She wanted this charade over. She met his gaze dead on. “I won’t be your mistress.”
He blinked, and then, impossibly, smiled. “You might want to wait until asked.”
Her stomach heaved and churned. She needed to get away from here. “I don’t understand you.”
“I don’t imagine you do.” He pushed away from the wall and took a step forward. It brought him so close, his knees hit the bed. He was imposingly big, this close. She had to tip her head back to see his face as he said, “But I won’t ever hurt you.”
She could only stare at him as his fingers brushed down the side of her head. Two deep breaths and she had the urge to cringe under control.
“Or let anyone else,” he added as she met his gaze.
His hand slid to her shoulder, where it rested heavy and warm.
“Do you hate my touching you?”
Did he expect her to lie? Want her to lie? Well, she wouldn’t. “Yes.”
“Because he hurt you?”
Her chin inched up a notch. “Yes.”
“I guess you’ve got cause to distrust men,” he admitted on a sigh, patting her shoulder before removing his hand.
She took a steadying breath. What did he want from her? She ran her eyes over his face from hair to chin. He was a handsome man with high cheekbones, deeply bronzed skin, full lips and a straight nose. His chin, however, gave her pause. It was way too aggressive for her peace of mind. Her gaze dropped to his shoulders, wider than her arms could wrap around. She moved her gaze down to his chest, equally massive. He was a man built for strength. For endurance. Her gaze rose back to his stubborn chin that told her he wouldn’t be averse to using that strength to get his way. He was probably well used to getting his way.
She pulled her gaze from his chin and studied his eyes. They were, by far, his best feature. More gold than brown, and they were very expressive. As much as she wanted to hate him, she couldn’t. There was too much regret in those eyes, too much guilty sympathy for her plight, and too damned much consideration for her feelings in his manner for her to hate him. But she could try. She could really try.
“I want to leave.”
“It’s not possible right now.”
“If I got here, I can get home.”
“No.”
“You can’t keep me here against my will!”
His smile was a flash of straight, white teeth in his dark face. “Angel, I can pretty much do whatever I want.”
The truth of that churned in her gut. She pressed her hand to her stomach.
His finger under her chin brought her gaze to his. “But I’m not feeling much like kidnapping anyone today.”
Her “Good” was a weak reflection of how she wanted to sound.
“How old are you?”
Mara blinked once before answering. “Twenty-three.” And then because the way she’d snapped the answer out annoyed her, she asked one of her own, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.” Cougar stroked the underside of her chin once, his gaze lingering on her face before he stepped away. She breathed a little easier with the distance, but she kept her eyes on him. Not sure what he was up to but sure he was up to something. He didn’t seem to do anything without a reason.
“Would you like a drink of water?” he asked.
Her “No” trailed behind him as he cleared the foot of the bed. Amusement lurked around him like a good friend. As he drew level with her, she noticed her nightgown had slipped. One more inch and her breast would be exposed. Oh Lord, what if he noticed?
She yanked the gown back up. She had it up with the excess material tucked securely beneath her arm, and he was still fussing with that glass of water. She closed her eyes as understanding sank in. He was giving her time. “You can turn around now.”
He did, waiting for her to make the next move, that stupid glass of water resting in his hand.
“I’ll take that.” She held out her hand for the water.
“Do you really want it?”
“Since you went to all that trouble, the least I can do is drink it.”
His eyebrow rose as he released the glass into her care. Her eyes met his for a second.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
They both knew she wasn’t thanking him for the water. She wished it were different, but she couldn’t be beholden to him. For anything. She had to get out of here.
“I want to leave.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible until we straighten things out between us.”
“There’s nothing to straighten out. I want to go home.”
“Do you have family anxiously awaiting your return?”
Her lips shaped around a lie, but what sighed past them was the truth. Dammit. “No.”
“There could be repercussions from last night.”
“There won’t be.” There couldn’t be. The fragile level of peace she’d attained wouldn’t survive the slightest misstep.
“There could be,” Cougar argued in that low drawl that made her want to scream. “People in town are always eager to leap on a juicy bit of gossip like your spending the night with me.”
“As you said, that’s nothing new.”
“So we’ll have to deal with it,” he explained patiently.
“There’s nothing to deal with.”
He sighed and ran his hand through his thick black hair. “Guess there really was no hope you’d be reasonable.”
“I’m always reasonable.”
“Uh-huh.” He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s because of me that you’re in this mess, so that means it’s up to me to get you out of it.”
“A drunken cowboy got me into this mess.”
“Would you rather marry up with him?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll get the Reverend out here as soon as possible and get the deed done.”
“Deed?”
“Our marriage.”
He had to be kidding, Mara thought, staring at Cougar as he stared back, looking stubborn to the bone, too obstinate to admit the craziness of his own words. “You can’t want to marry me. A woman from a brothel.”
“I’m marrying you.”
Didn’t he have a single, predictable bone in his body? She pressed her hand harder into her stomach and rubbed the ache beginning behind her eyes with the other. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly as they slid around to massage the crease from her brow. She hid them beneath the cover as she asked wearily, “You can’t think marrying me is going to make me more acceptable to anyone?”
