Christmas Male (10 page)

Miles's knees buckled at the sight of the naked woman bathed in the mellow glow of candlelight. Wow. His brain stalled, every thought faded away and he stood there, paralyzed. He knew he ought to follow the intruder down the hallway, but he couldn’t make his feet move. Mainly because all he could see was Maggie—soft ivory skin, water sluicing over the curves of her full breasts and hips. Wow, wow, wow. His jaw dropped, his blood stilled in his veins. He hadn't seen anything like that since, well, since forever.

He'd never seen anything so beautiful or sensual. In the heartbeat it took for her to react, she crossed her arms over her rose-pink nipples and sank back into the water, hoping to disguise her nakedness. Really, there was no point to that because the image of her remained emblazoned in his mind, so vivid and amazing and provocative he was never going to forget it. Not ever. He could be ninety years old and not know his name, but this, he would always know. Always and forever.

"Who was that?" she demanded in a shaky voice, the water sloshing over the rim of the tub. "That wasn't another member of your family you keep in the attic or something?"

"Huh?" He blinked several times, tried to purge her gloriously naked image from his mind, but no luck. He tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but no luck there either. Something about an attic? His pulse began to thud, deep in his chest, hard in his groin. Right, he thought. The intruder.

"No," he choked out, his brain crossing onto the right track. Of course he was befuddled. Any man would be. He cleared his throat, hoping she wouldn't know about the throb in his, er, groin. "There shouldn't be anyone else in this house. I'll be back."

"He's probably long gone by now." She sounded doubtful. "Good thing I wasn't in mortal peril."

"True. My reaction time needs improving." His
physical
reaction time, he thought, shaking his head. His sexual reaction time was just fine. He tossed an apologetic look her way as he closed the door and bolted down the hall, intent on finding who'd broken into his house.

And he had a suspicion who. It was just a matter of getting his hands on the rat. As Miles pounded down the hallway, he heard the faint sounds of water sloshing as she moved around in the tub and that brought back that image of her naked. Damn. Desire tingled on his skin and the low, deep throb in his, er, groin intensified.

Just concentrate on finding Chester, Miles told himself. It could only be Chester, he reasoned. Sure enough, he found an upstairs window wide open in one of the empty bedrooms. Bitter-cold air and snow whirled into the dark room and began falling to the imported carpet.

Furious, he slammed the window shut, frowning, hands fisting, protective rage rising up like a fire in his chest. No sense going out after that drunk. That tree outside would be a tough climb down in this weather. It would be easier to go out the kitchen door and follow his trail from there.

Or, easier yet, just to pay him a visit and make it clear Maggie was off limits. A few choice words and the threat of violence ought to do the trick. The Collins brothers were nothing but lazy cowards, when you got down to it. They preferred easy targets, and that's one thing Miles would make damn sure of—Maggie would be no target. Not while she was in this house and under his family's protection.

"Oh." A soft voice filled the room, echoing along the walls. "Part of me had hoped I was just imagining someone there. I knew it wasn't true, but it was better than being scared. I mean, I was in my bath. It's a private moment."

"I know." He grimaced against those tantalizing images—soft skin, mesmerizing curves, the water damp on her thighs. He swallowed hard, his throat feeling way too tight, and he fought to gather his self-control before he turned around.

Somehow she was even more beautiful wearing his old robe with her blond hair tied up on her top of her head, little gossamer wisps tumbling down to frame her heart-shaped face. The navy blue terry robe engulfed her, hiding her delicate frame and spellbinding curves, but he remembered them well, oh yes, he really did.

A painful knot gathered in his chest as he watched her clutch the edges of the robe more tightly around her and give the sash a tug to draw it tighter around her slim waist. The robe's hem fell to her mid-thigh, showing a good length of her lean, perfect legs. Dainty knees, slender calves, sweet ankles and bare feet. He groaned, imagining those long legs wrapped around his hips, imagining how he could take her right here against the wall, pull that robe aside and feast on her breasts—

"Why aren't you going after him?" She bit her bottom lip, looking vulnerable. Then she planted her feet, bracing them apart, like a woman settling in for an argument.

