Susan Amarillas (17 page)

A pain in her back was the first indication that she’d fallen asleep in the chair. A quick glance reassured her that Andrew was, in fact, sleeping peacefully in his bed.

Flexing her shoulders and back, she stretched, yawned and stood, only to flex again. Bed, she thought, and, leaving the door to his room partially open, she headed for her room.

* * *

Luke was alone in his room—correction, Rebecca’s guest room. Yeah, that was him, a guest. He’d be leaving at first light. No sense prolonging the inevitable.

He thought about packing. Why bother? Packing for him was getting dressed and throwing a couple of shirts in his saddlebags. That took a whopping two minutes. Goodness knew, he was in no hurry to get back to his rooms over on Washington. Oh, they were nice enough, better than most, but they were just rooms.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stripped out of his shirt and kicked off his boots. The warming stove was working overtime, competing with the chill from the half-open window. The night air was damp and heavy. Goose bumps prickled the bare flesh of his back.

Everyone must be asleep by now. A smile teased his lips. That little guy was probably out like a light.

If Luke lived to be a hundred and ten, he’d always remember the look on the kid’s face as he emerged from that trunk, his ebony eyes wide with surprise and fear, his black hair all tousled.

A strange feeling moved through him, a lightness in his chest. It was a new feeling, yet not unpleasant, and he narrowed his eyes in puzzlement. That was the second time he’d felt that way. The first had been when he saw the boy for the first time.

He shrugged off the feeling and strolled over to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he peered out into the night, watching the stars twinkle and blink in the cloudless sky.

Shoulder against the window frame, he let his eyes drift closed and his mind wander. As always, his thoughts went to Becky. Tonight, in that alley, she’d been courageous and determined. He’d been damned proud of her. She was one to cross the river with, as the drovers said. Then, later, there by the front walk, when she hauled off and kissed him, he’d just stood there, ‘cause he was afraid he’d drag her into his arms and kiss her back and never stop. Yeah, he’d like that, kissing Becky and touching her, feeling her exposed flesh slid against his as they—

His eyes snapped open, and he shifted uncomfortably at the sudden swelling in his loins.

Abruptly he straightened, letting the curtain fall back into place. It was a good thing he was leaving tomorrow, he told himself firmly as he crossed the room. Yeah, a real good thing, because she’d made it clear that she had no more feelings for him. That kiss tonight had been merely a thank-you, nothing more.

He grimaced at the truth, his hand unconsciously curling into a fist. “Ouch.”

Glancing down, he saw a half-dozen splinters embedded in the fingertips of his right hand. Souvenirs, he thought wryly.

Fishing in his saddlebag, he found his small sewing kit. Sliding a needle free of its paper holder, he sank down on the bed near the side table and turned up the lamp.

“Ouch,” he muttered again, digging at the offending sliver.

The first splinter poked its head up enough for him to grab it with his teeth and spit it out. A drop of blood glistened ruby red on his fingertip, and he wiped it on his pant leg.

Next.

“Ouch,” he muttered again, a little more intensely this time. Working with his left hand was about as awkward as trying to pick up eggs with a snow shovel.

“May I help?” a softly feminine voice said, and he knew without looking that it was Rebecca. There was no other voice that caressed his senses quite so easily.

His heart lurched, then took on a slow, heavy rhythm. Turning his head, he let his gaze travel across the carpeted floor to where she stood in the partially opened doorway.

Her black riding skirt was badly wrinkled and its hem caked with dirt, and her usually stiff-fronted blouse was opened at the collar and her sleeves were rolled up. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was tousled, loose tendrils curving provocatively around her face. She looked like a woman who’d just roused from sleep, or just made love. His heart slammed against his ribs.

Erotic images flashed unbidden in his mind, those same images he’d banished not ten minutes ago. His throat convulsed and, for a full five seconds, he stared at her, willing the images and the sudden hot reflexes of his body to still.

He wasn’t having much success.

“Please, come in,” he finally returned, when he was certain his voice would work.

