Just Once (9 page)

“What’s this?” he said, half-smiling, as he looked at the bacon.

With her senses still in a stupor, Jemma tried to put a coherent thought together. All that came out was, “Bacon.”

“Ah. I thought the only bacon you made was black.”

“I’m … getting better at it. How … did you get all wet? Did you fall in?”

“I jumped in. I worked up a sweat chopping logs. We’re in luck, though. A little farther upstream, I found an area that must have been hit by a powerful storm. The trees have been felled by the wind and scattered like twigs. Tomorrow morning it won’t take long to tie the horses to some of them, drag them to the river, and lash them together.”

The man had no idea of how greatly his half-naked state aroused her. He tossed his shirt over a nearby bush and sat down cross-legged in the sandy soil near the fire. His leather pants were soaked; water oozed out of them as he bent his knees to accommodate his plate on his lap. Without looking up, Hunter began wolfing down bacon, scraping up the drippings with his biscuits and licking his fingers.

Jemma’s mind raced. Until this very minute, she had thought of him as her guide and protector. He had to be a good ten years older than she, at least twenty-eight—
old
by her standards—but he was definitely a virile man. There was something awesome and frightening in that thought, something that set her nerves on edge. That same something made her tingle all over as she stared at his naked chest and the fire’s glow snaked over his bronze skin, gilding the tightly matted blond hair.

Sister Augusta Aleria had definitely known what she was talking about.

Her mouth had gone dry. She tried not to think about Hunter or his bare chest and busied herself with her own supper, filling the plate with thick, well-done bacon strips and biscuits, pouring them both cups of coffee from the metal pot by the fire. Although she tried to concentrate on the task at hand, she couldn’t keep herself from pondering what it would be like to deeply kiss a man, to touch him intimately, to lay her hand over his heart and feel his warm skin.

She thought of the kiss he had given her in the Rotgut, remembered his soft lips and felt warm all over. It had been an experience she definitely wouldn’t mind having again.

“What are you thinking about?” he said around a mouthful of food.

“What? Oh.” She mumbled a soft, unladylike curse as coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup. “I was thinking about kissing,” Jemma said without thought.

Hunter began choking, wheezing, and coughing so hard that she started to set down her tin and go over to pound him on the back, but he gasped in lungfuls of air and waved her back down.

“I thought you said you were thinking about
kissing
.”

“I did. I was.”

He was rendered speechless. Then slowly, from the neck up, color began to creep toward his hairline. He glanced over at his sopping wet shirt where it hung on the bush.

“Kissing,” he said softly, pondering the word as if he had never heard it before.

In for a penny
, she thought, and plunged ahead. She was on an adventure and intended to experience as much as she could before it was over. Just last night she had almost killed a man. Kissing was a far less dangerous endeavor.

“The nuns at the convent—”

“In Algiers?”

Her gaze quickly dropped to her plate. “Yes, anyway, the nuns at the convent spent inordinate hours talking about the various sins of the flesh. I suppose so we girls would know what to expect. And what to avoid. One nun in particular harped on kissing and … well, all the rest, so much that at times, it was all we could think about. Mortal sins, venial sins. Kissing that led to mortal sin. Kissing that was
more
than kissing.”

“
More
than kissing?”

“Kissing that led to
other things
.”

“Other things?”

He was holding his empty plate on his lap, his green eyes intense. His hair had dried some; the curls were lustrous. His expression was blank, either intentionally or because he was so shocked by the subject that he didn’t quite know what to make of her. Jemma suddenly felt like squirming under such close scrutiny.

“You know,” she shrugged, gripping her plate. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “
Other things
.”

“Things other than kissing?” He set the plate beside him in the sand warmed by the fire.

“Yes. Intimate, unspeakable other things. Things a lady shouldn’t even think about, let alone discuss over supper.”

“The
nuns
were versed at describing these other things?”

