by Unknown
Not him. Hell, he knew she was being reckless with her words and with that half-assed kiss—typical Jayla. She wasn’t interested in him. Not really. No woman was interested in a man who’d served time or one who was fractured to his soul.
Sure, she knew he hadn’t committed the crime. She, above all other women, knew that better than most. So what if his record had been expunged? He was still an ex-convict, and to everyone who knew him, he’d always be that Remington who raped that girl. Disgraced, he was a man who’d lost his honor. In losing it, he’d also lost his way. Yeah. Jayla was scared and needed protection, and he just happened to be the one available to provide the service. She was grateful to him, that’s all it was. She’d shown her gratitude by kissing him.
Damn it! He wasn’t a charity case. What he needed to do was keep a clear head and remember that. He sure as hell refused to make a fool of himself and read more into her words and touches than were real.
Wild tugged open a chest drawer and pulled out a neatly folded flat sheet and dropped onto the side of the bed. Shaking the white cotton material apart, he ripped it in half, then again and again until he had a neat stack of square-shaped material. Swearing, he ripped those pieces in half then folded them into medium sized rectangular pieces.
He’d be gentle with her. ‘Cause like she said, she had that womanly hormone thing going on and her feelings were bouncing all over the place like a ping-pong ball, and easily hurt right now.
Not that he gave a rip, hell, no, but why cause her to cry if he didn’t have to? She was pretty shaken. He didn’t like seeing her in tears, and hell, a few kind words to her wouldn’t kill him. He might be a man without honor, but he wasn’t a brute. He’d be firm, but reasonable, and simply explain that kissing him was a bad idea.
He drew a deep breath and gathered up the stack of pads he’d made for her. Pausing, Wild shook his head. Damn, what cowboy did this kind of shit? He should be out making sure his horse was safe and secure, that his saddle and bridles were high and dry, not folding pieces of a sheet into sanitary napkins.
“Firm, but gentle. And from now on, she’s responsible for making her own damn pads.” Wild crossed the length of the room and knocked on the bathroom door. “Jayla?”
“Come in.”
Firm, but gentle. He sucked in a sharp breath, slowly exhaled, then opened the door and stepped inside. One little step—the words firm and gentle flew right out the window. He froze. Sweet baby Jesus! How was he supposed to think with her standing there wrapped in nothing but a fuzzy yellow towel, dark hair dripping around her bare shoulders, her skin all pink and dewy and soft, an–and silky?
His mouth worked, but not a word made its way past his dry lips. Aw hell! He was such a goner. Wild cleared his throat and held the stack of pads out to her. “I…uh…brought…these.” Right, like she couldn’t see the damn things?
“Thanks.” Her face turned bright pink. She snatched them from him and set them on a chair against the wall. “Actually, I found a box of the real things.” She shrugged. “You know…under the cabinet sink.”
“Really? Huh.” He coughed and scratched his jaw. “My sister’s I suppose. She was here a couple of months back…” His voice trailed away. He so did not want to discuss Dianna’s monthly meeting with Mother Nature. He hoped the subject was dropped.
Wild looked around, desperate to settle his gaze on anything but the abundant display of Jayla’s cleavage peeking over the edge of the sun-kissed towel. Her bra! Yep, there it hung over the shower curtain rod right next to as crap-of-nothing, matching fire-engine red bikini panty. It might as well have sported all the bells, horns, and whistles of a real fire engine and a sign announcing—Fire Right Here. Nice. That helped the ache in his groin so much.
“If the sight of my underwear bothers you, I can take them down,” she offered, having tracked his gaze to the shower rod.
Wild felt heat crawl up his face and glanced away from the silky feminine objects. He forced his gaze to meet hers. Hell. Swear to God she had the look of the devil in her dark eyes. They glittered with mischief. “It’s not funny,” he mumbled.
