Amanda sat back in the tub and closed her eyes. She could still feel Trey’s mouth on hers, feel his body pressed intimately against her own. Lord, but that man could kiss! She had always been afraid there was something wrong with her because, while she enjoyed kissing, it had never set her on fire. Even with Rob, it had been pleasurable, but never more than that. Perhaps that was why her sexual encounters had been so few when she was younger. The boys she had dated in high school had called her cold, a tease, when the truth was, none of them had made her want more. But this man, this stranger from the past…one kiss, and she was on fire and aching for more.
Dear Lord, what was she going to do? She had a horrible feeling that he knew exactly how his kisses had affected her. How was she ever going to face him again?
She hid out in the bathtub until her fingers and toes were pruney and the water was cold. She imagined him prowling, cat-like, downstairs, peeking into the fridge, playing with the lights. She could hear him running water in the sink. She smiled at his wonder at all things modern. How strange her world must seem to a man who had lived in a time when women cooked on wood burning stoves and did their laundry by hand and hung their wash on clotheslines. Washers and dryers were relatively new inventions. She could still remember her grandmother hanging her laundry on a line in the backyard. And electricity—in Trey’s time, light had been provided by candles or lanterns or maybe gas lights. People had traveled by horse or carriage, or on trains pulled by steam-driven locomotives.
She grinned as she stepped out of the tub, wondering what he would think if she took him for a drive in her car. She dried off vigorously, slipped on her nightgown and a robe, stepped into a pair of slippers, and then stood there, wondering if she should go downstairs and check on him, or just go to bed.
She was still undecided when she opened the bathroom door, gasped in surprise when she saw him leaning against the wall in the hallway, his arms folded across his chest. His bare chest.
“Good Lord, you scared me!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry.”
“What do you want?”
He pushed away from the wall. “I’m hungry.”
That was a good sign, she thought, though it was hard to think at all when he was standing so close. So close she could feel his breath on her face, feel the attraction that hummed between them.
“What…?” She tried to talk, swallowed to ease a throat gone dry. “What would you like to eat?”
It was a bad choice of words.
Desire flared in his eyes, but he didn't answer, at least not vocally. Instead, his gaze moved over her, slow, heated, leaving her feeling naked and vulnerable.
“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice low and raspy and suggestive. “What have you got?”
It was suddenly hard to breathe. Her heart was pounding wildly. She felt warm all over, her body tingling with anticipation.
He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. His gaze held hers, fathomless brown eyes that seemed to see into her very soul. She could feel the heat radiating from his body.
She licked her lips. “Trey…I…we…”
“Tell me you’re not hungry, too.”
She put her hands against his chest to hold him at bay. Big mistake. His skin was warm and firm beneath her palms. She fought the urge to run her hands along his shoulders and down his arms, to run her fingertips over the taut muscles.
“Are we still talking about food?” She tried to keep her tone light, and failed miserably.
“We were never talking about food.” His voice moved over her like lush black velvet, warm and smooth. Desire burned like a dark flame in the depths of his eyes and with it, the knowledge that his nearness was playing havoc with her senses.
If he didn’t stop looking at her like that, she was going to fall into his arms, drag him down on the floor, and beg him to make love to her.
She jumped when the telephone rang. Saved by the bell, she thought, wondering when they had fixed the line. She’d been so caught up in caring for Trey, she’d never thought to see if the phone was working again.
“I’d better get that,” she said, and turning on her heel, she ran down the hall to her bedroom. She scooped up the receiver, aware that Trey had followed her, that he was standing in the hallway, waiting. Listening.
“Hello?”
“Hey, ‘Manda. You been working out? You sound all out of breath.”
“What? Oh, yes, working out.” She took a deep breath, trying to still the pounding of her heart. “How are you, Rob?”
“I’m doing okay. I’d be a lot happier if I could get a lead on Bolander. And even happier if I was done with this little job of work and back there with you. I miss you.”
She hesitated. “Yes, I…I miss you, too.” The words sounded flat in her own ears.
Rob noticed it, too. There was a loud silence on the other end of the phone. Then, “Are you all right, Amanda?”
“Oh, yes, I’m fine. Really. How’s the weather back there?”
“Cold,” he said. “Like this conversation.”
“Rob…”
“I’ll call you tomorrow night,” he said, and hung up.
She stared at the receiver, then gently put it down. When she turned toward the door, Trey was gone. She hadn’t heard him leave, knew she didn't dare go after him.
“Oh, Rob,” she murmured. “What am I going to do?”
It was a question that followed her into uneasy sleep that night, and greeted her in the morning. What was she going to do about Trey?
Rising, she dressed in jeans, a heavy sweater and a pair of boots, and went downstairs. The rain had stopped during the night; the sky was a bright clear blue, the trees around the homestead a vibrant green, their leaves sparkling with raindrops. The rolling desert lands beyond glimmered in the sunlight, and she saw random bursts of color where winter-blooming flowers had responded to the life-giving moisture.
