by Carrie Lofty
Alex cringed inwardly. When was the last time he’d cursed at all, let alone at a young woman? Very rarely before that afternoon.
Polly tilted her chin. “But the fact remains that you’re a master. Jesus knows you’ll use anything I say against us.”
He stopped her at the open doorway. The hands at her waist were not caressing. No. Just holding her in place. She looked ready to dart for the Highlands.
“So that’s been the way of it?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she snapped. “I know you’re not.”
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, dragging him back to thoughts he had no history of indulging—the weight of her flesh in his hands, the heft and the softness. He smiled softly, simply enjoying the strong, unexpected buzz of anticipation. Her gaze caught on his mouth before darting away.
“There’s only so much a man can learn from books,” he said at last.
He pulled her aside and shut the door. Although he had been the one to place her in danger, he enjoyed the flush of relief on her freckled cheeks and the deep breath she exhaled. Good Christ, he really had been alone too long if such manipulations aroused him.
But she didn’t thank him. She didn’t even back away. Had she known he was bluffing? He traced the fast beat of her pulse where it throbbed along her neck. Maybe he’d made an impression after all. She certainly had turned him inside out, and so quickly, too.
“Well, I see that you have plenty of books, Mr. Christie. Good luck, then. Perhaps a little more reading will do the trick while the rest of us load bricks, fix looms, and start again.” She pushed away and sauntered toward the door.
Sauntered . . . as if he would let her go.
He caught up with her, easily, eagerly. He’d found another reason to touch her. With his hand trapping her wrist, he turned her to face him. During the initial fracas, he hadn’t given thought to his state of undress. Now he could think of nothing else. His cravat gone. Her mouth so close to his bare skin.
Alex channeled his surprising, almost overwhelming need. He was a good man, but the pressure building in his veins knew no limits.
“You don’t seem to understand,” he ground out. “You’ll tell me what you know and do everything I ask.”
She raised her free hand, perhaps to strike him, but he caught that, too. They stood body to body in the middle of his office. Alex stifled the rough breath that would’ve given away his arousal.
“If you don’t,” he continued, “I’ll do worse than threaten you with the likes of Livingstone. You have a job you’d like to keep, yes?”
“Ha!” The fury was back in her eyes, pure and cold—the most provocative shade of green he’d ever seen. “You need a woman of my experience more than I need your company’s name on my pay packet.”
“And who else would hire you? A woman with your reputation? It would be a very easy thing to turn the other masters against you. You’re already a prime suspect.”
“You fit in with them seamlessly. It’s in your nature. You sit behind a desk when the rest of us break our backs and little girls of only four years put in a full day’s work.”
Something made him protest. Gamblers would’ve railed at him for tipping his hand, but at that moment, as Polly Gowan vibrated with anger, he could not be the ogre she believed him to be. He released her wrists and resisted the urge to apologize for the red marks he’d left there. “I’m not like every master,” he said softly.
“Now, that you’ll have to prove.”
As if standing outside of himself, he bridged the scant distance between their faces and touched a lock of her fiery hair. Silken. Alluring like nothing he’d ever known.
She stiffened. Her full mouth flattened into a sharp line. “But you are like every other man. May I go?”
“Yes,” he said with an exhale. From somewhere deep inside, he found his resolve once more. “I must question the others.”
“And what about the factory? I’m not so optimistic as to hope we won’t be held accountable for our weekly quotas, even working among a shambles.”
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow, Miss Gowan. I’ll be there for the first shift.”
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