He had to stop her. “I guess I’ll get undressed.”
It was an announcement that never failed to stir her interest. Tonight, though, Sarah did not seem to hear him.
Frowning, Daniel flipped down his braces. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head, being sure to flex his arms as he did. He tossed his shirt on the quilt, inches from Sarah’s pile of green wool.
She went on knitting. Disbelieving, Daniel shed his undershirt and boots, then his trousers. He did it slowly, giving Sarah extra time to notice. By the time he’d stripped himself to his drawers alone, his remaining clothes were flung noticeably from the quilt to Sarah’s bent knees to the bed post…and she’d progressed a few more rows on her socks.
Something was wrong. Daniel wasn’t used to being ignored—at least not by women. And especially not while he stood in the lantern light practically naked. But to his surprise, Sarah seemed capable of it. While he stood there, first subtly posing with his arm on the bedpost and then with his leg propped on a stool, she didn’t even stir in recognition of his manliness.
He felt thoroughly disgruntled.
He strode to the bed and yanked back the linens on his side, intending to get in and get on with his plans anyway. He had cuddling to get to, and soon. And after that, his favorite part of the night, kissing practice. But when he looked to Sarah’s now-uncovered form…
“What is that?” he blurted.
“What do you mean?”
“That…thing you’re wearing.”
“Oh. This?” Sarah stroked her high-necked green flannel nightgown. “This is my new winter nightgown.”
The thing bore several deep ruffles and a nausea-inducing print decorated with hundreds of purple flowers on a field of green. It had a prudish neckline that covered every inch of Sarah’s enchanting bosom. Worst of all, it appeared to be fastened with at least sixty tiny buttons. Buttons too numerous for even the most patient man’s hands.
“What—” He hesitated, feeling absurdly choked up at the loss of the sheer lacy gown he loved seeing her in. “What happened to your other nightgown?”
She shrugged. “I think I may be getting too plump for it.”
Meaningfully, she reached for something on the night table. Spicy sweetness drifted toward him. For a moment, Daniel felt heartened, thinking it must be perfume of some kind. But then Sarah bit into it, and he recognized it for what it was.
A cinnamon bun.
She licked her fingers. “Mmm,” she said with her mouth full. “I can’t seem to get enough of these. This is my third one today! I’m afraid I’m going to get dreadfully fat.”
He stared. He wanted to be the one to put that rapturous expression on her face. Not a stupid bakery bun.
“It’s a good thing I’ve already snared myself a husband,” Sarah went on blithely. “Now I can indulge to my heart’s content and not worry about winding up a tubby old maid.” Cheerily, she patted the mattress. “You go ahead and go to sleep. You won’t disturb me. I’ve only got a bit more work to finish on my knitting, and my small lamp is fine for that.”
He hesitated, baffled by her talk of plumpness. She looked wondrously fine to him. Sarah glanced up. Her gaze whisked over him, as though by accident, then returned to her handiwork. Daniel remembered he still wore nothing but his drawers and felt even more befuddled. Was this her only reaction to his near-nudity?
Had he somehow lost his appeal to women?
Heartily appalled at the notion, he got in bed, feeling he had no choice but to do so. For several minutes, Sarah knit vigorously beside him, pausing only to polish off another cinnamon bun. Crumbs scattered on his bare chest. Grumpily, Daniel brushed them off.
“What of our ‘practice’?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It will have to wait for another night. As you can see, I am far too busy. And much too full of sweets.”
“I’ll change your mind.” He rolled over. Smiling, he stroked his hand suggestively over her flannel-clad hip.
“Oh, Daniel. Honestly, you shouldn’t….”
But gradually, as he caressed her, Sarah slowed her knitting. Her needles clacked at a lethargic rhythm, and she squirmed in the bed beside him. Daniel hadn’t lost his ability to entice her, after all. Encouraged, he swept his palm to her daunting row of buttons.
If any man could defeat them, it was him.
“Ouch!” Feeling a sharp pain, he scowled at his hand. “Your damn nightgown gave me a splinter.”