Rebecca didn’t move. About the same instant she spoke, she’d realized he was sitting there half-naked. She saw his tight, corded muscles flex and stretch as he moved slightly. She should look away. She should
go
away.

She stared right at his chest, at the black hair that arched over each nipple, then plunged down his chest to disappear into his waistband. It was uniquely male, and provocative beyond reason.

Her gaze flicked to his face, chiseled and heart-stoppingly handsome, with a wicked look in devil-black eyes.

She should never have come to his room. But she had seen his light on, and she’d wanted to thank him, that was all, she told herself—not quite as convincingly as she would have wished.

Caught up as she was in the nearness of him, the voice of reason was faint, but it was insistent, screaming
Run for your life.

She didn’t. Closing the door, she crossed to him and sat down beside him on the bed, sinking a little into the feather mattress. It was madness, this attraction to him. Insanity, to give in to the sudden surge of longing. But then he smiled at her in that knowing way of his, and the first tremors of desire stirred deep inside, warm and inviting. She could no more leave than she could stop breathing.

Not trusting her voice, she simply took his hand in hers. He had nice hands, she thought, long, graceful fingers. She remembered those same fingers touching her, brushing seductively across her cheek, caressing her neck. In another time, those hands had stroked her body, heating her flesh...

“Is the boy asleep,” he asked, startling her.

She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Is he all right? I mean
really
all right?”

“Thanks to you.”

He lifted his hand free of hers to cup her chin, and he looked at her with eyes as black as midnight fire. “You scared the hell out of me, running out in front of me like that.” It was the kindest of rebukes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” he told her with a half smile. “I’m sorry, too. Sorry you had to go through that, and especially sorry you had to see me...kill a man.”

She heard the sudden sadness in his voice, saw the regret in his eyes. It surprised her, this remorse. He’d seemed so calm that she’d thought he was unaffected. She could see now that she’d been wrong, and the need to console him made her say, “You had no choice. He would have killed us both if you hadn’t—” Her voice broke as the reality tore at her insides.

“Shh, honey. It’s all right.” He kissed her cheek, ever so lightly, and brushed the hair back from her face.

It felt nice, his kiss, the way his lips caressed her skin. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. The fears she’d controlled all evening would no longer be denied. “I thought they were leaving,” she told him through a muffled sob.

“I know.” His gaze never left hers as he lifted her hand and kissed her palm. It was a provocative gesture that soothed and excited her at the same time.

“When...when they didn’t bring Andrew, I thought he was—”

He stopped her words with the touch of two fingers to her lips. “Don’t.” His eyes brimmed with tenderness and passion.

“What about tomorrow, and the next day, and the next? What about sending him off to school, or out to play? Can I be with him every minute, every second? I want to keep him locked safely in his room until he’s twenty-five, maybe longer.”

Luke chuckled. “Princess, I wish life were that easy.” He kissed her palm again, leaving her flesh warm and moist, making her heart rate increase by half.

“All you can do is take precautions, warn him to be careful, and then—then you have to let him go. You have to trust.”

For reasons both obvious and vague, she trusted Luke. At least for tonight, this moment in time, she trusted him completely. Knowing that, feeling that, she leaned her head into the curve of his shoulder, taking solace from the warm smoothness of his bare skin against her cheek. His strong arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her tight against him.

It was wrong, she thought in the dim recesses of her mind. Wrong to be here with him. Wrong to touch him and be touched. Wrong to linger. He was dangerous, more dangerous than even he knew, and yet she could not deprive herself of his comforting strength.

She stayed that way for several seconds, letting his steady heartbeat drum away the fears and rage of the past few days, and perhaps even longer.

“A year from now—” she felt his breath caress the edge of her ear, tiny shivers of delight raced down her neck “—this will seem like a bad dream. As though it never happened. You will have forgotten all about it...and me.”

There was note of sadness in his husky voice that touched her heart, and, without thinking, she said, “You’re not an easy man to forget.”

