Authors: Tracy Sumner
"Just us, you mean." He gave his hat another twist. "No, um, no committee of darned women or anything like that."
Savannah smiled, feeling the hook sink deep in Hyman Carter's hide. "No committee, no reporters, no further rallies.
If
, and I do want to stress the determined nature of my pledge,
if
changes are made." Sliding her writing materials into her reticule, she spanked the end of her parasol on the floor and rose, shaking her skirt for good measure. "Soon, of course, though I'm sure that's unspoken. We can't have women going into that factory for much longer with conditions as they are today."
Zach's gaze found hers.
You're winning; no need to kill the man
.
"Thank you for meeting so promptly, Mr. Carter," she offered as he stomped past, huffing like a steam engine in overload. "I enjoyed it tremendously."
Turning her head, she smiled as she passed Zach on the way out, proving she could be gracious when the situation called for graciousness.
"Whoa, Irish, where in the world do you think you're headed?" Kicking the door shut, he took two steps back and propped his bottom against it, crossing his arms to further the intimidation. His wide-legged stance, the way he held himself in perfect balance, told her he wasn't about to forget their negotiation.
A sizzling burst of heat lit her stomach and rose to her face in seconds while she decided that she, wine, and Zachariah Garrett didn't mix. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."
He grinned, gesturing with his elbow to her face. "Oh yes, you do. That flush in your cheeks tells me you know exactly what I mean."
"I've decided to renege on my offer due to your unscrupulous practices."
"Unscrupulous?" He puckered his lips and seemed to think on that. "Oh, oh, yes, I see. Because I didn't let you chew poor Hyman up and spit him out like a piece of gristle, I wasn't being honest." His gaze drilled into her, and it lacked all the rosy promise of a moment before. "You think because I talk slower than you do that I think slower? Irish, you've got an awful lot to learn about people."
"I can't help if I object."
"Object to what?"
"To your brazenness and your indolent grins, to your unhurried answers and your pointed observations. To your assumption of rightfully being in charge, even if you rightfully
are
. To the dreadful nickname Irish." She also objected to the slim fit of his trousers and the way he left two buttons on his shirt unbuttoned, allowing a patch of crisp black hair to show. And why did the hair on his head always look as though some woman had been running her hands through it? It was also a shade longer than was fashionable.
However, she was charitable—he didn't have a wife—so she would omit those grievances.
Laughing softly, Zach pushed off the door and headed for her, his stride listless when she knew it, knew
him
, to be anything but. She glanced around, drawing her parasol before her like a sword.
"Only one door, Irish. Better for keeping prisoners in, you know."
"Am I a prisoner?" she whispered.
Gripping her wrists between the fingers of one hand, he lowered the parasol and let it drop to the floor. The other hand rose, tilting her head until she couldn't help but stare into his face. "Do you want to be my prisoner, Miss Connor? Seeing as I know the town constable so well, I could probably make arrangements."
The blood beneath her skin heated to such an extent that Savannah feared her veins would melt. "I'm not sure... what I want."
His pupils expanded at her words; his eyelids slid low to hide it. His fingers traced her lower lip, her jaw, the rim of her ear.
"What are you doing?" she murmured on a soft sigh.
"I'm beginning the negotiation process."
She closed her eyes and helpless, slid into his touch. "
This
is negotiating?"
"No," he said, a hot rush of air sweeping her lips. "This is."
The kiss wasn't slow this time. Or lackadaisical.
Or hers to control.
After debating with the man all morning, she understood his motives. He'd set out to prove a point. His mouth shifted, settled...
persuaded
. With regard to what, she didn't hope to comprehend.
She simply let the blossoming fever spread.
He had her
.
Though it wasn't fair the tactics he used, he recognized this. Nor was it fair that he counted the seconds. But, damn, was it fair that Savannah Connor presented every temptation known to man, and a couple of new ones besides? Unholy, that's how wonderful she tasted. Warm and welcoming. Lush. One part saint and two parts sinner.
Zach breathed her in, her scent potent enough to scatter thought
and
purpose.
