Magnolia Dawn (8 page)

The women he'd known in the past had been as brash, as confident in their sexuality, as he. They'd taken the initiative in matters of the heart, going after whatever—or whomever—they wanted.

Anna was neither brash nor confident when it came to her sexuality. She kept herself, her emotions, in check; she guarded her thoughts and feelings as carefully as a mother guarded her newborn.

But this afternoon she'd been honest about what she felt in his arms. She hadn't tried to hide or pretend; she'd allowed her guard to slip away and reveal the woman she really was.

Until she'd run.

Lightning streaked across the sky above him; thunder rumbled behind it. Rush tipped his face toward the dark sky. The storm grew closer yet remained just out of reach, its passion held uneasily in check. The charged air was unnaturally still with waiting, the night unbearably hot.

Rush slipped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and returned his gaze to Ashland. Unrelieved desire still clung to him, as heavy and hot as the night air. He wanted her still, with a ferocity that had him wondering just what the hell was happening to him.

He wasn't a stranger to women or sex. He'd learned long ago that he was a passionate man, one who enjoyed women and one whom women enjoyed.

Still, what he'd felt with Anna had been different from anything he'd ever known. It had been unexpected and cataclysmic; it had left him stunned.

And behaving like an untried boy.

Rush swore. He'd frightened her. He'd gone too fast, had ignored instinct and acted on passion. And she'd bolted. Rush flexed his fingers, the memory of the frantic way she'd pushed at his chest, of the terror in her eyes, eating at him.

It had been as if she'd feared “No” wouldn't have been enough to stop him, as if she'd feared he would have taken her against her will.

He swore again. Had he been that aggressive, that out of control? Or was it just that she didn't trust him?

Why should she? He'd lied to her. He'd come to Ashland under false pretenses, on a mission that had nothing to do with her.

And one he would complete, no matter the consequences.

Even as a thread of guilt curled through him, he thought of his trips into town at night and on his days off, thought of the questions he'd asked about the Ames family, their history, their friends.

Rush frowned. He'd found out almost nothing, and the few things that had looked like they might be leads had fizzled quickly. He was no closer to discovering the connection between himself and the music box than he'd been at the start.

And at this moment, he didn't give a damn about that. He wanted Annabelle in his arms.

She moved across one of the front windows, a slim dark silhouette against the rectangle of light, and arousal kicked him in the gut. He remembered how her breasts had felt in his palms, remembered the sound she'd made as she arched against him, remembered the way she'd parted her lips and offered him her mouth.

He should leave this alone. He should leave her alone.

A breeze stirred, deliciously cool against his damp skin. It lifted his hair and rustled the leaves above. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The storm wouldn't be denied.

Rush closed the distance between him and Ashland's front door. When he reached it, he pounded on the door and called her name, pounding again when she didn't immediately answer. He tried the knob; the door swung effortlessly open.

She stood just inside the foyer. She wore a sleeveless cotton blouse. Unbuttoned at the neck, it revealed the graceful column of her neck, the swell of one breast. She'd pinned her hair up with a large clip. Her skin, smooth and milky white, gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat. Tendrils of hair had escaped the clip and clung to her damp skin.

Her eyes on his were dark with longing, her lips soft and slightly parted. Her chest rose and fell with her agitated breathing.

She wanted him. Just as badly as he wanted her. But she was afraid. He saw her fear as clearly as her arousal, and he sucked in a deep, steadying breath.

If he didn't go slowly, she would bolt again. She might, anyway.

He took a step toward her. “We need to talk.”

She shook her head. “I don't want to talk. Please leave.”

“What happened this afternoon, Anna? What did I do that caused you to run?”

She curved her arms around herself. “Go away.”

“I can't.”

“Or won't?”

“Same thing.” He took another step. “What caused you to run like that? Were you afraid I would…force myself on you?”

“No…yes…” Anna shuddered. “It was a mistake. I didn't want—”

He caught her gaze, refusing to let it go. “But you did want, Annabelle. We both know it.”

