Into the Woods (10 page)

He'd never known a woman like her; that was an understatement. There were lots of pretty females in the world, and he'd known his share. More than his share, to be honest. Money would do that for a man, he'd found, though Matilda seemed not to care at all for the fortune he'd made. She wasn't the prettiest woman he'd ever met, but there was something about her... something as hard to grasp as the charm of this strange cottage. Perhaps they were both enchanted.

Matilda Candy said what was on her mind, she smiled with her heart, captivated him with her eyes. Those brats had said if he kissed her she'd turn him into a toad. And at the moment, that was a chance he was willing to take.

"Where's the break in your fence?" he asked as he stepped toward her.

For the first time since he'd met Matilda, he surprised her. She jumped and spun around, her eyes widening. "You're early," she said accusingly. "Again."

He grinned and held his hammer and a small bag of nails aloft. "I came to fix your fence, ma'am."

She recovered from her shock quickly, and showed him where the fence was damaged.

The white wooden fence that surrounded her garden was high and sturdy. Tall posts stood solidly at each of the four corners. Three slats ran the course of the enclosure, and in many cases a plant growing near the edge twined around and over and through the white strips. In four places, the slats had come loose and fallen. Matilda said they were victims of her boisterous neighbor children, who liked to climb the fence and occasionally jump up and down in excitement or terror.

Declan mended the fence while Matilda returned to her garden and the flowers she picked so carefully. He tried to keep his mind on the chore at hand, but it was a rather easy task to repair the fence, and Matilda was so damned close that there was no way he could put her out of his mind. Hell, he didn't want to put her out of his mind, not yet.

"Surely you have chores to do at the old house you bought," she said sweetly. "Why, last time I saw that place it was practically falling down. Thanks to the Yankees," she added in a lowered voice.

"I've hired several men to see to the repair of the house," he said, holding a slat in place and positioning a nail. "There's no need for me to get my hands dirty when I'm paying someone else good money to do it for me."

"Why is it that you'll get your hands dirty fixing my fence," she said, finding a sturdy spot a few feet down and climbing up to sit on the fence in question. "But you won't do repairs on your own newly bought home?"

He didn't want to tell her, but the place he'd bought didn't feel like home. Sometimes when he walked through the empty, cavernous rooms, he was certain it never would. "Can't you just say 'thank you' like a normal person?" he asked.

He glanced up to see her smiling brightly, one leg swinging gently to and fro. Her green skirt swayed, and he caught a glimpse of not only a slender ankle, but a small portion of shapely bare calf as well.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He brought the hammer crashing down onto his thumb.

* * *

Declan Harper not only fixed her fence, he insisted on chopping wood while she finished picking flowers and then pulled a few pesky weeds from around her beloved roses. Matilda didn't try to stop him; she used a lot of wood in her brick oven, and splitting logs was hard work.

Kneeling on the ground and pulling up weeds by the roots, she kept one eye on Declan. He'd taken off his shirt and hung it over the fence he'd just repaired. When he lifted the ax, muscles bunched and rippled. When he swung down, they did it again, only differently. My, he is a fine figure of a man, Matilda thought as she stopped her chore to simply watch for a moment. He tried to pass himself off as a businessman, but it didn't quite work. He was too raw for the staid life of a merchant, too powerful. How could he ever be content sitting around sipping brandy and discussing the price of cotton and the weather? No, he belonged... he belonged here, chopping wood and mending fences.

"Silly girl," she muttered as she returned her full attention to her chore and yanked up a nasty-looking weed. "He belongs in a fancy house with a dozen servants and that hussy Vanessa Arrington at his side."

She made short work of her weeding, gathered the basket of blooms for the hair pomade she'd make in a couple of days, and made her way to the well. She'd worked up a sweat in the garden, so it was a blessed pleasure to take a cloth and dip it into the bucket of well water, to wipe her face and her throat. She closed her eyes and wiped off the back of her neck, appreciating the feel of the cool cloth on her hot skin. That done, she washed her hands, and then sat on the side of the well to wash the garden soil from her feet.

Vanessa Arrington probably had a hundred pairs of shoes. Kid boots and satin slippers, footwear in every color and fabric imaginable. Matilda wiped a bit of dirt from her ankle. What was wrong with her! She'd never before wished for shoes. She had a sturdy pair of walking boots, and she didn't need shoes for anything else. She was always so grateful to get out of her boots after a trip to town. Vanessa Arrington probably had corns and blisters and ugly, crimped toes. At least, Matilda hoped so.

Matilda suddenly realized that she hadn't heard the crack of splintering wood in a few long moments. She lifted her head and looked to where Declan stood, leaning on the ax the way a fine gentleman might lean on his cane, a huge pile of wood at his side. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"You might want to clean up before coming inside," she said, noting the way his skin shone with sweat and a few strands of dark hair stuck to his forehead and his neck. "I'll get you a clean cloth."

She used the excuse to escape into the house for a while, to catch her breath and calm her heart and remind herself why Declan Harper had come to her.

By the time she stepped back outside to hand him the small towel, her mind was clear. Well, she thought as she saw him standing by the well waiting for her, clearer than it had been. Declan wanted Vanessa, and he'd paid the local witch well to make sure that he would have her. That sad fact was the sole basis for their relationship.

Why was she so sure there was more than that between them?

"Maybe I should feed you," she said as he dampened the cloth and put it to his sweaty face. "No one's ever chopped wood for me before," she added. "A meal seems like the least I can do."

He raked the damp cloth across the back of his neck. "To be honest, I'm starving. It's been a long time since I spent an entire afternoon doing physical labor." He grinned as if he'd actually enjoyed chopping wood.

