She drew her knees tight to her chest and hugged her arms around them. “I did nothing of the sort. Now go away.”
Another long stride. The toes of his boots nearly touched the tub. Emma glared up at him. At least the crucial parts of her were covered, but even those inches of skin were indecent for him to behold. No man had ever seen her bare legs. No man had ever seen her so vulnerable—so exposed. Not this close, at least. No doubt Cole had stolen a glance while she bathed at the cabin. But then, her camisole had covered more than this.
The boyish smile in his eyes contradicted the serious set of his mouth. Flames flickered in his dark irises, just beyond the gleam of amusement. The hint of fire beckoned, drawing her in.
Drat it all, she wasn’t supposed to like this…to like him looking at her like that.
He dragged a hand through his hair and looked away for a long moment, as if he’d finally come up at a loss for words. And then, his gaze shot back to her.
“As your personal desperado, I’m at your service. There’s a spot on your back you won’t be able to reach.”
Despite his flippant words, his voice had deepened to a husky rasp. The gravel-edged notes intensified the budding need in her core. For a heartbeat, she couldn’t form a coherent sentence.
“Well, Miss Davenport…what’s it to be?”
His question snapped her back to sanity. She rested her chin on her knees and released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“I suppose I’ll simply have to endure a few inches of unscrubbed skin. Give me back the cloth and see your way out.”
He crushed it between his fingers. “Anyone ever tell you your hair gets curly when it’s damp?”
“I can’t recall anyone ever having the opportunity to see my hair under these circumstances.”
He crouched by the tub. “You sure you don’t want my help with your back? I won’t make the offer again.”
So close, she could smell his clean, male skin, the aroma of shaving soap on his face and neck. She gave her head a brisk shake. “Believe me, I am more than certain.”
“More than certain? Seems to me you’re either certain or you’re not.”
Despite her irritation, a most inopportune laugh tugged at her lips. She beat back the giggle without mercy.
“I’m certain,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
He rose to his full height. The cloth landed with a splash in the tub.
“If you need me, just holler.”
With that, he turned and left the room. Emma didn’t dare uncurl for several breaths. Finally, she allowed her arms to slide down into the water. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and wished she could think of something—anything—but the fire in his amber eyes and the merciless throb in her core.
* * *
In the years Emma served as her father’s hostess, she’d endured more staid, ever-so-proper dinners with men her father wanted to impress than she could recall. Nerve-wracking affairs during which her choice of fork or technique for dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin were on display, these exhibitions of polite table manners had been only slightly less enjoyable than the countless suppers she shared with her tight-lipped chaperone. Meals devoid of conversation, laughter, or joy, dedicated to the sole purpose of providing the body with sustenance without any undue excitement that might have disturbed Miss Canter’s delicate digestion.
Supper with Cole and Miranda was anything but staid, proper, or joyless. Miranda’s pleasure in preparing food for her guests shone through the sight and mouth-watering smell of crispy fried chicken, potatoes mashed to perfection, and biscuits that rivaled the Davenport family cook’s crumbly delights. The meal satisfied both Emma’s hunger and her deep-seated yearning for the comfort of home and kin.
Watching the gentle, affectionate banter between Cole and his aunt, a pang of longing pierced Emma’s heart like a thorn. Such frank and warm conversation was unheard of in her home. Cole and Miranda shared more than a resemblance. Their shared memories and keen loyalty warmed Emma’s soul even as they reminded her of the loneliness of her existence in Washington.
They’d sat at the table, eating and talking and laughing, for nearly an hour when the back door thudded open. Cole sat bolt upright in his chair, his six-shooter at the ready. Whoever walked into the dining room would face the barrel of a powerful gun and a man who wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
Cole cocked his weapon. Booted feet pounded toward them, one man from the sound of the footfalls. The door flung open. Wide eyes, chocolate against a pale, unlined face, met Emma’s gaze. A young man, perhaps her own age, perhaps a year or so younger.
