Cinderfella (16 page)

“I'm so scared,” she whispered as she pulled her lips away from his. “This wasn't supposed to happen. This can't happen.” She protested, but there was pure acceptance in her eyes. “And I must say, I think it's really unfair of you to use your experience against me,” she said breathlessly.

He smiled down at her, and then he kissed her again. Now wasn't the time, he supposed, to tell her that he was as much a virgin as she was.

No waltz, no champagne punch, and still a simple kiss made her reel. Why now? Why Ash Coleman?

It was a test of her strength, of her convictions. Still, she'd thought herself stronger than this. He parted her lips with his tongue and then flicked it inside her mouth, and she thought her knees would buckle. She held on tight so she wouldn't collapse and fall to the ground, and her mouth moved against his as if she'd kissed him a thousand times and knew every sensitive curve of the lips that danced over hers.

The sensations went far beyond her lips. She felt this kiss throughout her entire body, from the top of her head to her toes. He was in her blood, somehow. He made her forget everything, in some way.

Instinctively, her body fell against his. She couldn't get close enough, couldn't touch or feel or kiss enough.

Weak, she was wonderfully weak. . . . “Stop,” she whispered, and he did.

She couldn't do this, couldn't give up everything she wanted and believed in for a physical sensation, for the passion and pleasure Ash mentioned so enticingly. In any case, according to Felicity the kissing was nice but the rest was dreadful. To have a part of a man's body actually inside hers, to suffer the invasion Felicity had spoken of with such disdain . . . it didn't sound nice at all.

“I meant everything I said.” She couldn't make herself sound stern, as she knew she should. “I'm not ready for this. I don't want . . . I can't. . . . ” Drawing away slightly, she had a very good and close view of the black eye her father had given Ash. She stroked the skin around it, softly and carefully. “I'm sorry he hit you, and I'm so sorry I got you into this mess with my stupid lies.”

“If you have to be sorry for anything,” he said, kissing her once again and then stepping away, “be sorry you meant everything you said.”

 

She needed a little persuasion, that was all. A gentle push in the right direction.

Ash saw her, sweeping the porch with a vengeance, as he approached the house. She must feel something for him, or she wouldn't still be here. Charmaine Haley wasn't one to mindlessly obey her father or anyone else, no matter what kind of ceremony had taken place.

If she swept any harder she was going to take a layer of wood right off the porch.

“What's wrong?” he asked as he stepped onto the porch, and her head snapped up. She hadn't heard him coming, evidently.

“I'm married to you,” she whispered hoarsely.

This was not going to be easy. “True enough,” he said casually.

She stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom handle. “And that stepmother of yours is still angry because I brought you the last piece of pie and she was saving it for Elmo, who needs more pie in his stomach about as much as you need more dirt on that shirt.” She studied the offensive shirt and sighed deeply. “Elmo snivels more than any man I've ever met, filling the house with a constant wail, and when Verna chimes in it's more than I can bear. And if Oswald suggests one more time that we all pack up and move in with my parents, I'm going to shoot him.”

“The Haley solution.”

Charmaine didn't appreciate his comment, but her only response was a cutting glance.

“Nathan's hiding in the barn,” she continued. “Rubbing down the grays, I think.”

“And you're hiding out here.”

She was openly distressed, angry, and . . . confused. As confused as he was? Impossible.

Ash stepped onto the porch, but before he had taken two steps toward Charmaine she stiffened and took a step back. “You stay away from me,” she said sternly. “I won't have any more of this afternoon's nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You know what I'm talking about, so don't pretend to be innocent. I will not allow you to seduce me, Ash Coleman. I've made up my mind about what I want, and you can't sway me.”

“I can't?”

“No, you can't,” she said, and her voice trembled, just a little.

He leaned against the porch rail and smiled at her. She was still shaken. Good. He wanted to shake up every one of her crazy notions. “And what is it again that you want?”

