"You've got enough food in those bags to feed an army," she said with amusement. "You planning to settle in for a long haul?"
"No, mainly because it wouldn't be safe. I am, however, starved."
'That mean you're planning to cook?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Can you?"
"Sort of." Helen was the expert in that field. She'd only ever dabbled, and most of the time with disastrous effects. Which was why she'd been relegated to cooking only two nights out of seven.
"'Sort of will ruin my souffle."
"You're kidding...aren't you?"
He grinned and started the engine. "Certainly am. Can't stand souffle." She rolled her eyes. "So what are we having?"
"You'll just have to wait and see."
"You can be very irritating, you know that?"
He flashed her another grin and sent her heart into cartwheels. 'Thank you. It's a skill I work hard at."
He pulled out into the traffic. She studied his profile, her artist instincts stirred by the sheer perfection of it. She'd paint it one day, though no doubt from memory. Pain twinged through her. She bit her lip and wondered again why he seemed so attracted to her. Was it just the danger pulling them close, or was there something more?
He had the looks, and no doubt the money, to pick and choose as he pleased. Surely an unwanted brown mouse from Nowhereville, Australia didn't have a hope of holding his interest for long.
And that was what was holding her back, she realized. As much as she wanted to make love to him, she was afraid that once she did, she'd want more. Want the whole box of dice. And she just couldn't believe he'd ever be content to stay with someone like her. Damaged goods, Helen had once called them both. Thieves didn't take damaged goods—they only went after the very best.
"I am going after the very best," he murmured. She briefly closed her eyes. If only I could believe you. But that was the trouble. She couldn't believe him. Couldn't trust that he meant anything he said. She'd learned the hard way that the world was filled with thieves—some, like Doyle, stole artifacts, jewelry and no doubt the occasional heart. Others, like the caretaker, stole innocence.
"Don't you dare put me in the same category as that animal," he said, voice cold and flat. "We're nothing alike."
"I know, and that's not what I meant." She hesitated, not really certain just where those thoughts had been headed, other than the fact that if Doyle stole her heart and then walked away, she'd never recover. Not without Helen around to pick up the pieces.
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and risked a quick glance at him. His face was as stony as his thoughts. She'd annoyed him. Hurt him.
And that was something she had never meant to do. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "It's just...I just need time." Time to know you. Time to know me. In two brief days, her life had irrevocably changed, and even the memories of her past had proven to be false. How could she possibly believe her feelings in such a situation? How could he? "You can't just walk into my life and expect me to be swept away on a tide of emotion. It's not that easy."
"It is that easy—if you trust."
But that's the whole problem. I can't trust. She'd picked up most of the pieces and had continued on with her life—but her ability to trust people—men—had never fully recovered. Somewhere deep inside her there was still a scared little girl hiding under the covers and listening to the sounds of trust being shattered. She rubbed her forehead. Her headache was beginning to come back again. "I really don't want to discuss all this right now."
He glanced at her, frustration evident in the blue of his eyes. "We have to discuss it sometime."
"Yes. But not now." Not until she knew whether she actually had a future to discuss.
They drove on in silence. The night shadows were creeping across the sky by the time they returned to the farmhouse.
Doyle ushered her through the back door. "Go have a nice long bath. I'll prepare dinner."
"You don't want me to help?"
He raised a dark eyebrow and dumped the bags on the bench. "Did Helen?" She grinned. "Well no, but that doesn't mean I can't help you."
"I think I'll take it as a sign." He tossed her one of the plastic bags.
"Don't turn on the light. Use the candle I bought instead." She looked inside the bag. There wasn't only a candle and lighter, but bath oil, herbal shampoo, conditioner, and soap. "Why did you buy me these? I did bring my own toiletries, you know."
"You have a ceremony to perform at midnight, remember? There are rituals to follow if you don't want to attract the wrong sort of attention. One of them is cleansing."