‘Right.’ She hesitated, removing her arms from around his neck, and as she did he was aware of a sharp jab of loss. She’d put her arms around him for security but it had felt…good. But she wasn’t thinking about the sensations he was feeling. She was doing some forward projections. ‘No one can see in. How do I know if I get in this car I won’t end up in concrete shoes?’

Enough. ‘Robert, help me put her in the car-with force, if necessary,’ he told his bemused chauffeur. ‘And open the blasted windows! Mafia… Good grief!’

Then there was the medical clinic-a personalised service only available to New York’s mega-rich. Peta was almost hornswoggled.

‘You just roll in here and someone sees you?’ They were waiting for X-rays and the chairs they were sitting in were luxurious leather. Gorgeous!

‘Of course.’

‘There’s no of course about it,’ she snapped. ‘If I’d had this when Hattie…’ She took an angry breath. ‘Could Charles Higgins afford this sort of place?’

‘If the rent he pays is any indication, of course he can.’

‘I’ll kill him,’ she muttered and sat back and glowered the entire time her leg was bandaged.

‘You’re lucky. It’s not broken but it’s still badly bruised,’ she was told by the attendant doctor. ‘Stay off it. The nurses will fit you with crutches.’

Fine. Obviously still angry and with Marcus silent by her side, she hobbled her way to reception. And grew angrier still when Marcus paid.

‘I can pay.’

‘I’m very sure you can’t,’ Marcus told her gently. ‘It was my fault. Let me.’

‘Money,’ she whispered. ‘It solves everything. As long as you can screw the world to get more of it.’

Then there was the little matter of her clothes. With Peta safely resettled in his mafia car, Marcus directed Robert to Fifth Avenue.

‘I just need a wash and I’ll be fine,’ she told him, but he shook his head.

‘No. Charles is never going to admit you into his office looking like this.’