Driving Her Crazy - By Amy Andrews Page 0,58

gown, towelling her hair. ‘Did you order something?’ she asked his back. ‘I’m starving.’

Kent stood and turned to face her. ‘You’re writing a story about me?’ he demanded.

Sadie frowned at the steel in his voice and the return of the hard lines of his face. She hadn’t seen them for a couple of days now and had forgotten how austere they could be. ‘No.’

He stepped aside and pointed to the laptop screen. ‘I think you are.’

Sadie gasped as she realised what she’d done. She shook her head as she walked towards him. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’

Kent slashed his hand through the air, pulling her up short. ‘I told you my story was not for sale. This stuff is private.’

Sadie struggled to understand how the day had gone to hell so quickly. One moment they were in the shower and she was thinking she could get used to all that single-minded intensity of his, particularly when he was buried deep inside her, and the next he was looking at her with ice in his eyes.

Back to square one.

Sadie dropped the towel, her hair hanging in damp strips around her shoulders. ‘I’m not doing a story on you. I’m just...journalling.’

‘It sure as hell reads like a story,’ he snapped. ‘Did Tabitha put you up to this?’ he demanded. ‘She’s been trying to get me to do an exclusive for months.’

Sadie took another step towards him but halted as he held out his hand. ‘Tabitha has nothing to do with this. It’s just me putting my thoughts and feelings down. I have absolutely no intention of doing anything with it. You can delete it right now if you want.’

Kent turned, leant over the keyboard and hit Control A. The article highlighted before his eyes and he hit the delete button.

He only wished it felt as satisfying as it looked.

Sadie watched her work disappear in dismay. Those words might have come easily but no writer liked to lose work. Sure, she could write them again, but they’d never be as perfect as they had been.

She propped her hands on her hips. ‘Happy now?’

‘Do you have a backup?’ he asked.

Sadie nodded. ‘On the memory stick.’

Kent picked up the stick. He gave her a wide berth as he rounded her and headed for the bathroom. Once inside he avoided looking at the shower cubicle as the memories of their soapy encounter returned. He strode to the toilet, opened the lid, tossed the stick in and flushed it.

‘It’s okay,’ Sadie said derisively when he stormed out a moment later, his limp more obvious than it had been in days. ‘There wasn’t anything important on there.’

Kent ignored her as he hefted his bag onto the bed and pulled out some clothes. Her apparent lack of concern over the loss of the article hadn’t mollified him.

Had she been interviewing him all along? Was that what all the incessant questions had been about? Had she been taking notes the entire five days? Did she think that she could bat those incredible lashes at him and he wouldn’t mean what he’d said yesterday—God, was it only yesterday?—that it was no one’s damn business?

He’d thought she’d been joking about her interviewing him. Obviously not.

Sadie watched as he dressed quickly in jeans and a T-shirt, the flash of a naked back and buttocks when he dropped the towel having a funny effect on her pulse despite their current state of animosity. ‘I’m not doing a story on you, Kent.’

Kent sat on the bed and stuffed his feet into his shoes. Whether she was or wasn’t just wasn’t the point any more. This debacle was a salient reminder of why he’d kept himself to himself.

He’d let Sadie Bliss and her treacherous curves get way too close. Her conjectures in the article had been searing and insightful and even now he shied from them.

He didn’t want or need her inside his head. What the hell did someone in their mid-twenties know about stuff like this?

He’d come out here to get his photographic mojo back. Not to lose his head over a woman and certainly not to get it head shrunk by one either.

There were things he had to come to terms with, he knew that. But he was doing that to his own timetable.

She was wrong—this man was an island.

The uninhabitable kind.

He stood and looked at her. ‘This was a mistake.’

Sadie blinked. ‘What was? This hotel room? Sex in the shower? Sex on the roof of your car? Our night under the stars?