had no reason to feel guilty. He’d kissed her. Not the other way round.

But she hadn’t fought him off, had she?

Confused and angry with herself, she stripped off the gold dress, ripping it further in the process. She was not going to feel guilty. It wasn’t as if she’d gone to him for help. She hadn’t. Even when she’d been at her lowest point, she hadn’t allowed herself to approach him.

And she’d had no choice but to accept his help tonight. If she hadn’t, she’d be lying bleeding in that alleyway.

Survival, she reminded herself grimly. That was what her life was about.

Survival.

Reasoning that she wasn’t going to get far in a soaking-wet gold dress, Jessie stripped it off and slid into the bath, moaning with rapture as the hot water soothed and warmed her skin.

Just for a minute, she promised herself as she slid deeper under the foam. What harm could it do?

But she couldn’t relax. She was too wound up after what had happened and luxuriating in warm bubbles was something she’d never done before. It felt…decadent. She shampooed her hair quickly and in less than two minutes she was out of the bath and drying herself in a soft warm towel. Eyeing the damp gold dress on the floor, she faced the fact that she was going to have to borrow something to wear.

Her instinct was to refuse his offer, but how could she?

What clothes she had were back in her grim little flat. And she wouldn’t miss any of them.

Wondering why she was worrying about modesty when he thought she was a prostitute, Jessie wrapped herself in a long bathrobe before emerging cautiously from the bathroom.

Her precautions proved unnecessary because the bedroom was empty, the lighting dimmed to a warm, intimate glow.

She stared at the bed, her wayward mind conjuring up images she didn’t want to see.

Was this where he brought his women?

Did he kiss them the way he’d kissed her?

Forcing aside that unsettling thought, she snatched up the shoebox she’d rescued from her flat and tucked it under her arm. Then she padded over to the dressing room, aware that the last place she’d lived would have fitted into this space with room to spare. It was huge.

A door had been left open for her and she peeped inside, like a nervous child exploring its mother’s wardrobe, afraid of being caught.

Her mouth fell open because she’d never seen anything like it, even in her dreams.

There were racks of shoes stored in transparent boxes; jumpers and T-shirts in a rainbow of colours, all perfectly folded, and rails of shimmering, glamorous dresses.

Jessie reached out a hand and touched one of the dresses, the silk sliding over her fingers like fluid. There was nothing cheap here. Nothing suitable for the life she led.

The clothes went with the apartment and the apartment was the domain of the super-rich. She bent to tuck her battered, cardboard shoebox safely into the corner of the cupboard, out of sight.

‘Are you all right?’ His voice came from behind her and Jessie jumped as if she’d been caught stealing, clutching the edges of the dressing gown together at her throat to make sure that not a millimetre of flesh was exposed.

‘I’m fine.’

‘You were quick.’

She stiffened defensively, not wanting to admit that she was too jumpy to relax. ‘I spent as long as I needed.’

‘Why aren’t you dressed?’

Jessie gave a humourless laugh and glanced over her shoulder at the rails of clothes. ‘Because I couldn’t see anything suitable.’

His gaze slid to the rails of clothes and a faint smile touched his mouth. ‘That’s a very female remark. A closet full of clothes and nothing to wear.’

‘They’re not right.’

‘Nothing fits?’

‘I have no idea if anything fits me! I haven’t tried any of them on.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I can’t wear any of that stuff, Silvio!’ Suddenly she wished she were wearing her heels. At least then she wouldn’t have felt quite so small and insignificant next to him. Or maybe she would. Acknowledging that her feelings of inferiority came from the inside, Jessie glared at him, exasperated that he had so little clue as to how she was feeling. ‘Where am I going to wear fancy stuff like this? I can hardly walk around the streets wearing a floor-length gown, can I?’