Chapter 49
"Give me that, Lord Hawley. Thank you."
As the door to the adjoining room flew open and she stood there in her bloody black peignoir, hair sitting like a dark cloud on her shoulders he knew one thing. If she thought he'd limped back and forward lugging all these bottles and then limped back and forward lugging them again, she'd another think coming in the realm of giving her anything. Too bad, if it resulted in a wrestling match that made the one with the spade look tame by comparison.
"Give you-"
"Yes. Now. Thank you."
She strode across the rug in ways he'd never seen and also, in these same diffident, sexy, had-enough-of-you, ways he had, reached past him and tried grasping hold of what he automatically put behind his back. His stash after all.
"You said I could have it. I could have all of them," she said.
"And you said you didn't want any of them."
"Just because I didn't, doesn't mean I won't. Now-"
"That's what happens to great minds, Miss Armstrong."
"Cassidy."