She blinked. Relief showed plain on her face as Sarah set aside her knitting. “Well, then. I’ll just doctor you up! What you need is a good night’s sleep to recover.”
Grumbling, he watched her scurry for the basket of remedies she kept on a corner shelf. Damnation. That nightgown of hers was a veritable man repellant. What had possessed her to put it on tonight, of all nights?
Daniel didn’t know, but he had a few suspicions. All of them had to do with his success in wooing her.
Thoughtfully, he endured Sarah’s fussing and bandaging. Imagining himself burying his wife’s knitting needles, burning her new nightgown and buying every last cinnamon bun Molly’s bakery produced helped greatly to distract him. Sarah might think she had deterred him, but Daniel knew better. This was only temporary. He would not give up that easily.
Especially not now, when her resistance all but proved the very thing he’d been hoping for.
He was winning.
Chapter Thirteen
When Daniel came to bed several evenings later, Sarah was ready for him. She’d had to nearly sprint through her chores to do so, but she beat him to their chamber. She felt determined to win this tussle between them. She would meet her husband on her terms and not be unsettled by his seduction tactics.
And she would make him love her, too.
She heard his footfalls outside their door and hurriedly grabbed a handful of the crackers she’d purchased. She crumbled them all over the quilt. Originally, she’d planned to eat them and produce the crumbs naturally. But after all the cinnamon buns she’d ingested in her attempts to make herself too plump for Daniel’s liking, Sarah did not have the appetite to eat anything more.
Surrounded by cracker fragments, she fussed with the rag rollers in her hair. She adjusted the high neck of her new spinster’s nightgown, then patted it in place. Given its coarse flannel and many buttons, it felt about as comfortable as a prickly pear corset, but it had been effective in deterring Daniel’s too-rousing touch. For the past few nights, he’d only given her a brief kiss, a puzzled look and a strangely dispiriting “good night” before rolling over and falling asleep.
To be truthful, she missed his attentions, seductive and thought-scrambling though they might have been. She missed his touch and his smile, and even his kissing lessons. Without those things, her nights felt oddly…empty.
She prayed she was doing the right thing.
The door creaked open. Hastily, Sarah grabbed her knitting. She’d never excelled at women’s handiwork. Unless Daniel sprouted an abnormally huge foot, in fact, he would never be able to wear the sock she’d been making. But he didn’t need to know that, she reasoned. So long as she remained busy.
“Hello, husband!” With forced cheer, she held out a snack. “Would you like to join me in some crackers? They’re crunchy and delicious.”
“No.” Daniel shook his head. “I am not hungry.”
He began undressing, this time with less fanfare than he’d exhibited on previous evenings. Sarah couldn’t help but sneak a peek at him, all the same. This activity of his was a particular favorite of hers—although she never would have admitted it to Daniel. Clothes rustled and flew. In the low lighting of their chamber, his muscles rippled with power. His skin gleamed, sun-browned and darker than her own.
In every way, her husband was a fit specimen of manhood. He was hardy and agile and plainly in his prime. To her eyes, he was also intensely beautiful. Glancing away between his shed articles of clothing—so he wouldn’t catch her looking�
�required Sarah’s most determined acts of will.
Silence descended. Daniel did not throw back the linens and shake his head at her prim nightgown, as had become his habit. She sensed him standing there, waiting.
“What’s the matter?” Hopefully, she patted her face’s coating of lanolin cream. It had turned out to be distressingly slow-acting in its effects. “Do I have spots?”
“I don’t care if you do.”
Oh, dear. Given the rumbling, purposeful tone in his voice, he meant it. Sarah didn’t understand. She’d done all she could to seem unattractive to him—to deter his advances. She wanted Daniel to be forced into dealing with her on a non-physical basis. It was the only way she could retain enough sense to cope with him. But this…
Had he suddenly gone blind?
“You must be looking at my warts, then,” she fibbed, staring fixedly at her knitting. It had gone slack in her hands. “I’ve been trying a new remedy—”
“You’ve never had warts.”
