by Lisa Plumley
“I might have,” she returned instantly, defensively, hunching her shoulders within the protection of his suit coat as they walked side-by-side through the park, “if I did not believe in his innocence so strongly.”
Belief, again. Would she never stop hammering her groundless faith into him? Even cold and miserable and certainly close to being defeated, Megan kept on.
Gabriel only wished her persistence didn’t stir something uncomfortably close to admiration—or envy—within him.
“What will you do when I find proof that says otherwise?” he asked.
“I’ll fight you, of course. I’ve no doubt any such ‘proof’ would be as wide off the mark as your investigation.” She gave him a sideways glance, then raised her chin. “I am no quitter, agent Winter. I’ll not rest until I see you give up this h—h—hunt for my father.”
Shivering harder, she nevertheless went on walking, clutching his coat against her throat with one hand and holding fast to her hat with the other. Megan would catch her death of cold if he didn’t get her someplace warm and dry soon. Damnably stubborn as she was, her hotheaded arguments and the fire in her eyes wouldn’t be enough to stave off a chill, influenza, or worse—not with her in soaking clothes and the night air moving in.
He glanced up at the darkening clouds, saw them sweep over the face of the moon, and lengthened his stride, towing Megan along beside him. At this pace, she’d be likelier to run out of arguments than she would be to reach the warmth of their room at the Cosmopolitan in time.
“I’m no quitter either, sugar,” he said, hoping to take her mind from the cold that assailed her. “Especially not when I’m so close to succeeding.”
“Close to succeeding? Have you found the proof you’re looking for, then?”
Despite the bravery in her voice, another shudder coursed through her as she spoke. Her arm wobbled against his and her steps faltered, just for a moment. Concerned, Gabriel squeezed her elbow more securely.
They passed between the gateposts marking the entrance to the park, then continued onto the darkened city streets beyond. Shops and houses lined their passage, some with adobe-walled yards and lengths of flowering vines climbing their ramadas to set them apart from their neighbors. Nearby, a dog howled as though calling to be set free from the confines of one of those yards, and a night bird slipped past on a flutter of swift moving wings.
“Have you?” Megan went on, undaunted by his lack of reply. “Have you found some proof, or are you merely hoping I’d suddenly decide to g—g—g—give you some?”
Her constant shivering unnerved him. Abandoning his grasp on her elbow, Gabriel wrapped his arm warmly around her shoulders instead. He half-expected her to shrug away from him—out of sheer contrariness, if nothing else. She did not. Surprised beyond measure, he looked into her whitened face as they trod along.
Was this new submissiveness of hers a trick? Was it the beginning of yet another plan to stop his pursuit of her father?
If it was not, he had cause to feel very concerned, indeed.
He decided to return to her question—and with it, more familiar ground. “Have you some proof you’ve been holding back, then? If it’s your conscience that’s hurting you, Megan, it might do you good to confide in someone.”
His offer was met with open-mouthed skepticism. She arched her brow, a move made all the more impressive by Gabriel’s knowledge of how cold and disheartened she must be.
“I suppose you hope such a confidant might be you?” she asked.
Her wry tone made plain that she found the notion laughable. He shrugged. “Everyone needs someone to trust.”
It was a statement he’d made many times before, an assertion used often by the operatives he knew in order to coax information from witnesses and criminals alike. Tonight, for the first time, Gabriel found himself wondering at the truth of it.
It was a strange remark to be made by a man who trusted no one himself.
Megan stared at him with evident disbelief. “Someone to trust?”
Her fist tightened on the coat she held at her shoulders, and for a few, overlong seconds, he thought she might hurl away its protection altogether. Then her grasp eased.
With every appearance of nonchalance, she said, “You know as well as I do that such a person doesn’t exist.”
In silence, they walked further. Every squish of her waterlogged shoes, every wet slap of her skirts against the rocks and dirt lining their pathway reminded Gabriel of the foolhardy way she had hurled herself into the fountain. All for the sake of saving a father who had run at seeing her nearby. Why?