She blinked. “Of course. Some were widows. Some had been fallen women who had repented, given up lives of sin to devote themselves to the church.
They
certainly knew what they were talking about.” She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly too warm.

“So tonight, in the middle of biscuits and bacon, you just thought about kissing?”

There was no way she could tell him the truth, that seeing his bare chest had led her thoughts astray, that it was his fault for walking around half-naked, leading her mind down such a dangerous path. He had her cornered. The only thing to do was brazen her way out.

“How many women have you kissed?”

“Taking a survey?”

“Something like that,” she said.

“To be honest, I don’t see how it’s any concern of yours.”

“No. I don’t suppose it is. I was just curious.” She felt herself blushing, thankful for the darkness.

“I’ve kissed my share,” he offered.

She bolted upright, nearly spilling the rest of the coffee on herself. A thought that had not occurred to her before suddenly shot to the forefront of her mind.

“Are you
married?
”

He shook his head emphatically. “No. I’m done with women altogether.”

A shadow darkened his eyes. She could almost feel the hurt emanating from him, and her imaginative, romantic soul ached.

“Someone broke your heart,” she said softly.

“No. Someone taught me a hard lesson is all. But that just helped me realize who I am.”

Thoughtful, her appetite satisfied after a few bites, Jemma began gathering up the plates and cups. In the morning before breakfast, she would take them to the riverbank to rinse in the still water that eddied in the rushes. She couldn’t get her mind off what Hunter had just said. A woman had taught him a hard lesson. She couldn’t help but wonder who, how, why.

By the time she had finished clearing away the frying pan and moving the coffeepot farther from the flames, she was certain he was pining for a lost love. Hunter had slipped his shirt on once again. Jemma experienced a wave of relief, as if the door to a room full of unspoken dark secrets had been opened far too long for comfort. She was surprised to find how disappointed she was that it was closed again.

Hunter sat back down and stretched, then crossed his legs at the ankles. He pulled his hat on, using the brim to shade his eyes from the firelight until all she could see were his lips—finely tapered, strong, masculine, but compelling. And unforgettably soft.

“How many women have you kissed, do you think?” she asked, before the thought was fully formed.

He shoved the hat back onto the crown of his head and stared at her hard.

“Are you crazy?”

“No. I just have a very fertile imagination. The nuns always thought so, at least.” She sighed, trying to picture the kind of woman who might have walked out on him. “You’ve obviously loved and lost. No matter what, you still have your memories. Just think, though. You have suffered, which means you are living life to the fullest. Why, some people never find anyone to love, never even have the experience, good or bad.”

“Don’t make my past into some great dramatic tragedy, Jemma, because it’s not. I’m a loner. Things worked out for the best.”

A loner
. A man who needed no one.
Perhaps he was like Grandpa
, she reasoned. A man whose sense of adventure was greater than his love of family. A man whose home was the world at large, not just one tiny corner of it. When she thought of Grandpa Hall, she could fully understand what Hunter Boone meant by being a loner.

He was a man who wanted no ties. No future with a family. He wasn’t looking to tie a woman down with any marriage agreement, wasn’t looking to fill his coffers with her money. His life was his own and he liked it that way.

She understood completely and began to see him in a whole new light. “If you’re such a loner, why did you decide to take me with you?”

“I didn’t have much choice. It was either bring you along or have you solicit the wrong person and end up in the back room of one of those barrelhouses raped or dead. I knew you were safe with me.”

“So more than being a loner, you are a man of honor.”

He ignored her observation. “Do you mind telling me the truth?”

The truth?
She waited to hear exactly what part of the truth he wanted.

“What were you doing out on the streets alone? Where did you come from?”

“I told you. The ship I was on had just docked. That’s the gospel truth, Mr. Boone.”

“The ship from Algiers?”

Her gaze slipped away and so did the truth. “Yes.” She decided to change the subject. It was far, far safer that way. “Like you, I’m not looking for attachments, either.” She sat back down beside the fire.