“Jesus, Cole—why the hell are you aimin’ that gun at me?”
Miranda’s easy laugh seemed an aria to Emma’s ears. “Daniel, what are you doing back here? I wasn’t expecting to see you until the end of the week.”
The young man shot Emma a curious glance. “Business was slow. The deliveries have been delayed.” His gaze roamed to Cole and back again. “So, who’s this pretty lady?”
Miranda shook her head, disdain clear in her eyes. “You got a hefty dose of your pa in you, Daniel. Have you ever met a person in skirts you didn’t try to sweet talk?”
“That idiot partner of Cole’s, the one who thought he’d disguise himself as a saloon sweet. If I’ve ever seen a more hideous sight than that big oaf in a dress, may God strike me with a lightning bolt.”
“His partner…in a dress?” Emma couldn’t resist.
“It was him or me,” Cole explained. “And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me.”
“Our contact’s the only reason he didn’t get killed that night. That pretty little lady kept so much liquor flowing, the men in that place wouldn’t have thought twice if they’d seen a horse dressed in ruffles and lace.”
Miranda turned to Emma. “I’m sure you’ve already figured it out—this is my eldest, Daniel.” Her gaze flicked to her son. “Daniel, this is Emma. Emma Davenport.”
His brows drew together, but he asked no questions and offered a few pleasantries before engaging Cole in a discussion the two men eventually took outside.
Another hour of pleasant conversation followed. Emma assisted Miranda with the dishes, then moved to the parlor where they engaged in a game of chess that left Emma mentally invigorated. Finally, as weariness settled into her body like a fog descending on a valley, she retired to the immaculate chamber she was to occupy that night.
The scent of lemon oil mingled with the fragrance of fresh-cut flowers. She drew in a breath, savoring the pleasant aromas as she changed into the modest pale blue nightdress Miranda had provided. The bed creaked as she crawled beneath the covers. Her gaze shifted restlessly from the thick oak posts to the ceiling and back again. She tugged cotton sheets that smelled of rainwater to her chin, then tossed and turned until a clock chimed the hour.
Shoving the bedclothes aside, Emma tied a wrapper over the nightdress and stepped into her slippers. She couldn’t stay inside a moment longer. Fresh air and moonlight would ease her restlessness.
Soundlessly closing the door behind her, she crept down the hall to the stairs, and then tiptoed through the kitchen to the back entry. Taking a seat on the porch step, she drew her arms around her knees.
If only she could block the dull ache in her heart, the restless longing for something she couldn’t bear to name.
Low-hanging branches rustled in the night. Footsteps crunched over fallen leaves.
She wasn’t alone.
Alarm flooded her. Springing to her feet, she scanned the darkness, searching, listening for any clue as to the intruder. Was it an animal, or something far more dangerous?
Spotting Cole in a grove of trees, she exhaled, but was her relief too soon? Had he also heard something and gone to investigate, or had he been the source of the sound coming from the brush?
Their eyes met. His mouth flattened into a tense line. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s not safe,” he said gruf
fly. His gaze flicked up and down her length. “Aren’t you cold in that flimsy get-up?”
Another breath eased from her lungs. Surely he wouldn’t take time to critique her clothing if danger lurked beyond the house. She pulled air through her nostrils into her lungs, a leisurely inhalation. Her pulse should have slowed on its way back to normal, but the action had no calming effect. If anything, the longer his gaze lingered on her, the faster her heartbeat sped.
“I am quite comfortable.”
“Are you, now? Judging from the looks of you, I’d say you’re a little chilly.”
Oooh, the scoundrel. She bit back the epithet that sprang to mind and covered her bosom with her arms.
“Your concern is admirable but unnecessary. I’m entirely capable of determining whether or not I’m cold.”
The stern set of his mouth eased. “Why’d you come out here? Did you spot another rampaging critter?”
“Of course not. I decided to enjoy some fresh air before I went to sleep.”
