be able to get away.
He supposed she wouldn’t have appreciated his mocking, and he would have been treated to more of her insolent attitude. Her bitchiness should have irritated him, but he rather liked the boldness. It brought out the sultriness he found so intriguing. Her annoyance held a hint of self-reliance, which suggested she had no time for vengeance or carrying grudges. He had the feeling she wouldn’t hold his earlier lack of sympathy toward her plight against him.
Sione hadn’t meant to act as though he didn’t care, because he did. The safety and well-being of his guests was the most important thing to him. When he’d seen the Asian guy tying her up, he’d had no problems giving into his anger to make sure nothing bad happened to her.
He would have done the same for any of his guests. For whatever reason though, she’d accused him of trying to run to her rescue and be a hero instead of being glad he’d saved her. The ungrateful attitude had reminded him of his ex-fiancée. He didn’t have time for another woman making him feel as though helping her was the least he could do.
The entitlement in Ms. Edwards’ tone and demeanor made him feel as though what he’d done deserved no applause. Not that he was even looking for effusive gratitude, because he wasn’t. He didn’t want Ms. Edwards to gush over him and thank him profusely for rescuing her, but he didn’t want her to bitch at him for saving her life either.
He untied her, disturbed by the welts and abrasions on her wrists from the rope burns.
“Thank you,” she said, careful as she pressed a finger against her wrist.
“There should be a first aid kit in the kitchen,” he said, guiding her to the dining room table. He pulled a chair out, and after she sat down, he went to the kitchen. Returning to the table, he removed a small plastic bottle and several cotton balls from the kit.
“Tell me what happened,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, trying to pull her hand away.
“Just going to clean the wounds.”
“Is it going to sting?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s peroxide.”
Her gaze wary, she allowed him to pull her hand closer to him.
“Now, tell me what happened,” he said, soaking a cotton ball with peroxide.
“The guy broke into the casita,” she said and then winced when he pressed the cotton ball against her wrist. “And he attacked me.”
“You didn’t see him breaking into the casita?”
“I was unpacking,” she said, making another face as he dabbed the cotton ball across the abrasions on her skin. “And then I turned around, and the next thing I knew, I was slapped in the face.”
Sione winced. The idea of her being slapped in the face rekindled his anger, and for a moment, he wished he’d broken the guy’s neck. But when the wish lasted longer than a moment, he struggled to combat the violent thoughts. “Did he say anything to you?”
“Anything like what?”
“Did he give you any indication as to why he broke into the casita?” he asked. “Was he trying to rob you? Or was there something in the casita he wanted? Or—”
“I think he was, um, trying to rob me,” she said. “Because he wanted my purse.”
“Your purse?”
Nodding, she said, “It’s Hermes. Vintage. Worth about twenty thousand.”
“A twenty-thousand-dollar purse?” he echoed, staring at her, shocked, but not really surprised. She looked like the kind of woman who liked expensive things; her beauty was a suitable match for luxury goods, but something in her gaze made him doubt her ability to afford high-dollar trinkets.
“Why did he tie you up?” he asked. “If he wanted the purse, why didn’t he just shove you aside, take the purse, and get out as quick as possible?”
“How the hell would I know what goes on in the mind of a psychotic purse snatcher?” she asked. “Maybe he tied me up because I fought him. I wasn’t going to let him take my purse. My
He supposed she wouldn’t have appreciated his mocking, and he would have been treated to more of her insolent attitude. Her bitchiness should have irritated him, but he rather liked the boldness. It brought out the sultriness he found so intriguing. Her annoyance held a hint of self-reliance, which suggested she had no time for vengeance or carrying grudges. He had the feeling she wouldn’t hold his earlier lack of sympathy toward her plight against him.
Sione hadn’t meant to act as though he didn’t care, because he did. The safety and well-being of his guests was the most important thing to him. When he’d seen the Asian guy tying her up, he’d had no problems giving into his anger to make sure nothing bad happened to her.
He would have done the same for any of his guests. For whatever reason though, she’d accused him of trying to run to her rescue and be a hero instead of being glad he’d saved her. The ungrateful attitude had reminded him of his ex-fiancée. He didn’t have time for another woman making him feel as though helping her was the least he could do.
The entitlement in Ms. Edwards’ tone and demeanor made him feel as though what he’d done deserved no applause. Not that he was even looking for effusive gratitude, because he wasn’t. He didn’t want Ms. Edwards to gush over him and thank him profusely for rescuing her, but he didn’t want her to bitch at him for saving her life either.
He untied her, disturbed by the welts and abrasions on her wrists from the rope burns.
“Thank you,” she said, careful as she pressed a finger against her wrist.
“There should be a first aid kit in the kitchen,” he said, guiding her to the dining room table. He pulled a chair out, and after she sat down, he went to the kitchen. Returning to the table, he removed a small plastic bottle and several cotton balls from the kit.
“Tell me what happened,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, trying to pull her hand away.
“Just going to clean the wounds.”
“Is it going to sting?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s peroxide.”
Her gaze wary, she allowed him to pull her hand closer to him.
“Now, tell me what happened,” he said, soaking a cotton ball with peroxide.
“The guy broke into the casita,” she said and then winced when he pressed the cotton ball against her wrist. “And he attacked me.”
“You didn’t see him breaking into the casita?”
“I was unpacking,” she said, making another face as he dabbed the cotton ball across the abrasions on her skin. “And then I turned around, and the next thing I knew, I was slapped in the face.”
Sione winced. The idea of her being slapped in the face rekindled his anger, and for a moment, he wished he’d broken the guy’s neck. But when the wish lasted longer than a moment, he struggled to combat the violent thoughts. “Did he say anything to you?”
“Anything like what?”
“Did he give you any indication as to why he broke into the casita?” he asked. “Was he trying to rob you? Or was there something in the casita he wanted? Or—”
“I think he was, um, trying to rob me,” she said. “Because he wanted my purse.”
“Your purse?”
Nodding, she said, “It’s Hermes. Vintage. Worth about twenty thousand.”
“A twenty-thousand-dollar purse?” he echoed, staring at her, shocked, but not really surprised. She looked like the kind of woman who liked expensive things; her beauty was a suitable match for luxury goods, but something in her gaze made him doubt her ability to afford high-dollar trinkets.
“Why did he tie you up?” he asked. “If he wanted the purse, why didn’t he just shove you aside, take the purse, and get out as quick as possible?”
“How the hell would I know what goes on in the mind of a psychotic purse snatcher?” she asked. “Maybe he tied me up because I fought him. I wasn’t going to let him take my purse. My
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