by Jo Goodman
Skye sucked in her breath. "I'll kill you if you lay a hand on me," she said through clenched teeth.
They had arrived at Walker's room. In deliberate defiance of her threat, he opened the door, put his hand on the small of her back, and shoved. Skye was propelled into the room. She spun on him, her expression feral. "Parnell already thinks you tried once tonight," he told her.
That calm announcement stopped Skye. Instead of dropping the things she held to strike him, she gripped them tighter. "What do you mean?"
Walker approached her. Prying the things loose from her clenched fists, he tossed them on a chair. Without giving her time to react, Walker's fingers enclosed Skye's wrist and he raised her hand to the back of his head. "This," he said. "Feel it."
Skye's fingers trembled as she explored the raised edge of the bump. There was blood on the tips of her fingers when Walker allowed her to withdraw. She stared at her hand, then at Walker. Her voice was a husky whisper. "I didn't do that." The denial wasn't as firm as she might have wished. Her next words were barely audible, but clearly framed as a question. "Did I?"
Walker felt her question as a real physical blow, but it registered on his face as a mere blink. What exactly had happened to her tonight? "Don't you know?"
Skye's face went from pale to ashen. Shadows deepened her green eyes and, to her horror, tears welled. She did not want to be vulnerable in front of this man. She bit her lower lip and concentrated on the pain instead of on her confusion. The horrible truth was, she didn't know.
Walker didn't pose the question again. He didn't need to hear her answer to understand her confusion. "Change your clothes," he said, plucking at his suspenders and slipping them off his shoulders. "Unless you want to sleep in your dress."
The tears dried in her eyes. She gave a short nod and turned away. The buttons were difficult, and without Annie to help, Skye struggled. Walker brushed aside her hands and began the task. Skye stiffened, but she held her place and said nothing. He was quick, impersonal, but each time his knuckle brushed her skin, Skye felt her breath catch. He finished without a word and stepped back. The silence in the room was powerful.
Walker's hands remained at his side as Skye removed her gown. Her head was bowed, the back of her neck exposed. There was nothing provocative in her action, no intended tease, yet Walker felt a rush of desire that made it impossible for him to look away.
Clasped in the loose barrette, her flaming hair had fallen over one shoulder. He could have reached for it, clutched it, and drawn her back against him. He'd felt her against him before, known how her contours would fit the angles of his own body. She wasn't entirely afraid of him, not as he expected her to be, not as he wanted her to be. It was probably more accurate that she was afraid of herself.
Skye stepped out of the gown and reached for her nightshift. Still modestly covered by her chemise and one petticoat, she drew it over her head. She wished Walker would say something. Without turning around, she knew he was watching her. The strength of his stare was like hands on her body. She shuddered.
The movement challenged the silence. Swearing softly, Walker stepped backward, away from Skye, and removed his trousers. He turned back the covers on the bed, then poured a small amount of water into the basin on the washstand and began to attend to his head.
Reaching under her nightgown, Skye managed to remove her chemise and petticoat without showing any more flesh than she already had. Rather more satisfied, she sat in a chair to take off her shoes and stockings. She picked at the laces, watching Walker. "You may need a stitch," she said.
"I don't think so."
"I've done it before," she added. "Stitching, I mean."
The glance he shot her was patently skeptical.
"Well, I've watched my sister do it. It didn't look so hard."
"No, thanks." Walker washed the knot on his head gingerly, then explored with his fingers, wincing as he touched a particularly tender spot. "I'll survive this injury better than I'd survive your attentions to it." He wrung out the washcloth and tossed it to her. "Your fingers," he said. "You have my blood on them."
There was only a small stain, barely visible now. Skye washed it away and carried the cloth back to the basin. "I suppose since this is your room, you'll be wanting the bed."
"That's right," he said frankly. "And I'll want you in it with me."
It was the knowledge that Walker wouldn't want her in his bed that had helped Skye remain calm. Realizing it hadn't been knowledge at all, but only an assumption, Skye's vision blurred at the edges. She grabbed the corner of the washstand.
