Wild Is the Night (4 page)

“Great, this is just great. The stew’s burned. Dammit, what kind of a woman are you? Can’t you do anything?”

Amanda stammered as he poured out two bowls of burned, awful smelling stew. “I can do a lot of things,” she answered furiously.

“Yeah, so I see.” Luke flopped down in his chair and pushed the burned stew at her in disgust. “You’d better eat this; it’s all we’re liable to get. Christ.” He forced down a mouthful of food, then drank some whiskey to eradicate the taste.

Amanda, still shaking from the rat, took a bite of stew. Trying to act as if everything was fine, she swallowed the stuff, then choked on the pungent taste. She grabbed the whiskey bottle, heedless of his grin, and took a long pull. Hot liquor tore its way to her belly, making her gasp in surprise, then the sensation died, leaving her feeling warm and fortified.

“I thought you were against alcohol,” Luke said.

Amanda shrugged and replied absently, “’A man lives by believing something; not by debating and arguing about many things—’”

“Stop it,” he interrupted angrily.

“What?” Amanda peered at him from behind her thick glasses.

“That. I don’t care what someone else says, I want to know what you think.”

“I…don’t know.” For the first time in her life, Amanda was at a loss. She couldn’t think, couldn’t reason, couldn’t take her eyes from the southerner who was sitting across from her, staring at her with those captivating blue eyes, challenging her instead of running away.

“I’ll tell you what I think, and it isn’t some damned quote. I think the political system is a sham, that Shakespeare wrote all his own works, and that Carlyle was the worst excuse for a coward that this century has produced. I think Dickens overrated, Twain under-acknowledged, the South should have won the war, and that Tocqueville was a prejudiced French bastard. I think the frontier theory a farce, and that one man killed Lincoln.”

“Is that all?” Amanda choked, stunned by the force of his statement.

“No.” He came to stand beside her, his hand slipping through the knot of her hair, releasing it to fall around her shoulders. “I think a man should make love to a woman by starting at her toes, and ending up at her neck about three days later.”

The color drained from Amanda’s face. She stared at him in disbelief, even as he continued to play with her hair. She had been wrong about him, dead wrong. He had at least as much education as she did. Yet somehow, it was exciting and stimulating, to be challenged by this man. Taking another sip of the whiskey, she stared at him thoughtfully.

“I think you’re wrong about Dickens. His work has a lot to say about our values, but it is often overlooked because he has popular appeal. I think Carlyle is brilliant, and I agree with you about Twain. But how can you say that about the democratic system? And the frontier theory?” She flushed with passion as she leaned forward, her strange eyes glittering with emotion. “Don’t you agree that American democracy was shaped by man’s struggle with the wilderness? And that the contest eliminates class distinction and ensures equality?”

“No, I don’t agree.” Luke shrugged, fascinated by the flush of hot color that came to her face, and the sparkle of her eyes as she distractedly removed her glasses. “I think other factors are overlooked.”

“Such as?” Amanda taunted.

Luke smiled, releasing a lock of hair he had been caressing. Without her glasses, she really was pretty. And the fervor he heard in her voice made him wonder just how much passion she reserved for anything else. His hand fell to her shoulder and began to rub it, loosening the tension in her upper arms.

“I think the change in the work force will have more of an impact.” Luke noticed her color deepen as he continued to caress her, but she didn’t stop him. “I also think the frontier community is not as classless as it’s assumed. Take the railroad.”

“The railroad!” Amanda laughed shortly, barely aware that his hands had moved lower, and that he was massaging all of the tightness from her back. “But that’s the classic example of man conquering the environment. East unified with West. Man working with man, equal and the same, triumphing over nature.”

“Equal?” Luke snorted. “Who do you think actually did all the work? Those fancy investors back east, who made a mint selling railroad stocks? Or the poor, the unemployed, the immigrant Irish and Chinese, who sweated their brains out laying tracks through deserts and mountain passes for a lousy two dollars a day? Some equality.”

“They had a choice!” Amanda protested, appalled by his reasoning. She felt his hands move to her neck, stroking the tight muscles there and forcing her to relax. “They didn’t have to take those jobs!”

“Really?” Luke asked in amusement. “And where else would they work? They couldn’t find anything out east, or they wouldn’t have left. I’m sure you’re familiar with the gate theory. Three immigrants for every job. As long as they’re lined up, waiting at the gate, they’ll never get ahead. Never get a raise. Never be equal.”

“You’re advocating socialism?”

“No, I’m pushing reality. Let’s call it what it is, and not sugar coat life with dead theories and romanticism. Naivete never benefitted anyone.”

“Who are you calling naive?” Furious, Amanda stood up, finding herself in the gunslinger’s embrace. She was so angry, she hardly noticed. “I graduated with honors. I’d hardly consider myself uninformed.”

“Well-read, maybe. But you’ve got to look past the books, sweetheart, and make up your own mind. Dead philosophers and political ideologists are also not out working on the train tracks.”

“That’s totally illogical,” Amanda said, stunned that he’d attacked her precious philosophers. “How can you say such things?”