Trey was nowhere to be seen. Probably still asleep, she thought as she went out the back door, headed for the barn.
The big double doors were open. She heard Trey’s voice coming from inside the barn and after her eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior, she saw him standing beside the stallion’s stall, one arm draped over the stud’s neck.
She didn’t think she had made any noise, but Trey glanced over his shoulder as soon as she entered the building.
“Mornin’,” he drawled.
“Good morning.” He looked every inch the cowboy. The brown plaid shirt complemented his hair and emphasized the color of his eyes. His jeans fit well enough, though they weren’t cut as snugly as today’s designer jeans. Perhaps she would buy him a new pair…
“Were you looking for me?” he asked.
“No. I just came out to feed your horse, but I see you’ve done that,” she replied, and turned to go.
For a man who was still recovering from a bullet wound, he was remarkably quick. She hadn’t taken more than a step or two toward the door when his hand closed on her arm. “Don’t go.”
Her skin tingled where his skin touched hers. “I need to fix breakfast.”
“It can wait.”
She didn’t resist when he turned her to face him. She tried not to notice how handsome he was, the way his dark eyes seemed to glow when they looked at her. She had never liked hairy men, but the beard roughening his jaw gave him a rugged, sexy look, and she had an almost irresistible urge to run her hand through his hair, to feel the thick strands slide through her fingers.
“You ran away from me last night,” he said. “Why?”
“I didn’t run away. I had to answer the phone.”
He looked at her, one brow arched.
“I didn’t!” she insisted. “Oh, all right, maybe I did,” she said when he remained silent.
“Why?”
She lifted her chin. “Because you scare me.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Really? I wonder why.”
“You know why
. Now, let me go.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he murmured, and lowering his head, he kissed her.
She could have avoided him easily. After all, he was still weak from his wound. She had taken a self-defense class at the Y. She knew how to protect herself. But, somehow, all thought of resistance fled the moment his mouth touched hers. She swayed against him, her arms wrapping around his waist, her hands moving restlessly up and down his broad back. He groaned low in his throat. It took a minute for her to realize the sound was edged with pain not passion.
“I’m sorry.” She drew away. “Your wound…I forgot…”
He grinned at her. “You need to cut those nails.”
She blushed to the roots of her hair, embarrassed by the way she had melted in his arms. A look, a kiss, and she was like putty in his hands.
And then he was kissing her again, his mouth slowly seducing hers, filling her mind with vivid, full-color images of the two of them writhing on her bed amid tangled sheets.
“Stop,” she gasped.
He drew back, his deep brown eyes smoldering. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. I can’t breathe.”
He smiled, a look brimming with masculine self-satisfaction. “Guess we’d better slow down a little.”
She shrugged out of his embrace. “I think…” She drew in a shaky breath. “I think I’d better go fix breakfast.”
“Sure,” he said, a knowing gleam in his eye.
Turning on her heel, she left the barn, acutely conscious of his gaze on her back.
He entered the kitchen a short time later, sniffed appreciatively. “Smells good.”
“Thank you.” She gestured at the table. “Sit down, it’s ready.”
He sat down, automatically putting his back to the wall. “You’re gonna spoil me.”
She was pretty sure women had been doing that ever since he learned how to smile.
She served him waffles, eggs, bacon and orange juice, filled a plate for herself, and sat down across from him. Waffles, she thought. She never made them for herself.
“You’re a helluva cook,” he remarked.
“Thank you.”
“I reckon you’re good at just about everything,” he said, his voice silky soft.
She had no doubt at his meaning. Heat spiraled through her, pooling deep in the core of her being.
This was ridiculous, she thought irritably. She was a grown woman, but she was behaving like a starry-eyed teenager with her first crush. Probably because that was exactly how she felt.
She watched him eat, fascinated by his hands. They were big and brown, with long fingers and square nails. She imagined them holding a gun…imagined them sliding over her bare skin….
She shook her head. Enough was enough! The man was a bank robber, for crying out loud, not Antonio Banderas! She smiled faintly. He had eyes like Antonio’s…dark and smoldering, filled with secrets that begged to be discovered.
“Amanda?”
“What?”
“I’d like to see more of your world.”
“Oh, sure. We can go into town in a few days, if you like.”
“Why can’t we go today?”
She frowned. “Are you sure you feel up to it?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Okay, we can go today, whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ll need my gun.”
“You don’t need it here.”
“Like hell.”
“Well, you don’t. Men don’t go around wearing six-guns these days.”
“No?” he asked dubiously.
“No. Besides, I’m not stupid enough to let a stranger have a gun in my house.”
He lifted a quizzical brow. “You afraid I’m going to shoot you?”
“Well, you are a bank robber.”
“This isn’t a bank.”
“Very funny.”
“Dammit, woman, give me my weapon!”
“No.”
“You can give it to me,” he said, his voice low and deadly, “or I can tear this place apart looking for it. It’s up to you.”