"Are you going to faint?"
"No." Her weak reply didn't convince her. She understood why Walker simply picked her up and laid her on the bed. He stood over her a moment, studying her still and wary face before he pulled up the covers. Skye's eyes followed Walker as he rounded the bed and climbed in from the other side. She continued to stare even after he blew out the bedside lamp.
Walker punched at his pillow until it was the shape he wanted. He stretched out, turning to face Skye, his arm supporting the pillow and his head. "You have to sleep sometime," he said.
Skye said nothing for a long moment. "Is that when you'll do it?" she asked finally.
"Do it?"
"Touch me..."
"Rape you, you mean." He edged closer to her. "That's the second time tonight you've said something like that to me. Is that what you think I want to do?"
"I don't know." Her voice was small, choked. His face was close to hers now. She could feel his breath on her skin. There was the faint smell of whiskey and she remembered the drink he'd been holding in the parlor. "Why am I here, then? Who are you really protecting? Parnell? Yourself?"
"Don't you know?" he asked softly. "I'm protecting you."
She had a host of things she wanted to say, and they all remained unspoken as Walker's mouth touched hers.
His lips were firm and warm. The pressure was gentle—insistent, but not invading. Skye knew she could pull back at any time. He didn't touch her with his hands. His leg didn't move to hold her captive. Yet she didn't withdraw, even when his mouth parted her own and there was the moist heat of his tongue along the edge of her lips. Her heart raced. Her breathing quickened. There could be more to this kiss, she knew, and longing warred with disturbing images inside her head.
Walker sensed her reluctance before Skye knew it herself. He raised his head. "Go to sleep," he said. There was a tiny sigh from her, a small sound of disappointment that she couldn't quite contain. He smiled. "You can't have it both ways, Mary Schyler. Either you trust me or you don't... either you want me or you don't. You have to be sure."
She couldn't think of anything to say to that. She was sharing a bed with a man she hardly knew and she barely knew why. Skye had never imagined that desire might not be a straightforward emotion, that the peculiar hunger she associated with it would not come on suddenly, but in small twinges that made her uneasy. She had never imagined that it could sneak up behind her, hover, then disappear, leaving her unsettled and confused.
Skye's adventuring spirit could have accepted being blindsided by an onslaught of passion. She was prepared to be a fool for love.
This was different.
Walker Caide only wanted her. She hadn't expected to want a man like that. There would be no grand passion to blame, no false promises to lead her astray. There was only an emptiness aching to be filled when he was around.
* * *
It was still dark outside when Skye woke. Shards of sleet made a steady scratching sound as they hit the windowpanes, and the French doors groaned when the wind whipped across the balcony. The rising storm brought the house to life. Boards creaked as if bracing themselves. The gutters rattled. An eddy of air whistled in the chimney flue. Skye was more comforted than disturbed by the storm. She turned on her side and drew in her sprawled limbs, burrowing into the mattress and blankets. A sleepy, contented smile marked her face. She closed her eyes.
And o
pened them wide an instant later when she realized where she was. Walker wasn't in bed any longer. A moment ago her body had been stretched out to command most of the bed. She had all the blankets, but the pillow she was hugging to her chest had Walker's scent on it.
Slowly Skye turned again, this time facing the fireplace. He was almost a silhouette against the flames, a dark apparition except at the edges, where orange light burnished his smooth skin. He was standing at a right angle to the mantel and the smooth line of his shoulder, chest, and arm clearly showed he was naked to the waist.
Fascinated by his deliberate stillness and the purposeful stance of his lean body, Skye watched through the fan of her lashes as Walker inhaled fully and raised his arms to chest height. He exhaled slowly, moving his arms down to his thighs in a fluid motion while bending his knees slightly. The splendid line of his back remained straight. He pivoted then, facing south and placing his weight lightly on his right foot. His hands moved with conscious gracefulness around an invisible wheel. Eventually his left hand fell away from the imaginary rim, palm back. When Walker's right hand reached the top of the wheel he raised it forward, as if in gentle greeting to the wind, keeping his palm toward his face. In the same motion his right leg was lifted and he stepped forward, shifting his weight in that direction.