Ash expected another speech on marital continence and pure marriage and the conservation of seminal fluid. He expected another earful of hogwash.

He didn't expect what he got — a wide-eyed stare with a touch of fear in it, an uncertain waver of the hand that wasn't grasping the broom handle.

“Time,” she whispered. “I need time.”

 

 

 

 

 

Twelve

 

She had to do something and this, at least, was away from the house.

A barn had never been Charmaine's favorite place to pass an afternoon, yet it was quiet here but for the coo and shuffle of the animals. She was rubbing Pumpkin's legs with a burlap sack, a treat the mare seemed to enjoy immensely.

Every day she tried to find a chore that would allow her to escape the crowded house for a time. Nathan had shown her how to feed the chickens and milk the cows, a chore that had turned out to be every bit as disgusting as she'd suspected it would be. But no chore was as disgusting as spending time in Verna's company.

Ash was giving her what she'd asked for days ago. Time. Time to think, to plan, to calm her agitated soul. Time to build a wall he couldn't break through with a simple kiss. Simple? In her much too vivid memory there was nothing simple about it.

It had been sprinkling off and on all morning, and all of a sudden the rain came down hard. Heavy raindrops lashed against the barn's roof and sides, but the structure was sturdy. The sound of fat, insistent raindrops against the barn was soothing. Here she was safe, warm, and isolated.

Kneeling at Pumpkin's side, she rubbed gently with the burlap sack. The barn had an aroma all its own, but she was becoming accustomed to the smell. With a little luck she could spend an entire afternoon here, undisturbed. Verna and her sons wouldn't miss her, and she certainly wouldn't miss them.

They were an odd bunch. Just this morning she'd caught Verna with her ear to the wall of the kitchen as she tapped lightly against the raw wood. What was she listening for? And what did they do all day while Ash was away? Not cleaning, certainly, and Verna never spent any more time preparing the evening meal than was absolutely necessary.

She didn't hear Ash coming. He just burst into the barn, shaking off the rain as he came through the open double doors. He hung his dripping wet hat on a peg by that door, and then he began to unbutton his soaked shirt.

Her view of him, as she peered over a bale of hay, was clear, but he obviously had no idea she was here, as his fingers worked the buttons.

She should stand and make her presence known, before he went any further. It would be simple enough at this point, to stand and greet him civilly and warn him before he went any further.

But she didn't.

He peeled off the soaked shirt and hung it on yet another peg.

Charmaine's mouth went dry. Goodness. Ash was gorgeous in the moonlight, as she well remembered, but by the brighter light of even a cloudy day he was magnificent. In spite of everything she knew and wanted and believed, her fingers itched to trace the shadows on his skin, the muscles and the furrows, the nooks and crannies.

Ash lifted one arm above his head, working out a tight muscle, and she could see his ribs outlined clearly. She wanted to run her fingers over each and every one of those bones, she wanted to lay her mouth . . . she closed her eyes tight. This could not be happening.

One eye opened slowly. Ash stood outlined in the open door, watching the rain, his back to her as it had been that first night. Their disastrous wedding night. If she was very still and quiet he would never know she was here. She sank lower behind the hay.

“We needed this rain,” he said casually, “but I was hoping to get a little more work done before it got this heavy.”

Charmaine closed her eyes. How could he possibly know she was here? She hadn't made a sound, hadn't uttered a single word. Ash didn't know anything. He was . . . he was guessing.

“Well?” he said. “How long are you going to hide back there?”

She didn't budge.

“Fine,” he said softly. “We'll play this however you want.”

Charmaine very cautiously came up on her knees and peered over the bale of hay. Ash hadn't moved from his station in the open doorway. He watched the rain, the way a farmer might, with contentment and more regard than an ordinary man.

Her heart caught in her chest, her blood roared, and she reminded herself of everything that Howard and his manuals had taught her. Magnetic currents, that's all this was. A scientifically explained phenomena. Ash's magnetism was just stronger than any she'd encountered to this point, that's all.

