Authors: Jennifer Jakes
“Can you talk?”
She nodded her head. “I’m fine.”
He surged to his feet, his face no longer worried, but angry and tense.
“Then by God, next time, do as I say. I told you to take the bed, and I meant it.” He turned and walked away, muttering about empty-headed women.
Her temper flashed. “Mr. McBride, this is your home.
You should take the bed.”
“Miss Monroe,” he mimicked. “You are a guest in my home. You should take the bed. My mother taught me manners.”
“Do tell?” she taunted.
He glared at her. “Just do what I say next time, damn it.” He stomped to the rug, dragging the troublesome blanket with him and flopped down on the hard floor. Then he sprung up on one elbow and growled, “A nd stop calling me Mr. McBride.” She slid under the covers and turned her back to him. Minutes passed while she tried to calm her temper.
Why had she even tried to be nice? Let him sleep on the floor. She didn’t care.
Yanking the blankets high under her chin, she whispered. “God, please let it stop snowing.”
****
Maggie crushed the pillow over her face. “Nettie, did you run up the stairs again? You promised to let me do all the upstairs work. You’re panting like a dog. What’s
—?”
Then she remembered. Not a dog. A wolf! A nd an angry, hateful man.
She tore the pillow from her face and bolted upright.
The room was empty. Well, Rafe was gone, anyway.
Wolf studied her from the floor.
The fire blazed, and coffee boiled in the pot. Rafe’s blanket and pillow lay folded on the foot of the bed. His brooding image flashed in her mind, and a tiny shiver raced through her. She didn’t like the way he made her feel. Restless. A chy. Unsettled. Her life was unsettled enough.
She yanked on her pants and boots, then felt the mangled length of her hair.
“Would you know where I can find a comb?” she asked Wolf.
The animal whined, then turned and lay in front of the fireplace.
“I didn’t think so.” She’d find it herself.
She walked over to the shelves that held Rafe’s personal belongings. His clean clothes lay folded on one shelf, three books underneath. A third shelf held shaving supplies—which he obviously never used—and, thank the Lord, a small comb.
A fter taming her knotted hair, she made the bed and washed her face before starting breakfast. The biscuits were already spooned out when Rafe came in with an armload of wood.
“Good morning,” she offered, determined not to let their argument last night continue. If the stubborn man wanted to sleep on a cold, hard slab, who was she to stop him? Once the snow ended, he could get back to his solitary life.
He grunted a belated hello.
Well, a night on the floor hadn’t helped his disposition.
“I’m making biscuits to go with the eggs this morning.”
Nothing.
“Do you have many hens, or should I conserve eggs?”
He looked up from washing his hands and frowned.
“There’s enough,” he muttered and grabbed the towel.
“Come here.” He led her to the back of the alcove, toward the earthen wall.
He pulled aside the tall shelf that held his clothing and books. Maggie gasped. Hidden was a sliver of a room, stacked full of supplies. He reached inside, dropped a slab of salt pork into her hands, then walked to the coffee pot.
Questions danced in her head. “Why do you hide it?” She watched his shoulders tense, and he huffed out a breath before answering. “When I’m gone, checking my traps, I don’t want someone to come in and steal it.” She nodded, then went to place the biscuits in the Dutch oven. A fter setting it on the coals, she shoveled a few embers on top of the lid. “Wouldn’t Wolf stop any thieves that came in?”
Rafe gave a frustrated sigh. “He goes with me,” he said before sitting at the table.
“Oh. Well, it’s a good hiding spot. You can’t see it at all.”
He glanced at her, then to the shelves. “I’ll leave them pulled aside, so you can get what you need to cook with,” he mumbled into his coffee.
She smiled. No doubt it almost killed him to string that many words together.
While she cracked the eggs, she glanced at Rafe.
Thick hair fell forward and hid part of his face. He stared into his cup, large hands wrapped loosely around the tin.
She quivered as she remembered those hands running over her body last night when he thought she was hurt.
The sensation, along with his musky scent on the pillow, had made her sleep fitful.
A nd some of the dreams she’d had…well, they were shameful. Erotic. Delicious. She’d been spread out on the table like a feast. Naked, with slices of ripe peaches placed over her nipples, trailed down her stomach. Rafe leaned over her body, trickling the sticky-sweet fruit between her legs, lapping the juice from her cunny. The feel of his warm tongue and rough whiskers on her tender flesh while he sucked and licked and licked—
Stop it!
She took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate on cooking. She didn’t want to think about Rafe. Or his tongue. Or any part of him. She sucked in another breath. She was leaving. Soon. Maybe the weather had cleared, and they could leave this morning.
When everything was ready, she fixed two plates, then pulled the rocker over to the small table.
He frowned, then stood. “You can have the table.”
“This will be fine. There’s room for both of us.” She set the plates down, and her leg brushed against his thigh. He flinched as if she had burned him.
“No, there’s not.” He took his food over to the hearth. “I can’t stand to be crowded, woman.” His voice held a desperate edge. “I like being alone.” The words stung like a slap. How dare he blame her for being here?
“Then you shouldn’t have brought me here. I didn’t ask you to.” She took a deep breath and clenched her fists. It would do no good to argue with him. “Let’s go now. I can be ready in five minutes. Take me to the fort, Mr. McBride.”
Cold eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “I can’t,” he ground out.
“Why?”
“Well, it sure as hell isn’t because I want you here,” he snapped and began to eat.
“Then why?”
He stomped over to the door and flung it open.
