Lifting his cup, he said, “You’re going to have to be careful, Gypsy.”
“Careful?” She almost laughed. Didn’t he realize his touch was what she found the most dangerous?
“Doing something nice like letting the poor boy smile for the first time since Lolly’s death is going to ruin your fierce reputation.” Lowering his cup to the table, he smiled. “I have to admit that when you’re right about something, Gypsy, you’re right. There was no sense in arguing out there in the cold.”
“If arguing is what you want to do, you’re welcome to do it alone. Just turn down the lights before you leave.” She stood and brushed crumbs from her skirt. “I’m going to check the firebox.”
“Without getting answers to the questions I see in your lustrous eyes?” he asked as she reached for the quilted cloths to open the stove’s door.
“I didn’t think I’d get any honest answers, so why bother?”
“How can you be sure unless you try?” He pulled the stool next to where he was sitting and patted it. “C’mon, Gypsy. You’re frothing with curiosity. Why don’t you admit it?”
She hesitated. If he was so eager to cooperate, he did not intend to speak the truth.
“I don’t think I’m the one who has anything to admit,” she said as she perched on the stool.
Resting one elbow on the table, he put his hand on her knee. He grinned as if daring her to order him to move it. “Perhaps you’re right, Gypsy. I have something to admit. Why don’t you tell me what you think it is?”
“Me? Why should I waste time on such a ridiculous exercise?”
“Ridiculous exercise?” His fingers strayed along her leg, spiraling pleasure from where he touched her until she ached to lean forward and steal the smile from his lips with her kiss. A soft huskiness filled his voice. “I can think of exercises with you that I’d enjoy more, but there’s a lot to be said between us now.”
Gypsy batted his questing fingers away. “All right. You want the truth?”
“Always?”
“You aren’t a jack. At first, I thought maybe you’d bamboozled Farley into hiring you and then keeping you on when you hurt your ankle.”
“So what do you think now?”
“I think you’re working directly for Mr. Glenmark. Why? To find out something, I’d guess.”
“That’s a good guess.”
“Who are you investigating, Adam? Me?”
“Not you.” His grin vanished. Rising, he put his cup on the counter. “I should have known I couldn’t fool you long.”
“It might have helped if you’d had someone really break your ankle.”
He faced her. Blue sparks burned in his eyes, but they were not anger. She could not guess what he was thinking as he asked with studied calm, “So you know about that, too?”
She scraped her tongue along her arid lips. “I saw you wandering about without the cast the night Lolly was murdered.”
“You didn’t say anything. Not that night or later.”
“No.”
“You didn’t accuse me of lying when I told you I was chasing someone else.”
She gasped at the confessions she had not expected. “No, I didn’t accuse you then.”
“Why not?”
“To be honest, I didn’t think, at least not for very long, that you killed Lolly.”
“I guess I should say thanks for that backhanded compliment.”
“It’s not a compliment. Just the truth.”
He chuckled mirthlessly. “The truth doesn’t explain one fact. Why was she killed?”
“Jealousy?”
“Maybe, but it might be something else. If the murderer’s goal were to cause trouble, for example, he succeeded. Lolly’s death created chaos here.”
“Are you trying to convince me to tell Farley you’re involved with that murder?”
“Along with the so-called accident on the hill?”
She shook her head vehemently. “Bobby Worth was killed by a falling tree. Accidents happen.”
“Exactly what a murderer might wish you to think.” With a sigh, he said, “I hope you’re right. There’s no question that Lolly Yerkes was executed by some madman.” His grin struggled to lift one corner of his mustache. “But that madman isn’t me.”
“Then why are you here?” She sipped on her coffee, but its sweet flavor could not ease the bitter bile in her mouth.
“You act awfully guilty for someone who has no reason to be.”
“I’m just curious why Farley insisted on your being in my kitchen.”
Taking a deep breath, he stroked his chin reflectively. “What I’m telling you, Gypsy, can’t be repeated.”
“I don’t gossip like an empty-headed jack.”
He put his boot on a rung of the stool. “The truth is Farley doesn’t know why I’m here. He was told by Glenmark to hire me, put me to work, and not order me to hit the hay trail in spite of anything I might do.”
“I saw the letter Mr. Glenmark sent to him. I don’t understand why he wrote that letter when all you had to do was walk in and ask for a job.”
Regret dimmed his eyes. “That I can’t tell you, but I promise you you’re in no danger.”
She rubbed her palms together, wishing she could lessen the cold cramping them. Moving closer to the stove would not help, for this iciness came from within her. She wondered how he could speak the words which had rung through her head too many years.
No danger, she had been told before her world vanished into horror. Then it had been summer, and she had wanted to believe the words. She wanted to believe Adam even more.
“I think you’re being honest,” she whispered, “but I want you to leave.”
“Just like that?”
She stood. “Just like that. This is my kitchen.”
“You don’t have any choice.”
“No choice? I work directly for Mr. Glenmark also. He’ll listen to me.”
He grasped her arm. His wide shoulders seemed to eclipse everything in the kitchen. Before she could force her frozen feet to move, he drew her into his embrace. His fingers swept up to tangle in her hair as he whispered, “You have no choice at all.”