“I’m not worried about anyone but me finding you acceptable.”
“You will,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to the quilt. “When people start whispering behind your back, when social invitations drop off, and when decent women cross the street to avoid tainting the air that they breathe with your filth, you’ll care.”
His hand landed on her head, smoothing down her back, the pressure on her hair pulling her chin up. It was inevitable that her gaze would meet his.
“I won’t,” he repeated. Nothing in his gaze or the hard set of his mouth indicated he meant other than what he said.
She knew exactly how to shake him out of his complacency. “What if I’m with child?”
His hand paused mid-stroke. The lift of his right eyebrow was the only change in his expression. “You don’t know?”
She dug her nails into her thighs and dropped her gaze. “It’s not likely as I’ve never been regular. The midwife told my mother I might never have a baby because of that.” She brought her gaze back to his. “I suppose you ought to know that, too, that I may never be able to give you children.”
His hand resumed its stroking and he shrugged. “Early, late or never, I expect we’ll manage however it plays out.”
That was it. No anger. No backpedaling. Just a practical accommodation to a potential problem. She didn’t believe him for a minute. Every man wanted a son to carry on
his name, and no man wanted a child not his own.
“I won’t have a child of mine punished for something he or she can’t help.”
“Then you’d better marry me because nothing hurts a kid more than being labeled a bastard.”
He had her there. A child born out of wedlock had no hope of acceptance. If she was pregnant, she was early enough that no one would ever know for sure that Cougar was not the father. Except for her. And him. And if he became resentful of the child after its birth and they were married, she would have no way of protecting it. The child’s fate would be sealed. She forced her fingers to unclench. She brought her gaze back to his.
“I’m not marrying you.”
“Because you’re worried I won’t accept a child not of my blood?”
She forced her fingers to open and her expression to stay firm. “Yes.”
He stared at her for the longest moment. His expression impassive. “Is that your final word?” he asked.
“Yes.” She closed her eyes and sank deeper into the comforting softness of the mattress. She faked a yawn. “I’m tired. I’d like you to leave.”
He took a step back. The floorboard creaked under his weight. She could feel his eyes boring into her. She forced her breath to slow and her tight muscles to relax in an approximation of sleep.
He still didn’t leave. He vastly underestimated her if he thought he could out-stubborn her. She’d fake sleep from here to eternity if that’s what it took. And it did seem an eternity before the board creaked again and she heard his boot heels rap across the floor. Only after she heard the knob rattle and then the door click closed behind him did she open her eyes. What in God’s name was she going to do?
Chapter Seven
“Hello. Anybody up?”
The cheery, feminine call yanked Mara from sleep. An equally forceful yank on her scalp kept her from leaping to her feet. Turning to the right, she saw what had kept her from leaving the bed. Beside her lay McKinnely, all six foot plus inches of uncompromising hard masculinity. One heavily muscled arm was lying across her hair, the dark tan of his skin almost invisible in her red-brown hair. As she followed the rise and fall of muscle over his forearm and up to his shoulder, she gasped and froze. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“What are you doing in my bed?”
In response to her demand, his right eye cracked open. “Sleeping.”
“In my bed?”
“Relax,” Cougar mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “We’re going to be married.”
“No, we are not.” She tugged on her hair while he continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted.
“It’s perfectly all right for us to be in bed together.” His hand dropped to the space between them, pulling the sheets tight. His eyes, fully open now, surveyed her with a lazy possessiveness that set her teeth on edge.
“You’ll pardon me if I don’t take your word for it.” An elbow in his side generated a lazy umph but not a lot of movement.
“Get out of my bed,” she hissed, conscious that she could be overheard.
He rolled to his back and stretched his arms high above his head like a big lazy cat. A scar on his left biceps flexed with the movement. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” A yawn accompanied the statement.
Mara wrestled her hair free. She could tell from the sound of Dorothy’s footsteps she was almost to the door. “It’s a wonderful idea.” She scooted as fast as her injuries allowed and pointed to the door. “Get out!”
He shrugged those big shoulders. On a “Have it your way,” he tweaked the covers aside and slid out. He was completely naked. Totally, completely naked, and as much as she was horrified, Mara was also fascinated. There was just no ignoring the perfection of his big body. The way his broad shoulders tapered to tight buttocks in a ripple of flexing muscle was pure beauty. The puckering of scars here and there did nothing to distract. His thighs were strong and thickly roped with hard stretches of dense muscle. Standing as he was with his legs slightly parted, she could see the heavy sac of his balls swinging between, and below them, the broad mushroom-shaped head of his penis dangled. One thing was clear. This was a man in his prime.
The morning sun glanced off the slant of his cheek as he looked over his shoulder at her. His wickedly victorious smile coincided with Dorothy’s “Mara, are you up?” Before the echo of the last tap had ended, Dorothy was opening the door. Cougar did not grab for the covers.
Mara hurled a pillow at him as it dawned on her exactly why he wasn’t afraid of being caught naked in her bedroom. He hadn’t given up on his plan to marry her, he’d just changed tactics to force the issue.
