by Lower, Becky
Her stomach was doing somersaults as she contemplated what to do. Perhaps she could grab a blanket and sleep on the floor of the bank while he was upstairs. It would be no harder a surface than what she slept on every night out at the soddy. Yes, that’s what she’d suggest. It would be safer all around. She must stay out of his quarters, and out of his bed, at all costs.
As she put away the step stool and her cleaning supplies, her mind wandered back to when Basil approached her as she was on the stool earlier. She was at eye level with him, since the stool added ten or so inches to her height. She stood there, looking straight into his eyes and caught the stirring embers of lust in them as he lowered his gaze to her lips.
Suddenly, her mouth went very dry, and she moistened her lips with her tongue. He followed her tongue’s movement with his eyes, and she got very damp in her nether region. Chills ran down her body, as she broke eye contact and jumped down from the stool, not taking his offered hand. She was afraid if she touched him, she would melt into him and never resurface as a woman in her own right.
Temperance took a deep, calming breath. Her hands fluttered over her stomach and she smoothed her worn and faded muslin dress. Not only her hands, but her dress as well did not measure up to the standards set by Basil’s other women. She’d seen some of his conquests on the streets of town. They fawned over him, right out in public, no less. Their fancy dresses and hats, with matching parasols and reticules, put her serviceable muslin gown to shame.
She was grateful that Basil had taken her family under his wing, but she was aware, deep in her heart, that he only had done so because he had a sense of responsibility, since her father collapsed in Basil’s bank. Not because he was attracted to her. She shouldn’t even be thinking about him in any loving manner, since she was not the kind of woman he would ever take home to meet his mother. More was expected of him than to marry a poor preacher’s daughter.
She stood in front of the window, peering out into the storm for some sign that Basil was on his way back to the bank. She could give herself all types of speeches about how unfit she was for him, but at the end of the day, she accepted the fact her heart had been given to him long ago. When was it, exactly? When they’d kissed in his apartment? No, to be honest with herself, it was before that. After all, she was lying on his bed having amorous thoughts about him when he caught her.
Her cheeks burned again as she relived that scene. She traced back her time spent with him and was surprised to realize she had given her heart to him the very first day they met. When he waved off that horrible Herbert Walker with his condescending attitude and took care of them himself. He did not treat her family as if they were bugs to be squashed, and she was grateful.
So how did grateful transfer into love? True, he was the most handsome man she’d ever met. She noticed his appearance even before she said one word to him. So, a good-looking, rugged businessman showed her family a modicum of civil behavior and that was all it took?
She sighed as she turned her attention back to the street and waited for Basil to return. Yes, that was all it took. The air crackled between them each time they were together, even when they were merely having a light-hearted conversation, and in her mind, no one could ever hold a candle to him. She had seen a spark of lust from him, but until she could determine if it was lust or love, she’d best stay at arm’s length. Even knowing that, her body trembled in anticipation of spending some quiet time alone with him.
Finally, Temperance spied a lone form crossing the street from the livery. She hurried to the front door and unlocked it just as Basil set foot on the porch. He entered the room quickly, but still, snow and cold swirled into the room with him. Temperance quickly closed the door behind him and slid the deadbolt lock into place. When she turned back around, she laughed at the white figure before her.
“You’re covered from head to toe in the white stuff,” she chortled as she raised her hand and brushed the snow out of his dark brown hair. Their eyes met for a second and sparks flew around the room, melting the ice crystals. Temperance lowered her eyes as she helped him from his coat, hanging it on the coat rack.
“Looks as if I’ll be needing to get my cleaning supplies out again to take care of this mess,” she gazed at the puddle forming at Basil’s feet. “What did you find out at the hotel?”
“As I suspected, they have no rooms left. So you have no other choice but to stay here.”
“Well then, so be it. You need to get out of those wet boots before you catch your death. Go on upstairs with you while I take care of the floor.”
Basil grinned at her. “You sound as if you’re talking to one of your little brothers.”
Temperance smiled back at him. “I don’t mean to be ordering you around, but I’m used to taking charge.”
“Yes, I know,” he said as the grin left his face. “But I want to be in charge sometimes, too.”
Temperance caught the flicker of lust in his eyes again and swallowed hard. She wanted nothing more than for him to take charge — to pull her into an embrace and ravage her mouth with kisses. Her mouth went dry and her middle went damp again, at just the thought. Certain he could read what she was thinking in her eyes, she turned away. As she made her way to the supply room for the mop and bucket, he climbed the stairs and she released the breath she’d been holding.
Chapter Twelve
With unsure steps, Temperance climbed the stairs a few minutes later and knocked once before she opened the door to his apartment. He was standing at the window looking out, and she got a smile on her face when she noticed his bare feet, except for a fresh pair of socks. You can take the man out of the boy, but you can’t take the boy out of the man, her mother was used to saying. It certainly held true for Basil Fitzpatrick.
