Tempting A Texan. Carolyn Davidson

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      “I probably won’t be here long enough for us to become friends, Mr. Garvey.” Rising from the chair without revealing her aching back and the sudden stiffness that gripped her knees made her hesitate, and he shot her a calculating look, then stepped quickly around the desk to offer his hand.

      “I think you’re feeling the effects of travel,” he ventured. “Let me escort you up the stairs.”

      She wasn’t certain she could tolerate the warmth of those fingers for any length of time, Carlinda decided. And then his hand moved to settle gently at the small of her back as he turned her toward the door of his study. It was even worse there, sending shards of heat from that place to envelop her entire body in awareness of the tall, masculine creature who was her host.

      If she were certain of his trustworthiness, certain he would treat Amanda as he should, she’d be better off leaving. Though where she would go was still in doubt. She bit back a sigh as they crossed the threshold of the study. She’d already decided he was a magician, this elegant banker whose eyes warmed her, whose hand persuaded her without effort into doing as he willed.

      So she walked beside him to the staircase, lifting her skirts, climbing to the second floor, her feet moving in unison with his. Beside her, his clothing, and the body beneath the fine wool and linen, exuded a fresh scent, one that blended with a subtle musky aroma, seducing her senses.

      He reached to open the door of her room and the hand was gone from her back as he nodded politely in the direction of the bedside table where a pink-shaded lamp glowed, a beacon drawing her to the comfort of cool sheets and soft pillows.

      “Have a good night,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you at breakfast. We eat rather early, I should warn you.”

      “I’m used to arising when the sun comes up,” she told him, moving away across the carpet, then turning to face him. “Is that a connecting door to Amanda’s room?” She glanced at the wall where a single door sat ajar. “I didn’t pay attention earlier.”

      Nicholas shook his head. “No. That’s a dressing room. I don’t have any suites in the house.” His smile was apologetic. “I fear you are in the wilds of Texas, ma’am. We don’t supply the conveniences of big-city living.”

      She blushed anew at his words. “I didn’t mean to criticize. I just wanted to be able to hear Amanda should she awake in the night.”

      “Does she have nightmares?” His brow wrinkled in a frown.

      “Once in a while. Not during the journey, but then, it was all new and exciting to her. She dreams of her mother sometimes, and wakes crying.”

      “Perhaps you should leave your door open then,” he suggested. “Hers is already ajar.” At her hesitation he grinned, a taunting look enveloping his eyes, crinkling the skin at their outer corners. He leaned against the doorjamb. “I promise not to intrude on your privacy.”

      “Unless the walls are very thick, or soundproof, I’m sure I’ll hear her should she cry out,” she said hurriedly. She glanced at the window and noted the lights of town to the east. Even as she watched, one flickered and disappeared. “It seems things are settling down all over,” she said quietly. “Amanda shouldn’t be roused by noise from outdoors.”

      “I’ll leave you then,” her host said. “If you like, I’ll open the sash. The fresh air will help you sleep.” His eyes looked black in the dim light and she inhaled sharply, shaking her head in refusal of his offer.

      He gave her a last, long, surveying look. “Good night then, Miss Donnelly.”

      His back was straight, his footsteps silent on the carpet as he turned toward the stairway and she relaxed, stepping to the side of the bed to perch on the mattress. The man’s effect on her was without precedent. Never in her twenty-four years had she known instant attraction to a male, unless she counted the tall youth, almost fifteen years older than she, who had lived next door in her growing-up years.

      Jack had been her idol, her secret flame until the day he’d married a young lady and settled down to become a husband and father. His attraction for her had become null and void, and she could only ever after look at him as a staid creature with a string of children and a dutiful wife trailing behind as he entered the church on Sunday morning.

      And now there was Nicholas Garvey, a man who looked at her as if he considered the thought of possessing her. She shook her head. What foolishness. The man was a flirt, a consummate ladies’ man, and she was a decent-looking female who’d just come into his orbit, offering a moment’s distraction.

      Yet, there had been a response within her she could not deny. It would behoove her to leave this town as soon as she could assure herself of Amanda’s well-being here. She’d spend a bit of time backing away from the bonds formed by the child’s bereavement, and then decide where she might go from here.

      She rose and slid open a bureau drawer, locating her nightgown. A swift glance at the door reminded her that it stood open and she crossed the room to quietly turn the handle, allowing it to latch. Far enough from the window to allow privacy, she slid from her clothing and into the soft batiste sleeping gown, then folded her underwear and arranged her dress over the back of a convenient chair.

      The dressing room drew her, curiosity urging her to open the door fully and peer inside. Empty racks greeted her, with one wall mirrored, reflecting her pale form, her hair glowing in the light from her bedside. He needn’t have apologized, she thought. His home held all the comforts of her own in New York. At least the home that had once been hers, where she’d lived with Amanda and her parents.

      Tomorrow would be soon enough to unpack the bag someone had delivered from the train station. She looked forward to hanging her few articles of clothing in the vast expanse of that dressing room, perhaps pretending for a while that this was her home.

      Turning back to the bed, she folded the coverlet at its foot, then slid between the sheets. Her eyes noted the glass windowpane and she compressed her lips with impatience, aware that it was still closed to the night air. It took only a moment to slide from the comfortable mattress and cross the room to lift the wooden frame. It slid silently upward, and Carlinda dropped to her knees to look down at the lawn below.

      A pale shadow caught her eye and she watched as the tall figure of a man walked toward the trees lining the edge of his property. Nicholas Garvey out for an evening stroll, she decided, aware of the long, slow stride that carried him beneath the low-hanging branches.

      A flicker of light illuminated his profile as he bent his head to touch a match to his cigar. She hadn’t caught the scent of tobacco on him earlier, yet the faint aroma touched her nostrils now, the breeze carrying it upward. A chill of foreboding touched her and she shivered, rising and making her way back to the bed.

      He held the scent of danger, and her instincts had seldom been amiss. It would be foolhardy to linger here.

      The morning sun was brilliant in the sky, but Nicholas ignored it, his mind caught up with the events of the evening before. She was an enigma, perhaps playing him for a fool with her talk of leaving, then dithering as she seemingly settled into his household. The thought of her departure was not welcome, for Carlinda held an attraction he could not resist, yet resented with his sensible, masculine mindset. She was definitely not the type of woman who would accept for herself what he had in mind.

      “Damn. She isn’t even beautiful,” Nicholas muttered, aware that his steps were heavy, his momentum rapid СКАЧАТЬ