Wanting to push him away and remind him she was the boss in the cook shack, she knew she could not govern her desire. She ached for his touch when she was alone in the middle of the night.
For so long she had not thought of the future. She had refused to think about happiness. Now she wanted both—wanted both with Adam. As her fingers inched along his shoulders, she gave herself to the boundless yearning.
She whispered a denial when he eased out of her arms. When she looked from his smile to his hand held out to her, she saw his other hand on the latch of her door. His dreams matched hers, and tonight they would make those dreams come true in the one place they could be alone.
Her hand did not quiver as she placed it on his palm. His fingers closed around it, not imprisoning, but welcoming and warm. When she followed him into her bedroom, her skirts sang her heart’s song across the boards. She closed the door and leaned against it. With a smile, he put his hand behind her head and looked down into her eyes.
His finger traced her eyebrows and along her cheek before easing across her mouth, which hungered for his kisses. When it reached her chin, he tilted her face so her lips were beneath his. He bent and tasted the soft downiness of her right cheek, then her left.
With a low chuckle, he teased the corners of her mouth with his tongue. Longing flowed out on her sigh. He captured her lips and pressed her to the door until she felt his heartbeat through his shirt.
She clutched his shoulders when his mouth left hers to move along her face. While his fingers loosened the pearl buttons along the back of her blouse, he teased awake pleasure on the skin revealed by her gaping collar. She moaned as moist heat burned from deep within her when his tongue delved beneath the lace of her chemise. Whispering his name, she held tightly to him to keep her knees from sagging beneath the sensuous as
sault.
Slowly he drew her sleeves down her arms, his fingers lingering on her bare skin. His avaricious gaze swept across her, setting her ablaze. He traced an invisible path of delight along the lacy strap of her chemise. When she quivered at his touch across her breast beneath the whispering silk, he smiled.
“It’s your choice, honey,” he murmured.
“I thought you said …” Her words became a sigh as he slipped his hands around her to settle on the buttons holding her skirt in place. When he did not undo them, she gazed up into his face, unable to ask the question preying on her muddled mind.
Close to her ear, he whispered, “I want you to want this as much as I do. I want you to burn with the fire searing my soul and think only of touching me while I discover every inch of your body. Say yes, honey. Say you’ve shared my nights of longing and you want to share this night and these desires with me.”
Her fingers sifted through his raven hair. As the coarse strands wove along her hands, she drew his mouth to hers. The answer he wanted she could not give him with words, for there were none to express her need for him.
With eager fingers, she slid his suspenders along his sleeves. The breadth of his shoulders lured her hands to touch them, to explore them, to tease the skin beneath the plaid wool. Her fingers clenched on his shirt’s topmost button when he pulled the pins from her hair to send it tumbling along her in a russet stream. Greedily, he buried his face in its silken softness as his tongue caressed her ear.
When she faltered on each button, he whispered, “Are you sure you can do this?”
“I think I can handle it.”
“You think?” His ragged laughter flowed along her skin, heating it with gentle warmth. “I never thought I’d hear Gypsy Elliott be unsure about anything.”
“I’ve never been as sure of anything as I am about wanting you tonight,” she murmured as his shirt fell to the floor.
The expanse of his bare chest tantalized her fingers as she explored his skin. His eager moan urged her to take his hands and lead him to her bed. As she sat, he knelt and unbuttoned her high-topped shoes. When she laughed, he winked and tossed her shoes aside.
His hands roved up her legs to find the garters holding her stockings in place. Slowly he drew off the lace and threw them atop her shoes. She slipped her hands along his bare shoulders as he rolled her stockings down her legs, each touch an exquisite agony.
Standing, he slanted toward her. As she leaned back into the mattress, his hands slid up her legs, pushing her petticoat higher. He pressed her deeper into the mattress as his fingers enticed her bare legs to wrap around his denims. His lips over hers silenced her breathy gasps. Probing deep in her mouth, his tongue sought every pleasure as her hands curved along his shoulders.
When he stretched out beside her on the narrow bed, he ran his hands down her back to hold her hips tight to him. With a soft laugh, she kicked away her bulky petticoat.
He rolled her onto her back, and she brought his lips back over hers. Nothing was as wondrous without his mouth on hers. When he wove a web of delight along her neck, she writhed. His fingers caressed her breast as he undid the ribbons holding her chemise together. The silk dropped away to bare her to his eager eyes.
His fingertip meandered along the upsweep of her breast to tease the very tip. She opened her eyes to discover his smile close to her. When he clamped his lips over hers, she tugged him against her.
Not content with her mouth, he left a fiery path of kisses along her throat and across her naked skin. She shivered as he tasted the sensitive surface of her breast. Each brush of his tongue, teasing and demanding, loving and alluring, freeing and controlling, sent wildfire through her. When he pushed the last of her underclothes away, she touched the buttons at the waist of his denims.
His light kisses across her face begged her to free her desire to savor his strong body against her. Each button loosened reluctantly as his lips bewitched her. He laughed huskily when he tossed aside the trousers, but his eyes burned with the craving throbbing through her.