Hell, he knew that stance far too well. That was one thing Bethleigh had loved to do. Argue. He grimaced some more. "Not in this storm. Don't worry, he's gone. I'll deal with it in the morning."

"But you don't know he's gone, do you?" She spun around, the hem of the robe twirling around her legs as she stalked into the hall. "He could still be out there. Let me put some clothes on and I'll help you catch him."

"You'll help me?" Miles' boots thumped in the hall behind her. "Little you? How are you going to do that?"

"I have no idea, but I'm stronger than I look." She whipped around the corner and reached for her doorknob. Only to realize the door was already open, just a bit, but definitely not the way she'd left it. A sick feeling crawled into her stomach. "Were you in my room?"

"You know I wasn't. I was in the barn all evening." He came to a stop beside her, towering over her, immense and powerful. Intensely male.

She realized just how much, standing beside him, naked beneath the robe. She felt vulnerable and small compared to his brawny strength. She shivered deep inside...and that shiver felt more like a thrilling sensation deep in her pelvis.

I'm attracted to him, she realized, tipping her head back to gaze up at him. The dark shadowed him, tossed his profile in silhouette. His very large hands splayed on the door and gave it a shove and she shivered again, wondering what his touch would feel like on her skin.

"Someone was in here." He sounded grim, terse, his wide shoulders rigid. There was a clink of glass and the snap of a match flaring to life as he lit a nearby lamp. "He was going through your things."

Her jaw dropped, taking in the scene. The satchel she'd left on the beautiful chaise by the window was sprawled on its side, her petticoats and dresses scattered across the green upholstered cushion. Her reticule lay beside it, the contents strewn about—letters, hair pins, a brush and her empty money purse. Shocked, violated, she took a hesitant step forward, relieved to find the little bit of money she had on her was still here. Robbery hadn't been the motive, she realized.

"Don't worry, I'll deal with this." Miles ground his teeth together, muscles bunching along his jaw. He looked fierce, muscles cording, hands fisted, rage radiating off him like fire. "I'll have some choice words for the man who did this. He won't dare set eyes on you again."

"Thank you, Miles." Chills broke out on her skin, creeping up her arms and down her legs, digging into her spine. "I don’t understand why someone would do this."

"I do. I think it was Chester. He got drunk enough so he lost whatever common sense he owns and thought he'd help himself to his new 'wife.'" Miles stepped close. His solid arms came around her, drawing her into his granite chest.

Ka-thump,
went her heart. A shiver quaked through her, hard and deep as she leaned into his heat, leaned into his iron-solid strength. Nothing had ever felt so good. Liquid heat spilled into her bloodstream. She'd never been more aware of the man—the dark growth of whiskers on his jaw, the pleasant, masculine smell of his skin, the faint, fast pulse of a vein in his throat.

Oh, yes, she was attracted to him. Very. At least judging by a primal thrum low in her body, a thrilling breathlessness. She wanted to nestle against him so they were close, body pressed against body and lay her cheek on his shirt. She wanted to feel the strength of his arms hard and tight around her. But he released his hold on her and rocked backward, as if burned. As if he'd just realized what he'd done, trying to comfort her. He'd let her get too close.

"Go back to your bath and relax," he ordered over his shoulder as he marched into the hallway, back straight, perfect shoulders tensed, big hand fisted. "I'll deal with this, don't you worry. Forget it ever happened."

"But—" She tried to argue but he was already gone. She stood in the hallway a little forlorn, not realizing she'd followed him out of the room, and wrapped her arms around herself. He turned the corner and disappeared. Finally the heavy, angry thump of his boots striking the floor faded, leaving her feeling empty and unsettled.

Go back to her bath and relax? After this? She shook her head, not sure if she was more bothered by the intruder's audacity to walk in on her in her bath or by her strong attraction to Miles.

Because yes, she was definitely attracted to him, she thought as she padded down the hall to the necessary room, and that was clearly one colossal mistake.

