Anita Mills (22 page)

He had to escape, to tear his thoughts away from her. “No, you just stay put. I’ll be back in a minute with it. Then I’ll pack up what I need for morning and get out of your way. All you’ll have to do is lock the door, put on your nightgown, and crawl into bed. Once you get that whiskey down, you’ll sleep like a baby,” he promised. “Word of a Mor—” He caught himself before he got it out. “Word of a McCready.”

“I don’t know …” she murmured, eyeing the cup doubtfully.

“I do. There’s not enough in there to hurt you.”

As the door closed behind him, she felt uneasy, even vulnerable. Chiding herself for being a silly creature, she drank again. Now the heat of his whiskey was diffusing through her body. No, as long as she had Matthew McCready with her, she was safe. Another sip went down, warming her clear to her toes. She was in his room, and they wouldn’t come, back to look for her here. She didn’t have to worry about anything right now.

Drinking absently now, she mulled him over in her mind. He wasn’t nearly as dangerous as she’d once thought, she decided. When that dark hair of his was rumpled, when those brown eyes were sleepy in the morning, the way they’d been at Seth and Sarah’s, he looked like a big, overgrown boy waking up. It wasn’t until he was shaved and dressed that he turned into the shrewd, sophisticated gambler. Her mother had been wrong, she mused. Not all handsome men were dangerous.

With all that kerosene on the floor, he had to be careful where he struck the match. Groping his way around the bed, he felt on the floor for her carpetbag until he found it. He ought to just take the whole damned thing to her. Then she’d have what she needed, and he wouldn’t be running his hands through frilly drawers and corset covers.

The prim, yet practical Miss Verena Mary Howard. When he’d seen her standing on that steamboat deck, he’d thought her the prettiest girl on this side of the Mississippi, and nothing he’d seen since had changed his opinion. It was a pity he hadn’t met her in New Orleans. He could have dressed her up in the finest silk taffetas and brocades, the best Belgian laces and silk slippers. In his mind, he could see her turned out like the most exquisite belle in the state of Louisiana. But she wasn’t that kind of girl. She wasn’t the kind a man could love and leave. She was the quicksand kind—the respectable sort who had a man caught before he knew it. The kind a man wanted to settle down with after he’d finished sowing his oats elsewhere.

But he was flat broke and on the run. And a helluva long way from wanting to settle down anywhere. His fingers felt the soft cloth, the tucks and lace on what had to be a real fancy pair of drawers. Yeah, those were legs, all right. Stuffing them back into the carpetbag, he mused wryly that he wasn’t half as dangerous as she was. Yeah, when it came right down to it, it was respectable women like Verena Howard who held all the right cards. And while he was a gambler when it came to long odds, he wasn’t ready to play the permanent game. Not for a long time.

Pulling the carpetbag up, he felt it lighten, and he realized he hadn’t closed it. Leaning down, he swept the floor with his hands, scooping up her clothes. As he straightened up, he could smell the faint scent of lavender on them, and the fragrance was more powerful than the heavy perfumes that designing women in his past had used to saturate everything from their corset covers to their love letters. He stood there for a moment, savoring the soft, clean smell of the lavender, then he shoved everything into the bag, this time closing it.

By the time he returned to his room, she was leaning back in the chair, resting her head against the wall. Her empty cup was beside her foot. Her. eyes opened when he set her carpetbag on the floor.

“I spilled everything out of it, so it’s all kind of jumbled up in there,” he admitted. “But come morning, you’ll be able to get a better idea whether I missed anything or not.”

“Yes.”

“I guess I could’ve looked harder, but I didn’t want to light a match while I could still smell kerosene,” he managed diffidently, trying to smile. “I didn’t think Holmstead would want me to burn the place down.” He was too close to her again, almost like a moth to the flame, and she didn’t even know it. “You’re awful quiet,” he chided.

“You were right about the whiskey, Matt. I think I got used to it.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Like I don’t have any feet.”

“Like, you don’t have any feet?” he repeated, perplexed.

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“There’s just me up here—I’m floating around up here in my head.”