It wasn’t until he and Megan had reached the Cosmopolitan’s low pillared porch that another, more disturbing question occurred to him. He watched the proud set of her head as Megan preceded him into the hotel, noted the way she declined the desk clerk’s offer of assistance, followed her weary, shivering steps as she ascended the stairs in front of him, and couldn’t help but wonder over it.
Why would a woman such as this—proud, independent, and unswervingly loyal—defend a man who ran at the sight of her?
The answer to that puzzle held the key to his investigation. Gabriel would have wagered his Colt on it. He’d have wagered himself on it—and would, in part. He meant to have an answer from Megan before the night was finished.
And he would spare no effort to gain it.
Chapter Fifteen
Gabriel Winter was a black-hearted devil, Megan told herself that evening as she stood beside him, shivering in the lamplighted hallway of the Cosmopolitan hotel. He cared for nothing and no one, and no amount of girlish fancy would change that fact.
Nosireee.
Unfortunately, her staunch reminders left her heart curiously untouched. Hoping to bolster her defenses, she looked into his face. Beneath his hat brim, his brow furrowed with concentration as he slid their room key into its lock. Then he turned over the tumblers, pushed open the door, and ushered her inside with a bedazzling grin of welcome.
All at once, Megan saw not the enemy she’d steeled herself against—but the man who had returned to her side by the fountain. The man who had guided her safely to a place both warm and dry. The man who was caring for her still.
Foolish, foolish, she warned herself moments later as she watched him turn up the lamp, shed his hat and vest, and then kneel before the fireplace. His white shirt had turned half-transparent, clinging in oddly shaped circles to the broad planes and angles of his muscular back and shoulders. They were the spots where her head and soggy hair had dripped on him while he’d cradled her against him on the trek here, Megan realized.
He’d ruined his impeccable clothes, all for the sake of comforting her. The realization made her feel mushy and girlishly happy…and appallingly grateful for his care. How sweet he’d been! How kind, how…how obviously misleading.
Had her wits gone walking? This was Gabriel Winter. The same man who would as soon lock up her papa as question him. Developing a fondness for a man like that would not do at all.
Resolute, she looked away. Those water spots proved nothing. Nothing. Surely it would be the height of madness to begin believing Gabriel a decent man now, when he’d proved he was the opposite by chasing her father down before her very eyes.
And yet somehow, no matter how hard she tried, Megan couldn’t keep from hoping he really was decent. Really was as kind as he’d seemed. Really was just a little bit less cynical for having spent his days with her.
And somehow, no matter how hard she tried, she could not keep her gaze from straying in his direction.
The moments ticked past. Ensnared by the raw male strength Gabriel displayed as he stacked logs to build a massive fire—a fire to warm her—Megan found herself unable to muster the defensiveness she’d held as armor between them until now. They were enemies to be sure.
But perhaps not quite as different as they’d first seemed, after all.
Everyone needs someone to trust, he had said. Was that true for him, as well?
/>
She decided to find out. With the night slipping past and her papa’s Faro game doubtless in progress at the gamblers’ hidden location, there wasn’t much more she could do to help her father or regain her nest egg money before daybreak. Until then, she had only Gabriel Winter and his secrets for company. Megan meant to learn all she could about both, for as long as she had the opportunity.
Besides, she reasoned as she grasped her wet shoe in hand and set to work unfastening its formerly fashionable French Dieppe tie, if the Pinkerton man remained with her, he could not be out searching for her papa. The longer she could make him stay, the better.
With her determination renewed, Megan tugged off her shoe and dropped it onto the brightly embroidered wool rug beside the bed. At the muffled thud of her footwear striking the floor, Gabriel turned his head.
His vivid blue eyes widened at the sight of her. Then he frowned. Chagrined, she realized the picture she must make. A lady, she felt fairly certain, did not balance atop one stockinged foot and grope at her soggy kid leather shoe ties.
Especially in the presence of a gentleman.
Well, in that case she was excused, Megan told herself. Because the Pinkerton man was no gentleman.