Skye's breathing was light and shallow. Her eyes were filled with Walker's beautiful form as he stretched and shifted. His arms were in continuous choreographed motion. The movements were spare and fluid, curling and rounded, and they all seemed to serve some purpose or illustrate some thought in his mind's eye. Firelight was reflected in the thin sheen of perspiration that touched his skin, proof there was exertion in making each movement appear effortless.
It was a long time before Skye sensed Walker was bringing it to a close. His body was facing east again and his hands flowed in outward circles. He raised them to his forehead, palms out, then continued the movement outward in a sweeping circle before bringing them to his chest, crossed this time, then dropping them gently to his thighs. There was the slightest pause before Walker drew his arms inward and raised his hands to chest height, his wrists relaxed. Slowly he lowered his hands back to his thighs.
"It's called the Great Circle," he said after a moment. He padded softly to the washstand and poured fresh water into the basin.
"You knew I was watching?"
"Only in the end. Tai-Chi demands concentration. It's difficult to be aware of someone else."
Skye pushed herself upright. The strap of her nightgown slipped over one shoulder. Before she could bring it up, Walker was leaning toward her and hooking it with his index finger. The back of his knuckle lightly brushed her skin. He withdrew immediately, taking up the washcloth, dipping it in the water, then running it over his face, arms, and chest. He glanced in Skye's direction once and when she realized she was staring she turned away, embarrassed.
"Tai-Chi?" she asked. As if her flushed face were not evidence enough that she was flustered, the pitch of her voice was a bit too high. Skye wanted to pull the covers over her head. She forced herself to brazen it out. "I thought you said it was the Great Circle."
"It's just a way of practicing Tai-Chi. If you were watching for a while, then you know that some of the movements are repeated."
She had been watching from the very beginning, but she didn't tell him that. "It's lovely," she said, a shade wistfully. Each gesture had been sweeping, yet gentle. Walker had moved slowly, as if through water, dipping and floating. "You've been doing it for a very long time, haven't you?"
"Years."
"Tai-Chi," she said again, testing the unfamiliar words.
"It's Chinese."
"I thought it might be. Where did you learn it?"
"From a master."
That wasn't the answer Skye had expected to hear. "I meant, where did—"
"You're asking a lot of questions," Walker pointed out. The observation silenced Skye for a few seconds.
"You use it to fight," she said.
Walker smiled to himself. He finished with the washcloth, wrung it out, and laid it over the edge of the basin. His robe was lying at the foot of the bed. He picked it up, shrugged into it, and stretched out in the chair that angled away from the fireplace.
"I recognized the movements," Skye went on. She pushed a pillow behind the small of her back and raised her knees, curving her arms around them as she drew them close to her chest. Although she could hear the ticking of the clock, she couldn't make out the time. She couldn't imagine herself falling asleep again, even if it were only the middle of the night. "When you knocked the gun from Mr. Parnell's hand it was the same."
"Was it?"
"Faster," she said. "Although it didn't seem so then. I remember thinking it was as if you were moving through water. I noticed it again just now."
"You're very observant," he said. His brown-and-gold-flecked eyes regarded her frankly. She was pressed against the headboard, curled in the cocoon of her own cotton nightshift. Her eyelids still had a heavy, hooded look to them, sleepy and sensual. Her bright hair hung loosely about her shoulders. The line of her lower lip was full and faintly damp where she had touched it with the tip of her tongue. In that moment she was a temptress. In the next, when she drew in that lip and worried it gently, she was an innocent.
Two sides of the same coin, he thought, shifting in his chair. He pulled at the sides of his robe, covering the smooth breadth of his chest and belted it.
