The Rancher Takes A Bride (22 page)

God, all she wanted to do was throw her arms around him and experience one of his drugging kisses. Feel his lips as they covered hers, the touch of his hand as he caressed her.

"I have the perfect remedy for a sleepless night," he reassured her, his voice snapping her out of her heightened state of awareness. "It's a special tea that my grandmother made. I'd be happy to make it for you."

She swallowed and tried to still her racing heart. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the sound echoing the beat of Rose's heart. Tea. She sighed, not knowing if she was disappointed or relieved that his cure was only tea and not something more. It was going to be a long, sleepless night, muggy with anticipation.

Rose climbed the steps leading to her bedroom, each step closer to the sanctuary of her room. They were alone in the house, sleeping under the same roof, right across the hall from one another. And for the hundredth time that night, she reminded herself that their worlds were different.

She wanted to be an actress. He wanted a lady. But no matter how many times she remembered that fact, her body recalled the loneliness of her bed and the very real memory of his kiss.

Reaching the top of the staircase, she grasped the doorknob, opened the door to her room, and stepped inside. Travis had taken the horses to the makeshift barn, and after checking on the livestock he would return to the house for the night.

For the moment, Rose was alone with only her thoughts and her desires. How could she survive the next few days with Travis so close? Mere feet separated them, yet a great chasm of differences kept them apart. Differences that could never be bridged.

Somehow she felt the urge to go to bed before he came back. To crawl onto that mattress and cover her head before they were both tempted to explore an attraction left better unexamined. Before she was enticed to seek fulfillment with Travis, if only for a little while, even if the man would never marry her. Not that she would ever tie herself to a man, but still, if ever there was a temptation, this man was certainly beguiling.

Crossing the room, Rose sat down at the dressing table. She pulled the pins from her hair, letting it tumble freely down her back. Picking up the comb, she pulled it through her springy curls, gently pulling the tangles out, wishing the problems in her life were as easily untangled.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, the sound melancholy, lonely, and she wondered when Travis would return from the barn. The ride home had been tense with unspoken feelings made worse by his secret glances and covert scrutiny, which left her flushed, yet shaken. The knowledge that they were alone made her as nervous as a card cheat surrounded by gunslingers.

She wanted what she could not have. She wanted Travis Burnett, in spite of the fact that he thought she was a thief. In spite of the fact that he had dragged her against her will to his ranch. Common sense denied her, but her heart wanted to feel his arms around her, wanted to experience his kisses, wanted the pleasure of his touch. If only for a little while.

Quickly, before she succumbed to her desire, she unbuttoned her dress, struggling with the tiny pearl buttons in the back. Finally, she managed to unhook the diminutive buttons and ease the garment down her shoulders. She would have slept in the garment before she allowed Travis to help her undress.

Stepping out of the new dress, she hung it up in the armoire alongside her other new clothes. She smoothed the emerald cotton skirt, the fabric crisp beneath her fingertips, and wondered about her good fortune, her conscience twanging oddly.

All her life she'd learned how to dupe people, how to play the art of the con. Why was she suddenly having difficulty accepting her profession? Why did her business seem almost contemptible after spending time at the Bar None?

She wasn't hurting anyone. Oftentimes she eased people's pain when they learned their loved ones were happy and doing well on the other side. So why was she having so much trouble now?

Because Travis Burnett thought she was a thief, and suddenly his opinion held significance. She clutched her hands to her head and refused to consider why Travis's opinion was of value. She couldn't think about why he mattered.

She stood, determined not to think of her predicament any longer, and located the new nightgown Eugenia had bought her. She slipped the cottony garment over her head, and the filmy white gauze draped her body, leaving nothing to the imagination. She twirled about, feeling luxurious. Never before had she been so fortunate.

Downstairs, she heard the front door open and close with a decisive click. Only Travis shut the door that way. She couldn't face him, couldn't take the chance of seeing him and being unable to resist the temptation he presented. She blew out the lantern and quickly, before she changed her mind, yanked back the covers and jumped into bed.

The sound of Travis's heavy footsteps tramping up the stairs reminded Rose of a death march. Each step was measured and slow, as if he were climbing to the gates of heaven—or hell.

At the top of the stairs, his footsteps halted. He stood right outside her door. Her heart pounded in anticipation. He paused for a moment, and she imagined him contemplating whether to push open the door or continue on to his room.

Rose held her breath, part of her secretly wanting him to open her door, push open that portal and let her experience the wonder of being in his arms. Experience the sensations only he aroused in her, to their completion.

Yet part of her feared that if he opened her door, she would be forever lost, for it would be impossible to turn him away. That he would take her fragile heart and shatter it into a thousand pieces when he discarded her for his perfect little wife.

Finally, she heard his boots as he walked across the hall to his own room. A huge sigh of relief, a sigh of regret, escaped her. She had no desire to be his woman. She had no desire to be any man's mistress. Yet with each departing footstep she wanted to cry, and that perhaps scared her most of all.

***

Travis stepped into his room and closed the door. Why did he feel this sense of disappointment? What had he expected, her waiting to lure him into her bedroom? So they were alone. Why had he hoped for their aloneness to make things any different?

The only sounds in the house were the occasional creaks and groans of the wood structure and the constant chirp of a forlorn cricket crying for a mate. From the window came the occasional howl of a lonesome wolf somewhere off in the distance. But the room across the hall was silent.

