Tycoon's One-Night Revenge Read Online Free PDF

breath and without conscious thought, reached up to push the towelling aside. To reveal scar tissue that hadn’t existed ten weeks ago. “My God, Donovan. What happened?”
    When he didn’t answer, she raised her stunned gaze and found his attention fixed on where her hand clutched the edge of his robe, the backs of her fingers resting flush against the heat of his skin. She released her grip, reclaimed her hand, and slowly his gaze shifted to her face, silvery eyes narrowed and aware. It was a look she recognised but didn’t want to remember.
    Without answering her question, he pushed away from the door and strolled back to the table where he’d abandoned the bottle of red wine earlier.
    When he held up the bottle and raised an eyebrow in question, she nodded, and the familiarity of that silent exchange brought a confused frown to her face as she watched him pour two glasses.
    I don’t remember. You, your scream, anything.
    “You don’t remember…Is that because of what happened to cause the scar?” Her mind churned over his revelation and the possibilities. “Were you in an accident?”
    “An accident, no. I was mugged.” He gave a shrug, as if it were nothing. Or something he preferred others to see as nothing. “Woke up with a memory block.”
    Her gaze dropped to his chest, to the now-concealed scar. She had to moisten her dry mouth before she could speak. “And that?”
    “One of their weapons, apparently, was a broken bottle.”
    With every appearance of complacency, he held out the glass of wine he’d poured for her. Leaving the sanctuary of the door, Susannah managed to walk the dozen or so steps to take the proffered glass, despite the unsteadiness in her legs. Amazingly her voice sounded calm when she asked, “Where did this happen?”
    “On my way home.”
    “You told me you don’t have a home.”
    Surprise stilled the glass he’d been raising to his lips. It echoed briefly in his eyes before he answered. “I have a temporary home in San Francisco.”
    “When?”
    Their eyes met over the rim of his glass and Susannah’s racing heart skipped a beat, waiting, anticipating the answer. “In July. The day I returned from here.”
    “You were in hospital? Is that why—” She had to stop, to shake her head and clear the image of him broken and beaten from her mind’s eye. “You didn’t return my phone calls.”
    “Not until I returned to the office.”
    “How long was that?” she asked, her voice no longer even or steady.
    “Two months, all up.”
    That’s why he’d been constantly “unavailable” or “out of the office” over the weeks she’d tried to contact him. She’d assumed his assistant was screening his calls, that he’d chosen to ignore the messages, and she’d given up trying to get through.
    Two months to recover from his injuries. My God.
    Unable to master the trembling in her hand or legs, she put down the untouched drink and when Donovan pulled a chair from the table, she murmured her thanks and sank to its solid support. “That is a long time to be laid up.”
    “Tell me about it.” He punctuated the wry response with the same hitch of his shoulder as before, a fake casualness that masked the tension etched in his face. For the first time since she’d watched him unobserved from the foyer of the gym, Susannah allowed herself to study him fully from head to foot. He looked so straight, so strong, so healthy. She didn’t want to imagine the scale of injuries that would have kept him hospitalised for such an extended time.
    “You look fit now,” she said, when he caught her thorough inspection. She didn’t need details of those injuries, she told herself. She didn’t need to ask why his assistant had been so obstructively short with information. It was impossible to change what had happened and too late for regret. She needed to lighten the mood, to lift the crushing weight that had descended on her chest. “The punching bag I found you working over this