Ah, he’d wondered when she’d get back to that subject. He headed over to where she’d left the basket. “There’s a saying, Evie. A woman can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
She followed. “There’s another saying that is equally popular. ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ ”
He picked up the basket. She almost bumped into him. Taking advantage of her subsequent stumble, he pulled her into his side. “That is the truth.” He still bore the knife scar from one scorned woman, and the teeth marks from another. Women who’d wanted to tie him down and who’d gotten a bit hostile when he hadn’t shared their enthusiasm for the idea. “But I haven’t scorned you.”
“You went to Nidia on our wedding night!”
Damn. He’d been hoping to have a little more time before she found that out. “I went to help a parishioner in need.”
“You went to a prostitute.” The point of her elbow dug into his side.
He shifted so that it slid harmlessly behind. Across the street he saw Millie watching. Restraining Evie so her struggles were little more than twitches, he nodded. Evie took advantage of his distraction to bite his side. Her teeth were no match for the thickness of his suit coat. Damn, if that temper of hers didn’t set his fuse to sizzling. He waved to Millie, who waved back, a too friendly smile on her face.
He didn’t have time to speculate on Millie’s amusement. He had his hands full with Evie.
“Let me go.”
And have her pitch a fit right there? He didn’t think so. He’d worked too hard to be quietly in the background to let Evie throw them any farther front and center than their need to wed already had. Across the way, lace curtains drew back from an open window. “Unless you want to give the folks watching a hell of a lot more gossip for their gristmill, I’d suggest settling down.”
“You’re afraid of gossip?”
She not only looked, but sounded, shocked.
“Yes.”
A glance around and her struggles ceased. “Then you shouldn’t behave in such a way that inspires it.”
“Probably not.” But Evie wasn’t the only one who chafed under the restraints of expectations.
She cut him a suspicious glare. “Then why do you do it?”
“It keeps people on their toes.”
That bit of truth stilled her struggles as no order could. Taking advantage of her distraction, he steered her down the street, remembering to shorten his steps to hers when she skipped a couple of times. “Sorry. I forgot you’re just a little bit.”
“I’m tall for a woman.”
“Uh-huh.” She was still a little bit compared to him.
“I’m taller than Nidia.”
He sighed. “You do have a burr under your saddle when it comes to her, don’t you?”
“I have a burr under my saddle only in regard to you leaving my bed for hers.”
“Son of a bitch.”
He shoved her into the next alley, glancing around quickly to make sure they didn’t have any spectators. Her eyes were big in the shadows. The basket hit the ground with a clatter. She jumped, her eyes darting to it before coming back to his face. If she had any sense at all, that catch in her breath would be fear.
Pinning her to the side of the building by her shoulders, Brad growled, “I’m getting damn tired of you painting me with the morals of a tomcat.”
Those incredible eyes of hers narrowed. “Then maybe you shouldn’t act like one.”
“Damn it, woman!”
He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. She was so reckless, so willing to challenge his dominion over her when there shouldn’t be any doubt. “You’re my wife.”
“And you’re my husband. When you remember that”—her finger poked into his chest—“I might remember that I’m your wife.”
Sliding his hand behind her neck, he pulled her into a kiss, growling, “I’ve never forgotten.”
The next puff of air exploded into his mouth. She smelled of strawberries, tasted of coffee and womanly defiance. The latter drove him crazy. She was his wife—his claim wasn’t something she could pick up and discard as she wanted. It was permanent and she was going to acknowledge it whether she wanted to or not.
He probed her lips with the tip of his tongue. She smashed them flat, denying him entrance. Giving her a little shake, he ordered, “Open your mouth.”
Her eyes narrowed further. “No.”
The barest parting of her lips was all it took to get the word out. She might as well have shouted. The syllable hit his dominant side with the power of a sledgehammer.
The urge to shake her harder grew. “You don’t tell me no.”
“I just did.”
He closed his eyes against the urge to teach her who wore the pants in this relationship. God-fearing Reverend Swanson was an easygoing man, not inclined to need his wife’s submission. The problem was, the Reverend was a sham, but Shadow Svensen wasn’t, and Shadow Svensen found just about everything about Evie Washington an intriguing challenge. Including the thought of coaxing her around to submission.
Was that part of your plan? That I would fall for her before you took her away?
As always, God let him supply the answer for himself. Yes.
The heck of it was, he didn’t care. He wanted to experience at least the illusion of love.
He dropped his mouth to the curve between her shoulder and neck. “Don’t push me on this, Evie.”
She gasped and turned her face away. Defiance or invitation?
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
Ah hell. “You just had to push me, didn’t you?”
Her gaze searched his, too late finding whatever it was that it took to spark a sense of caution in her bones. “No. I was just—”
“Pushing me,” he finished for her. “Well, sweetheart, you just found my limits.”
With his thumb on the side of her jaw, he tipped her face to the angle he wanted. This close, he could see her pupils dilate, the expanded black bringing out the dark grey flecks in her eyes until they reminded him of pale blue violets in spring. Fragile-looking flowers that flourished in the most unexpected of places. That little pink tongue touched her bottom lip, tempting him. As soon as she noticed his focus, she tucked it in and pressed her lips back into that flat line.