Had he looked for Rose to open her door and seduce him into her room? God, he'd only hoped and dreamed she would entice him into her bed and let him lose himself in her soft curves. He'd thought of little else on the ride home. She was a con artist, an experienced woman, and he wanted her to prove him right. Show him she knew how to use her body to please a man. For one night in her arms, he'd gladly volunteer to ease this constant longing.

Who was he kidding? He was sorely disappointed. She'd turned out the lantern and gone to bed, without even so much as a good-night kiss. She'd shown him that there would be no dance of seduction tonight. She'd closed the door on him, and though he doubted she was asleep, the message was very clear. Tonight was just like any other night.

No chaperone, no invitation, no Rose. Nothing but a long night ahead of him, while he tried not to think of the woman lying across the hall. Knowing if he was lucky enough to sleep, his dreams would be of a seductive gypsy weaving a spell around him. He blew out the lantern and stared into the darkness, waiting, hoping she'd come.

***

Travis hurried down to breakfast, needing a strong cup of coffee to clear his head this morning. Sleep had been as elusive as rain in the middle of a drought. Every time he'd dozed, all he'd dreamed of was Rose. That sweet, tempting woman that even in his sleep provoked him, aroused him, and left him wanting.

The urge to get out of this house, get away from the nearness of Rose, away from the temptation she presented, overwhelmed him. The night had been long and suffocating. He had to get away before he acted upon his urges and lost himself in the wonder of her arms.

He pushed open the door to the kitchen and froze.

Expecting to see Cook, he came to an abrupt halt at the sight of a short frame and curvaceous bottom bending over the stove. It could only be Rose.

She turned around to face him, a pan of biscuits in her hand. "Good morning. Take a seat. The eggs are just about ready."

"What are you doing in the kitchen?" he asked in surprise.

She turned and glanced at him, "Cooking is what it's usually called."

He frowned. "Where's Cook?"

"Leave the poor man alone. He's not feeling very well this morning."

"Which usually means that he had too much to drink the night before." Travis shook his head. "So why are you fixing my breakfast?"

She turned and gave him her full attention, her green eyes sparking with irritation. "I thought you would rather eat than go hungry."

Travis took a step toward her, and when he reached her side, he lifted a loose curl off her shoulder. "That all depends on whether or not you can cook."

"Well, I guess you're about to find out," she murmured softly, her green eyes soft and luminous in the pre-dawn light.

Rose turned back to the stove, and he watched her shoulders relax as she flipped a pancake.

"Your eggs and pancakes will be ready in just a moment. Take a seat and I'll pour you some coffee."

He glanced around at the semi-dark room and wondered what she was up to. "Why are you up so early this morning? I could have gone to the bunkhouse and ate with the other men."

She glanced at him. "I came down to get a cup of coffee and discovered Cook not feeling well. I sent him back to bed, and then I took over."

"Why were you up so early?" he questioned.

She glared at him, her eyes narrowing. "When would I have a better opportunity to steal the rest of your mother's jewelry than when you're in bed asleep?"

"That's not what I meant!" he exclaimed.

"Isn't that your real question? What was I planning on stealing next?"

"To be honest, I just wondered if you were feeling all right to be up so early. The sun hasn't even risen. Usually I'm not up yet."

"Sorry. Guess I'm feeling a little jittery this morning. I ... I couldn't sleep."

The air between them almost crackled and popped, the tension so intense that Travis felt the need to slip away before he did something foolish, like kiss her. She ran her tongue across her full, red-wine lips, and the urge to nibble softly on her bottom lip until she opened her mouth almost overwhelmed him.

"I'll set the table," he said quickly, trying to distract himself.

Rose sighed and turned back to cooking the pancakes and checking the eggs she was scrambling.

Travis took out the forks and knives and put them on the table. The plates he took to Rose and laid them beside her. This seemed so odd, Rose cooking him breakfast before the sun had even risen. It felt so cozy and intimate and was just the sort of thing he expected from a wife. And it left him nervous as hell.

He watched as she walked over to the table, the skirt of her new dress moving with the movement of her hips, and he had to suppress a groan. Would she object if he took her right there on the kitchen table? Slid the dishes out of the way, lifted her skirt, and plunged into her nakedness?

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked.

"Thanks," he practically croaked, eager for something to wrap his hands around, something besides Rose.

She poured the hot, steaming liquid into a cup and then returned the pot to the stove. She stirred the eggs several more times, then scooped them up and dished them out on the plates.

He watched as she set the plate in front of him and then took the seat across from him.

Picking up his fork, he took a bite, as an awkward silence hung heavy over the table. "These are good."

"Thank you."

She picked at her food, not really eating it, but pushing it around the plate and taking little nibbles. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and wondered if she had experienced the same sleepless night.

He'd been restless and edgy all night long, constantly tossing and turning. And when he had slept, his dreams had been filled with images of Rose trying on clothes, of her defiantly refusing him in her chemise, her breasts peeking through the material. His hands would reach out to her and he would awaken.

God, why had he thought his mother's absence would be a good thing? When was she coming back? And how long before his scruples vanished in a heated embrace?

He glanced up and noticed Rose watching him, her green eyes tempting and seductive, promising enticing pleasures. He couldn't get the chair to slide back quick enough. He had to get out of this small room. Get a breath of fresh air. Maybe even dunk his head in the horse trough, if it would cool him off.

"You don't want your breakfast?" she asked.

"I've got to go," he replied, almost running to the back door. He yanked his hat off a peg, opened the door, and walked out without looking back. He couldn't look at her again. Couldn't glance into those emerald eyes and drown in their depths without touching her. And if he touched her there would be no stopping.