“You’re dizzy?”

She regarded him owlishly. “No.” Lifting the cup languidly, she waved it. “But I’ll take a little more.”

She wasn’t drunk. The full power of the liquor couldn’t have hit her yet, but she was obviously beginning to feel some of it. “If I give you any more, you’ll hate me in the morning. Right now, you’ve had just enough to make you sleepy.”

“I don’t want to go to bed.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Just to sit here and be happy,” she answered solemnly. “I never got to be happy, you know. Never. Or not since Papa left, anyway.”

“Rena, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were drunk.”

Leaning forward, she rested her chin on her hand. “It’s hard to watch when somebody’s love turns to hate, McCready,” she mused slowly. “It’s hard to watch dreams disappear. You have dreams, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t—not anymore, anyway. I’m never going to know why he left, McCready. I’m just going to go back to Philadelphia and be a teacher until I die.”

“There are worse things, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. I don’t know anything except that I’m never going to live. I’ll probably wind up just like Mama, only I won’t even know what I’ve missed. I’ll just teach other people’s children until I die. That’s all I’ll do, McCready.”

He looked at the cup, calculating how much he’d given her. About three good shots, and it had been too much. “You’d better go to bed,” he said gently, reaching to help her up.

She got to her feet, but she swayed unsteadily. The torn shoulder of her gown slipped, and his breath caught almost painfully in his chest.

“God, Rena—” It didn’t even sound like his own voice.

“I don’t want to be like that, but I can’t help myself.”

She took another faltering step before he caught her, and then she was in his arms. His hand slid down her back, smoothing her chemise over her otherwise naked body, and while some small voice in his mind told him he’d be sorry in the morning, the enticing fragrance of sweet lavender, the warm musk of damp skin flooded his senses.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured thickly.

Time seemed to stand still as he bent his head, his breath caressing her skin warmly, his mouth brushing hers. As her lips parted slightly, his arm tightened around her shoulders, holding her close. She could feel the heat rise in her body everywhere it touched his. Ignoring every warning her mother’d ever given her, she twined her arms around his neck and returned his kiss.

Matt McCready’s strong masculine body against hers was far more potent than his whiskey. His hands moved ceaselessly over her back, over her hips, molding her to him, tracing fire over her skin as if there were no cloth there. She was hot, breathless, and drowning as his tongue teased, then possessed her mouth. No dream, no thought could ever have prepared her for the powerful, heady, giddy feeling overwhelming her now.

She’ll swallow you up like quicksand.
The warning reverberated through his mind, but he was beyond listening. All he knew was that her woman’s body was as hot, as eager as his. Tonight he wanted to drown in it, even if he had to pay the piper tomorrow.

Tearing his mouth away from hers, he traced breathless kisses along her jaw to her ear. Then as she twisted her head, he found the soft hollow of her throat. A low moan welled deep within her, rising under his lips, asking him for more.

It was as though every inch of her body was alive to his touch and, yet, while it was his hands, his mouth, his body pulling her into the maelstrom of her own desire, she felt the power of answering his demand for more. There was no yesterday and no tomorrow. Only now.

The nipples of her breasts were taut, pressed against his chest. While one hand gathered her chemise upward toward her hips, he found the shoulder with the other, slipping his fingers beneath it, working it down over her arm. Still kissing her hot, damp skin, he backed her toward the bed. Bending his head lower, he found the button of her bare nipple with his tongue. Gasping, she cradled his head, and her hands worked ceaselessly, opening and closing, caressing his thick hair.

Desire raged, pounding his blood through his body like a drumbeat, echoing in his brain, tautening his manhood. Every fiber of his being felt it. He was going to find ecstasy within her or die. His hand moved upward, over her satin-smooth thigh to her hip, feeling her flesh quiver beneath his touch. It was
now,
his body told him.

He eased her against the bed, bending her over it. Her leg touched the siderail, then she fell backward into the depths of the thick feather mattress. Her eyes flew open with the suddenness of her fall, and she saw Matthew McCready unbuttoning his bulging pants above her bare thighs. The awful realization of what she was doing hit her like cold water.