Damn Miles, that rich, useless bastard. The man in the shadows shifted, peering through the trees to get a good look at the back of the McClintock's estate. He gritted his teeth, furious he'd almost been caught. He still wasn't sure if the girl or Miles had recognized him. Even in the dark, veiled by snow, he pulled his hat farther down over his forehead, snapping with rage. He'd been too impatient to get his hands on her. He should have waited until everyone was asleep.

Next time he wouldn't make that mistake.

Movement flashed in front of the lamplight shining in the kitchen window. Someone was coming. Adrenaline spiked through him and he raised the revolver he held in one hand, thumbing back the hammer and aiming it at the back door—just in case. If Miles knew his secret, then it would die with him. He stood waiting, heart pounding as the lean-to door opened and a shadow slipped outside. For a brief moment, Miles was silhouetted by the light in the kitchen behind him, pulling on his gloves as he closed the door. Then all went dark.

This was the moment of truth. But Miles wasn't searching for any tracks in the snow. No. He strode straight to the barn. A few minutes later he emerged on the back of his big bay gelding, riding hard, taking the road north and away from town. He was racing off in a mad fury to the Collinses, he thought with surprised satisfaction. That meant Miles and the girl hadn't recognized him.

Excellent. He smiled, lowering his gun. He'd come back tomorrow morning and try again, only next time he wouldn’t be so impatient to get his hands on that pretty little Maggie—all soft skin and feminine delight. He patted the bottle of chloroform in his coat pocket before winding his way through the trees to where he'd left his horse.

Miles was so angry, he didn't feel the brutal sting of the snow or the pounding of the wind beating against the front of him as he rode Big Jack down the narrow lane through the forest. Snow scoured his face, the brutal wind nearly knocked him off the gelding's back three times. It was stupid to be out, and no one but the Collins brothers would do it. Anyone else had too much common sense.

Not sure what that says about me, Miles thought, as he scrubbed icy snow from his lashes, struggling to see the neighbor's shack through the dark and the gale. It ought to be around here somewhere. Blizzards were deadly, but then again so was his mood right now. It was surprising the snow didn't melt the instant it landed on him. He felt as hot as Hades, as powerful as an erupting volcano. He clenched his hands, aching to teach Chester Collins a lesson on how you treat a lady, especially one as fine as Maggie. But that would have to wait. He had to find the cabin first.

There it is.
He felt the wind easing—he had to be in the wind shadow of the Collins' home. He dismounted, groped around until he found something to tie Big Jack to (a sturdy shrub).

"I won't be long," he promised his horse, who didn't complain, standing stoically with his head up and ears pricked, as if he understood the importance of the mission.

No, this wouldn’t take long, Miles thought as he stomped around the structure, kicked open the front door and burst into the little front room of the two room house.

In the glow of a single lantern, the three Collins men (including Pa Collins) looked up at him in stunned, drunken surprise. Delbert, the youngest of the group, lounged in a dilapidated chair, scratched the top of his head and belched. Lester, slumped on the floor with his head propped on a flour sack, blinked, too inebriated to form any words, although he gave it a good try. He opened his mouth, tried several different shapes and movements with his lips and tongue before giving up. He laid his head back on flour sack and sank into a drunken snooze, snoring loudly.

"What's the trouble, Miles?" Pa Collins asked as he took a pull from a nearly empty whiskey bottle. Looked like he hadn't shaved in at least a week, or combed his rat's nest of graying hair. Judging by the smell of things, he hadn't bathed in at least twice, maybe three times as long. Pa Collins slunk back tonelessly in his rocking chair.

"Where's Chester?" Miles demanded, out for blood.

"Don't know," the old man answered, tipping his head back and the bottle up. He drained it in four long pulls, the sharp ridges of his Adam's apple working beneath loose skin.

"Here I am." A man crossed the threshold. Chester was coated with snow, his muffler iced to his face. He reached up to try and pull it loose, but he didn't get that far.

"You piece of shit." Miles struck without thinking. His hand fisted of its own accord, his arm jabbed, and the power behind the punch was automatic. Fierce, but just. His gloved knuckles slammed into Chester's nose, snapping his head back with a thud against the wall. Chester stumbled, hands flying up to his nose. Blood was everywhere.

"What the hell!" Chester stared at him with confused, bloodshot eyes. "What was that for?"