“Go back to bed. I don’t want you out here at night. It’s too soon to tell if we’ve been followed,” he said as he came to join her on the porch.
“I’m not frightened.” She whispered the words, trying to convince herself they were true.
“I wish I could say the same.”
She studied his rugged features. “I can’t imagine you’ve ever been afraid of anything.”
He laughed, a low, rueful sound. “Is that so?”
“You didn’t so much as flinch when those horrid men confronted you.”
Cole’s shoulders lifted and fell. “In a situation like that, you don’t have time to be afraid. But there are things that scare me. Only a damn fool goes through life without any fear.”
“So…what does frighten you?”
He looked away, then met her gaze. “You scare the hell out of me.”
“You…afraid of me? How can that be?”
“Miss Davenport, you’re the kind of woman who gets a man thinking.”
She studied him beneath her lashes. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“I think about you all day.”
If he’d fetched enough water-filled buckets to fill the tub and dumped each one over her head, she might have been less stunned. Shock coursed over her in waves. Coherent speech—coherent thought, for that matter—flittered away like a hummingbird caught in a gale.
Finally, she forced out the words. “About…me?”
“Yep.”
The single word sucked what little breath remained out of her lungs. Her brain raced for the right words. She couldn’t let on that he’d left her positively addled.
“Do you care to enlighten me?” The words came out crisp and tightly controlled, a miracle her voice didn’t waver. “Precisely what would a man like you think about me?”
“Whether you’re going to run into another snake. Whether you’re going to spot a mouse and want me to hunt it down.” His eyes darkened, stripped of amusement. “Whether you’re going to do something that’ll get us both killed.”
“I’ve never done anything to put you in danger. You’re the one—”
“You’re wrong, Emma. You should know that by now. Staton will destroy anything that stands in the way of what he wants. The man is a traitor.” Cole uttered the words like a curse. “He’s sold secrets to the Rebels, and now, he’s mixed up with people who don’t give a damn about anything but their own greed. My brother died because of Staton’s treachery. And now, God only knows what the man’s dealing with, who he’s dealing with.”
Terrible new understanding gripped her. Regret as razor sharp as a hawk’s talons seized her heart. She’d been such a fool. Frederick had never loved her. He’d wanted her—no, she corrected, never her. He’d wanted the senator’s daughter, for reasons she couldn’t yet fathom. He’d deceived her, using her as a pawn in his treacherous schemes.
Just as Cole had used her as a pawn in a quest for retribution.
The talons squeezed until she felt breathless with the pain. “So, this is your revenge. This is why you stole me off that train. I’ve been nothing more than a pawn in some brutal game of chess between the two of you.”
“Keeping you from Staton has nothing to do with vengeance.”
“Then why? Why have you done this?”
“Don’t you know by now?” He caught her hand in his. His thumb stroked tiny circles against the sensitive skin at her palm. “I took you from that train to protect you.”
Another question formed on her lips, but he quelled it with a kiss. The taste of him—an essence uniquely his, flavored with the earthy notes of whiskey—rippled currents of need through every cell.
This is wrong. So very wrong.
She wrenched away. “You were right,” she whispered. “It is far too dangerous out here.”
Turning, she headed for the door, but he caught her. Stilled her.
“You need to understand, Emma. Everything I’ve done…it’s been for you. There’s no ransom. There’s no quest for vengeance.” He enfolded her in his strong, warm arms. “There’s only you.”
His husky rasp unleashed a torrent of emotions Emma couldn’t name. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t muster the will to push him away. She could only feel—his heartbeat, his ragged breaths, the restrained power in his arms as they gently caged her.
God help her, but she trusted him. Every instinct she possessed demanded she accept the truths her heart whispered. Longing, fierce and undeniable, washed away the last of her doubts like storm-driven waves battering a shore.
She melted against him, savoring the feel of his long, lean form. Her body pulsed with hunger while her arms coiled around his neck as if they had a will of their own.