He turned when she entered the room. His hair was damp, but had been cleared of all remaining snow. He must have run a towel over it, since it stood up in spikes on top of his head. Her hands itched to smooth his hair down. And her lips itched to kiss his sultry ones. She took a breath and ran her hands down the sides of her dress instead and wet her lips with her tongue.
“So, Temperance, we’re socked in for the night. Just the two of us. Whatever shall we do?” Was it just her imagination or was he flirting with her? In a highly inappropriate way.
She moved, with quick, sharp steps, into the kitchen area of the room, putting some necessary distance between them, and poked her nose into his pantry. “Well, Mr. Fitzpatrick, I trust that you won’t try to take advantage of the situation, so I suggest we eat something. Let me see what I can find and get busy. Why don’t you take a seat?”
“I think we’ve moved past the Mr. Fitzpatrick stage. Please, at least for tonight, call me Basil. Why don’t I help you instead? I admit, I am the world’s worst bachelor. I can barely boil water for my morning coffee. Perhaps I can learn a thing or two from you.”
Temperance took a deep breath. She had been hoping to put some space between them, since she didn’t trust her hands to keep to themselves. He seemed determined to not allow that to happen.
“I told you, I could never call you by your given name while we’re at the bank. You’re my employer.”
“We’re not at the bank now, we’re in my apartment. And you’re certainly not being paid to be here, so I think you can call me Basil. You did, once before, the night of the wolf attack on the soddy.”
She had hoped he would have put that night, and her impetuous kiss of thanks, out of his mind. She took a deep breath.
“All right then, Basil. Why don’t you try chopping an onion for me? Am I safe with you wielding a knife?”
Basil grinned again. “Hey, I’ve seen you with a rifle. I’m not about to cross paths with you while there’s a loaded gun anywhere in the vicinity.”
He turned to his task and whistled softly as he butchered the helpless onion. Temperance enjoyed the glee w
ith which he attacked the pungent orb. He executed a few fencing moves, using the onion as his dueling partner, showing off for her benefit, and putting her at ease. Well, as at ease as she was going to get this evening. She laughed at his antics.
As he put the onion pieces into the pot, his hands brushed up against hers. She gasped slightly. It seemed as if their hands were magnetically drawn to each other, and she couldn’t tear away from him. She gazed up into his steely blue eyes and could see heat there. Which she was certain he could see in her eyes as well. Her stomach executed a pirouette.
It was going to be a long evening. With a great force of will, she moved her hand from his.
Soon, Temperance had the makings of corn chowder simmering in a pot. The comfortable scent of corn, cream, onion, and butter filled the air. While they waited for the ingredients to meld, Basil sat down at the table.
“So tell me, Temperance. What’s the latest from Jeremiah?”
Temperance’s thoughts were shooting all over the place; she was unable to be this close to Basil and keep a sane conversation going. She turned away from his handsome profile in an attempt to get her chaotic mind under control. “Who?”
“Your fiancé. You know, the boy who let you wander into the wilderness by yourself. The one you’ve given your heart to.” He stood and came around the table to stand beside her. He placed one hand on her cheek and turned her face to him. “Surely you haven’t forgotten about him, have you?” He leaned down and caught her lips in a tender kiss. Then he straightened carefully, and removed his hand. “Sorry. I’ve just been wanting to do that for weeks now.”
“What?”
“Have I totally befuddled you? I’ll go sit back down, then.” Basil returned to his seat with a grin on his face but continued to look at her. The air sizzled. Temperance fanned herself with her hand, until she realized she was flaunting her red, callused hand in front of Basil’s face. She buried it in the folds of her simple dress, sat down opposite him, and voiced the question that had been hanging in the air.
“We must address how we are going to work out our sleeping arrangements this evening, instead of dancing around the issue.”
Basil lifted an eyebrow and waved a hand to the bedroom. “There is nothing to discuss. You’ll sleep in my bed, I’ll take one of the chairs out here and a blanket.”
“Oh, but sir, I can’t let you do that. This is your home, after all. If anyone should sleep in the chair, it should be me. Besides, I’m much smaller than you.”
“But I can sleep on a real bed any night I wish. And, as I recall, you haven’t done so since you left Pennsylvania. The bed is yours, Temperance.”
Their eyes dueled with each other across the table. Neither gave an inch. Seconds turned into a minute, or longer. The range of emotions flickering across Basil’s face amazed her. Amusement turned into anger, which melted into lust.
When she sensed he was close to lunging across the table and kissing her again, this time not stopping until he had slaked his desire on top of the table, she dropped her gaze. Although she wished he would back her up against a wall and kiss her until she couldn’t stand on her own two feet. A bit unsteady, she rose from the table and went back to the stove, adding another log to the fire before she stirred their chowder. Her hand shook as she stirred the pot.
• • •
Basil clenched his jaw and tried to rein in his wild emotions. This was Temperance, a good, respectable woman, and he’d best bear that uppermost in his mind. The vision of him reaching across the table and pulling her on top of it so he could avail himself of every part of her body was such a strong image he almost believed he had done so. He took a deep breath as she rose from her chair, breaking their intense eye contact. He stood and paced to the window, where the snow continued to fall. There was no way out. They were both socked in until morning, at least. He would have to control his baser instincts with an iron force of will.