She gasped at the touch of his skin as he pinned her to the mattress. Giving her no time to delight in the unbridled pleasure, he commanded her senses to surrender to rapture. She touched his enticingly male body, reveling in his sharp intake of breath when she stroked him intimately. She wanted to ensure his mind was as intoxicated with joy as hers. Not even her most sensual dreams had been this glorious.
Such thoughts evaporated when his fingers explored upward along her naked legs to discover the maelstrom within her. She clutched his shoulders, afraid of being flung away from him. His touch exacerbated the fire, consuming her.
When he brought them together, her gasp echoed within his mouth. The quivering ache coalesced into ravenous need as the rhythm of their passion magnified into an ecstasy, an enchantment, an anguish. She lost herself in the flawless melody of their bodies. The song soared around her, becoming her, becoming him, becoming everything in a potent crescendo when every beat of their hearts was in the perfect unison of love.
Hours later, centuries later, seconds later, when time regained its meaning, Gypsy opened her eyes to see Adam’s smile. How naive she had been to believe she could imagine anything as wondrous as Adam being a part of her in passion!
“You are a sweet temptress,” he said with the breathlessness that careened through her. “I don’t know why I waited so long for you to open your arms to me.”
“Did you ever stop to think that a lady likes to be courted?”
He ran his hand along her side, delighting in every curve as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “A trip to a two-bit whorehouse and dancing with a bunch of burly jacks are hardly the ways I would have chosen to woo you, honey.”
“The fate of anyone who wants a kingbee cook.”
He scooped up a handful of her hair and rubbed the soft strands between his fingers. “I want to love you until you quiver beneath me. I want to taste your breath pulsing through you and share the flame blazing within you.”
“I want you holding me and being a part of me.” Her arms encircled his shoulders.
“All night, honey.”
She started to agree, then hesitated. “I have to check the stove. If I let it burn too low—”
With a laugh, he pushed her back into the pillow. “Let it burn low. Our fires will heat this cook shack. I can guarantee you’ll be awake to tend to breakfast.” A roguish smile tipped his mustache as his lips descended toward hers. “I don’t plan on letting you sleep tonight.”
Her agreement was unheard as she welcomed his kiss and the ecstasy which surged through her. She grasped the love he offered, knowing it would be as fleeting as the night. In the morning, she must face the consequences.
For now, she ceded herself to the magic once more.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
If the flunkeys noticed a difference in how Gypsy smiled at Adam when he came into the cook shack each morning, none of them made any comment. Often she found Adam watching her with an invitation in his blue eyes. She wanted to ask him so many things, for their conversation had been interrupted by passion, but she could not when the other flunkeys were about.
When Adam cornered her in the kitchen after the other flunkeys had finished their work the following Sunday afternoon, she smiled. Folding her hands behind her, she looked up into his eyes, which sparkled with the heat that could bring forth a firestorm of pleasure.
“I have the stove watch tonight, honey,” he said quietly.
“I know, and I have it tomorrow night.”
He brushed her hair back from her face as he whispered, “Two nights in a row, honey?”
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I changed the schedule.”
“I noticed.”
“I thought you might have.” She closed her eyes as he pressed his lips against her throat. Quiescent no longer, desire exploded within her, swaying her against him.
Footsteps sounded in the dining room. Gypsy drew out of his ar
ms. When she opened the dining room door, she forced a smile as she saw Bert, Per, and Hank sitting at a table. In their hands were playing cards.
“Want to play some poker?” called Hank. His wide belly pressed against the table as he stretched to place chips on the ante pile.
“No—no, thank you. Some other time.”
Bert glanced over his shoulder. “If you change your mind, we ’ave a seat for you.”
“I’m sure you do.” With a laugh which sounded fake to her, she closed the door. As her gaze met the question in Adam’s, she sighed. “They’re playing cards.”
He held out his hand. “Let’s take a walk, honey. By the time we get back, they’ll be gone, and I’ll be even more eager to let you warm me.”
“What a charming invitation!”
“I thought so,” he returned with a chuckle.
The sunlight was muted by thickening clouds. The distant sound of a bird heralded a false spring. Spring was coming, albeit slowly, for winter refused to surrender its hold on the forest.
The snow had softened to slush. Walking was a chore, but Gypsy did not mind. She smiled as Adam took her hand. They fit together so perfectly, in so many special ways. When her gaze rose to his, the winter cold no longer bit into her.
“It’s wonderful to have a few minutes with you,” she said.
“I think that’s as close as you’ve ever come to complimenting me.”
“I didn’t compliment you. I complimented the fact we can be together.” She laughed and looked around the camp, which bore the scars of more than two years of lumbering.
“You really love it here, don’t you, Gypsy?”
She nodded, smiling.
“Not the place I’d have chosen for a Virginian.”
“I’m from Mississippi, Adam.” She tried to keep her voice even. “Haven’t I told you that?”
He chuckled. “Probably. I can’t say I’ve heeded much of what you said when I can think only of stealing a few minutes away from that crimson-eyed stove.” His gloved hand stroked her cheek, which was reddened by the wind. “Little did I suspect once I convinced you to let me join you for a night of love I’d have to wait a week before I could return.”
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