Forty-five. Forty-five seconds more.
Cupping her cheek, he deepened the kiss, drawing her tongue into play, teaching her what he liked and trying, from the way she moaned, to record what she did. If this went on longer than a minute—and, oh, he wanted it to go on longer than a minute—he would lose his advantage.
Forty-five was the most he could promise and hope to come up for air with any sanity left.
Savannah sighed into his mouth and jerked at her arms, seeking to bring them closer. Or escape. He held tight, careful not to hurt her. He couldn't allow her to press herself to him as they had for long moments the previous evening. And he sure as heck wasn't letting her go. Not yet, anyway. Already the soft heat of her threatened to make him forget whatever the hell it was he'd been about in the first place.
In spite of his efforts, he lost count, delaying for a final suckle to her lower lip and a lingering series of kisses to the nape of her neck.
He was shaken when he released her, though he hid it well. Holding her at arm's length, he found her glittering green eyes with his, the naked hunger he prayed to God his own concealed spilling forth from hers. He turned away from that searching gaze, knowing that in a minute or two, his voice would return to normal and her fury would lock firmly in place.
It didn't take even that long.
"Damn you, Zachariah Garrett," she seethed, striding around him and placing herself in his path. "You can't kiss me every time you want to make a point. That isn't what I meant by negotiating."
Skirting her, he dropped into his chair, indicated the one on the other side of the desk with a nod. "Last night, I asked if you knew what you were about. You have no idea. Hell, I'm not sure I do, either."
"You have a better idea than you let on," she muttered and reached for her parasol. He'd been hoping she would leave
that
on the floor. Glancing back at him, Savannah tapped her weapon against her thigh. "You won't play me for a fool like you do everyone else."
"What's the harm?"
"The harm is that every person I've stumbled upon in this pitiful excuse for a town thinks you're second in line to inherit God's kingdom. It's 'Zach this' and 'Constable that'," she mimicked in a sing-song voice, waving the parasol around like a wand.
"Call Zach if you can't find a room, Miss Connor. Stop by the Constable's office if you need help ordering books for the school, dear. Zachariah is better at telling you what a nasty rash is than any doctor." Releasing an unladylike snort, she flounced into the chair. "Did you happen to let them in on the fact that you're a ruthless mediator, skilled enough for any court I've ever been in,
and
a flesh-and-blood man to boot?" She tapped his desk with her weapon, three hard whacks. "I emphasis the word
flesh
."
Snatching the parasol from her hands, he leaned across the desk and drew a leisurely circle on her knee with the tip. "Look at you sitting there, practically spilling out of that chair. You're not a lady underneath all that bluster, are you, Irish?"
She batted the parasol away. "You're not an adorable angel underneath that wholesome-father facade, are you, Constable?"
He held the smoldering look until his lips began to tingle, until his body stirred inside the crotch of his trousers. Savannah's chest rose and fell in an escalating rhythm, telling him she was as affected as he. His arm quivered with the compulsion to touch, with her damned
umbrella
, the puckered nipple he could see faintly jutting through her crisp white shirtwaist.
If the office door had been locked, he was frightened by what he might do.
Had he ever admitted his true, somewhat tarnished nature? Could he really be
honest
with someone? With that someone being a woman?
"I won't marry you even if we get caught buck naked in the middle of one of your blessed rallies," he said, figuring that was as good a place as any to start. He would not stoop to tricking Savannah into whatever it was they were starting. The lady had to be willing. "It's nothing personal. I just won't. Leave it at that."
She released a little shiver and scooted forward in her chair. "Naked? Will we be naked?"
"I don't rightly know, Miss Connor. The way things are progressing, it's certainly a possibility."
"Hmmm...." Stapling her hands behind her head, she arched her back, drawing his eye and a tortured sigh he couldn't contain. Her brow puckered, then smoothed as she gained a bit more perspective into the weak nature of men. "Stipulation accepted."
"Don't think about telling Ellie, either."