As Temperance poured the chowder into bowls and found some thick slices of bread, Basil turned to his stash of wine in the corner. “I say, if we’re to be stuck here, we should at least enjoy ourselves. As part of my duties as host of the evening, I’m all for opening a nice bottle of wine to serve with our dinner.”
Temperance glanced in his direction. “You will be drinking alone, then, Basil. I’ve never had wine before, and I have no wish to change that tonight.”
“All right then, Miss Prim and Proper. Although a good glass of wine is a wonderful dinner accompaniment.”
She placed the full soup bowls on the table, and laid out some spoons. Undeterred, Basil added two wine glasses to the table and poured the amber liquid into both. He waited for her to sit, then took his place and raised his glass. “Just a taste is all I’m asking. I have nothing else to offer you in the way of drinks, other than water.”
She picked up the wine glass and sniffed into it. “It smells nice. I’ll take a taste, but only to satisfy you. You’ll need to throw the rest of the contents away.” She brought the glass to her lips and took a shallow sip.
“You never did answer my question earlier. What do you hear from Jeremiah?”
The contents of the wine glass threatened to spill over as her hand trembled. “No, there’s been nothing lately. I think he’s on his way and has no means by which to post a letter.”
“How will he be traveling? By horseback?”
Temperance shifted in her seat and brought the glass to her lips so she could avoid Basil’s piercing eyes. “I suppose so.” She lowered her gaze to the bowl and scooped up a spoonful, blowing on it furiously, in an attempt to avoid him.
“Then he will be traveling through any number of towns between Pennsylvania and here. Surely he has the wherewithal to post a letter along the way?”
“Well, perhaps he’s in such a hurry to get here and be by my side again that he doesn’t want to stop long enough to write and post a letter. Did that thought ever cross your small little mind?” She took another large swallow of wine and clunked her empty glass on the table for emphasis.
Basil calmly leaned forward and refilled her glass before he said, “Let’s move to a less volatile topic, shall we? You choose.”
She lifted her newly replenished glass and took a sip. “All right. Tell me about the woman you were talking to a few days ago.” At his questioning look, she added, “You know, the one with barely any clothes on, and in broad daylight, too!”
Basil grinned. “Oh, that young lovely. She’s one of the new dancers who have come to town to entertain folks on the paddleboats. I had met her a month or so ago, but had to leave her side rather abruptly. She told me she’d been waiting impatiently for my return.”
“So did you return?”
“Would it matter if I had?” Basil tried to gauge her reaction.
She pressed her lips together, and her eyes darted to him and then back to the tabletop. Her finger outlined the checkerboard pattern in the tablecloth, tracing the pattern. She made no reply, merely batted those long, thick eyelashes rapidly.
He sighed. “Ah, Temperance, your mother was right. She named you wrong.” Her head came up. “But where she thinks your name should be Impatience, I’m more inclined to call you Temptress.”
She took another swallow of wine. Her eyes met his and she got a sloppy smile on her face.
“You are tempted by me? Rather than by a woman who has left her clothes at home? Why, Mr. Fitzpatrick!”
He reached across the table and took the half-empty glass from her hand. “I think you’ve sampled enough wine for the night, Miss Jones. It’s time for bed.”
Chapter Thirteen
Basil led a weaving Temperance into the small bedroom and pulled back the cover before he sat her on the bed. She still had that sappy, drunken smile on her face. With a sigh, he put his hand over her face and pushed her lightly down onto the mattress. He leane
d over and untied her shoes, slipping them off her feet. Then he swung her legs up on the bed and covered her with the blanket.
“Good night, Temptress,” he whispered as he reached over and took the other pillow off the bed. She had already fallen asleep. He picked up the extra blanket kept at the foot of the bed and backed out of the room, denying himself the kiss he so ardently wanted to take from her.
He pulled two chairs into the corner near the wood stove, and arranged them so they faced one another. He sat in one and propped his feet up in the other. He spread the blanket over himself and blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.
This was going to be a long night. Not only was he cold as a stone, he was hard as a rock. Temperance really had no idea the effect she had on him. She kept flaunting that no-good boyfriend from back home in his face every time Basil came near enough to catch a whiff of her scent. And when she didn’t mention him, Basil could not control his impulse to bring Jeremiah’s name up himself, rubbing salt in the wound that was his lust for her. For all her poor living conditions, and her endless manual labor, she still managed to smell as if she’d just run through a spring meadow. How was that possible? However it happened, he found himself craving her aroma. Craving her.
The windows cast a feeble light into the room and he spied her shawl, draped across a chair near the door. On an impulse, he got out of the chair and picked up the garment, bringing it back to his makeshift bed. He raised the shawl to his face and inhaled deeply. The shawl provided a little warmth, but more than that, it provided comfort. He closed his eyes and drifted into a restless slumber.
