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A
Mary A
He tilted up her chin. "No one is going to die. What happened to Harry was an accident. A terrible mistake."
"That will not bring him back, now will it?" She used the corner of her apron to dab her eyes. "A
He shrugged. "Poor judgment on my part, in that I agree." He turned and looked directly at A
A
He made an expression of disbelief.
"Please, do come in," Mary A
A
Braxton stared.
A
There was only one guest room and it had been given to A
She sat on the edge of the narrow bed, clad in a nightgown that belonged to Mary A
But she knew she would not sleep all night long thinking about it-about them.
A
Very carefully, she began to open the door. It creaked loudly.
She froze, then tried again. The door groaned now as she opened it.
She was breathless, her pulse continuing to drum and deafen her. But her door was wide open. The hall was pitch-black; not a single light had been left on. The door across from her was closed. It was a shadowy shape. A
A
Wood groaned.
A
And then an arm clamped around her waist from behind, a hand clapped over her mouth. A
"Jesus, it's you," Braxton said in her ear. His hand left her mouth, sliding across her jaw to her neck and shoulder, and he did not release her for another moment.
And in that endless moment A
He dropped his hands from her person.
A
It was an exceedingly attractive mouth.
And his teeth flashed white in the darkness. "Might I ask what you were doing?" he asked, but in a whisper.
"I could ask you the same thing," A
His gaze appeared silver in the darkness of the night. It searched hers. "I thought the same of you." Suddenly, he stepped away from her, putting a safer distance between them. "Did anyone ever tell you, Miss Boothe, that curiosity killed the cat?"
She inhaled. She was trembling, her legs were weak. Air now caressed her where his warmth had a scant instant ago. She did not want him to leave and go back downstairs. There was no time to think. "I am not a cat. Curiosity has not killed me yet-I doubt it ever will."
He laughed softly. "You know," he said, and their gazes locked, "I like you. It is a shame that you are who you are. For you and I could have gotten on quite famously, I do think."
She stared. His voice had been low and sensual and intimate. "I like you, too, Braxton."
His smile disappeared.
A
"Go back to bed," he said harshly. "I will see you in the morning."
"Wait," she whispered, a desperate cry.
But he had not moved.
"Wait," she said again, as intensely. But she could not think of a single excuse to detain him, or a single way to seduce him.
He now wet his lips. "Do not offer," he said with anger, "what will turn out to be a vast mistake. For you certainly, and maybe for us both."
"I am not like other women," A
He stared.
She clenched her fists. "I don't ever want to marry. I only want to be free." He remained motionless.
"Free like the wind," she said, tears suddenly coming to her eyes. "Not shackled to an idiot like Harold, not shackled to anyone."
His jaw flexed. His brilliant eyes never left her face.
"But you would not understand. Because you are free, you are a man." She was bitter. She felt defeated. He would go. And in the morning, their paths would diverge, never to twine again.
"I understand," he finally said. "Better than you think."
Braxton bent and kissed each shoulder where the straps lay, then he slid them over her shoulders and pushed her gown down over her breasts, her hips, her thighs. It pooled in a puddle of cotton at her feet. His gaze was admiring.
He stroked the pads of two fingers down her neck and chest, over her nipples. A
"You are very, very beautiful, and far too much of a woman for most men."
She could not speak. He was touching her thighs. "But not… for you?"
His gaze jerked up to hers. "You are probably too much of a woman for myself as well," he said, as if he had just thought of it and as if he meant it. And then he pulled her close for another devastating, tongue-to-tongue kiss.
And when, a long time later, their lips parted, she gasped, "This is not fair."