Little witch lifted a brow. Discussing her unmentionables was not the conversation he intended to have with her when he came in here. Wild shuffled his feet, uncomfortable and embarrassed with—fuck—everything! He looked at the ceiling, the floor, the walls, the chair with the stack of pads he’d made, anything but her and the silkies displayed over the shower rod. “How are you feeling?” he finally cranked out, keeping his head down. Hell, he hadn’t meant to say that either.
“Better. The cramping’s started to ease a bit. I’m still bleeding, but not as bad. I found an unopened package of silk panties under the sink along with those…um…other things. Thank God for your sister.”
“Yeah. Thank God.” Lord knew he didn’t have anything on hand she needed, not when it came to women’s undies or even clothes. For once he was grateful for Dianna’s habit of leaving things behind. He took a big breath and finally looked at Jayla. Big mistake! The lush curves of her breasts snared his attention and sucked him right in. Damn, this must be the way a drowning man felt going down for the third time. He gulped. Yep. Sadly, he was down for the count. “Uh…good. That’s…um…good…uh, what did you say?” He frowned. Damnation. She had him stammering like a teenage boy. He’d so lost his train of thought and if his cock kept jabbing the back of his zipper, he was going to smash something.
“I said the bleeding’s slowed down.”
“Oh, yeah.” He scratched the side of his face. “That’s good news. Listen, Jayla, we need to talk.” No more of this dancing routine that got them nowhere. Firm, but gentle.
“Yes, Wild?” she said breathlessly and lifted big, innocent, soft-as-a-doe’s eyes to him.
Wild wiped the sweat off his forehead with the side of his forefinger. The way she breathed his name—shit, the way she gazed at him, a man couldn’t help it if his insides heated up and turned to mush, or be held accountable for the way his body reacted to her soft gaze. He blinked. Hell, what had he intended to say?
“You wanted to say something to me?” She laid her hand on his arm, questioning.
Heat curled through his stomach and shot straight to his dick. “Er…yeah. You can’t kiss me like you did,” he blurted, feeling crowded.
“Why not?”
“Because…I’m a man!”
“Uh-huh.” She grinned. Her gaze dropped and glued onto his crotch. “I see that.”
Damn it! Swear to heaven his dick jumped like a startled rabbit.
“What’s wrong with me kissing you? I like kissing you,” she said, fiddling with the spot where the towel was tucked between her breasts.
She didn’t sound the least bit repentant. He shifted, restless and suddenly edgy. Of course she liked kissing him.
Not!
The woman was hell-bent on making him miserable.
All right, cowboy, toughen up!
“We haven’t really kissed.” Wild winced. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say either. Damn it! Why couldn’t he get his sentences strung together like he wanted?
“No?” Her brow lifted again.
He was beginning to hate that little idiosyncrasy she used. The woman was plain evil. Why did she have to sound all breathless, an–and act like he hung the moon and the stars just for her? “No. A couple of pecks aren’t really kissing.”
“A couple? I only kissed you once, Wild.”
“Nope, you kissed me that day by the creek.”
“You remember?” She beamed from ear-to-ear. “It was the best and worst day of my life, but it’s good to know you remember my kiss.”
“It’s a vague memory.”
“Soo, cowboy, do you wanna really kiss me then?”
She sounded so damn innocent and so damned tempting at the same time. How did she do that, and still look like a sex kitten?
“Didn’t I just say you couldn’t go ‘round kissing me?”
“Yeah, but you di
dn’t say anything about you not kissing me.”
Wild shook his head. “You’re splitting hairs. Jesus, I don’t remember you being such a—”
“What?” She grinned and tossed back her head, clearly daring him to kiss her.
“—handful.”
“Ooh, cowboy, you have no idea just what a handful I can be.”
Wild rubbed his chin and looked away. “I think it best we don’t go there. I don’t play games, especially with you, ma’am.” He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. Hell, she made him feel as if he’d been rubbed raw by a hedgehog. His skin itched, his pecker sure as hell didn’t listen to his silent orders to behave, and his balls ached.
Yep. She knew how to do a number on him. He didn’t like it one little bit.