"I am observant," she said. "And curious. And intrepid."
He smiled again. "All the things that get you into trouble, Mary Schyler."
Staring at her hands which were folded on her knees, Skye sighed. "I suppose so." She looked at him suddenly, her expression forthright. "Are you really protecting me?" she asked.
"Yes."
A small vertical line appeared between her feathered brows as she considered his answer and weighed the truthfulness. "Did someone ask you to?"
Now Walker frowned. "Ask me to?"
"Yes, were you asked to protect me? Perhaps even hired."
It was a very odd question for a housekeeper to pose, and Walker filed it away instead of taking issue with it now. "No one's asked me and no one's offered me any money for it. If ever there was someone who needed a keeper, it's you."
Her chin came up. "That's insulting."
"That's the truth."
Skye ducked her head again, resting her chin on knees. She supposed she hadn't given him much reason to think otherwise. "I know who you are," she said after a while.
"What?"
She was aware that Walker's relaxed posture was more pretense than real. It was his very stillness that gave him away. She didn't have to see his eyes to know that they were sharper now, the gold flecks splinters of light. "I know who you are," she repeated. "Or perhaps it's more accurate to say that we've met before."
"Is that right?"
She nodded, sparing him a glance. "I doubt that you'd remember," she said. To herself she could admit that she would never forget. "You had other things on your mind that night."
Walker leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows against his knees. Intrigued by the notion that he had made Skye's acquaintance before, he studied her face hard. The smile that edged her mouth had taken a decidedly impish turn. The slant of her eyes could only be described as mischievous. The light color stealing into her cheeks was a telltale sign that she was uncomfortable with his scrutiny. She pulled her hair to one side and twisted it in a single thick braid to keep her hands busy.
He wouldn't have forgotten that face, he thought. Not those clear green eyes, not the fiery hair. If she couldn't strictly be called beautiful, she was, at the very least, arresting. He couldn't imagine the situation where he might not have noticed her. Whether inadvertently or by design, she drew attention to herself. He clearly remembered her waiting in the foyer for her interview, leaning over the bench, her bustle and her behind pointed in the air.
She drew attention
to herself, he thought again, even if it wasn't to her face.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked. She rubbed the tip of her nose self-consciously. "Do I have a-"
"It's nothing," he said. "My mind went off in an entirely different direction for a moment." He held up his hands briefly. "I'm afraid you have the advantage. I don't recall seeing you before."
"You didn't really see me."
He frowned. "But we met?"
She nodded. "We spoke."
"It's a riddle," he said, coming to his feet. "And I'm afraid I don't know the answer."
The lilting cadence of her mother's Irish accents came out as Skye responded. "Sure, and you're not givin' up so quickly, are you? It can't be that much of a quizzle for a smart man like yourself."
For just a second Walker felt himself rooted to the floor. Had she noticed? "I must not be as smart as you think. Nothing's coming to mind."
Skye was disappointed. Either he didn't remember or he was pretending not to. "It's all right," she said. It was impossible for her voice not to indicate that the opposite was true.
"Are you going to tell me where it was?" he asked.
She shook her head. "It's not important." Again the lie was in her voice.
"Perhaps you've mistaken me for someone else."
"Perhaps I have," she agreed softly. But she hadn't. She was certain of it.
Walker approached the bed. He sat down on the edge near where she was curled and contemplative. He placed one hand over hers. She watched him, but she didn't shy away from his touch. "Trust should be mutual," he said.
Her eyes were solemn. "I've always thought so."
His slow exhalation had the sound of resignation in it. He withdrew his hand, his decision made. "It was in the park," he said. "Central Park. You were hiding along one of the paths, in the pines. You called out to your friends to give me time to get away."
"They weren't my friends."
"I didn't go far. They knew you."
Skye wondered what he had heard. She remembered they had kept walking, so unless he had trailed them, she and the others would have been out of earshot quickly. "And I knew them," she said. "But except for Daniel, they weren't my friends."