As though he’d guessed her estimation of him, Gabriel rose from his crouched position. He moved closer, revealing that the fire he’d laid was now lit in the fireplace behind him. The flames licked eagerly at the kindling, creating a meager warmth that did less to warm her than did the mere sight of Gabriel coming near. His expression looked intent, his stride purposeful.
Whatever could he want with her, to be wearing so determined a look? It was nearly enough to tempt her into surrendering where she stood, rather than find out. Instead, she took a step backward, then another. Through her skirts, the backs of her knees struck the room’s small sofa. With a whoosh, Megan found herself plopped onto its sturdy, glossy surface.
He grinned. She scowled back, determined not to reveal that he’d affected her. Surely he couldn’t guess she’d been all-but ogling him a few minutes ago…could he?
Gabriel stopped a few inches from her mud-splattered skirts. Compared with the delicacy of their lace-trimmed edges, his boots seemed huge. So did he, towering over her. Perhaps the differences between them were significant, after all.
He unfastened his cuffs and rolled his sleeves back, one after the other. His slow, easy movements only showcased the flexing length of his forearms, an intriguing sight that did nothing to dispel the sudden nervousness she felt. Megan had the quick, certain impression she’d been right to back away from him before. Tremblingly, heart-poundingly right.
Except now she was trapped on the sofa, without even the benefit of both shoes to aid in her escape.
Gabriel finished the last turn of his shirt sleeve and put his hands on his hips. “Don’t be afraid, Megan. There’s no need to run from me.”
“I wasn’t running!” Indignant, she sat straighter and shoved a hank of damp hair from her eyes. “I merely tripped over my shoe, and I—I…I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of anything.”
The lie slipped from her lips like hot honey poured from a pitcher. Smooth. Sweet. Sticky, too, before long. She had little doubt of that.
“Yes, you are,” he said. “You are afraid sometimes, and that’s all right. Everyone is. The difference is, you don’t let it defeat you.”
“I…I….”
Moved by his unlikely praise—and it truly had sounded like praise, coming from him—she couldn’t form a reply. Feeling gawky and uncertain, Megan settled for plastering an uncaring expression on her face. She augmented it with an uncaring sniff, and bent to struggle with her single remaining shoe.
Remaining aloof had been her defense for as long as she could remember—against the schoolchildren who had teased her when her mama ran off, against the snooty ladies of influence in town, against the impenetrable barrier of her papa’s comings-and-goings. Surely it could work its magic now.
Surely Gabriel would leave her alone, just like everyone else had.
To her amazement, he did not. Instead, he knelt before her, like a courtier from an old-time storybook paying homage to his lady. His dark hair gleamed in the firelight, lending him a striking appearance despite his casual clothes.
It was as though one of her favorite French novels had come suddenly to life, with herself as the heroine, and Gabriel Winter as the dashing hero. Savoring the fanciful notion, she stopped fumbling with her shoe long enough to linger over the sight of him on bent knee. She nearly sighed over the handsome picture he made.
With a man such as Gabriel honoring her, a woman could find herself charmed for certain. Especially if she happened to be a spinster. Especially if she’d long ago given up hope of being loved. Especially if she couldn’t help fancying the courtier just the tiniest bit already.
“After all,” he went on quietly, lowering his hands to her skirt hem, “fear is only anticipation turned ‘round a bit. When danger comes close, a person ought to feel her heart beating faster. She ought to feel her breath quicken and her fingers tremble and her mind prepare itself for what’s to come. If she can’t…well, then maybe she was only half-alive to begin with.”
Megan’s gaze locked on his bowed head. She did feel all those things, and more! Watching as Gabriel turned back her skirt hem, revealing the tips of her stockinged foot and one lonely shoe a bit more with each fold of the fabric, she felt nigh bewitched by him, too.
She could only conclude that meant he was as dangerous as she’d suspected. But for the moment, Megan wanted to feel the pulsing kind of life he’d spoken of. She wanted it so much that she stayed right where she was.
With him.