Sure you don’t, cowboy. ‘Fess up. You wanna jump her so bad you can taste it.
Yeah, but you know better than to sleep with a tigress.
“Why are you getting all riled up?” she asked, her eyes flirty, her lips teasing. “It was only one little kiss. It wasn’t even hot. We could practice on making it hot.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t push me. Consider yourself warned.”
“Sure,” she replied flippantly. “Consider it considered.”
Wild grabbed her arm. “I give one free warning,” he snarled. “You’ve had yours.”
“Well fucking, thank God. Maybe we can get down to business now.”
He let go of her and stepped back. She was challenging him? Shit. He desperately needed some space between them before he ripped that damp towel off her and yeah, practiced on making that kiss hot as she’d suggested. “What business would that be?”Why’d he ask that? He wanted to kick his own ass for walking into another one of her traps.
They were treading dangerous waters. He knew it. And he knew she knew it.
“Digging this bullet outta me. You keep grabbing my arm, I can’t be held accountable for what I might do to you.” She lowered the towel a bit in warning.
Wild drew a sharp breath at the sight of the dark purple bruise covering the slope of her left breast. “Jesus Christ, Jayla.” He eyed the wound. “That looks like crap!”
“Tell me about it. It aches worse than a tooth.”
Studying the site for a moment, his chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. If he ever got his hands on the person who shot her, he’d break his neck. His gaze slowly reached hers. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into? What are you dragging me into?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Yeah, well if I’m all that stands between you and whoever put that bullet in you, a little honesty about now might come in handy. Is there anything else going on with you I need to know? ”He clenched his fists. A jagged hole the size of his thumb tips oozed thick, yellowish fluid down her breast. At least four centimeters around the wound looked red and swollen. “Hell, I thought you said you were shot in the shoulder. On your breast isn’t your shoulder, damn it.”
“It’s in the shoulder proximity. What was I supposed to say, I’ve been booby shot?”
Hell, what was wrong with him? He knew she was wounded, but he’d been distracted by other things, he hadn’t paid enough attention to her injury. Why the hell hadn’t he noticed how awful it looked? Maybe because his attention had been focused on her cleavage and not her shoulder/booby area?
No. He hadn’t even noticed it when she took off her sweater, and he sure hadn’t been distracted by cleavage then. So why hadn’t he seen the ugly discoloration? He frowned trying to recall. She’d held the pullover in front of her blocking the sight of it.
Well, he was looking now, and not at the sexy dip between her breasts, but at the wound, and it looked nasty. “How long—”
“Three days. Don’t look so stricken, Wild, it isn’t your fault I got shot.”
“It’s my fault I haven’t taken better care of you.” His lips tightened. “Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you get help?”
“I am getting help. You’re the best medicine a lady can ask for.”
Wild brushed off her statement. She had to be feverish. She didn’t know what she was saying. “I’ll see if I can rustle up some antibiotics. You need ‘em. I’ll treat your wound, but get this straight, you aren’t going to kiss me again, and I’m not going to kiss you, period…and for Christ’s sake, I might be somebody’s poison, but I’m nobody’s best medicine.”
* * * *
Jayla stared at Wild. How much would it scare him away if she grabbed him and planted a steamy kiss on him? The man was in dire need of kissing, lots of kissing and cuddling.
Would he kiss her back or run again?
She suspected the latter.
Good grief, did the cowboy not have red blood in his veins? Here she stood in nothing but a towel and he refused to look at her the way a man ought to look at a woman who was practically naked and begging for it.
How could he see what she wanted when he refused to look at her half the time? She sighed. Nope, he had no intention of kissing her—ever, or doing anything else, for that matter, at least with her.
Guess he didn’t feel a whit of physical attraction for her after all, not that she was in any shape for even the remotest possibility, but any other man would maybe make a play or stare at her cleavage, or at least kiss her back.