He meant it. She didn’t doubt him for a minute. With a sigh of exasperation, she relented. “Stay here,” she said, “I’ll get it.”
He watched her leave the room, annoyed that she thought he would do her harm. He had never raised a hand to a woman in his life.
She returned a few minutes later carrying his gunbelt and holster. She held it out to him the way she might have held a dead rat. “Here.”
“Obliged.” He took the gunbelt, slid his Colt from the holster, and opened the loading gate to check his ammunition. He spun the cylinder; then, satisfied, he dropped the gun back into its leather.
“Before we go to town, we need to talk about that gun,” she said earnestly.
He stood to buckle the belt around his waist, settling it comfortably.
“So talk,” he said.
“Men just don’t carry guns in public anymore,” she said. “Not in town anyway.”
He nodded. “A lot of cow towns had rules like that. Liquor and firearms don't mix.”
“You don't want to attract unwanted attention, do you?”
He considered it. “Okay, I'll leave the gunbelt here and tuck my Colt under my shirt.”
“But that’s carrying a concealed weapon! That's against the…”
“Law?” he finished with a smile.
Exasperated, she threw up her hands. “You won't like modern jails. I can promise you that.”
“Hell, I don’t like any kind of jail,” he said lightly. “I’ll be…discreet.”
“You really don’t need to wear it here in the house, either,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I promise not to attack you.”
His gaze moved over her, hot and heavy. “Afraid I can’t promise you the same,” he drawled, and resisted the urge to smile. “But that hasn’t got anything to do with six-guns, now does it?”
She wasn’t laughing at him now.
They finished the rest of the meal in silence.
Putting down his coffee cup, Trey pushed away from the table. “Is it all right with you if I use the bathtub?”
“Of course. There are clean towels in the cupboard.”
He nodded. “I don’t reckon you’d wanna wash my back?”
“I reckon not,” she retorted.
Smothering a grin, he sauntered out of the room.
He was trouble. More trouble than she had ever imagined, she thought as she watched him walk away.
But he came wrapped in a mighty nice package.
Chapter Nine
Trey stood in the bathroom, watching the tub fill with water. It was nothing like the bathtubs he was used to. It was oval shaped, and made of some slick material he didn’t recognize. And it was sky blue. Amanda had shown him how to adjust the water to whatever temperature he preferred. He shook his head. Hot running water piped right into the kitchen and the bathrooms. He had never heard of such a thing.
Earlier, he had grabbed his razor from his saddlebag, noting as he did so, that while all his gear was still there, the money was missing. He would have to ask Miss Amanda about that, he thought. He had risked his life for that money, and he didn’t intend to lose it now.
He shaved over the sink while he waited for the tub to fill. Removing his gunbelt, he wrapped the belt around the holster and sheath and laid it on top of the sink. He put the lid down on the toilet, sat and pulled off his boots, then stood up and shrugged out of his clothes. He carefully unwrapped the bandage swathed around his middle. The wound ached, especially when he moved too quickly or forgot about it and bent over, but he had no complaints. Hell, he was lucky to be alive.
He lowered himself into the tub, sighed with pleasure as the hot water enveloped him. Leaning back, his head resting against the wall, he closed his eyes. Heaven, he thought. Pure heaven.
* * * * *
Amanda finished making her bed, trying not to think of Trey. Downstairs.
Naked. In her bathtub.
The thought brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. What was wrong with her? She shied away from the answer. Tried to think of something else, but it was useless. He had been in her house a matter of days and had taken over her every thought. And her dreams, as well, she thought irritably. Oh, but what dreams!
Going downstairs, she took a load of towels out of the washer and tossed them into the dryer, then went into the kitchen to wait for him. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she glanced out the window, wondering what he would think of her car, of the town.
He entered the kitchen a few minutes later. It was all she could do to keep from staring at him. He had shaved, revealing a strong square jaw, and had put on the shirt she had seen in his saddlebag. The dark red accented the black of his hair and made his brown eyes seem ever darker.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
She noticed he was wearing the shirt loose, square tails outside his pants. Quite casual, she thought, until she remembered his remark about concealing his six-gun. Now that she was looking for it, she could see the slight bulge beneath his shirt.
“Must you?” she asked.
He grinned. “You worry too much. I'm not here to rob any of your banks.”
“You won't consider leaving it here?”
“No.” It was a flat negative and brooked no argument.
She sighed. “All right, but if you get arrested, I don't know you.”
“Why would I get arrested?”
“You ever hear of metal detectors? No, of course you haven't.”
He frowned, suspicious. “What the hell are metal detectors?”
“A way to tell if you're carrying a gun, even if it's hidden. They have them in all the courts these days. Maybe in banks. Some schools, even.”
“Schools? What the hell for?”
“We live in a complicated and violent world,” she replied with a shrug.
“Well, I guess things really haven’t changed all that much then,” he commented. “You aren’t planning on us going to any courts or banks, are you? And I’m sure not going to school! So, now that we’ve got that settled, are you ready to go?”
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