One moment she was lying there nearly naked, her hair spilled over his pillow, her exquisite body promising him heaven. Then her eyes widened in horror, and she was rolling away, scrambling for the other side of the bed as if Lucifer himself were after her. As her feet hit the floor, she pulled the top of the chemise up and pushed the hem down at the same time, trying to cover herself. And while her breasts heaved as she gulped for breath, her beet-red face told him she was mortified beyond words.

Struggling between his raging desire and the realization that she’d come to her senses, his mind fought for control over his rebellious body. He wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing. If she hadn’t stopped him, he would have taken advantage of her, then repented come morning. Combing his disordered hair with his fingers, he knew he had to make amends somehow.

“Look, Rena … I … God, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean …”

She swallowed. “Don’t say anything—please.”

Wincing, he waited for the accusing torrent to hit him.

Instead, she turned the invective inward. In her mind, she’d played the part of a shameless, utterly wanton hussy. Beneath her educated and respectable facade, she’d discovered a sinful, lustful creature. She couldn’t face him, not now. Not ever again. Hot tears burned her eyes, then spilled over as she closed them. Her arms crossed over her breasts, her hands clenched, pressing herself to stop her shaking, she almost couldn’t put her shame into words.

“Dear Lord, what you must think me,” she choked out.

“Don’t, Rena—”

“But whatever it is, it cannot be worse than what I feel.”

He could see her throat move as she swallowed again. “Look, it’s not—” Hell, he wasn’t making it any better. “Things just got out of hand,” he managed.

“Go ahead, say it. I’m no better than a harlot. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

Her reaction cut worse than if she’d shouted or cursed at him. The last vestiges of his desire gone, he wanted to reach out, to hold her again. “It’s all right, Rena,” he said softly. “You’re not a harlot—don’t even think anything like that.” When she didn’t move, he took a cautious step closer. “I should’ve known better.”

“You do not know—you cannot know—” The tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “It was me,” she cried. “I was liking everything until … until—”

“So was I, but it’s over. Nothing happened.”

She started to turn away, and he was afraid she meant to run, that he’d never get another chance to make things right with her. Reaching out, he touched her arm, turning her back. His other hand stroked her hair lightly, smoothing it back from her temples. Looking up now, she stood as still as if she’d turned to stone beneath his touch:

“Please don’t,” she whispered.

She felt cold to the core now. As brittle as if she could shatter like glass under his gaze. He couldn’t let her go like that. His arms slid around her, holding her unyielding body closer, and in that moment, he wanted to curse the way women were raised. That it was Eve’s sin, not Adam’s. Pressing her head against his shoulder, he fixed his gaze on the long shadow of the bedpost climbing the wall.

“Listen, you were supposed to like it,” he said gently. “The only things wrong about it were the man, the place, and the reason. If I hadn’t given you the whiskey, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she said, her voice muffled.

“No. I might lie about a few things, but that’s not one of them.” Leaning back slightly for a better look at her, he lifted her chin. “You’re a pretty girl, Rena—a damned pretty girl. The kind a man wants to come home to. But I’m a rambler, and I’m not fool enough to think I could be anything else.”

“No.”

“So let’s just put this behind us. Lay the blame on me and the Tennessee mash and go on. I won’t let this happen again, I promise.”

It was all she could do to nod.

Dropping his hand, he bent to pick up the empty cup. “Go on—get to bed. Otherwise, you won’t want to get up when morning comes.”

“Yes, we have to catch the stage, don’t we?”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he wouldn’t be going, that he was too broke to buy breakfast, let alone a ticket to San Antonio. “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that in the morning. Right now, you need your sleep.”

The awful thought that maybe what had happened had ruined everything, that maybe no matter what he’d said, he was disgusted with her, crossed her mind.

“Matt, you’re going to be here, aren’t you? You aren’t going anywhere, are you?”

There was no mistaking the anxiety in her voice. “Yeah, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere, Rena.” Walking to where he’d laid his gun and holster, he picked them up, then decided, “I’d better leave these with you.”

“What about you?”