She shook her head. “No, I…”

A shocking flash of light rent
the sky, followed by a crack of thunder. Blackness engulfed them.

Rush struggled to get his bearings. He heard Anna's quick intake of breath, heard Blue whine and scratch against a door somewhere upstairs.

Without his sense of sight, his others were heightened. He smelled the sweet flower of Anna's perfume and the scent of her sweat. And he felt her presence—her heat, her energy, the quiet intensity that was Annabelle Ames.

He'd never experienced a sensation such as that before, and he swore softly as his eyes began to adjust.

“Blue's trapped in my bedroom,” she murmured. “He's afraid of the thunder. I have to get him.”

“You have candles?”

“Yes.”

“I'll help you.”

“I don't think—”

He reached out and caught her hand. “I'm not going to hurt you, Anna.”

She met his eyes. “How do I know that?”

“I guess you're going to have to trust me.”

“That's a big leap of faith you're asking for.”

Especially from someone who's been burned so badly in the past.
Rush saw that truth in her eyes. Anger at whoever had hurt her charged through him, and he took another step closer to her. “I've given you my word, Annabelle. I won't hurt you.”

Anna hesitated. Blue whined and scratched again, this time frantically. Outside, the storm intensified. Somewhere in the house a shutter came loose and began to slam against its window frame.

Trust him? How could she trust him when just looking at him made her long to throw her doors wide and step fully into the storm?
Anna caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Rush was a stranger. He made her uncomfortable and on edge. He brought forth memories she'd rather stayed locked away.

And he made her feel, made her ache. He made her want to do things she'd been too uncertain to do before.

And he made her afraid. Of failing again. Of proving to herself once and for all that she was less than a woman. Of feeling the way she had this afternoon in his arms.

And of never feeling that way again.

“Anna?”

“The candles are in the kitchen,” she muttered, her heart beating out of control. “I'll show you.”

She started for the kitchen; he followed. There, she took a dozen candles and holders from the pantry. He helped her light them, and she took great care that their fingers didn't touch, even jerking away and burning her hand once.

“I'll get Blue,” she said, selecting a candle. “See if you can find the loose shutter.”

She reached her bedroom in moments. As she opened the door, Blue lunged at her, almost toppling both her and the candle. She squatted beside him and petted him. His whole body quivered with fear.

“Poor baby,” she murmured. “Whatever happened to make a big, brave dog like you so afraid of something so little bitty? You can't live in Mississippi and be afraid of rain, Baby Blue.” She rubbed his chest and he whined, this time with pleasure. “It's just not natural.”

“Anna?” At the sound of Rush's voice, Blue picked up his ears. “All's secure down here. Do you need me to come up?”

She glanced involuntarily at her bed, ghostly white in the darkness. She could imagine them on it, naked, writhing. Her hand began to shake, so badly she feared she would drop the candle.

She squeezed her eyes shut. What was happening to her?

“No,” she managed, her voice high and breathless sounding. “I'm…coming down.”

Blue beat her downstairs and by the time she stepped off the last step, the dog was wrapped around Rush's legs like a long-lost lover.

Rush stood to the right of the staircase, candle aloft to inspect a drawing hanging on the wall. Anna took a deep breath, grateful for the distraction.

“Mama did it,” she said, crossing to stand beside him.

“It's you?”

“Yes, at eight.”

He met her eyes, the expression in his strange. Or maybe it was the candlelight playing tricks. “Is that a music box you're holding?”

Anna shifted her gaze to the drawing and nodded. “Yes.”

“It's beautiful. Very unusual.”

Anna looked away, her gut twisting. “It was. Lowell sold it. He came into the house, took it and sold it.”

“I'm sorry,” Rush murmured. “So sorry.”

“Me, too.” She touched the drawing's glass lightly. “I loved that music box. It was mine. Mama had given it to me. I would never had sold it, no matter how badly I needed money. And I don't even know what
Lowell used the money for.”

“Who knows? Maybe it will come back to you.” Rush touched her cheek lightly; she felt the caress like a brand.