Her heart tripped in a wild rhythm. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“Neither do I,” he replied in a raw murmur. “But I know I’d do anything to keep you here with me.”
His head dipped, and his mouth slanted over hers. His hands—callused where reins rubbed against his skin, and yet, so very tender—began a decadent journey from the sliver of skin exposed at her collar to the thin sash that secured her wrapper. One gentle pull, and the thin robe fell open. Need flowed through her veins, molten and undeniable.
He groaned, a hungry, primal sound. Working the fasteners on her nightdress, he splayed open the fabric and deftly slipped his hand under her camisole.
“So soft,” he breathed against her throat. He found the ribbon closure on the filmy garment and tugged it open. “So beautiful.”
His mouth trailed the curve of her shoulder in a blaze of soft kisses. Moving lower, he took the bud of her breast between his lips. The heat of his touch engulfed her, stoking a fire deep within, staking his claim with tender adoration.
With one swift movement, Cole imprisoned her against him as he intensified his exploration. “Relax, Emma.” His husky whisper sent shivers down her spine. “Relax and let me love you. You’ll like this. I promise.”
“Yes,” she murmured against his mouth. She wanted his touch. She wanted his kiss.
She wanted him.
Chapter Twenty
Everything about the man who held her stirred Emma’s senses. The prickle of stubble against her cheek. The flex of muscle and flesh beneath her fingertips. His scent, the elemental, indescribable essence of a clean, healthy male in his prime. She needed this time in Cole’s arms, drinking in his warmth and his strength and his tenderness.
A fierce hunger unlike any she’d ever felt pulsed through her veins. Lifting her gaze to lock with his, she read the darkness in his eyes. He’d sensed the yearning in her soul.
But would he turn her weakness to his full advantage?
This is madness. The shreds of reason she still possessed clamored in protest. She didn’t even know his name or how he’d known she was in danger.
And yet, she trusted him. With her life. With her passion.
But she’d guard her heart. She’d no intention of surrendering an
ything that wouldn’t be met in kind.
“Trust me, Emma.” His husky rasp washed over her like a steamy bath, warming every inch of her skin. “That’s all I ask.”
One big hand cupped her breast while he forged a tender trail of kisses from the exquisite spot beneath her earlobe to her lips. Tantalizing. Teasing. Promising pleasures she could only imagine.
Emma couldn’t think, couldn’t form a single sound of protest. She could only revel in the delicious sensations wrought by his gloriously gentle touch.
He kissed her. The savoring caress catapulted Emma well beyond the edge of reason, beyond the edge of wanting. When he released her, his eyes betrayed a hunger far more intense than simple desire.
And yet, he held his arms at his sides, the tension in his body nearly a palpable thing.
“I want you to go back inside the house,” he said, his voice low and edged with heat.
The rawness in his voice inflamed her senses. Pure female instinct awakened a primal warning. Her pulse pounded. Her breath quickened. And yet, she could no more bring herself to flee his possessive touch than she could soar through the moonlit sky.
“What’s come over you?” she whispered.
“Go back inside, pull the covers tightly around you, and forget about this…forget about us.”
“And what if I have no desire to forget the way you touch me? Am I to slink away in shame and hide myself and my precious innocence behind a locked door?”
He took her hands in his, brought them to his lips, and brushed her fingertips with a light caress. “You’ve no reason for shame. And I need to keep it that way.”
Emma cupped Cole’s cheek against her hands. Her longing for him might be wrong. But she couldn’t deny it, no more than she could deny that an emotion more enduring and powerful than desire flared in his eyes.
A muscle in his jaw tensed, and he jerked away as though she’d scorched his flesh. “You know what you do to me. You’re not that innocent.”
“I’m not completely naïve. I know…” She reached out to him again, savoring the rough texture of his skin against hers. “I know you want me.”
He caught her wrist in the circle of his fingers. “Emma, don’t.”
Secrets, Spies & Sweet Little Lies (Secrets & Spies) Page 18