From his pose on one knee at her skirts, Gabriel looked up at her. Vital. Fully alive. Brimming with intensity and intelligence and feeling. He had experienced danger and faced it down. He had experienced anticipation, too, and spoke of it freely. She’d never known anyone more accepting of what life held out for tasting and touching and feeling.
She’d never known anyone more accepting of her.
For one shocking instant, Megan found herself wondering if those royal ladies of old had ever looked upon their charming courtiers as she herself looked at Gabriel now. She wondered, if they had, if those ladies had ever found themselves stricken…felt themselves falling in love in a moment.
“You’re not afraid,” she managed to say. “I’ve never seen you show the least bit of fear.”
“You can’t believe everything you see.” Gabriel smiled, ruefully, as though remembering some private jest. Then he slipped his hand round the ankle he’d revealed with his hem-folding, cupped her shoe’s heel in his hand, and said, “You’re soaked to the skin, and the next thing to go is this shoe. Let me help you.”
Let me help you. The words couldn’t possibly be meant for her. And yet they were. A small, strident part of her warned Megan his request might be a trick…but the rest of her didn’t want to listen. Not tonight.
She lifted her foot, placing herself in his care. Gently, Gabriel maneuvered her shoe onto his bent knee and began plucking at the ruined leather tie that held it on her foot. Megan watched his strong, sun-browned fingers work at prying apart the knot, and found herself fascinated. He worked dexterously, carefully. Much too soon for her liking, he had her outfitted in matching stockinged feet.
With a roguish grin, Gabriel tossed her shoe aside, lifted one of those stockinged feet—and tickled.
Megan jerked, startled into laughter as his fingers danced along her foot’s arch. The sensation felt nigh unbearable. Giddy with laughing, she yanked against his hand, and when that had no effect in loosening his grasp, she dropped both hands to his shoulders and pushed him instead.
His body heated beneath her touch. His muscles bunched and released, enticing her with their strength. Struggling against him proved useless as always, but Megan couldn’t help but try. She squirmed beneath his tickling fingers, begging him between gasps to stop. His bright
ened face stared up at her through the firelight, amused and remarkably carefree. His laughter burst from him wholeheartedly, sounding scarcely used but wondrous, all the same.
“Stop, stop!” she shrieked again, beating ineffectually at his arms. Her toes wiggled against the hard support of his thigh, beyond her control and delightfully tortured with tickling. “I can’t bear it!”
He paused. “Say please.”
“What? No!”
Gabriel gave a shrug and tickled anew. Grasping her ankle tightly to hold her steady, he looked up and spoke loudly over her helpless laughter. “Please,” he said again, his voice teasing. “It’s not hard to say. ‘Please, Gabriel. ‘Please.’”
She wouldn’t. Wouldn’t. Stubbornly, Megan planted her hand on the middle of his chest and pushed harder instead, hoping to unbalance him. She felt his heart pound beneath her palm, felt his chest rise and fall with his breath, felt the wrinkly soft texture of the shirt he’d ruined helping her. Above all, she felt tickling. The rascal wouldn’t stop!
His fingers roved higher, now teasing the back of her calf, a place she’d never before imagined as ticklish. “Give over, Megan,” Gabriel persuaded. “Say please and I’ll end this right now. Pleeeeaaase.”
What would one small surrender matter? If she did not yield now, doubtless he would move still higher to her knee or thigh or…sweet Heaven, she had to end it this instant!
Breathlessly, she turned his face toward her so he’d be sure to hear her the first time. “All right! All right! Please stop. Please—please—”
Instantly, he grew still. With his hand lingering on her leg, Gabriel eased himself upward till he knelt on both knees. Between her legs, of all places.
“Please?” he repeated, as though unsure he’d heard her aright. “Please…what?”
Her heartbeat quickened at his words. The air turned thick with expectation between them, with anticipation and something more…something dangerous. Megan swallowed around a sudden ache in her throat, watching as he released her leg and instead used both hands to catch hold of the lapels of the suit coat she’d borrowed to stay warm. Using them for leverage, he pulled her closer.