He leaned in, letting his chuckle be the prelude to the lesson he was about to instill. Her lips pressed tighter and her frown grew deeper while his determination just grew stronger. Slipping his thigh between her legs, he leaned his torso into hers. The plumpness of her breasts nestled into his chest, teasing him with each rapid breath.
“You can fight me anywhere you want, Evie, but not here. Not when you’re in my arms. Here, we’re honest with each other.”
“Meaning?”
“This.”
He pressed a butterfly kiss on the corner of her mouth, not giving her time to realize that he wasn’t forcing her before he touched another to the opposite corner, lingering a little longer there, repeating the caress until he felt the tiniest of quivers.
“Open your mouth.”
She shook her head again, but the gesture lacked the vehemence of before, and against his chest, he could feel the poke of her nipples.
She was being unreasonably stubborn. Bringing his mouth back to hers, he slid the back of his fingers down her arms, applying just enough pressure to stimulate. The prod of her nipples grew stronger and a shiver took her from head to toe.
“You liked that, huh?”
“No.”
Very stubborn. Her wrists were narrow. He circled them with his fingers, using his greater weight to keep her pinned, while he drew her hands up to either side of her head, increasing her sense of restraint. “I think you’re lying, Evie. I think you liked it so much, you’ve got goose bumps. I think you liked it so much, you felt that little shiver all the way to your core.”
She shook her head again. More telling than her denial was the curl of her fingertips into her palms.
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“No lies, Evie.”
“I’m not lying.”
He hitched his knee until it pressed with intimate precision between her thighs. At the same time, he switched his grip from her wrist to her hands. Her palms were only half the size of his. The way her fingers immediately laced between his was a betrayal.
He let her turn her head away, but only because it exposed the sensitive side of her neck and the tempting lobe of her ear to the brush of his lips, the flick of his tongue, the graze of his teeth.
Her fingers threaded through his.
“That’s right”—he nipped her lobe before soothing the sting with his tongue—“hold on.”
She did, with a jerk and gasp. He pressed up with his knee, rocking it gently against her as he murmured in her ear, “If the shadows were just a little deeper out here, Mrs. Swanson, do you know what I’d be doing?”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to know.”
Yes, she did. He knew she did, from the hard swallow, and utter stillness with which she waited. “I’m keeping track of these lies, you know.”
“Why?”
“To know how much discipline you’ll require later.”
“I’m not a child.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a very hot, very eager woman who’s too stubborn for her own good.”
“Just because I’m not falling at your feet—”
“You’d be a puddle on the ground if you weren’t riding my knee.”
Her cheeks flared from pink to red. “Just because I’m not falling at your feet,” she continued, “doesn’t make me wrong.”
He brushed his lips over the heat of her blush. The spikes of her lashes tickled his lips as he kissed her eyes closed. “Are you so worried about being right that you really don’t want to know what I’d do if these shadows were just a bit deeper?”
It might have been his threat or her natural sense of curiosity, but whatever the reason, she opened her eyes. Her whispered “What?” shot to the heart of his desire and detonated it into a full explosion. Shit, she was a hot little thing.
“I’d pull up these skirts, slip my hands between your thighs, and make that pretty pussy of yours sing.”
Her respirations picked up. “Where anyone could see?”
He nodded. “We’d be in the shadows, but you’d have to be very quiet.”
This time, when he kissed the corner of her mouth, her lips were relaxed. Nibbling on the lower, he waited until her lips parted on a soft sigh. “You wouldn’t be able to moan when I dipped my fingers in that sweet cream.” Her hips bucked on his thigh. “You couldn’t cry out as I rubbed your little clit.”
He teased the inner lining of her mouth as her nails bit into the backs of his hands. “You’d just have to stand there and hold all those hot cries inside and let each wave of pleasure wash over you.”
“Oh God.” She was very close, her hips rocking on his thigh, her lips biting at his.
He raised her hands higher, letting the tension in her arms spread down her body, angling her hips so she received maximum sensation where she needed it.
“Open your mouth, Evie.”
This time she did, with the desperate desire of a woman who only needed a little bit more to reach satisfaction. He kissed her hard and deep, letting her feel the full force of his passion before breaking off the kiss, teasing himself with the depth of her response before he stepped back, letting her slide down his leg, keeping her suspended in his grip one heartbeat. He admired the dazed look in her eyes, the rise and fall of her breasts, her swollen lips, berry red from his nips and kisses, the faint scent of her arousal. Damn, he’d like her naked like this. Before the strain could tell in her arms, he released her hands. She started at him uncomprehendingly, hands still above her head, still leaning back against the wall as he grabbed up the basket. It just about killed him to put the necessary nonchalance in his voice as he turned away. His cock ached so bad he didn’t need an interpreter to translate the message. If it could have wielded a blade it would have slit his throat for walking away right then.
“We’d better get going. Supper’s getting cold.”