Not Wild. His gaze flitted around the room lighting anywhere but on her. He shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other, an obvious sign he couldn’t wait to escape her. “Uhh, maybe I should leave you to some more of that privacy thing,” he said, sounding so uptight she thought he might burst a button.
“Yeah.” She let go of his arm.
He backed away, flattening up against the door, his eyes downcast. “I’ll…uh, just go round up some more of those…um…pad things, just in case.”
“Lordy, Wild, they aren’t spring heifers you’re roping and branding. If I need more, I’ll let you know. Maybe you could loan me a shirt and a pair of jeans?”
“Jeans? Honey, there’s no way you’re getting in my jeans.” His gaze jerked to hers, his face red. “I…uh, mean…you can’t keep a pair of my jeans on. You’re just a little thing.”
Jayla didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his obvious discomfort. Standing there with her hair wet and wearing a damp towel made her shiver. “I need something dry to wear.”
“Right. I’m sure I can find something.” He fumbled for the doorknob, backed out and closed the door behind him.
Jayla brushed a damp curl out of her eyes. Well. Her little attempt at seduction had gone over like a heart attack.
Obviously, she was no sex siren.
What would he have done if she’d dropped the towel?
Probably run for the Rockies.
He couldn’t make it any plainer that she did nothing to turn him on.
“Damn.”Her throat tightened, but her voice still wobbled with unshed tears.
How could she have been such a fool by coming here?
Clearly, Wild Remington had little use for her. She sighed and tucked the towel tighter around her bosom.
It was going to be a long winter.
Chapter Seven
Where there is love, there is pain.
~Spanish Proverb
Northern Montana
West side of Dancing Star
February 20, Friday
4:10 p.m.
Jayla bit her lower lip to keep from screaming. It was only pain, and pain was something she’d learned to deal with a long time ago. She’d lived with much worse, breathed the same air with much worse. So why the hell was her fingers buried in the side of the mattress like a cat’s claws in fabric?
And why on earth was she panting like she was giving birth for heaven’s sake?
“Stop that,” Wild said, lowering the knife.
“What?”
“Breathing like a racehorse. You’re making me nervous.”
“I make you nervous? I’m the one who’s staring down the sharp length
of a blade.”
“Technically, I’m the one staring down the length of the blade.”
“A mere formality. You know what I mean.” He pulled the edge of the towel up a little higher. He’d made absolutely certain her modesty was protected when he’d lowered it in the first place.
Jayla gnawed on her lower lip. He’d probably curse a blue streak if she yanked the damn thing down and completely exposed her breast to him. “A man of few words,” she said through clenched teeth. “Anymore orders, captain?”
He cut his eyes in her direction. “If you don’t want me to run this knife blade through you, don’t move. Do more words make it better?”
Sarcastic man! “Easy for you to say, you aren’t the one with a knife being poked in you.”
He nodded and raised the blade. “My point exactly.” He eyed the tip of the knife. “No pun intended.”
“Funny.”
“I’m not the one with a bullet in me.”
She made a face. He might not say much, but when he did, he didn’t mince his words. He’d always been quiet. She hadn’t thought it possible for the man to become quieter. He had. She supposed prison changed him in many ways.
Jayla flinched at the first probe of the knife tip.
“Damn it, Jayla, don’t move like that,” he snapped. “You’ll cause me to hurt you even more than I already am.”
For the first time, she noticed his hands weren’t quite steady. She covered the tops of his hands with hers. He looked at her, surprise on his face. “Don’t worry about hurting me,” she said, trying to reassure him.
“Easy for you to say, you aren’t the one poking a knife in someone.”
She grinned. “Touché. Go ahead. I can take it.”
He spent the next several minutes first cursing, then muttering things she couldn’t quite make out and was dead sure she didn’t want to. The one thing she knew for certain, if he didn’t manage to get the bullet out soon, she was going to heave up her insides. Nausea coiled through her belly. Her skin burned. Cold sweat popped out above her brows and lips. God, help me be brave and strong and not make an ass of myself.