This time, he sounded unnervingly certain. Exactly the way a man who’d known her since childhood, Sarah remembered too late, had a right to. Drat that wart removal remedy. Could it have made Daniel guess what she was up to? Impossible.
“They’re…a recent development. Perhaps they were brought on by the strain of preparing for the school spelling bee.”
He grunted, sounding surpassingly unconcerned as he turned back the bed linens. “Don’t worry. I’ll wager you’ll have help with that soon.”
Again with that promise. What did he mean?
Before she could ask, Daniel got in bed, upsetting her balance in more ways than one. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and his nearness made her forget what they’d been discussing. It made her heart patter instead.
Stoutly ignoring it, Sarah reached for the bottle beside her nightly cinnamon bun. It contained the last item in her arsenal. Hastily, she dabbed on some of its contents. She thrust her wrist toward Daniel.
“Here. Smell my new perfume. It’s delightful.”
He inhaled. “It’s bay rum hair tonic. For men.”
Oh. A glance at the bottle confirmed it. A nervous titter escaped her. If that was true, then why did Daniel smell it again? Why did his lips brush tenderly over her wrist as he did so? Why…oh, my!…did he press a kiss just at the spot where her pulse beat strongest?
Could she possibly have reckoned wrong?
“You seem to like it well enough,” she pointed out.
He glanced up at her, glorious in his near-nudity and completely unselfconscious about its effects upon her. He did not release her wrist. Indeed, Daniel inhaled again, and the sensual way he did so was impossible to ignore.
He smiled. “I like the woman beneath it.”
“You can’t possibly smell…me…beneath that stuff.” Forgetting she meant to ignore his appearance, however compelling, Sarah caught an accidental glimpse of his brawny torso and acres of bare skin. Flustered, she looked away. “It’s much too strong for that.”
“Nothing is strong enough to keep me away from you.”
Her heart leaped again. Foolish, foolish of her to hope he meant those words. But still, Sarah couldn’t help it.
Struggling to retain her composure, she patted her armored nightgown. Its fabric felt so coarse, it probably had given him a splinter. She felt sorry for that.
“I never meant to wound you, you know,” she blurted. “With my new nightgown, I mean.”
Oh, dear. She hadn’t meant to admit that at all.
“I know.” Stroke, stroke went his fingers over her wrist. “It was my own fault. I couldn’t keep my hands from you.”
At the husky note in his voice, at the caress of his hand, Sarah felt herself tauten with anticipation. Why was Daniel being so nice to her, anyway? Why wasn’t he repelled by her bay rum scent, her wool-shrouded ankles, her hair curlers?
Abruptly remembering them, she patted the multiple pieces of muslin she’d twisted in her hair. Without Molly’s ever-primping example, she’d never have thought of them. But since she had…
“I hope my hair curlers don’t bother you.” She looked a fright in them, and she knew it. “The rags simply can’t be helped. I wasn’t terribly adept with the hot tongs, and curls are all the fashion right now, you know.”
Daniel threaded his fingers between hers. Absently, he stroked his thumb up and down hers, making her shiver.
“I wouldn’t think a woman so eager for spots and warts would care about fashion,” he remarked. Tellingly.
“I don’t,” she prevaricated. Desperately. She was so close to weakening. To losing her resolve altogether. “It’s only… I want to look nice for you.”
“Mmm. You always look nice to me.”
It was true, Sarah realized as she stared at his absorbed expression. It was as though Daniel saw her clunky “beauty” implements and treatments, saw her ugly nightgown and her curling rags and her cracker crumbs…and cared not a whit. He knew her, she understood just then, in a way no one else ever had. And he accepted her, too.
A tiny shimmer of hope came to life inside her.
“You look good to me, too,” she confessed.
Drat it! She hadn’t meant to admit that either.
He arched his brow. Seductively, his gaze met hers. “Then look your fill.”
