The Rebel and the Lady. Kathryn Albright
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Flustered at his words, she snapped her jaw shut. He truly was a beast of a man—uncouth and improper.
“I’m surprised you’d be thinking about me at all after I disappointed you last night,” he continued in that smooth voice. “But it’s nice to know you care.”
“Do not twist my words.”
“You’re the one twisting mine—and a few other things, as well, I might add.”
Oh, he really was a wicked man!
He glanced over her and she felt her cheeks flush. She hated that he could create such havoc inside her. It made her feel weak, and she knew she wasn’t a weak person.
“What are you doing here…besides enjoying the view?”
“I came to collect my kettle, not that it is any of your concern.” Her nose went up a notch.
He glanced inside the pot. “Any soup left?”
“Are you hungry or worried I might toss it at you?” she asked with sugary sweetness.
“Take your pick. Either way it would be worth it to have you look at me as you did a moment ago—preferably somewhere less crowded.”
“Oh!” She sidestepped around him, having had enough. “Buenos días, señor!” She started across the plaza.
His low chuckle made her pause midstride even though she suspected he was baiting her with it. She turned back. What was he doing here? He didn’t believe in the cause so why hadn’t he left?
He waited, by his expression amused that she’d returned, but he did not tease her again.
“I am surprised to find you here…helping.”
The planes of his face shifted and took on a certain hardness. “Don’t think it’s anything noble or that I’ve had a change of heart.”
She shook her head quickly—too quickly, belying her words. “Of course not. How naive would that be?”
“My horse isn’t ready for another long trip yet. I’m just passing time—a day or two, until he heals up. Nothing more.”
She indicated the men working at the wall. “You are not one to be idle, then.”
“No. Never have been much of man of leisure. Doesn’t suit me.”
“I’m glad of it. There are too many lazy men about this fort. I’m glad to see you making things ready—preparing.”
“Oh, I aim to please you, señorita. Just for today,” he reminded her.
He was teasing her again, but it was different now—gentler, more amiable. This she could deal with easier than the tension-charged sparring she’d just endured. She let out a relieved sigh. “Just until your horse heals. I understand. Does the wound fester?”
He studied her, his deep blue eyes intent. “If you have a minute, I’ll show you.”
She hesitated. Such casual conversation with a man like him was new to her. Enticing, because he was so different than any man she’d ever met before—more rough, more reckless. Thrilling, too. Her parents, had they been present, would never allow such a conversation to take place. It would not have been proper.
His brow quirked up. “Looks like a war is going on between your ears, darlin’.”
She frowned.
“What worries you?”
“It’s not proper. Juan would not be pleased.”
“Seguín?” He thought for a moment and she was gratified he didn’t tease her again. “Understood. How about if we make sure to stay where we can be seen by others?”
She hesitated, but then nodded. “Sí. That would be acceptable.”
He led her to the open horse corral adjacent to the church. The handful of horses plodding around the pen seemed as aimless as the soldiers who lounged outside. The large enclosure’s adobe back wall doubled as the east wall of the fort and along it, a stall housed a large black stallion at least sixteen hands high. The horse stomped the dirt and whinnied as they approached, kicking up the odor of fresh straw and horse.
“Easy boy,” Jake said soothingly. He ran the flat of his hand over the horse’s neck and withers. An answering shudder vibrated through the beast as it quieted.
Victoria lowered her kettle to the ground and rubbed her arms. She was sure it was coincidence that she’d felt an awareness, too—as if his palm had been on her own skin. Disturbed, she shook the thought from her and stepped closer.
Jake stood near the horse, so that she had to move around him to check the gash on its hindquarters. She pressed the swelling at the stitches, noting the yellow drainage that oozed out. The horse stamped its hoof and snorted.
“Whoa, Fury.”
“Here,” she said, then moved her fingers lower on the gash. “And here, the wound festers, but only slightly.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Yes. A mixture of lard and kerosene to draw out the infection would help. I can make it up for you if you’d like.”
She turned to get his reaction and suddenly noticed how close he was. A full head taller than she, he had successfully enclosed her between the wall and his horse, although, as he’d promised, her skirt could be seen by those lounging the perimeter of the corral. The horse’s massive body blocked the rest of her from view. From here, the straight line of the Anglo’s jaw was all she could see, that and the stubble of beard that coated it.
He kept his palm on his horse, calming it as he met her gaze. “You’re not afraid of this big animal, are you?”
She smiled at such foolishness, tugging on the gold hoop earring in her ear. “I’ve been around horses all my life, señor. Why would I be afraid?”
He leaned closer, and the scent of musk and leather enveloped her.
She lowered her hand.
“You’re not afraid of me, either.” Under the brim of his hat, his eyes darkened. He raised his hand to stroke her cheek with fingers roughened but gentle. His touch left a trail of tingles behind.
Her breath hitched. “Should I be?”
He tilted her face toward his. “Definitely, señorita.”
Her heart beat faster, caught as she was in his spell. “You cannot be trusted to act the gentleman?”
He focused on her lips, his intent now obvious. “Never learned how.”
A lump formed in her throat. He wanted to kiss her. She swallowed hard. It wasn’t proper. She should resist, but she was curious. His lips, set there in the middle of his dark day-old beard looked impossibly soft for someone so tough. How would they feel against hers? How would he taste?
He lowered his mouth to hers. Warmth rushed from his lips to hers, sending heat through her body. Not unpleasant at all, she thought, adjusting her lips slightly to his mouth. He slid his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her closer, his mouth firm against hers now, moving, opening…
Her heart raced. The only time she’d been kissed before, she’d been sixteen. Esteban’s fumbling kiss was child’s play compared to this man’s kiss. This was not a sweet request for a mutual sampling, but a demand, hard and full of need. Passion penetrated it—daring her to satisfy her curiosity at her own risk.
Even though continuing might place her teetering on the brink of peril, she was not ready to stop yet. Tentatively she relaxed her lips, allowing his tongue to touch hers. Fire rushed to her center, searing her, melting her resistance. Perhaps this was a mistake after all. Perhaps this was more than she could handle. Suddenly her knees weakened and buckled.
He