“Look for yourself.”
She walked closer, unable to believe her eyes. So much snow. She looked up into his hard face. “When?” He shrugged, then slammed the door shut against the cold air. “Can’t say.”
She followed him over to the fire. “Can’t or won’t?” She was so sick and tired of men controlling her life.
He spun to face her, his gaze narrowed. A ngry. Cold.
Had she pushed him too far?
She backed away, but stumbled over the chair. He caught her by the arms and held her tight. His hold wasn’t painful, just unyielding. Yesterday Rafe seemed like a gentleman, had saved her from a fate worse than death. Now, looking into his hard face, she wasn’t sure what he’d do.
She tried to pull from his grasp, and his anger seemed to fall away. He loosened his grip, but didn’t let go.
Hooded gray eyes darkened with lust. His gaze dropped to her lips. He tugged her closer until the heat from his body soaked through hers. He lowered his head, and his warm breath caressed her face.
Oh, Lord. He was going to kiss her. She shouldn’t want this. She was confused enough. Respectable women didn’t kiss men they barely knew, certainly not men who made them have wild, exotic dreams.
It was crazy. He was making her want crazy things.
Making her not give a damn about her reputation or her virginity. Or her long-awaited freedom. A ll she could think about was that dream, and the way his sinful mouth had felt. The table was only a step away, and honey was just as sweet as peach juice…
She swallowed hard and looked up into his hooded eyes.
“Maggie,” he groaned. “Don’t be scared. I’d never hurt you.”
Her mouth parted to object, but firm lips covered hers, hungry, demanding. She gasped, shocked at his hunger, but even more at the illicit response coursing through her. A n aching heat unfurled low in her stomach, pulsed between her legs. Oh, yes. It started just like in the dream.
He deepened the kiss, coaxed her lips with his warm tongue. Long, languid strokes teased the inside of her mouth, encouraging, tempting before he pulled back to nibble the corners of her lips.
Oh, God. Is this what all kisses felt like? Hot, lethargic? Melting her like molasses over warm bread?
“Kiss me, Maggie,” he breathed.
His words fanned her moist lips, spiking the desire spiraling through her body.
She slid her hands from where they rested on his chest to his strong shoulders, then tangled in his silky hair. She traced her tongue against his, imitating what he had done.
A groan rumbled deep in his throat. His callused hands pulled her closer until he rubbed his large penis against her mound. Need seeped from her cunny and dampened her pants. “Yes,” she moaned.
He jerked away as if struck by lightning, his eyes now narrowed in suspicion.
“Rafe?”
He slammed the door on her hesitant question.
Maggie dropped into the rocking chair and pressed shaking fingers to her lips, swollen from his kiss.
How had everything between them changed so quickly? They were ranting at each other, then they were kissing. She shouldn’t have let him touch her, but it felt so…good. Wonderful. Decadent. Nothing had ever made her feel like that.
A sliver of desire tingled through her body at the memory, and she blushed as her breasts started to ache again, her nipples tight. She knew what transpired between men and women. Nettie had explained years before. If only Nettie could tell her what to do now, what to do about a man who yelled at her, kissed her senseless, then stomped away.
Nothing. Nothing at all. It didn’t matter. She had to get home, and he was adamant she go.
They didn’t even like each other!
She shook her head. That settled it. It was just a kiss, after all.
Bolting from the rocker, she collected ingredients for bread. There were more important things to think about than kissing. Or the way her body melted against his, like wax sliding down a candle. She sighed and touched her lips again. It probably didn’t mean anything to him anyway. Nettie said men liked to kiss. For all she knew, Rafe kissed women all the time.
Maggie frowned and gave the dough a brutal punch.
Soon enough she’d be gone, and Rafe McBride could kiss whomever he damn well pleased. It made no difference to her. To hell with men! She’d had her fill of them. One way or another she would make a life for herself without the constant interference of the male species.
If Mr. Hastings would sell her art.
If Mr. Bouse could retrieve her inheritance from Michael.
If Mr. McBride kept his word.
She froze mid-punch as the truth sank in. Once again, the reins to her life were held by men.
****
Damn. He had only meant to reassure her, but once he saw the fear in Maggie’s eyes, his resolve crumbled.
True, he had acted like an ass, but he never thought her scared. Fear though, had been obvious on her pretty face. The shame of scaring a woman hit him like a cannon ball. Had he been absent from society so long he’d forgotten how to act?
No. He’d only wanted her to keep her distance.
Then I should have pushed her away instead of kissing her.
But he couldn’t. Drowning in her wide blue eyes, he’d needed to hold onto something. She had been the closest thing to him.
He had almost exploded when she bent over to put the biscuits in to bake. Those damn britches pulled tight against her ass, the seam buried in her crevice, made his dick heavy with need. He’d wanted to strip off those pants and bend her over the table. Drop to his knees and tongue fuck her wet pussy, then lick her sweet cream back and take her sweet ass hard and fast.
He groaned.
Stop it!
He kicked at a snow drift. It was her fault anyway.
She had no business kissing him like that. When she stroked his tongue with hers, his blood pounded through his veins, made his cock even harder. Like now. Hell. If he didn’t get rid of her, he’d have to stuff snow down his pants.
He stomped into the barn as a shiver racked his body. He had forgotten his coat. Damn it! She had him so twisted in knots he was losing his mind. His fingers shook as he raked them through his hair. Growling aloud, he grabbed the shovel. Who needed a coat? Hard work would keep him warm.
But what would keep him alive?