She felt, more than heard, him chuckle. “Why, thank you, Princess.” He kissed the top of her head in a familiar way that made her crane her neck and press her face into the side of his neck. He smelled like leather and musk and felt like salvation to a lost soul.

She let her eyes drift closed, lost in the enticing nearness of him and the soothing effect his touch had on her exhausted nerves. At last, she looked up. He was watching her with a slow, easy smile that she understood all too well.

“Becky,” he whispered, his fingers tightening perceptibly on her shoulder. She was so beautiful, so close. If only she’d stop looking at him with those luminous blue eyes of hers, he might,
might,
have a chance of not kissing her.

Being here, with her in his arms, was too intimate, too seductive. The door was closed, the night was still, and a parade of erotic fantasies was flashing in his mind, hotter than a lightning strike.

He hated what she’d been through, hated that he hadn’t been able to do more for her. He wanted her to know this. “I’ll always be here for you, Becky. You know that, don’t you?”

Rebecca was lost in the depths of his soft, knowing gaze. Her heart fluttered in her chest like the wings of a frightened butterfly, yet she was not frightened. No, she had never felt as alive as she did right now. Nerves that had been frayed with exhaustion now pulsed with anticipation. A forgotten longing stirred deep within her, heating, swirling, reaching out to enfold every part of her.

She knew he was going to kiss her. She could see it in the passion that sparked in the depths of his eyes. So it was no surprise when his hand moved around to cradle the back of her neck.

The world stilled, as though poised in expectation. There was no sound except the uneven pounding of her heart.

Her eyes fluttered closed an instant before his lips touched hers. It was the barest of kisses, a tasting, a testing. He lifted his head. His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes, as though he were seeking an answer to an unspoken question.

Her lips parted, perhaps in reply, perhaps in surrender—she’d never know, because he covered her mouth again, fully this time, completely. It was not a gentle kiss, it was harsh and fierce, as though he were claiming what was rightfully his.

She should have been outraged. She should have denied his claim. But her body flared to life like a skyrocket, white-hot and riveting.

There was nothing but the lush sensation of his mouth on hers. His arms drifted down to her waist, pulling her tighter against him. Her hands glided up his arms and slid around his neck, her fingers dug into the firm flesh of his back, and she clung to him, giving herself up to the rapidly increasing desire.

At the first touch of her lips on his, desire exploded in Luke like a gunshot. Everywhere their bodies touched was on fire. He was acutely aware of her fingers curling, nail-sharp, into the top of his shoulder. Tendrils of her hair caressed his face, like a temptress’s touch, which heated his blood. He turned toward her. His fingers dug into the fabric of her blouse, feeling the stiff bones of her corset. God, how he hated corsets and clothes and anything else that kept him from having her. And he did want her. He wanted her so much that, with expert ease, he pulled her blouse from her waistband. Swiftly his hand moved toward the row of buttons that held the blouse closed.

Is this it, Scanlin? You gonna seduce her? You gonna take advantage?
Her earlier accusation came back to haunt him.

With steely determination, he tore his mouth from hers. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest. He still held her in his arms, unable to release her completely.

He looked at her, her eyes dilated, her cheeks flushed, her sensual lips parted in a provocative way that was making this magnanimous gesture of his damned difficult, maybe impossible.

On a husky whisper, raw with emotion, he said, “You take my breath away.”

The logic that had guided Rebecca’s life was strong.
Stop this! Stop this now!
Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat. “I should go,” she said, but her muscles refused to work.

Uncertainty flashed in his eyes, but then his mouth curved up in a tantalizing smile that sent her pulse rate higher than a kite on a summer wind. “I like seeing you like this,” he said. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his finger sensually tracing the rim before gliding, feather-light, along her jaw.

Delicious shivers prickled down her neck. Her eyes drifted closed as she reveled in the sensation of his touch and the heat that was building in the core of her. “Like what?” she murmured, only half-aware of what she was saying.

“Like this,” he repeated in a hushed tone, touching her open collar. He let his hand linger there while his fingers slid inside to brush the sensitive, swelling mound of her breast.