“It’s easy.” Luke slid his hands around her waist, tortured by the feel of her in his arms. She felt even better close, her body squirming against his, her skin like satin beneath his rough fingers. “You’ve got to judge for yourself. Like this.”

Somehow, he was kissing her, his fingers tangled in her hair, his other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her still. The passion of their argument was transformed into a heat between them that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with feelings. Luke eased his mouth from hers, then buried his face in her neck, tasting her, touching her, unable to get enough of the feel of her soft skin and her innocent, mindless response.

Amanda gasped, allowing him to caress her, liking the surprising contrast of his gentle manner with the sandpaper roughness of his fingers. No man had ever touched her like this before, like she’d read about, written about, and imagined. It was better than she had thought; confusing and exciting at the same time. When his hand moved from her throat down to her breast, lightly cupping the round fullness in one hand, she could feel her heart flutter against his fingers. Her face flushed hotter, and she struggled to regain control, to stop all this before things got out of hand.

“The frontier theory…” Amanda whispered breathlessly.

“Right. The frontier theory.” Leaning closer, Luke kissed her into silence, then let his mouth trail along her cheekbone and throat. He had expected a fight, and instead tasted a desire on her lips that equaled his own. Her pulse throbbed against his tongue and he heard her unmistakable gasp of passion as his mouth brushed enticingly against the intricacy of her ear. Physical pleasure, heightened by intellectual fencing, was an intoxicant that apparently neither one of them wanted to resist. Luke wondered if all college women were like this, and decided it wasn’t a bad idea to educate a woman after all.

Amanda sighed, reveling in the warm feeling of his body close to hers. For the first time in her life, her mind deserted her, and she didn’t care. The room grew hotter, the candle flickered, and Amanda could only think of the incredible sensations that raced through her, the feeling of this man’s lips against her. His hand returned to her breast, his thumb lightly grazing the sensitive nipple, arousing her, introducing her to an entirely new level of feeling. Amanda fought with the logic that told her this was ridiculous, then with the feelings that urged her young body to take what he was offering. Having denied herself all the normal experiences that most girls took for granted, she had no defense against his seduction, and absolutely no desire for any. She wanted to live, to touch, to be held, loved. She wanted him. It was as simple as that.

Yet her mind rebelled, even as she urged his mouth back to hers, answering him in an instinctive, ageless way, without words. She couldn’t do this. God, but she wanted to. His hand reached up behind her, effortlessly undoing her buttons and releasing her from the prison of her clothes, the dress, the tightly laced corset, then finally, her shift. Conflict gripped her as he pressed his mouth to her soft flesh, making her breath stop short and her knees weaken. She was standing within his arms, holding onto him for balance as his tongue teased her, drawing sensual patterns against her breast. His mouth closed upon a nipple, sucking powerfully, making her gasp in surprise and pleasure. Shock tingled through her as his mouth moved lower, his fingers artfully exploring her body, sweeping down past her slender waist and thighs, then touching her there, where she was throbbing and aching, wanting him…

“It’s all right,” he whispered soothingly, lowering her to the floor. But it wasn’t all right. The whiskey churned in her stomach, the burned food rose like bile in her throat, and her nervous reaction, fostered by indecision, made her body tense. When he tried to enter her with his fingers, she pulled away from him, her face reddening in embarrassment, her eyes wide and stricken.

“What is it?” He attempted to draw her back into his embrace once more, but she pulled away, resisting the intoxication of his kiss.

“I can’t.” She fought to explain, for once completely incapable of speech. She saw the confusion in his eyes as he raised his hand to touch her, but she flinched as if afraid, then struggled for words, mortified beyond reason. “I…I’m going to be sick.”

Luke stared at her in disbelief as she choked, clapped a hand over her mouth, then rushed to the waiting bowl on the counter. She was definitely sick.

Chapter
  
3
  

Luke couldn’t believe it. No woman had ever done this to him, not even when he was much younger—fourteen to be exact, and learning about love from the giggling Hamilton twins who’d lived on the outskirts of Charleston. But Amanda wasn’t teasing him or playing coy. Her face lost much of its color, and even as he watched, her eyes became as glassy as glazed china. Luke stood behind her, helpless as Amanda violently retched.

“You all right?” He moistened his handkerchief and pressed the cool cotton to her face, then to the back of her neck. Amanda nodded, more embarrassed than ever. Luke helped her to a chair, and she practically pushed away from him, eager to forget the entire humiliating incident. Collapsing into the seat, she wanted to die, to forget that this night had ever transpired, to dissolve into eternal sleep which had nothing to do with the seductions of ruthless gunmen.

“Please, just go,” she whispered brokenly, resisting as he tried to make her more comfortable. Ignoring her protest, Luke covered her with a linen tablecloth that he found in a drawer.

“Look, I just want to be sure you’re okay.” He lifted her face, growing annoyed as she rejected his help once more.

“I’m fine. Really. Now will you please just leave me alone?” She picked up her glasses and replaced them on her face, glaring at him with that oddly piercing stare he’d seen too often earlier.