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and still her heart raced.

“I don't blame you for hiding out here,” he said as if they were carrying on a normal conversation. “Verna and the boys are a lot to take. I guess it doesn't make things any easier for you.”

Charmaine rose up slowly, brushing straw from her pale blue skirt. “Nor for you,” she said, smoothly ignoring the fact that she'd been hiding from him.

With his back to her, Ash smiled. He'd known it from the moment he'd stepped into the barn, that she was here somewhere. Heaven help him, he could sense her, he could feel her presence.

And now he could hear her, stepping closer, halting her progress while still several feet away.

He turned to watch her.

It hadn't been easy, but he'd done as she'd asked. He was giving her time.

Right now staying away from her was impossible. She was enchantingly fair, in a plain white blouse that would have been unnotable on any other woman, and a skirt that was the color of her eyes and streaked here and there with hay. Her cheeks turned a pretty pink, as she blushed and then tried to ignore it.

He took a step toward Charmaine, expecting her to back away. She didn't. She stood her ground and waited. The welcomed rain became harder, pounding the barn and soaking the fields outside this warm haven.

Charmaine lifted a hand as he reached her. With fingers splayed, she held that hand between them. There was no move to back up or push him away, just a frown as she fluttered that hand gently.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking something,” she whispered.

“Checking what?” He lifted his hand so that it was palm to palm with hers, almost but not quite touching.

Charmaine's eyes snapped upward to meet his. “Magnetism,” she whispered. “This is purely scientific, I assure you.”

He joined the palms of their hands and twined his fingers through hers. “Purely scientific.”

“Yes.”

With his free hand he outlined her face and one shoulder, down one arm to her hip, and in this perusal he never quite touched her. His hand skimmed a mere inch or less from her skin and her clothing. Magnetism, she said. The hand in his trembled.

“Oh, my,” she breathed.

She lifted her free hand and did the same to him, tracing his jaw without actually touching it, skimming her palm just above his chest. Could she feel his heartbeat, with her hand not an inch from his flesh? It beat hard enough, that was certain.

Not touching her was the hardest thing he'd ever done. A finger slipped and brushed against her arm. The delicate hand that wavered at his side grazed briefly over his skin. He settled his hand firmly over her hip and she didn't move away.

Charmaine was his here and now, his for the taking. He knew it, as he lowered his mouth to hers.

She closed her eyes and welcomed his mouth with a sigh, as the hand that had floated above his chest settled over his heart, and in response his shaft grew hard and heavy. A simple touch, a kiss, and he was hers as surely as she was his.

Charmaine kissed him without reserve, parting her lips for him, taking and giving, and he wanted her so badly he could think of nothing else. She brushed her tongue against his bottom lip, moaned softly from deep in her throat. . . .
 

And then she stopped. All at once she dropped her hand and pulled her lips from his and yanked her fingers away. Two steps back and she ran into the bale of hay. With no other choice, she sat down quickly.

Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, her mouth swollen and red and well kissed.

“Interesting,” she said breathlessly.

“Interesting?”

She nodded her head, and a few newly mussed strands of golden hair went astray. “I've read about magnetism, of course, but I've never actually experienced it so . . . so personally.” She took a deep breath and refused to look directly at him.

“What am I?” he snapped, frustrated and angry and confused once again. “A goddamn scientific experiment?”

“There's no need to be snippy,” she chastised in a breathy voice. She leaned back just a little, and her legs fell apart of their own accord, opening slightly beneath that sky-blue skirt. Did she have any idea what she was doing?

She refused to meet him eye to eye, but her gaze was roaming freely and curiously. Those bright blue eyes focused on his bare chest, beyond his shoulder, on his battered boots. Eventually they found the evidence of his arousal, the hardened length snug beneath his damp Levis.

“Oh, my,” she said as she sat up, snapped her knees together, and pulled her eyes away. A moment later she stood with a jerk. “You know, I really should get back to the house and see if I can help Verna with supper.”