She slapped her hands on her knees, almost coming up out of the chair. "I would so love to enlighten the world—that being Pilot Isle to you—about what a lascivious, shrewd bastard you really are. But I won't. Because of Rory, I would
never
."
Zach threw back his head and laughed until his eyes teared. "Lascivious, shrewd bastard? Some time, Irish, you gotta tell me where you learned some of this very unladylike language. I hate to mention this, but any scandal would do you more harm than it would me."
Sighing, she plopped her bottom back in the chair. "No talk of the past. Or the future. That's my stipulation. Don't ask me questions, and I won't ask you any. Be whoever you want to be when we're together. Call yourself Jack, for all I care. Then we'll disappear into the sunset, each in our own direction."
What if I'm excited about being Zach Garrett for the first time in a long time?
, he wanted to ask, but that was more than he could reveal to a woman he didn't quite trust not to shoot him with his own bullets. "Accepted," he said instead.
"And stop calling me
Irish
. Make that another stipulation."
Wiping his eyes with his shirt cuff, he halted her with a raised brow. "Whoa, hold on, there. I thought these things went point for point. Sorta' like tennis, isn't it?"
"Well, yes, certainly. An unusual analogy, although acceptable. You know that quite well, from reading numerous legal texts, if my guess is correct." She flicked her fingers regally. "Fine then, don't you have another stipulation tucked away in that dusty jar atop your neck? I'm not too fond of your charming nickname for me, that's all."
"Am I to seduce you while calling you Miss Connor, then?"
Her eyes blazed, pupils expanding. "
Savannah
will do," she said, moistening her lips with her tongue.
He came around the desk in a fury, grasped her by the arms, and jerked her from the chair. "I've more experience playing this game than anyone thinks, true, but not so much that I can promise to control what I'm feeling for you." He brought her up against his body, allowing her to feel his aroused state for the first time. "It's been years since I've kissed a woman's breast, sucked her nipple into my mouth and tasted heaven. I want that with you. Hell, I want
you
, maybe more than I've ever wanted anyone, even Hannah, bless her soul."
She blinked, clearly dazed by his admission.
"Am I wrong in thinking you feel the same?"
"Would I have to feel the same?" she asked, glancing at the hands wrapped tight around her.
Or would you force me
? Her unspoken question.
He hauled her a step closer. "You would have to feel the same."
In response, she smiled, beautifully, sweetly.
He almost wanted to believe there
was
an affable woman hiding inside this temperamental one.
Almost.
There's one way to start finding out, he thought, and lowered his head.
The doorknob jiggled, and Zach released Savannah so abruptly that they both stumbled before gaining purchase. A warning look was all he had time to issue before the door opened and his brother Caleb walked in.
"Zach, that damn door handle is about to fall—" Caleb's eyes widened at the sight of Savannah, standing in a puddle of liquid sunshine, looking fresh and untouched in her pink skirt and stripped shirtwaist.
She looked as pretty as a picture, Zach begrudgingly admitted. A lioness with her claws sheathed.
Caleb bobbed his head in apology and ripped his hat from his head, his hair flying into disarray. "Beg pardon, ma'am. I didn't know a lady was present."
Behind Caleb's back, Zach's brow rose.
Savannah sniffed. "It's quite understandable," she said and walked forward, her hand out. "I'm Savannah Connor, a friend of Elle's from New York."
Caleb glanced at Zach, shifting from one foot to the other. He had obviously heard plenty about the volatile Miss Connor from every man in town already. Finally, with a teasing smile, Caleb grasped Savannah's hand, brought it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Never accept a handshake when you can get a kiss, Savannah Connor."
A slower-forming grin than Zach's, lips not quite as perfect, teeth not quite as straight. But he was handsome. And big. Solid. He looked pleasant, like a lovable grizzly bear. She frowned at Zach over his brother's shoulder. Caleb was definitely the most charming Garrett of the bunch.
Caleb gave her hand back with a flourish, laughing as he turned to Zach, who rested against the jail cell, thumbs hooked in his pockets, his boot resting on the metal bars behind him. A deliberately casual pose when she could see energy flowing just beneath the surface.