She looked at him. His gaze was midnight blue and impenetrable, but still she felt vulnerable-as though he could read her mind.
"I.. .I'm sorry I flew off the handle," she said grudgingly. "But the furniture..."
"Is impossible." He smiled at her. "I can see that now."
She felt relief wash through her body. "Yes. We'll have to send it back."
"Of course."
She felt like a fool again, and here he was being so adult about everything. All she could think of was escape from his searching gaze.
"Well, good night," she said again, turning away.
She walked into her room and stopped, hand to her throat. There was a suitcase open on the floor. Men's shirts spilled out of it. A pair of men's slacks was flung across her bed. He'd moved in. This man-this stranger- was invading her bedroom! .
She spun. "What-why?"
Ross had followed her to the doorway. He watched her reaction with a mixture of amusement and consternation. If only he could figure out what was bothering her so much.
"Aunt Doris will find it peculiar if we don't share a bedroom, don't you think?''
Charity squared her shoulders. She knew she was over reacting, but she just couldn't help it. She wasn't used to seeing men's things all over her room.
It had been a long time since any man had visited her bedroom. She wasn't prepared for this just now.
"Aunt Doris isn't here yet," she reminded Ross icily. "Until she arrives, you sleep in the guest room."
And I'll think of some way to get out of this by then, she promised herself silently.
Ross stared at Charity, resisting the urge to shake some sense into her. For all her imperiousness, there was a soft ness in her that she tried to deny.
Suddenly he knew some thing he'd never been told. Life had not been totally kind to Charity. She was guarded, protective. How had she been hurt?
He shook his head, astonished at his own feelings. He didn't remember ever noticing something like this about a woman before. He usually shied away from complica tions.
He didn't know why women seemed to take life so seriously. Life was a game played best by those who could stay the most detached. But for some reason, this time he couldn't turn from his feelings. This time he wanted to brush away the wariness he could see in the depths of her warm brown eyes-brush it away as he would wipe away a crust of cobwebs from a lovely painting so that he could enjoy its full beauty.
"All right," he said gruffly. "I'll get my things out of here."