Unabashedly, Daniel shoved aside the bed linens. Without their partial covering, he appeared magnificent and manly. Sarah knew it was dangerous to gaze at him so openly, especially in fulfillment of such an invitation, but she simply couldn’t help it. Not when intriguing sprinklings of dark hair embellished his muscular chest and legs. Not when his arms looked as large as tree branches, perfect for holding her. Not when nothing but those well-fitted underdrawers hid the most secret parts of him from her view.
She guessed, trying to regain a measure of composure, that blacksmithing did wonderful things for the masculine form. Either that, or Daniel had simply been unfairly blessed.
He grinned at her gawking, and she decided the latter was definitely the case. The scoundrel knew she liked looking her fill of him. He’d baited her into doing it.
Too late, Sarah whisked her gaze upward. Her mouth felt dry. Curiously, her skin hummed all over her body, warm and tingling and somehow needful of touching. She would never have believed merely looking could have such an effect on a person.
Daniel’s too-knowing gaze met hers, taking in her eyes, her parted lips. “Now you know how I feel,” he told her soberly, “when I look at you.”
Oh, but that couldn’t be true. Especially lately. Feeling even more muddled, she told him as much. “Not when you look so… Well, the way you do. And I look so…”
“Perfect. So perfect and so…Sarah.” He plucked her knitting from her lap. Dropped it to the floor. “You won’t be needing this anymore tonight.”
Dumbfounded, she stared at her discarded wool. Her knitting needles jabbed outward at mocking angles. “I wasn’t done with that. I—” She struggled to recall what she was supposed to be doing. “I have a stocking to finish.”
“No doubt you will finish it, with a determination like yours. But not tonight. Tonight, I want your full attention.”
“What for?”
He sighed, looking beleaguered. “So much conversation. I should have known I could not just do this.”
“Do what?”
“This, for a start.”
Daniel put his hands gently to the sides of her head, right over her rag rollers. Then, then, he kissed her.
Caught by surprise, Sarah muttered a protest against his mouth. An instant later, helplessly, she melted against the pillows at her back. Ahhh. It had been so long since he’d done this. Especially this way—so thoroughly, so expertly, so hungrily. She’d forgotten how much she’d yearned for it.
She found herself clutching his shoulders, every inch the wanton, when at last their kiss ended. She made a distressed face, unable to prevent a grumble of disappointment.
“Hmm. You ha
ven’t forgotten how to kiss,” he observed teasingly. “Only how to keep your food in your mouth.”
Demonstrating, he swept a small mountain of crumbled crackers from the sheets. They pinged to the floorboards for later sweeping, and Sarah felt herself flush. Daniel caught her. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth.
“I forgot to ask you.” His eyes grew wide with shamserious consideration. “Can you wait for your cinnamon bun tonight?”
What? Who cared for food at a moment like this?
Sarah needed a chance to recover, though, so she grasped at the opportunity he’d offered and did her best with it.
“Mmm. I don’t know.” She pretended to ponder the question. Thinking proved difficult while her heart still pounded from the last kiss they’d shared. “Those cinnamon buns are awfully tasty. You know I relish my occasional treats.”
In truth, although they were delicious, she never wanted to see another cinnamon bun in her life. Ever. But now she was caught in a trap of her own making. Stupid, stupid plan.
“That’s too bad,” Daniel mused. “I had a different sort of treat in mind.”
His deep voice, so rich with promise, thrilled her.
“What…kind of treat?” She hoped it involved kissing.
He gave a cavalier wave as he settled beside her, his head sharing her pillow. “You’re not interested. It’s all right. You can carry on knitting.”
Knitting. As though she cared to knit one or purl two.
Disappointment assailed her. The flush of victory she’d felt earlier didn’t seem to matter one whit now—not while Daniel seemed to have given up the fight altogether. What was wrong with him? How could he kiss her so stirringly, only to abandon the effort moments later?
“I might be interested,” she allowed.
Not replying, Daniel flung his arm overhead, comfortably settling in. Absently, he played with one of her curlers. She could not believe he wasn’t horrified at the thought of touching them. She could not believe he intended to withhold his “treat” from her.
Lisa Plumley - [Crabtree 02] Page 17