“Just your father and brother. In Canada.”

It took her a moment to remember, and then she quickly nodded in agreement. “That’s right.”

As they sat there chatting, an idea began to nag at her. It was outrageous. It would require her to be downright brazen, but there was only one way to satisfy the curiosity that had been planted with the kiss he had given her in the Rotgut.

“Since you are a self-proclaimed loner, perhaps you wouldn’t mind kissing me again.”

“
What?
” He became perfectly still, looking at her as if she had just lost her mind.

“Experimentally, of course.”

“
Why?
”

Jemma shrugged and tried to voice her opinion in a logical fashion. “It has to happen sometime, doesn’t it? To me, that is. It might as well be now.”

“
What
has to happen?”

She was afraid his big green eyes might roll right out of his head. She started talking faster.

“Kissing. Let’s face it. We’ve been alone together for over a week. I’ve found you to be just the man I thought you were. You are trustworthy and a man of honor. You obviously aren’t interested in women—”

“Hold on a minute—”

“I mean, enough to want to settle down. You said yourself you are a loner.”

He cleared his throat. “I am, but—”

“Exactly. You aren’t looking for attachments. You can remain clear and objective.”

“About what?”

“Kissing. I want to know all about it. I want you to
show
me the differences. I need to know what to watch out for. I’m a woman alone in the world right now, Hunter Boone, and when it comes to kissing … and all the rest … well, I’m utterly uneducated.”

“I thought you said the nuns covered it pretty thoroughly.”

“Yes, in theory. I’ve had no real experience, except for the kiss you gave me in New Orleans.”

“That was for protection purposes only.” He actually looked shaken.

“So you see. Another aspect of the whole. Obviously, you can remain clear and objective.”

“Objective.” He shook his head. “Do you think you can remain objective, Jemma?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“You are obviously very innocent.”

She brushed off the knees of the baggy wool trousers. “Did you really think I was a whore when I approached you on the street?”

“It crossed my mind. Why are you smiling like that?”

“I’m just thinking about what my father would say if he heard this conversation.” She knew Thomas O’Hurley would probably lose ten years off his life. “Will you help me?”

“Kiss you, you mean?”

“Yes.”

He sat there looking at her for a long while, simply staring at her across the fire as if either he were having trouble making up his mind, or he thought she had completely lost hers while she was frying bacon. She didn’t think she was asking too much. All the man had to do was pucker up and kiss her a few times, stressing the differences in technique. Judging from the way her body had reacted to him at the Rotgut, she suspected he’d already done most everything except slip his tongue into her mouth, which would be the ultimate step before … well, before the unspeakable. They would never get that far.

“What do you think?” She was beginning to feel uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny.

“I think you need to move closer if you’re serious about this.”

She got to her knees and crawled the short distance around the fire until she was kneeling beside him.

“I’m so glad you’re willing to help.”

“Only because I’d hate to have you stumble into trouble later on.” His lips were twitching at the corners again.

“You look as if you’re trying not to laugh, Hunter Boone. What do I do first?”

“Close your eyes.”

She closed her eyes and puckered her lips. Jemma sensed him moving closer. She had a thought and opened her eyes, only to find him very close, staring very intently.

“I was thinking, perhaps you should tell me what you’re doing, right before you do it, so I’ll know the difference.”

“You’ll know the difference.”

“Instinctively, you mean?”

“Yeah, something like that.” He was smiling again. “Close your eyes and I’ll give you the kind of kiss a man gives a woman when he kisses her for the first time.”

“A socially acceptable kiss,” she said.

“A first-time kiss.”

She closed her eyes. Her heart fluttered like a leaf in the wind. Hunter put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her closer, but not too close. His breath was warm on her face. So were his lips when he touched his mouth to hers. It was barely a touch, more of a stroke, an invitation for more. His lips met hers and pressed gently against her closed mouth. Just as she had in the bar, she experienced a warm, heady sensation that spread like slow molasses through her veins.