SHE STORMED INTO the house about five minutes after he did.
“You did that on purpose.”
He leaned back in the chair. “I told you, you don’t tell me no.”
She stopped dead. “That was punishment?”
“No. If I punish you, you’ll know it. That was more of a reminder.”
The glint in her eye as she shoved back the hair that had come loose from her braid did not bode well for his longevity. “A reminder of what a great lover you are?”
“Shoot, why didn’t you ask me that earlier? That would have been a better lesson.”
She eyed the legs of the chair as though she’d like to kick them out from under him. “Maybe because I didn’t need a lesson at all.”
“Yeah. You did.”
“In what?”
He brought the chair down on four legs and started unloading the basket. “In what’s real.”
She grabbed for the handle. He was faster. “Sit down.”
“I don’t want to.”
It was easy to guess what had her feathers in a ruffle. “That was more of a request than an order.”
“How was I supposed to tell?”
She had him there. It might be time to soften his edge a bit with his wife. “I thought I’d serve you tonight, seeing as you’ve been on your feet all day.”
She blinked, the statement clearly giving her nowhere to go with her anger. He sighed, motioning again to the chair. “Please.”
Eyeing him suspiciously, she did.
As he opened the lid, the smell of Millie’s chicken paprika got stronger. Looks like Evie would have her revenge anyway. He hated chicken paprika. “Did you make this?”
She shook her head. “Millie made it for you. She told me she made it especially for you.”
Shit. No guessing where Evie heard about Nidia. Had to be at Millicent’s. Millie wouldn’t be pleased about him leaving Evie on her wedding night. She thought of Evie as her daughter and she’d been very specific in her expectations that he make her happy.
The pot was still hot. He quickly dropped it on a towel on the wood cutting board on the end of the table. “Did she pack us anything for dessert? Maybe strawberry shortcake?”
Maybe Millicent wasn’t that mad and she’d left him dessert. “Oatmeal cookies I think.”
He sighed and pulled out the cloth-wrapped bundle. Setting it on the table, he didn’t bother to open it.
“With raisins.”
If she was hoping to raise his enthusiasm, she was barking up the wrong tree. Ladling the stew into a bowl, he asked, “I’m guessing there was gossip at the restaurant today?”
She took the bowl he handed her and shook out her napkin. The move was too careful and too precise to be as casual as she wanted him to believe. She stabbed her fork into the bowl so hard, it clanked on the bottom. “Nidia stopped by.”
Of course she did. Another sign that his luck, thin to begin with, was wearing out. “And?”
There had to be an and.
Evie poked her fork around in her bowl a couple more times before looking up. “She seems to be under the impression that all she has to do is call and you’ll come running.”
Shit again. “I’m the town’s minister. I pretty much come running when anyone calls.”
“That’s not what she implied.”
“Then someone must have ticked her off.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Nidia has a habit of reacting when she’s hurt.”
“Then maybe she should change jobs.”
“You’re smarter than that, Evie. There aren’t many jobs for women like Nidia.”
She had the grace to blush.
“Nidia’s a good person under all that bluster. There are several charities that wouldn’t have gotten off the ground without her.”
“I don’t like her.”
“Because you think I went from your bed to hers.”
She shoved her bowl away. “You did.”
It pissed him off that she saw him that way. “You know I didn’t.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I wouldn’t have gotten a sigh out of you in that alley if you did. You’re a proud woman.”
“Then why did you grind my pride in the dust?”
The answer, when it came to him, was shocking enough that he actually took a bite of the stew. Because he wanted her to think badly of him, so when she found out the truth, she wouldn’t be hurt. Hell, on top of everything else, was he developing a conscience? “I didn’t. You jumped to conclusions.”
He took a drink of cool water. He would have preferred whiskey. Evie glared at him. “You didn’t give me any other choice.”
“There’s always a choice. You could have believed in me.”
Pushing her chair back, she stood. “Then maybe you should give me something to believe in.”
He watched her leave the room, ignoring the strange sense of unease. Taking advantage of a woman’s soft heart was an old game he’d been indulging in for years. Pull them in and then push them away. It kept women off balance, gave him an edge as they struggled to fix what was wrong. And when he was ready to leave, he just pushed them that one time too many and the relationship ended. On his terms. So why didn’t it feel right this time?
Evie stomped up the stairs. She was pissed. He’d succeeded, so where was the sense of accomplishment? Dinner sat before him, getting colder by the second. Upstairs his wife was following suit, stewing in the juices he’d provided. A step farther away than she’d been this afternoon. Ten feet farther than she’d been on their wedding day. It was all going as he’d planned, following a course he’d perfected over the last fifteen years. The spare bedroom door slammed.
He washed the taste of stew out of his mouth with another sip of water. The ensuing silence stretched ominously. A soft breeze blew through the windows, sending the curtains fluttering in time with the slow chirp of crickets. Above it all, he heard the distinct sound of a sob. Crying. Evie was up there crying. He told himself it didn’t matter. Told himself he didn’t care. It was even to be expected. The sound came again. Another sob? Shit.
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