Cougar caught the pillow. Dorothy stepped into the room. Mara couldn’t decide whether to apologize or swear as the older woman’s gaze took in the compromising situation. For a long moment, she stared at Cougar. Then at Mara.
“I guess I won’t be inviting the Simpsons over Saturday next, after all.” Dorothy pulled the quilt off the bed and passed it to Cougar. “Cover yourself.”
He was slow to comply. As he turned to wrap the quilt around his lean hips, Mara got a glimpse of his broad chest, the flat male nipples nestled amidst the curling black hair. More of that hair began below his navel. It drew her eye like a beacon, and before she could check the impulse, she was staring at his manhood. Even at rest, it looked huge, almost as thick as her arm, and reaching down his thigh. As she stared, fascinated despite herself, it twitched. She gasped. As if in response to her horror, he flipped the quilt across his hips, obscuring her vision.
Dorothy asked, “How you feeling, honey?”
“Better.” Mara tried to keep her blush down by her toes, but Cougar’s knowing grin kept spiking it up.
Okay. So she’d looked. What was the harm in that? She snagged the sheet with her toe. Surely the most notorious woman in the territory should know what a naked man looked like. She shifted so her back was to Cougar.
“Where have you been?” she asked Dorothy to cover her embarrassment.
Dorothy came closer. She brought the scent of clean air and summer flowers. She caught the sheet Mara was inching up and dropped it in Mara’s lap.
“Elijah Ware’s wife had her little girl last night.”
“He must be over the moon,” Cougar drawled.
“He is though it wasn’t an easy birth.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Doc?” Mara asked.
“He’s putting the carriage away,” Dorothy answered.
Cougar laughed as he tucked the end of the quilt around his waist. “Grumbling, no doubt, about the abuse to his old bones.”
Dorothy nodded and smiled, but her gaze remained on Mara as she answered. “Loud enough to be heard two valleys over.”
“Dorothy has an aversion to good horseflesh,” Cougar offered wryly, walking to stand by Mara’s side at the headboard.
It was a proprietary gesture. One Mara did not appreciate. Her glare bounced off his half smile.
“Or bad horseflesh for that matter,” Dorothy admitted. She frowned as she glanced between the two of them, but Mara couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“Dorothy’s carriage is in reality an abandoned flatbed a patient fixed up and gave to Doc,” Cougar explained. Angry footsteps in the other room only seemed to inspire his grin to widen. “The da…darn thing has no springs. Every time Dorothy decides to go along on a visit, Doc has to suffer his bones being rattled and…”
“What I have to suffer is inhuman.” Doc broke into Cougar’s explanation as he stomped into the room. Red-faced, his grizzled hair sticking up every which way, he crossed the short distance separating him from his wife in three indignant strides. This close, Mara could see the little beads of sweat dotting his upper lip and feel the tension in his body.
“That’s the absolute last time, woman,” he growled, shaking his finger in her face. “I will no longer tolerate having my joints bounced asunder just because of your foolish fe
ars.”
“Of course, Horace,” Dorothy responded sweetly. “But…”
“No buts,” Doc countered. “You learn to ride today.”
“If you make me ride a horse, darlin’,” Dorothy slowly pointed out, stepping so close to her husband, her skirts swayed against his legs. “I’d get all sore.”
Doc pulled up straight. “A touch of liniment would take care of that.”
“Liniment?” Dorothy managed a delicate shudder while her fingers toyed with the buttons on Doc’s plain white shirt. “You surely wouldn’t want me to put that awful, burning stuff on my…limbs, would you?”
Doc was not so easily swayed. “Plenty of folk use the stuff.”
Dorothy smoothed his hair. The hint of daylight between their bodies winked out as she leaned her chest into his. “Even if you rubbed it on yourself, I’m sure I wouldn’t be good for anything for a week.” Her fingers slipped between the buttons of his lapel. “Why, I’d probably be so uncomfortable, I’d have to make up a bed in the parlor, just so you could get some rest.”
“All right.” Doc cleared his throat, caught Dorothy’s hand in his and stepped back. “Maybe you don’t have to start today.”
Mara noted he didn’t let go of Dorothy’s hand, she also noted Dorothy didn’t seem in any hurry for him to do so. Instead, she smiled. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she kissed his cheek, “Thank you.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Doc warned. He put his hands on his hips, but Mara could tell the fight had gone out of him. “There’s always tomorrow.”
Stepping up against his chest, Dorothy cupped his face in her hands and delivered a lingering kiss to his mouth. “You’re so good to me,” she whispered against his lips. Mara watched, fascinated despite herself. She’d never seen two people so obviously in love. When Dorothy stepped back, Doc leaned forward, prolonging the kiss.
The room suddenly seemed too small. Cougar too close. She took a slow breath and concentrated on counting the tiny flowers in one of the quilt blocks. The floorboards creaked and she saw Dorothy’s skirts swish out the door.
“Give me a half hour and I’ll have breakfast on the table,” Dorothy called over her shoulder.
Promises Keep (The Promise Series) Page 9