Anna turned away from the drawing and crossed to the small side table by the stairs. She set the candle on it, unable to hold it steady another moment. She faced Rush once more. “It would take a miracle.”

“A small one.”

“Even a small one would cost more than I have.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for taking care of that shutter for me. I appreciate it.”

“But I can go now?”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “Yes.”

“Sorry, babe.” He crossed the foyer in three long strides, placing his candle next to hers. “I'm not leaving until we talk about this afternoon. And you're going to be honest with me.”

She cocked up her chin. “Pretty damn presumptuous of you.”

“Then try this. I want you. You want me. We had something great going this afternoon. What happened to end it?”

She sucked in a quick breath, hoping to offset the wild beating of her heart. “Are you this direct with all women?”

“Yes.” He closed the remaining inches between them, stopping so close she had tip her face up to meet his gaze. “What's the matter, m'lady? Too bold? Not gentlemanly enough for you?”

Anna narrowed her eyes. He was an arrogant boor. A pushy, overconfident…Yankee. For a moment she'd considered telling him the truth. Had considered opening herself to him. She wouldn't open herself to him now if it meant saving her own life.

She lifted her chin another notch. “What happened this afternoon was a mistake. A…moment of weakness. For both of us. I expect it not to happen again.”

Rush's jaw tightened. Anger darkened his eyes, and she knew she'd pushed the wrong buttons.

“You
expect
it not to happen again? Like you're giving me an order?” He lowered his voice. “I may work for you, Annabelle. But I'm not a servant.”

She drew in a quick breath. “I didn't mean to imply that you were. I meant, I don't
want
it to happen again.”

Rush laughed. “Liar.”

Heat burned her cheeks. “Get out of my house.”

Instead of doing as she asked, he leaned a fraction closer to her. “You never answered my original question. What happened this afternoon? Why did you run like that?”

Because I was afraid. Of you. Of me. Of the way you made me feel. And because I know what I am. And I hate it.

“I don't have to give you an explanation—”

“But I think you do.” He cupped her face in his palms, forcing her to look at him. “Why, Anna?”

She jerked free of his grasp. “Don't touch me again.”

“Are you a tease? Do you enjoy arousing men and leaving them hanging? Is that it?”

“No! How dare you! How could you even suggest such a thing?”

“What alternative have you left me? What else have you given me to think of you?” She tried to turn away, he caught her arm. “Why can't you be honest with me, Annabelle?”

His fingers felt like fire on her flesh. Awareness pulsed through her. And desperation. “I ran away because I didn't want you touching me anymore. I still don't.”

For long moments, he simply gazed at her. Then, slowly, deliberately, he cupped the back of her neck. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she said icily. “Now, take your hand off me. Remember, you work for me.”

Rush laughed. With a flick of his fingers, he unfastened her barrette. It clattered to the floor; her hair tumbled to her shoulders. He buried his fingers in it, cupping the back of her head. He tipped her face to his, lowering his mouth until it hovered only a fraction from hers.

Anna told herself to push him away, to fight. She was such a liar; she didn't have the will to fight even for a moment. She melted against him, lifting her face to his, a whimper escaping her already parted lips.

The lights flickered, then came back on. At the same moment, Rush released her. Disoriented, Anna stumbled backward.

Rush faced her, his expression as cold and hard as ice. “You don't want me touching you, Annabelle? Tell me another one. Maybe the truth next time.” He crossed the foyer, stopping when he reached the door. “But don't worry, m'lady. I won't touch you again.”

Anna watched as he stepped through the door and out into the storm. She hesitated, then followed him, her heart in her throat. The urge to call him back warred with the instinct for self-preservation, leaving her indecisive and uncertain. And aching.

She raced out onto the gallery and crossed to its edge. The storm had reached its zenith, and Rush had already been swallowed in its dark fury. The rain slashed over her, soaking her to the skin; the wind tore at her hair and clothes, forcing her to place a hand on one of the columns to brace herself. But even so, she faced into the rain and wind, somehow comforted by its violence. Its life.