With sweat and a smile on his face and mussed dark hair falling over his forehead, he took deep breaths that made his bare chest rise and fall. To Matilda's eyes he looked much more natural in this state than he ever had in a fine suit of clothes. He didn't squirm, he didn't stand so stiff and tall he might've been made of stone. He looked... content.

"I worked up quite an appetite," he added.

When he lowered the damp towel to his chest, Matilda spun around and headed for the house. What had come over her? She couldn't very well stand there and watch Declan Harper bathe!

"Dinner won't be fancy, but it'll be ready shortly," she said calmly.

Maybe if she fed Declan well he wouldn't look so hungry, so needy... and then maybe she'd be able to dismiss the nagging notion that what he really needed was her.

Chapter 7

When Declan was well-fed, and she'd cleared most of the supper dishes away, Matilda fetched a small tin from the shelf nearest her rocking chair. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened the box and revealed to Declan a dozen small pieces of hard candy.

"No thanks," he said, peering down at the contents. "I don't care for dessert." He patted his flat stomach and smiled. "You fed me too well."

The meal had been simple, but she'd made sure he had plenty to eat: ham, bread, fried potatoes and onions, and greens from her vegetable garden. He'd eaten the way a man was supposed to eat; like he savored every bite and couldn't get enough.

"This isn't dessert," she said softly. "This is your new love potion."

He smiled, apparently taken with the idea of the new form; a golden hard candy shaped like teardrops. "What's in it?"

"Many spices, including the Jamaican ginger I bought on Friday. Honey. The finest sugar." She cut her eyes up to meet his. "And a secret ingredient." She closed the tin and handed it to him. "It's perfectly safe."

He lifted the lid she'd just closed. "But will it work?"

"You'll have to try it and see," she said. "I'm sure Vanessa will be thrilled when you show up with candy. Sweets for the sweet," she said dryly. "If it doesn't work, you've lost nothing."

He shook his head and reached in to take one sweet between two fingers, to hold the small piece of hard candy up and study it with narrowed eyes. He even turned it this way and that as if looking for imperfections.

"Unacceptable," he finally said in a low voice. "We're going to have to test this one the way we tested the first."

She didn't know whether to be horrified or excited at the prospect. "That's not necessary."

Declan held the candy to her mouth, his long, warm fingers right there against her lips, his hand steady. Matilda reluctantly but obediently parted her lips and allowed him to place the small piece on her tongue. The ginger gave her a jolt, tingling on her tongue as the candy began to melt in her mouth.

"You next," she said, unwilling to go through this torture alone.

Declan waited as she took a piece of the candy between two fingers. She offered the small sweet to him, but instead of taking it from her, he ate the candy right from her hand, closing his lips over her fingers and sucking it into his mouth. His lips barely touched her flesh, but still she shivered.

She saw the surprise in his eyes as the ginger prickled his tongue.

Last time they'd tested a potion, they'd cautiously sat far apart, studying and waiting, approaching the experiment from a purely scientific point of view. That was surely the only proper way to conduct such an experiment; from a distance. Matilda knew she really should sit in her rocker, remove herself from Declan's immediate presence, and wait for something extraordinary to happen.

But it was too late. Something extraordinary was already happening. The tingle that had started on her tongue spread through her body like wildfire. She felt, so clearly and warmly, the place on her fingers where Declan's mouth had briefly touched her skin. She still felt the brush of his fingers against her mouth.

She looked up at him, met his stare. His eyes burned the way her soul did, with dark fire. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch his harsh face, to trace the line of his jaw and the outline of his lips. She wanted to push back that strand of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead, then trail her fingers over his face. Much as she wanted to, she knew she couldn't touch, but she could stare; and she did. My, he was so handsome.

She should look away, she knew this, and yet she couldn't force herself to do so. More than that, she didn't want to. The love potion gave her an excuse to stare boldly, to think of wicked things best left unthought.

"This one works fast," Declan said softly.

"Yes, it does," Matilda agreed in a whisper. Why deny what she felt? Why pretend she didn't look at him and feel something wonderful? Something powerful, and knee-weakening, and truly magical. Under this spell, there was no reason to pretend, no reason to hold back. "You were wonderful today," she said with a smile. "I watched you, a little," she confessed. "You're very... strong. Very handsome."

"Do you still want to taste my neck?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"More than ever," she whispered.

She licked her lips. He clenched and unclenched his fists in a way that proved he wanted to reach out and touch her the same way she wanted to reach out and touch him.

He looked slightly pained, and more uncomfortable with every passing heartbeat. "I watched you, too," he admitted. "A little. You're very... seductive. Very pretty."

She raised her eyebrows in real surprise. No one but Granny had ever told her she was pretty before, and she knew darn well she wasn't seductive. "My, this is a powerful concoction."

"Yes, it is."

She had to tilt her head back to look at Declan, but she boldly did so. Ah, she loved his face, so hard and sweet and sharp at the same time. Hard and sweet and sharp, like the ginger candy that melted on her tongue. At any other time she would've felt compelled to turn her head, to call on her decorum. To blush and lower her eyes. But the potion, and the experimental nature of their taking of it, gave her permission to look her fill.

"It's becoming very difficult," she said, "not to kiss you."

He swallowed. Hard. "I know what you mean."

She felt free to tell him everything. Anything. "It's like a compulsion. No, not a compulsion, but a necessity. Like breathing, or the beating of my heart."

"Maybe we should," he said softly. "Kiss. For the sake of the test, of course."